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UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
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THE PILHEIM’S PROHRESS 
 
 AND 
 
 THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 ^ §eric0 of ICccturcs 
 
 BY 
 
 THE KEV. GEORHE B. CHEEVEH. D.D , 
 
 HEW YORK. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROAV ; 
 EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK. 
 
 1872. 
 
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 ^This work attempts to trace the footsteps of a great cii'- 
 cumnavigator in the Divine Life, somewhat as an open boat 
 might follow in the wake of the ships of Columbus into a 
 New World. And yet it is not new, but as old as the 
 grace of God in the heart of sinful man ; and now, so 
 many have crossed the sea, and prepared charts and maps 
 of their passage for the use of others, that th^re is scarcely 
 a league over which some compass has not been drawn, or 
 into which some fathoming line has not been let down ; 
 though there is scenery still hidden, and there are depths 
 never yet sounded, nor ever will be, inasmuch as the grace 
 of God in the heart of man is unfathomable ; and in sailing 
 over this ocean, we can often do no more than cry out with 
 the Apostle Paul, “ O the depths !” There is always much 
 that is pecuHar with every individual mind in crossing this 
 sea ; and likewise in following the traces of so experienced 
 and wise a navigator as Bunyan, every individual vdll find 
 something new to remark upon ; so that these lectures, 
 though on an old subject, will not necessarily be found 
 commonplace, or monotonous, or superfluous. 
 
 It ought probably to be mentioned, that a former essay 
 by the author, printed in the North American Review, has 
 been, in one or two of these lectures, worked up anew. A 
 greater space also is occupied by that division of the work 
 on the life and times of Bunyan, than was originally con- 
 templated ; but in the Providence of God, Bunyan himself 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 in his own lifetime, furnished as much matter for profitable 
 meditation and instruction, as his own Pilgrim, in his 
 beautiful Allegory. Of course the first division is more 
 particularly biographical and historical, the second more 
 meditative and expository. 
 
 The world of Christian Pilgrims may in general be divided 
 into two classes, the cheerful and the depressed ; those who 
 have joy in the Lord, and those whose joy is overborne and 
 kept down by cares and doubts, unbelief and many sins, 
 fallings by the way and breedings over them. Indeed, there 
 is a sad want, in our present Christian experience, of that 
 joy of the Lord, which is our strength ; and to give the 
 reasons for this would by itself require a volume. There 
 must be more of this joy, and it must be more habitual, if 
 the church of Christ would be strong to convert the world, 
 would be prepared to teach transgressors the way of the 
 Lord, so that sinners may be converted unto him ; for that 
 is the meaning of the Psalmist, taking what is individual, 
 and applying it, as we must, to the church universal, as the 
 source of her power. 
 
 The importance of this joy for the strength of the church 
 is manifest not only from the fifty-first Psalm, but from 
 those remarkable words of our blessed Lord to his disciples, 
 “ These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might 
 remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” The 
 Sa\iour’s own joy ! What a depth of blissful meaning is 
 contained in these words, as the portion of his people ! 
 It is not a doubting, weak, depressed piety, that is here 
 recognized. 
 
 And yet there is provision in the same gospel for those 
 wlio do not attain to this joy. There is mention made of 
 those, “ whose hands hang down,” and of “ the feeble knees ;” 
 and the arrangements made in the gospel for the sustaining 
 and comforting of such do shew that there will always con- 
 tinue to be, more or less, in the Christian race, and in the 
 Christian chimcli, hands that hang down and feeble knees. 
 
 Now it is at once a proof of the wisdom of the delineations 
 of Christian character in the Pilgrim’s Progress, raid a 
 source of the usefulness of that book to all classes, that it is 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 not a picture of abstract perfections, nor drawn from any 
 one extreme or exclusive point of view. It recognizes both 
 divisions of the Christian world, of which we have spoken. 
 Nay, it recognizes them at different times in the different 
 experience of the same persons, which is in accordance with 
 the examples of Scripture. For the same great saint who 
 says, “ I have rejoiced in the way of thy testimonies,” and, 
 I will delight myself in thy statutes,” says also, a few 
 verses afterwards, “ My soul cleaveth unto the dust,” and 
 My soul melteth for heaviness.” 
 
 There is in general more of this cleaving unto the dust, 
 than of this rejoicing ; but it is not always to be concluded, 
 because the soul thus seems bound up in dust and heaviness, 
 that therefore there is nothing of the Christian life in it. 
 The straight lines of light and joy in the gospel falling into 
 such a dense medium of cares and anxieties in this world, 
 are refracted and broken, so to speak, and the reflection of 
 the gospel comes from troubled waters, — waters ruffled and 
 stirred, — and not fi'om still lakes, where halcyon birds of 
 calm sit brooding on the surface. 
 
 The Christian life is represented as a race, a work, a 
 labour, a conflict, a warfare. It needs a strong, constant, 
 unwavering purpose, along with the constant, ever present 
 omnipotent grace of God. God is one all in all. Christ’s 
 strength must be made perfect in our weakness. So David 
 says, “ I will run in the way of thy commandments when 
 thou shaft enlarge my heart.” Here is the purpose, “ I will 
 run ;” here is the way, “ thy commandments ;” here is the 
 soul’s dependence, “ when thou shaft enlarge my heart and 
 here is the source of power, the grace of God in the heart, 
 in the deep heart. To this Paul answers, ‘‘Work out your 
 own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God that 
 worketh in you, both to will and to do.” Blessed harmony 
 of God’s working and man’s working, of God’s grace and 
 man’s obedience ! 
 
 The Pilgrim’s Progress is constructed throughout on this 
 divine harmony, never losing sight of either side of the 
 arrangement. So must our individual progress through life, 
 in grace, be of the same divine harmony, a perpetual s^trife 
 
iy PREFACE. 
 
 on our part, and God striving in us. So says Paul of this 
 progress in his own person, “ Whereunto I also labour, striv- 
 ing according to his working, which worketh in me mightily.” 
 AVhen these two things are kept together, then there is joy, 
 — joy even amidst great trials and discouragements. Because 
 we are cast down, it is not necessary to be destroyed ; and 
 the same Apostle who says, “ Rejoice in the Lord alway,” 
 says also, with Barnabas, who was the son of consolation, 
 that we must “ through much tribulation enter into the 
 kingdom of God.” 
 
 In all things we are brought to Christ, and thrown upon 
 him ; and this is the sweet voice of the Pilgrim’s Progress, 
 as of the gospel, “ Come unto me, all ye that labour and are 
 heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” One consolation 
 amidst our distresses is this, that “ we have not an High 
 Priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infir- 
 mities, but was m all points tempted like as we are, yet 
 without sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne 
 of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help 
 in time of need.” And “ unto Him that is able to keep us 
 from falling, and to present us faultless before the presence 
 of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our 
 Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both 
 now and ever. Amen.” 
 
Contents 
 
 I. BUNYAN AND HIS TIMES, ... ... ... ... 9 
 
 II. BUNYAN’s temptations, ... ... ... ... 39 
 
 III. BUNYAN’s EXAMINATION, ... ... ... ... 74 
 
 IV. BUNYAN IN PRISON, ... ... ... ... 104 
 
 V. PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS, IN BUNYAN AND THE 
 
 pilgrim’s progress, ... ... ... ... 137 
 
 VI. THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPONJ), 171 
 
 VII. CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER, ... 195 
 
 VIII. CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY, ... ... 216 
 
 IX. Christian’s fight with apollyon in the valley of 
 
 HUMILIATION, ... ... ... ... 232 
 
 X. CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, 256 
 
 XI. CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR, ... ... 279 
 
 XII. DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR, ... ... 300 
 
 XIII. THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS AND ENCHANTED GROUND, 
 
 WITH THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE- 
 FAITH, ... ... ... ... ... 321 
 
 XIV. THE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH, ... 345 
 
 XV. CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN, ...» ... 369 
 
LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 ^un^an ann Us ^imts. 
 
 Historical sketch of the period.— Bunyan’s contemporaries. — H is boyhood and 
 convictions of sin. — Tiie Providence and Grace of God illustrated in his life 
 and conversion. — The characters he met with.— His Evangelist.— His spi- 
 ritual and intellectual discipline.— Necessity of experimental piety, for a full 
 appreciation and understanding of the Pilgrim’s Progress. 
 
 If a man were to look about the world, or over all the 
 world’s history, for that one of his race, in whose life there 
 should be found the completest illustration of the provi- 
 dence and grace of God, he could hardly fix upon a more 
 perfect instance than that of John Bunyan. The detailed 
 biography of this man I shall not attempt to present, in so 
 short a sketch as that to which I must of necessity confiiiD 
 myself. But there are points in his life, where the Divine 
 Providence is unfolded so gloriously, and junctures where 
 the Divine grace comes out so clearly and so brightly, that 
 nothing could be more simple, beautiful, and deeply interest- 
 ing, than their illustration. On some of these points I shall 
 dwell, premising, in order to a right view of them, a rapid 
 but important glance at the age in which he lived. 
 
 It was an age of great revolutions, great excitement, great 
 genius, great talent ; great extremes both in good and evil ; 
 great piety and great wickedness ; great freedom and great 
 tyranny and oppression. Under Cromwell there was great 
 liberty and prosperity ; under the Charleses there was great 
 oppression and disgrace. Bunyan’s life, continuing from 
 1 628 to 1 688, embraces the most revolutionary and stirring 
 period in English history. There pass before the mind within 
 
10 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 tliis period the oppressive reign of Charles First ; the cha- 
 racters of Laud and Strafford ; the Star Chamber, and tha 
 king’s tyrannical men, courts, and measures ; the noble de- 
 fence of liberty in the House of Commons ; Hampden and 
 Pym ; the war between the King and Parliament ; the 
 King’s defeat, and death upon the scaffold ; the glorious pro- 
 tectorate of Cromwell, few years, but grand and prosperous, 
 a freedom and prosperity united, such as England had never 
 known ; then comes the hasty, unconditional restoration of 
 a Prince who cared for nothing but his own pleasure, the 
 dissolute, tyrannical reign of Charles Second, one of the most 
 promising, lying, unprincipled, worthless, selfish, corrupted 
 and corrupting kings, that ever sat upon the throne of Eng- 
 land ; in the terribly severe language of the Edinburgh Re- 
 view, a king, “ who superseded the reign of the saints by the 
 reign of strumpets ; who was crowned in his youth with the 
 Covenant in his hand, and died with the Host sticking in his 
 throat, after a life spent in dawdling suspense between Hob- 
 bism and Popery a king and a reign, of which one of the 
 grand climacterics in wickedness embraced the royal mur- 
 ders of the noble patriots Russell and Algernon Sydney ; 
 immortal be their names, and honoured ever be their me- 
 mories ; a reign the very beginning of which, threw John 
 Bunyan into prison, and produced a Bartholomew’s day to 
 thousands of the conscientious ministers of the Church of 
 England. 
 
 The king’s reign from the time of the Restoration, began 
 in contempt of all religion, and continued in debauchery 
 and drunkenness. Even those persons who may have taken 
 their views of the history of this period simply from the 
 pages of Hume, may, if they will look narrowly, gather 
 so much as this. “ Agreeable to the present prosperity 
 of public affairs,” says Hume, “ was the universal jo^ 
 and festivity diffused throughout the nation. The me- 
 lancholy austerity of the fanatics fell into discredit, to- 
 gether with their principles. The royalists, who had ever 
 affected a contrary disposition, found in their recent suc- 
 cess new motives for mirth and gaiety ; and it now be- 
 longed to them to give repute and fashion to their manners. 
 
BUNYAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 11 
 
 From past experience it had sufficiently appeared that gra^ 
 vity was very distinct from wisdom, formality from virtue, 
 and hypocrisy from religion. The king himself, who bore a 
 strong propensity to pleasure, served, by his powerful and 
 engaging example, to banish those sour and malignant 
 humours, which had hitherto engendered such confusion 
 And though the just bounds were undoubtedly passed, when 
 once returned from their former extreme, yet was the public 
 happy in exchanging vices, pernicious to society, for dis- 
 orders, hurtful chiefly to the individuals themselves who 
 were guilty of them.” 
 
 This means simply that the nation, under the example of 
 the king and the royalists, having thrown off the vices and 
 vicious restraints of gravity, formality, and hypocrisy, so 
 generally pernicious to society, became almost entirely aban- 
 doned to the more individual disorders'^' of profligacy and 
 sensual licentiousness. They were happy in exchanging 
 those sour and malignant humours” for the more luscious 
 and generous qualities of sin. The Restoration, says Bishop 
 Burnet, brought with it the throwing off the very pro- 
 fessions of virtue and piety ; and all ended in entertainments 
 and drunkenness, which overran the three kingdoms. 
 
 As the reign began so it continued ; and it was a period 
 when just such men, as God had been preparing in the case 
 of Bunyan, were most needed ; just such men also, as he 
 had ready in Baxter, Owen, Howe, and a multitude of others, 
 perhaps quite equal in piety, though not so distinguished as 
 these. So was fulfilled the great principle, that when the 
 Enemy cometh in like a flood, then the Spirit of the Lord 
 shall lift up a standard against him. 
 
 As to the measures of this reign for the destruction of 
 religious liberty, with which more especially we are now 
 concerned, it opened with what is called the Corporation 
 Act, by which, in defiance of all the king’s previous stipu- 
 lations, all persons, whose religious principles constrained 
 them conscientiously to refuse conformity to the established 
 Episcopal Church, were at once expelled and excluded from 
 every branch of the magistracy, and rendered incapable of 
 serving their country in the meanest civil offices. 
 
12 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 Kext followed the memorable statute against the Society 
 of Friends, by which upwards of four thousand persons were 
 cast into prison for their religious scruples, and treated with 
 the utmost cruelty, with even a savage barbarity. 
 
 In the second year of this reign, 1662, came the Act of 
 Uniformity, suppressing by force all diversity of religious 
 opinions, imposing the hook of Common Prayer, and revi- 
 ving for this purpose the whole terrific penal laws of pre- 
 ceding reigns. This was to take effect from the feast day of 
 St Bartholomew, in 1662 ; the day of a former well-known 
 dreadful hiassacre of Protestants in Paris, and other French 
 cities, the 24th of August 1572, nearly an hundred years 
 previous ; and a day, on which more than two thousand 
 conscientious ministers were silenced, ejected from their 
 pulpits, and thrown into persecution and poverty. For 
 these men to preach, or conduct public worship, was made 
 a penal offence against the state ; and among these men are 
 such names as those of Owen, Bates, Manton, Goodwin, Bax- 
 ter, and Howe ; towards whom that very cruelty was enacted 
 by the Established Church of England, which, in the case of 
 the Jewish Church, is said to have filled up the nii3asure of its 
 crimes, and prepared the Jewish people for the divine ven- 
 geance ; “ forbidding the apostles to speak to the Gentiles, 
 that they might be saved.” Ho matter how holy, nor how 
 eminently useful the body of the non-conforming clergy 
 might be ; the act would have passed, it has truly been said, 
 though the measure had involved the eternal misery of half 
 the nation. 
 
 Of this act Hume himself says (and I like to take autho- 
 rities of which it may be said, our enemies themselves being 
 judges) ; Hume himself says that in it the Church party 
 gladly laid hold of the prejudices (the conscientious scruples) 
 which prevailed among the Presbyterians, in order to 
 eject them from their livings. By the Bill of Uniformity 
 it was required that every clergyman should be reordained, 
 if he had not before received Episcopal ordination ; should 
 declare his assent to every thing contained in the book of 
 Common Prayer ; should take the oath of canonical obe- 
 dience ; should abjure the Solemn League and Covenant ; and 
 
BUNYAN AND IIIS TIMES. 
 
 13 
 
 should renounce the principle of taking arms, on anj pre- 
 tence whatsoever, against the king. This hill reinstated the 
 Church in the same condition in which it stood before the 
 commencement of the Civil Wars ; and as the old persecuting 
 laws of Elizabeth still subsisted in their full vigour, and 
 new clauses of a like nature were now enacted, all the king’s 
 promises of toleration and of indulgence to tender consciences 
 were thereby eluded and broken.” The same historian ob- 
 serves, that the ecclesiastical form of government, according 
 to the Presbyterian discipline, is more favourable to liberty 
 than to royal poioer and hence the readiness of Charles 
 to break all promises of tolerance which he had made for 
 the gaining of the throne, and to produce an iron uniformity 
 of ecclesiastical subjection, in which he might break down 
 all the defences raised against regal encroachments. The 
 spirit of religious liberty always has been, and ever must 
 be, the world’s greatest safeguard against the oppression of 
 political tyranny. 
 
 Two years after this statute came the memorable Con- 
 venticle Act, in 1664. It was found that these holy clergy- 
 men, though banished from their own pulpits, would preach, 
 and that people would hear; preach any where, and hear 
 any where ; in dens and caves of the earth, in barns and 
 private houses, so it were but the gospel. To put a stop to 
 this, and to extirpate all public worship not within the 
 walls of Episcopal consecration, the barbarous statute of a 
 preceding reign was declared in force, which condemned all 
 persons refusing to attend the public worship appointed by 
 the State to banishment ; and in case of return, to death 
 without benefit of clergy. It was then enacted, that if any 
 person should be present at any assembly, conventicle, or 
 meeting, under colour or pretence of any exercise of religion 
 in other manner than is allowed by the Liturgy or practice 
 of the Church of England ; or if any person shall suffer any 
 , such meeting in his house, barn, yard, woods, or grounds ; 
 they should, for the first and second offence, be thro\Mi into 
 jail or fined ; for the third offence, transported for seven 
 years, or fined a hundred pounds ; and in case of return of 
 escape after such transportation, death without benefit cf 
 
14 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 clergy ! Troops of horse and foot were on the alert, to 
 break np such meetings ; the ravages and forfeitures for 
 this crime of religious worship according to conscience be- 
 came very great ; the jails were filled with prisoners ; others 
 were transported as convicts ; other whole families emi- 
 grated ; informers were multiplied, and the defence and se- 
 curity of life, liberty, and property, in the trial by jury, 
 were broken down. 
 
 IText came the Great Plague, in which the Non-conformist 
 clergy, having before been driven from their pulpits by 
 power of persecution, the Established clergy fled from theirs 
 through fear of death. But when men fled who feared 
 death more than God, then those men entered their places 
 who feared nothing but God. They came, those same per- 
 secuted and silenced clergy, when the Court and Parliament 
 had removed to Oxford, and the hirelings had fled from 
 their flocks, they came, in defiance of law and contagion, 
 and ministered the bread of life to pale multitudes, at altars 
 from which they would have been driven with penal in- 
 flictions in the season of health. But this too must be 
 stopped ; and therefore, by this very Parliament sitting in 
 Oxford through fear of the plague in London, and to shut 
 out those men who entered with the gospel where others 
 dared not enter, a fresh penal law was enacted, by which, 
 unless they would take an oath that the Earl of Southamp- 
 ton declared in parliament no honest man could take, all 
 Non-conformist ministers were banished five miles from any 
 city, town, or borough that sent members to parliament, 
 and five miles from any place whatsoever where they had, 
 at any time in a number of years past, preached. Tliis 
 savage act produced, of course, great suffering ; but it also 
 called into exercise great endurance and patience for Christ’s 
 sake. Ministers who would not sacrifice their duty to God 
 and their people, and who had to be concealed at a distance, 
 sometimes rode thirty or forty miles to preach to their flocks 
 in the night, fleeing again from their persecutors before the 
 dawn of day. 
 
 In 1670, the barbarous Conventicle Act was renewed with 
 still greater severity; the trial by jury in case of offenders 
 
BUJS'YAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 15 
 
 was destroyed ; no warrant to be reversed by reason of any 
 default in the form ; persons to be seized wherever they 
 could be found, informers encouraged and rewarded ; and 
 justices punished who would not execute the law. Arch- 
 bishop Sheldon addressed a circular letter to all the bishops of 
 his province, commanding them to take notice of all offenders, 
 and to aid in bringing them to punishment. The Bishop 
 of Peterborough declared publicly concerning this law, that 
 “ It hath done its business against all fanatics, except the 
 Quakers ; but when the parliament sits again, a stronger 
 law will be made, not only to take away their lands and 
 goods, hut also to sell them for bond slaves ^ The magistracy 
 became, it has been truly remarked, under this law, an 
 encouragement to evil doers^ and a punishment of those who 
 did well. 
 
 We shall pursue no further the history of political and 
 ecclesiastical cruelty in this arbitrary persecuting reign. It 
 is enough to make the very name of the union of Church 
 and State abhorred in the mind of every man who has a 
 spark of generosity or freedom in his composition. Thus 
 much was absolutely necessary to illustrate the life of Bun- 
 yan, and the providence and grace of God in the age where 
 God placed him. It was an age for the formation and in- 
 trepid action of great minds ; it was also an age for the 
 development of apostolic piety, and endurance of suffering, 
 on the part of men and ministers who chose to obey God 
 rather than man. If great qualities and great capacities of 
 virtue existed, there were great flames to try them ; sharp 
 tools and terrible, to cut and polish the hidden jewels of the 
 Saviour. 
 
 ' Into this age Bunyan was thrown ; a great pearl, sunk 
 in deep and troubled waters, out of which God’s Spirit would 
 in due time draw it, and place it in a setting where its glo- 
 rious lustre should attract the admiration of the world. 
 There were along with him great men, and men of great 
 piety, both in the Established Church and out of it. He was 
 born in the village of Elstow, in the year 1628 — thirty years 
 after the death of Spenser, twelve years after the death of 
 Shakspeare, when Milton was in his twentieth year, and 
 
16 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 three years before the birth of Dryden. Bunyan’s life and 
 times were also Baxter’s, Baxter being but thirteen years 
 the oldest. Bunyan died in 1688, Milton in 1674, Baxter 
 in 1631. Owen was another contemporary, 1616-1683. 
 John Howe was another, born 1630. Philip Henry was 
 another, born 1631. The sweet poet George Herbert should 
 be named as another. Matthew Poole was another, born 
 1623. Thomas Goodwin was another, born in 1600. Lord 
 Chief- Justice Hale was another, born in 1609. Cudworth 
 was born in 1617 ; Henry More was born in 1614, and died 
 in 1687, a year before the death of Bunyan ; Archbishop 
 Usher and Bishop Hall both of them died in 1656. Taking 
 these names together, you have a striking picture of the 
 great richness of the age, both in piety and genius — an as 
 cending series of great minds and good men from every 
 rank and party. 
 
 But, for complete originality of genius, Bunyan, all things 
 considered, stands foremost amongst them all. The form of 
 his work, the nature of the subject, and its creation so com- 
 pletely out of the depths of his own soul, unaided by learn- 
 ing or art, place it before every other uninspired production. 
 Without the teaching of the Spirit of God, the genius of the 
 poet, though he were Shakspeare himself, could no more 
 have pourtrayed the inward life of the soul by external 
 images and allegories, than a man born blind could paint 
 the moon and the stars, the flowers, the forests, and the 
 foliage. The education of Bunyan was an education for 
 eternity, under the power of the Bible and the schooling of 
 the Holy Spirit. This is all that the pilgi-ims in this world 
 really need to make them good, great, powerful. But, set 
 aside the Bible, and in Bunyan’s education there was not 
 one of the elements out of which the genius and learning of 
 his contemporaries gathered strength and richness. Baxter 
 was not, any more than Bunyan, a child of the universities ; 
 but Baxter’s intellect was sharpened by a great exercise 
 with the schoolmen ; though, even if this discipline had been 
 entirely wanting in Baxter’s development, the result, on the 
 whole, might not have been less happy, nay, it might have 
 been richer. lie would not have preached with less fervour, 
 
BUJSYAN AND UIS TIMES. 
 
 17 
 
 nor less scriptural power and beauty ; and, though he might 
 not have been so keen a disputant, so subtle a casuist, yet 
 we cannot believe that his Saint’s Rest would have lost one 
 ray of its heavenly glory. Neither would the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress have gained in its beauty or its truth, — it would 
 have lost in both, — had Runyan’s soul been steeped in that 
 scholastic discipline, without which, the learned Selden used 
 to say, a divine knows nothing logically ; just as if the 
 Bible were not the best logic in the world ! Runyan never 
 heard of Thomas Aquinas, it is true, and he scarcely knew 
 the philosophical meaning of the word Logic any more than 
 a breathing child, whose pulse beats freely, knows the place 
 of its heart, or the movement of its lungs ; but Runyan 
 wrote the Pilgrim’s Progress for all that ; which, indeed, is 
 itself the sweet logic of Celestial Love. 
 
 Runyan’s own life is an illustration of the guidance of 
 Divine Providence, as clearly as his Pilgrim’s Progress is a 
 delineation of the work of the Divine Spirit. And perhaps 
 the Providence of God, in the education of this man, may 
 be traced quite as distinctly in the things from which he 
 shut out Runyan’s soul, in order to prepare him for his 
 mission, as in the influences by which he surrounded him. 
 The fountains from which he was prevented drinking, 
 though other men drank to the full, and almost worshipped 
 the springs, it was better to keep sealed from his soul, if 
 the pure river of the water of life was to flow through his 
 pages. This peculiarity of his training fitted him to be one 
 of the most original writei’s in the world. Almost the only 
 books Runyan ever read, at least before he wrote the Pil- 
 grim’s Progress, were the Bible, the Rook of Martyrs, a 
 copy of Luther on Galatians, and two volumes, the Plain 
 Man’s Path- way to Heaven, and the Practice of Piety, which 
 formed the marriage portion of his wife. Foxe’s old Book 
 of Martyrs had, next to the Bible, a great and thrilling 
 power over Runyan’s spirit. 
 
 Runyan has given an account of his own conversion and 
 life, especially of the workings of the grace of God, and the 
 guidance of his providence, in a little work entitled Grace 
 Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. It is powerfully writ- 
 
18 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 ten, though with extreme and studied plainness ; and almost 
 all the material obtained and worked into various shapes by 
 his various biographers was gained in that hook. It is 
 deeply interesting, and in following its delineation I shall 
 mark some successive particulars, in which the providence 
 and grace of God are clearly illustrated, and which, on a 
 comparison with the Pilgrim’s Progress, make it evident at 
 once that in that work Bunyan was following his own ex- 
 perience, and that in such experience, God was so ordering 
 all things as to fit Bunyan for that work. 
 
 As you read the Grace Abounding you are ready to say 
 at every step. Here is the future author of Pilgrim’s Progress. 
 It is as if you stood beside some great sculptor, and watched 
 every movement of his chisel, having had his design de- 
 scribed to you beforehand, so that at every blow some new 
 trait of beauty in the future statue comes clearly into view. 
 In the Grace Abounding you see at every step the work of 
 the Divine Artist on one of the most precious living stones 
 that ever his wisdom and mercy selected in this world to 
 shine in the glory of his living temple. Hay, to lay aside 
 every figure but that employed by the Holy Spirit, you see 
 the refiner’s fire, and the crucible, and the gold in it, and 
 the Heavenly Refiner himself sitting by it, and bending over 
 it, and carefully removing the dross, and tempering the heat, 
 and watching and waiting for his own perfect image. How 
 beautiful, how sacred, how solemn, how interesting, how 
 thrilling the process ! 
 
 But with Bunyan it begins in dreams. Would you think 
 it ? Indeed it is no illusion, but the very beginning of God’s 
 refining work on Bunyan’s soul. The future dreamer for 
 others was himself visited with dreams, and this is the first 
 point which I mark, where the providence and grace of God 
 are illustrated together ; for it is the first point which 
 Bunyan himself has noted down, after describing the ini- 
 quity of his childhood, “ in cursing, swearing, lying, and 
 blaspheming the holy name of God.” “ Yea,’* says he, so 
 settled and rooted was I in these things, that they became 
 as a second nature to me ; the which, as I have also with 
 soberness considered since, did so offend the Lord, that even 
 
BUNYA.N AND IIIS TIMES. 
 
 19 
 
 in my childhood he did scare and affirighten me with fearful 
 dreams, and did terrify me with fearful visions. For often 
 after I had spent this and the other day in sin, I have in 
 my hed been greatly afflicted while asleep, with the appre- 
 hensions of devils and wicked spirits, who still, as I then 
 thought, laboured to draw me away with them, of which 
 I never could be rid.” If now you would have a glimpse 
 of the nature of these terrifying dreams, wdth which Bun- 
 yan’s sinful childhood was visited, you have only to turn to 
 your Pilgrim’s Progress, and there read the powerful de- 
 scription of the last sight shewn to Christian in the House 
 of the Interpreter. There you have the manner in which, 
 even in Bunyan’s childish soul, his partly awakened con- 
 science, with his vivid imagination, and the word and the 
 Spirit of God, wrestled together. And now, before leaving 
 this point for another, let me call your attention to a text 
 strikingly illustrative of it, which I marvel that Bunyan 
 himself had not used, to which none of his biographers, 
 that I am aware of, save one, in dwelling upon his early 
 experience, have referred, but which, in the unconverted 
 state of a man made afterwards by God’s grace so signally 
 useful, receives, as well as reflects, a very striking illustra- 
 tion. It is that remarkable passage in Job, where the Divine 
 Spirit is recounting the discipline of God with his creatures 
 for the salvation of their souls. “ For 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 
 fclumberings upon the hed ; then he openeth the ears of men, 
 and sealeth their instruction, that he may withdraw man 
 from his purpose, and hide pride from man.” You may find 
 this in the thirty -third chapter, and the whole is worthy of 
 studying. Bunyan not only in his childhood, hut all his 
 life, was made the subject of such discipline. 
 
 The next point which I shall select as an illustration of 
 Divine Providence in Bunyan’s life, sets us down with him 
 in the Parliamentary army, as a soldier. It was probably 
 in 1645, at the siege of Leicester. He was drawn to be one 
 of the besiegers ; but when he was just ready to go upon 
 this perilous service, one of the company desired to go in his 
 
20 
 
 LECT13KE FIRST 
 
 room ; “ to which,” says Bunyan, “ when I had consented, 
 he took my place ; and coming to the siege, as he stood 
 sentinel, he was shot in the head with a musket bullet, and 
 died.” At this time he was seventeen years of age. Here,” 
 says Bunyan, were judgments and mercy, hut neither of 
 them did awaken my soul to righteousness ; wherefore 1 
 sinned still, and grew more and more rebellious against God, 
 and careless of my own salvation.” The providence of God 
 in Bunyan’s case was wonderfully similar to the instances 
 recorded in the early life of John JSTewton ; so were the 
 recklessness and habits of profaneness, in which, notwith- 
 standing these remarkable interpositions, he still persisted. 
 
 The next important point is Bunyan’s marriage, at the 
 time of which event he could not have been more than nine- 
 teen years of age. Upon this point we w'ould not lay so mucl] 
 stress as to say with some, that it constituted Bunyan’s sal- 
 vation ; but it was certainly a great step towards it. Bein^* 
 with a woman who had received from a godly father a reli- 
 gious education, it gave him a quiet, well-ordered home ; 
 and through the instrumentality of two excellent hooks, 
 which his wife brought to him as her only marriage portion 
 (the Plain Man’s Pathway to Heaven, and the Practice of 
 Piety), it begat in him some desires to reform his vicious life. 
 He and his wife would read together in these books, and then 
 young Mrs Bunyan would bring her own recollections of the 
 godly life of her father in aid of her husband’s better impulses. 
 All these things together wrought upon him for an external 
 reformation at least, and produced certain church -going 
 habits, to fall in, as Bunyan says, very eagerly with the 
 religion of the times ; to wit, to go to church twice a-da}^, 
 and that too with the foremost ; and there should very de- 
 voutly both say and sing, as others did, yet retaining my 
 wicked life ; but withal I was so overrun with the spirit ol 
 superstition, that I adored, and that with great devotion, 
 even all things, both the high place, priest, clerk, vestment- 
 service, and what else, belonging to the church ; counting 
 all things holy that were therein contained, and especially 
 the priest and clerk most happy, and without doubt greatly 
 blessed.” This conceit grew so strong in a little time upon 
 
BUiVYAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 21 
 
 my spirit, that, had I but seen a priest, though never so 
 sordid and debauched in his life, I should find my spirit fall 
 under him, reverence him, and knit unto him ; yea, I thought 
 for the love I did hear unto them, supposing they were the 
 ministers of God, I could have laid down at their feet, and 
 have been trampled on by them ; their name, their garb, and 
 work did so intoxicate and bewitch me.” 
 
 This stage in Bunyan’s experience is exceedingly curious 
 and instructive ; his mind seems to have been in that state 
 of bondage which we cdM priest-ridden ; heartily as he after- 
 wards hated the pope, it would not have taken much, at this 
 time, to have carried him completely over to Rome. Had 
 he lived in our day, with such an experience, he would 
 assuredly have made what some might be disposed to call 
 a thorough -going Puseyite. Such was the intoxicating effect 
 of the glare of religious formalism upon his soul, that he 
 adored, and that with great devotion, all things belonging 
 to the church. Mark the phraseology, and see if it does not 
 wonderfully characterize some in our day. He did not adore 
 God, but the church, and the things in it, and the forms of 
 it, its altar, priest, clerk, vestments. Never was described 
 more to the life that sentimental mixture of superstition and 
 devotion, which, borrowing something from the Spirit, but 
 bewildered and carried into ecstasies by the beauty of reli- 
 gious rites, rests in and worships, not the Saviour, but the 
 form. In this state of mind, if Bunyan had seen a babe 
 baptized, the holy water and the white robe of the priest, 
 and the sign of the cross, would have made a mucli deeper 
 impression on his soul, than the name of Father, Son, and 
 Holy Ghost, named upon an immortal spirit. And now 
 mark the intimate connection between this ecstatic reverence 
 for priests and forms, and the belief that church membership, 
 though merely by the apostolical succession of birth, con- 
 stitutes salvation. Bunyan, finding in Scripture that the 
 Israelites were once the peculiar people of God, concluded 
 that if he could be found to have sprang from that race, his 
 soul must needs be happy. He asked his father about it, but 
 received an answer which destroyed all his hopes, for neither 
 he nor his family were of the lineage of Israel. 
 
22 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 It has been conjectured from this passage, that Bunyan’s 
 family were Gypsies, and that this was the reason why he 
 asked his father if they were not descended from the Israel- 
 ites, intending, if he found they were so descended, to have 
 considered himself as belonging to the only true church, and 
 all the rest of the world as entitled only to God’s uncove- 
 nanted mercies, that is, to remediless perdition. There is no 
 knowing to what extreme this state of mind might have 
 carried Bunyan, had it lasted. As it was, it gave him an 
 insight into the nature, power, and danger of formalism, 
 which nothing else could have taught him, neither discipline 
 nor instruction. For all this while,” he says, I was not 
 sensible of the danger and evil of sin ; I was kept from con- 
 sidering that sin would damn me whatsoever religion I fol- 
 lowed, unless I was found in Christ ; nay, I never thought 
 of him, nor whether there were such an one or no.” There 
 is no telling, I say, what might have been the end of this in 
 Bunyan’s soul ; hut now comes, — 
 
 A fourth point, specially illustrating the providence and 
 grace of God, namely, a sermon which Bunyan heard on the 
 holiness of the Sabbath, and the evil of breaking it. This 
 ran directly athwart one of Bimyan’s besetting sins ; for 
 notwithstanding his thorough Churchism, he says he took 
 much delight in all manner of vice, and did solace himself 
 especially therewith on the Sabbath day. He went home from 
 this sermon to his dinner with a great load upon his con- 
 science, hut he soon shook it off, and after dinner went out 
 with all zest to his sports and gaming. As suddenly as a 
 miracle his convictions returned upon him. That very same 
 day, as he was in the midst of a game of cat, and having 
 struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to 
 strike it a second time, a voice did suddenly dart from heaven 
 into my soul, which said. Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to 
 lieaven, or have thy sins and go to hell ? At this I was put to 
 an exceeding amaze ; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the 
 ground, I looked up to heaven, and was as if I had seen with 
 the eyes of my understanding, the Lord Jesus looking down 
 upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if 
 
BUKYAN AND IIIS TIMES. 
 
 23 
 
 lie did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment 
 for these and other ungodly practices,” 
 
 “ I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but sud- 
 denly this conclusion was fastened upon my spirit (for the 
 former hint did set my sins again before my face), that I had 
 been a great and grievous sinner, and that it was now too 
 late for me to look after heaven ; for Christ would not for- 
 give me, nor pardon my transgressions. Then I fell to mus- 
 ing on this also ; and while I was thinking of it, and fear- 
 ing lest it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair, con- 
 cluding it was too late ; and therefore I resolved in my mind 
 to go on in sin ; for, thought I, if the case be thus, my state 
 is surely miserable ; miserable if I leave my sins, and but 
 miserable if I follow them ; I can but be damned, and if I 
 must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins, as 
 damned for few. Thus I stood in the midst of my play, be- 
 fore all that then were present ; but yet I told them no- 
 thing : but I say, having made this conclusion, I returned 
 desperately to my sport again. The good Lord, whose 
 mercy is unsearchable, forgive my transgressions !” 
 
 We should like to see a picture by the hand of a master, 
 representing Bunyan in the midst of his game of cat, ar- 
 rested thus suddenly by the fire of conviction flashing up in 
 bis soul, and thrown into this appalling reverie in the midst 
 of his wondering companions, with the thoughts of his past 
 life and of the coming judgment, flying through his awak- 
 ened mind swifter than the lightning. What a scene was 
 this, and how little could Bunyan’s merry playmates have 
 imagined the commotion in his soul ! This rapid crowded 
 moment must have been as a year to Bunyan ; it was like 
 those dreams, in which the soul lives a life-time in an hour. 
 The words that were kindled with such power in Bunyan's 
 conscience, that he seemed to hear them, may have been 
 spoken to him in the very sermon to which he listened in 
 the morning. But returning desperately from this dream 
 of conscience to his sport, he shook off his convictions, re- 
 sisted the Holy Ghost, and afterwards fell to cursing and 
 swearing, and playing the madman at such a fearful rate, 
 that even wicked people were astonished at him. 
 
24 
 
 XjECTURE first. 
 
 On one occasion, while he was garnishing his discourses, 
 as he termed it, with oaths at the beginning and the end, 
 an abandoned woman, who stood by, severely reproved him, 
 and told his companions to quit his conversation, or he 
 would make them as bad as himself. This strange and un- 
 expected reproof of the bold blasphemer reached the child’s 
 heart, that still lived within him. He stood by the shop- 
 window, and hung his head in silence ; and the language, 
 in which he has told the effect of this rebuke upon him, is 
 a most exquisitely beautiful revelation of the simplicity of 
 his nature, yet undestroyed amidst all his evil habits. 
 
 While I stood there,” says he, I wished with all my 
 heart that I might be a little child again, that my father 
 might learn me to speak without this wicked way of swear- 
 ing.” He thought himself so accustomed to it that he could 
 not leave it off ; but he did from that moment. 
 
 Bunyan’s character was not unlike that of Peter. They 
 seemed both to have been profane swearers ; for the sudden 
 outbreak of this devil in Peter, at the time of his denial of 
 Christ, we take to be the reproduction of an early habit, and 
 not a new one, assumed for the moment. The change 
 wrought by divine grace in the character of Peter, of Bun- 
 yan, and of Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress, seems mar- 
 vellously similar. Southey has observed, apparently by way 
 of some excuse for the arrest of Bunyan by the Establish- 
 ment, that his office of preaching may well be deemed in- 
 compatible with his calling. Perhaps the poet and histo- 
 rian had forgotten, or might never have had his attention 
 directed to a passage, which he could have found in the Acts 
 of the Apostles, descriptive of the early teachers and preachers 
 of Christianity : And because he was of the same craft, 
 
 he abode with them and wrought : for by their occupation 
 they were tent-makers.” John Bunyan had no more need 
 to be ashamed of his temporal, than of his spiritual calling ; 
 nor was there any such inconsistency between the two, as 
 could form the most distant shadow of justification to a 
 persecuting hierarchy for forbidding him to speak in the 
 name of Christ, to the people. Indeed, had the tinker 
 of Bedford been pursuing his humble occupation when 
 
13UNYA>’ AND IIIS ^IMES. 2i) 
 
 Matthew, Peter, and John were upon earth, his was a clia- 
 racter of such native elements, that he might have been cho- 
 sen as one of their associates in the work of the primitive 
 Gospel ministry^ Our Saviour committed the Gospel to un- 
 learned, but not to ignorant men ; and Bunyan, though illite- 
 rate, was not ignorant ; no man is so, wlio believing with the 
 heart in him who is the Light of the World, beholds spiri- 
 tual realities, and acts with reference to them. The fears,’' 
 says Mr Coleridge in his Aids to Reflection, the hopes, the 
 remembrances, the anticipations, the inward and outward 
 experience, the belief and the faith of a Christian, form 
 themselves a philosophy and a sum of knowledge, which a 
 life spent in the grove of Academus or the painted Porch, 
 could not have attained or collected.” 
 
 The fifth point which I shall mention as illustrating both 
 the providence and grace of God in preparing Bunyan for 
 his great work, not only in converting his soul, and fitting 
 him for the ministry, but preparing him for the painting of 
 that beautiful map of the divine life in the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress, is the succession of characters he met with in his own 
 experience. He worked his way, you are well aware, by 
 the Spirit of God, out of the ignorance and vice by which he 
 was surrounded, against much opposition, and with very 
 little aid from any of his fellow-creatures. And yet, all 
 along in his own experience, you meet the germ of those 
 characters afterwards so fully developed, so vigorously 
 painted, in the progress of his pilgrim. His mind was as a 
 magic lantern, or camera obscura, through which every form 
 and figure that fell upon it was revealed again in glowing 
 life and beauty on the canvass. The first that I shall name 
 is his own Mr Legality, who, however, afterwards became, 
 in Bunyan’s words, a devilish ranter, giving himself over to 
 all manner of sin and wickedness. Under the influence of 
 this man, and his pleasant talk of the Scriptures and the 
 matter of religion, Bunyan, like his own Christian at first 
 setting out, went to Mount Sinai. “ Wherefore,” he says, 
 I fell to some outward reformation, both in my words and 
 life, and did set the commandments before me for my way to 
 heaven ; which commandments I also did strive to keep. 
 
26 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 and, as I thought, did keep them pretty well sometimes, and 
 then I should have comfort ; yet now and then should break 
 one, and so afflict my conscience : but then I should repent, 
 and say I was sorry for it, and promised God to do better 
 next time, and then got help again ; for then I thought I 
 pleased God as well as any man in England. Thus I con- 
 tinued about a year ; all which time our neighbours did 
 take me to be a very godly man, a new and religious man, 
 and did marvel much to see such a great and famous altera- 
 tion in my life and manners, and indeed so it was, though I 
 knew not Christ, nor grace, nor faith, nor hope ; for, as I 
 have well since seen, had I then died, my state had then been 
 most fearful.” 
 
 But I say my neighbours were amazed at this my great 
 conversion from prodigious profaneness to something like a 
 moral life ; and truly so they well might ; for this my con- 
 v^ersion was as great, as for Tom of Bedlam to become a 
 sober man. Now therefore they began to praise, to com- 
 mend, and to speak well of me, both to my face and behind 
 my back. Now I was, as they said, become godly ; now I 
 was become a right honest man. But oh, when I understood 
 these were their words and opinions of me, it pleased me 
 mighty well. For though as yet I was nothing but a poor 
 painted hypocrite, yet I loved to be talked of as one that was 
 truly godly. I was proud of my godliness, and indeed I did 
 all I did, either to be seen of, or to be well spoken of by 
 men ; and thus I continued for about a twelvemonth, or 
 more.” 
 
 Here he was, according to Mr Worldly Wiseman’s direc- 
 tions, under Mount Sinai. But now the mountain began 
 to quake and thunder at a dreadful rate, and flames came 
 out of it, and threatened to consume him. He saw more of 
 this afterwards ; But, poor wretch as I was,” he says, I 
 was all this while ignorant of Jesus Christ, and going about 
 to establish my own righteousness, and had perished therein, 
 had not God in mercy shewed me more of my own state by 
 nature.” 
 
 At this very time, one of the happiest impulses and most 
 remarkable helps he ever received in his spiritual conflicts, 
 
BONXAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 27 
 
 came from the conversation of three or four godly women 
 sitting at a door in the sun, and talking joyfully of the 
 things of God. Bunyan, busy at his occupation, drew near 
 and listened like a child to all they said. Methought,” he 
 says, ^Hhey spake as if joy did make them speak. They 
 spake with much pleasantness of scripture language, and 
 with such appearance of grace in all they said, that they 
 were to me as if I had found a new world ; as if they were 
 a people that dwelt alone, and were not to be reckoned among 
 their neighbours.” These holy, happy women, sitting in 
 the sun, may have dwelt as a sun-lit picture in Bun^^an’s 
 imagination, till the vision was transfigured into that beauti- 
 ful incident of the Three Shining Ones, who met Christian 
 at the Cross, and gave him his robe and his roll. There 
 were other incidents also, and lights in his experience, which 
 contributed to form that picture ; for Bunyan’s was thaj 
 great quality of genius, as well as of piety, which all uncon 
 sciously generalizes, and then combines into unity, even the 
 most distant and separate events and experiences, that have 
 a secret affinity, that spring from one principle or cause. 
 The conversation of these holy, happy women, who evidently 
 possessed an experience, such as he knew nothing of, set 
 Bunyan at this time to questioning his own condition, and 
 gave him an insight into the wickedness of his own heart, 
 and the nature of true religion, and produced in him a long- 
 ing desire after its blessedness, such as he never before 
 possessed. The state and happiness of these poor people 
 presented a lovely vision to him ; and at length, after much 
 conflict and inward temptation, he was persuaded to break 
 his mind to them, and tell them his condition. And here 
 he found sweet sympathy and guidance, for they were 
 humble, happy, kind-hearted ChristLms, and as soon as they 
 heard Bunyan’s recital of his troubles, they ran and told 
 their pastor, Mr Gifford, about him, and with how much 
 joy we may well conceive. We may, perhaps, be reminded 
 by these holy happy women of the three heavenly maidens. 
 Prudence, Piety, and Charity, whose discourse with Christian 
 was so rich, who shewed him the rarities of the House 
 Beautiful, and who placed him for rest in a large upper 
 
28 
 
 LEOTUKE FIRST. 
 
 chamber^ whose windows opened to the siin-rising ; the name 
 of the cliamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, 
 and then he awoke and sang. 
 
 And now came a new and blessed era in his religious life, 
 for this holy Mr GritFord” was a remarkable man, a man of 
 deep piety and joy, and well prepared, by his own spiritual 
 conflicts, to guide Bunyan through his. This man took 
 Bunyan under his careful charge, and invited him to his 
 house, where he could hear him converse with others about 
 the dealings of God with their souls. This man was, indeed, 
 the original of that delightful portrait of Evangelist in the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress, a character drawn from real life, being 
 such an one as met Bun}^an himself on his wandering way 
 from the City of Destruction, and expounded unto him the 
 way of God more perfectly.” Of this man, Bunyan after- 
 wards says, “ I sat under the ministry of holy Mr Gifford, 
 whose doctrine, by God’s grace, was much for my stability. 
 This man made it much his business to deliver the people of 
 God from all those hard and unsound tests, that by nature 
 we are prone to. He would bid us take special heed that we 
 took not up any truth upon trust, as from this or that, or 
 any other man or men ; but cry mightily to God that he 
 would convince us of the reality thereof, and set us down 
 therein, by his own Spirit in the holy word ; for, said he, if 
 you do otherwise, when temptation comes, if strongly upon 
 you, you not having received them with evidence from 
 heaven, will find you want that help and strength now to 
 resist, which once you thought you had.” This, Bunyan 
 says, was as seasonable to my soul as the former and latter 
 rain in their season.” The Spirit of God led Bunyan to act 
 according to these directions ; and this was, as we shall see, 
 one great cause of his wonderful power in the scriptures. 
 
 Into this Baptist Church of Christ, under this holy pastor, 
 Bunyan was received in the year 1653, when about twenty- 
 five years of age. And now having traced him to this point, 
 let me say a word in regard to that work, Grace Abounding, 
 from which I have drawn my illustrations of Divine Pro- 
 vidence and grace in Bunyan’s life. I cannot close without 
 recommending it to the very careful perusal of all, who 
 
BUNYAN Ax\D IIIS TIMES. 
 
 29 
 
 would have a deeper relish and more thorough understanding 
 of the beauties of the Pilgrim’s Progress. It is a marvellous 
 book, and cannot but be a precious book to every soul that 
 reads it with a sober, prayerful spirit. Its pages are, next 
 to the Pilgrim’s Progress, invaluable. It is condensed, severe, 
 and naked in its style, beneath the pent fire of Bunyan’s 
 feelings, and the pressure of his conscience, forbidding him 
 to seek for beauty. He says of it himself ; “ I could have 
 stepped into a style much higher than this, in which I have 
 here discoursed, and could have adorned all things more than 
 I have seemed to do ; but I dare not. God did not play in 
 tempting of me ; neither did I play when the pangs of hell 
 caught hold upon me, wherefore I may not play in relating 
 of them ; but be plain and simple, and lay down the thing 
 as it was. He that liketh it, let him receive it ; and he that 
 doth not, let him produce a better.” The very extreme 
 plainness of this work adds to its power ; never was the 
 inward life of any being depicted with more vehement and 
 burning language ; it is an intensely interesting description 
 of the workings of a mind of the keenest sensibility and 
 most fervid imagination, convinced of guilt, and fully awake 
 to all the dread realities of eternity. 
 
 Sometimes, with all its plainness and solemnity, it is 
 almost comic, like Luther’s own humour, as in the dialogues 
 of Bunyan’s soul with the Tempter. It possesses, indeed, 
 the elements of a great spiritual drama. The Faust of Goethe 
 is not to be compared with it for truth and depth and vivid- 
 ness. There are but few actors, but those how solemn, how 
 grand, how awful ! An immortal spirit, and its great 
 adversary the devil, are in almost unceasing conflict ; but 
 such a stamp of reality, such discrimination, such flashing 
 of lights, such crossing of the swords of Michael and of Satan, 
 such a revelation of the power of divine truth, and of the 
 blessed ministration of the Spirit of God, you can find nowhere 
 else out of the Bible. It is a great battle ; heaven and hell 
 are contending ; you have the gleam of armour, the roar of 
 artillery, fire and smoke and blood-red vapour, in which 
 ofttimes the combatants themselves are lost from your view. 
 
 You follow with intense interest the movements of Bunyan’a 
 
30 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 soul. You seem to see a lonely bark driving across the 
 ocean in a hurricane. By the flashes of the lightning you 
 can just discern her through the darkness, plunging and 
 labouring fearfully in the midnight tempest, and you think 
 that all is lost ; but there again you behold her in the quiet 
 sunshine ; or the moon and the stars look down upon her, as 
 the wind breathes softly ; or, in a fresh and favourable gale, 
 she flies across the flying waters. Now it is clouds and rain 
 and hail and rattling thunder, storms coming down as sudden, 
 almost, as the lightning ; and now again her white sails 
 glitter in heaven’s light, like an Albatross in the spotless 
 horizon. The last glimpse you catch of her, she is gloriously 
 entering the harbour, the haven of eternal rest ; yea, you 
 see her like a star, that in the morning of eternity dies into 
 the light of Heaven. Can there be any thing more interest- 
 ing, than thus to follow the perilous course of an immortal 
 soul, from danger to safety, from conflict to victory, from 
 temptation to triumph, from suffering to blessedness, from 
 the City of Destruction to the City of God ? 
 
 Bunyan’s genius I had almost said was created by his 
 piety ; the fervour and depth of his religious feelings formed 
 its most important elements of power, and its materials to 
 work upon. His genius also pursued a path dictated by his 
 piety, and one that no other being in the world ever pursued 
 before him. The light that first broke through his darkness 
 was light from heaven. It found him, even that being who 
 wrote the Pilgrim’s Progress, coarse, profane, boisterous, and 
 almost brutal. It shone before him, and with a single eye 
 he followed it, till his native City of Destruction could no 
 longer be seen in the distance, till his moral deformities fell 
 from him, and his garments became purity and light. The 
 Spirit of God was his teacher ; the very discipline of his 
 intellect was a spiritual discipline ; the conflicts that his 
 soul sustained with the powers of darkness were the very 
 sources of his intellectual strength. 
 
 Southey called the experience of this man, in one stage of 
 it, a burning and feverish enthusiasm. The poet Cowper, 
 in one of his beautiful letters to Lady Hesketh, after describ- 
 ing his own feelings, remarks^ What I have written would 
 
BUNYAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 31 
 
 appear like enthusiasm to many, for we are apt to give that 
 name to every warm affection of the mind in others, which 
 we have not experienced in ourselves.” It would have been 
 the truth, as well as the better philosophy, if Southey had 
 said that the Spirit of God was preparing Bunyan, by that 
 severe discipline, to send forth into the world the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress. And when he was at length prepared for the task, 
 then an overruling Providence placed him, through the 
 instrumentality of his own enemies, in the prison of Bedford 
 to accomplish it. 
 
 Bunyan’s imagination was powerful enough, in connection 
 with his belief in God’s superintending providence, to array 
 his inward trials with a sensible shape, and external events 
 with a light reflected from his own experience ; hopes and 
 fears were friends and enemies, acting in concert with them ; 
 all things he met with in the world were friends or enemies 
 likewise, according as they aided or opposed his spiritual 
 life. He acted always under one character, the Christian 
 soldier, realizing in his own conflicts and conquests the pro- 
 gress of his own Pilgrim. Therefore his book is a perfect 
 reality in oneness as a whole, and in every page a book not 
 of imagination and shadows, but of realities experienced. 
 To those who have never set out on this pilgrimage, nor 
 encountered its dangers, it is interesting, as would be a book 
 powerfully written of travels in an unknown romantic land. 
 Regarded as a work of original genius simply, without taking 
 into view its spiritual meaning, it is a wonder to all, and 
 cannot cease to be. Though a book of personification and 
 allegory, it enchants the simplest child, as powerfully, almost, 
 as the story of Aladdin and his Lamp, or the Adventures of 
 Sinbad the Sailor, or the history of Robinson Crusoe him- 
 self. It is interesting to all who have any taste for poetical 
 beauty, in the same manner as Spenser’s Fairy Queen, or we 
 might mention, especially for the similar absorbing interest 
 we take in all that happens to the hero, the Odyssey of 
 Homer. 
 
 And yet its interest for the imagination is in reality the 
 smallest portion of its power ; and it will be pleasing to the 
 imagination just in proportion as the mind of the reader has 
 
32 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 been accustomed to interpret the things of this life by their 
 connection with another, and by the light that comes from 
 that world to this. A reader who has not formed this habit, 
 nor ever felt that he is a stranger and pilgrim in a world of 
 temptations and snares, can see but half the beauty of such 
 poetry as fills this work, because it cannot make its appeal 
 lo his own experience ; for him there is nothing within, that 
 tells more certainly than any process of judgment or criti- 
 cism the truth and sweetness of the picture ; there is no 
 reflection of its images, nor interpretation of its meaning in 
 his own soul. The Christian, the actual pilgrim, reads it 
 with another eye. It comes to his heart. It is like a paint- 
 ing meant to be exhibited by fire-light ; the common reader 
 sees it by day. To the Christian it is a glorious transparency ; 
 and the light that shines through it, and gives its incidents 
 such life, its colours such depth, and the whole scene such 
 a surpassing glory, is light from eternity, the meaning of 
 heaven. 
 
 I repeat it, therefore, as truth very evident, that the true 
 beauty of the allegory in the Pilgrim’s Progress can be felt 
 only by a religious mind. No one, indeed, can avoid ad- 
 miring it. The honest nature in the characters, their homely 
 truth, the simplicity and good sense of the conversations, the 
 beauty of the incidents, the sweetness of the scenery through 
 which the reader is conducted, the purity of the language, 
 
 “ The humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style. 
 
 To teach the gayest, make the gravest smile 
 
 all these things to the eye of the severest critic are beauti- 
 ful, and he who loves to xead Shakspeare will admire them, 
 and on common ground. But such a reader, in respect to the 
 veiled beauty of the allegory, is like a deaf man, to whom 
 you speak of the sweetness of musical sounds. Of the faith- 
 fulness with which Bunyan has depicted the inward trials of 
 the Christian conflict ; of the depth and power of the appeal 
 which that book makes to the Christian’s heart ; of the 
 accuracy and beauty of the map therein drawn of the deal- 
 ings of the Spirit of Cod in leading the sinner from the City 
 of Destruction to Mount Zion above ; he knows and can con- 
 ceive nothing. It is like Milton’s daughters reading aloud 
 
BUNYAN AND UIS TIMES. 
 
 33 
 
 from his Hebrew Bible to the blind poet, while they could 
 only pronounce the words, but were ignorant of the sacred 
 meaning, nor could divine the nature of the inspiration it 
 excited in his soul. Little can such a reader see 
 
 “ Of all that power of prospect, 
 
 Whereof many thousands tell.” 
 
 And I might go on to express, in Wordsworth’s delightful 
 poetry, what is the utmost of the admiration excited by a 
 common, and not a Christian perusal of the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress : — 
 
 “ The western sky did recompense us well 
 With Grecian Temple, minaret and bower ; 
 
 And in one part a minster with its tower 
 Substantially expressed. 
 
 Many a glorious pile 
 
 Did we beheld ; fair sights that might repay 
 All disappointment. And as such the eye 
 Delighted in them ; but we felt the while 
 We should forget them. 
 
 The grove, the sky-built temple, and the dome. 
 
 Though clad in colours beautiful and pure. 
 
 Find in the heart of man no natural home. 
 
 The immortal mind craves objects that endure.” 
 
 Yes ! it is perfectly true that no critical admiration of this 
 work, overlooking its immortal meaning, sees any thing of 
 its enduring beauty ; to look at it aright, we heed a portion 
 of the same spiritual faith by which it was inspired, by 
 which only it can be explained. 
 
 “ Who scoffs these sympathies 
 Makes mock of the Divinity within.” 
 
 In the light of eternity, this book is as far superior to a 
 common poem of this world, or of man’s temporal being 
 and affections, as the soul of man is superior to the clod it 
 inhabits. Whatever connects itself with man’s spiritual 
 being, turns his attention to spiritual interest and realities, 
 and rouses his imagination to take hold on eternity, pos- 
 sesses, the mere philosopher would say, a dignity and power 
 with which nothing else can be invested. Religion does this. 
 In her range of contemplation there is truer and deeper 
 poetry, than in the whole world, and all man’s being else. 
 Dr Johnson, in his Life of Waller, advances the strange opi- 
 nion, that devotion is not a fit subject for poetry, and in his 
 
34 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 dogmatical way dedicates some space to an inquiry why it 
 is so. “ Contemplative poetry,” he says, or the intercourse 
 between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical. Man, 
 admitted to implore the mercy of his Creator, is already in 
 a higher state than poetry can confer. The essence of poetry 
 is invention ; such invention as, by producing something 
 unexpected, surprises and delights. The topics of devotion 
 are few, and being few, are universally known ; but few as 
 they are, they can be made no more ; they can receive no 
 grace from novelty of sentiment, and very little from novelty 
 of expression.” In this sweeping style Johnson proceeds 
 with criticism that, notwithstanding our deference for his 
 great intellect, might be shewn, on philosophical grounds, 
 to be as poor, as the assertions are authoritative. The very 
 definition of poetry is a most degrading one ; and it is the 
 only one to which the reasoning will at all apply ; the whole 
 passage shews what a low estimate and false views the “ wits” 
 of the Augustan Age” of English literature possessed of the 
 greatest of all intellectual subjects. It would not have been 
 thought that a being who could admire the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress as Johnson did, would have reasoned in this manner. 
 That book itself is a refutation of the sentiment quoted ; so 
 is Cowper’s Task ; so is Blair’s Grave ; so is even George 
 Herbert’s little volume of Devotional Poetry. 
 
 And how can it be otherwise ? If man is not a mere 
 creature of this world ; if his vision is not restricted to the 
 shadows that have closed around him ; if he is connected 
 with another, an eternal world, a world of higher intelli- 
 gences, of angels, and arch-angels, and beings free from sin 
 — a world, where the Creator of this and of all worlds 
 manifests his immediate presence, where the veil of flesh will 
 no longer be held before the eye of the soul ; — and if, by the 
 revelation which God has made, and by communion with 
 his Maker through Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the 
 Life, man becomes acquainted by inward experience, ana 
 by that faith which is the soul’s spiritual vision, with the 
 powers of that world to come ; — then will those far-seen 
 visions, and all the objects of this world on which light from 
 tliat world falls, and all man’s thoughts, affections, and 
 
BUNYAN AND IIIS TIMES. 
 
 35 
 
 movements in regard to that world, possess an interest, and 
 wear a glory, that makes them more appropriately the pro- 
 vince of the poetical imagination than any other subjects 
 in the universe. And the poetry of this world will rise in 
 magnificence, in proportion as it borrows or reflects the light 
 from that. 
 
 From worlds not quickened by the sun 
 
 A portion of the gift is won : 
 
 An intermingling of Heaven’s pomp is spread 
 
 On ground which British shepherds tread ! ‘ 
 
 All truth, to the humble mind, is poetry : spiritual truth is 
 eminently so. We long to witness a better understanding of 
 its sublime laws, an acknowledgment of its great fountain, 
 and a more worthy appreciation of its nature ; to have it 
 felt and acknowledged that there is poetry in this world, 
 only because light from heaven shines upon it ; because it is 
 full of hieroglyphics, whose meaning points to the eternal 
 world ; because man is immortal, and this world is only the 
 habitation of his infancy, and possesses power to rouse his 
 imagination only in proportion as it is invested with moral 
 grandeur by his own wonderful destiny ; and by the light 
 reflected down upon it from the habitation of angels. All on 
 earth is shadow, and all in heaven is substance. Truly as 
 well as feelingly did Burke exclaim, “ What shadows we 
 are, and what shadows we pursue !” We are encompassed 
 by shadows and flitting apparitions and semi-transparencies, 
 that wear the similitude of greatness, only because they are 
 near us, and interposed between our vision and the world of 
 eternal reality and light. Man of the world ! you know 
 not what poetry is, till you know God, and can hail in every 
 created thing the manifestation of omnipresent Deity ! Look 
 at the highest creations of the art, and behold how they owe 
 their power over the human soul to the presence of the 
 idea of that Being, the thought of whom transfigures the 
 movements of the imagination with glory, and makes lan- 
 guage itself almost divine ! What is it that gives to Cole- 
 ridge’s Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouney, the 
 deep, unutterable sublimity, that awes the soul into worship, 
 and suffuses the eye with swelling tears ? What, but the 
 thought of Him, to whose praise that stupendous moun- 
 
36 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 tain, with its sky-pointing peaks and robe of silent cataracts, 
 rises like a cloud of incense from the earth ? — 
 
 “ Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! ^ 
 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
 Beneath the keen, full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers. 
 
 Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? 
 
 God ! Let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
 
 Answer— and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 
 
 And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow. 
 
 And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !” 
 
 There is a spiritual world, and it is a world of light and 
 grandeur ! Man’s relation to it is the greatest theme that 
 poet or philosopher ever yet exercised his powers upon. It 
 broods over him like the day, a master o’er a slave. 
 
 “ A presence which is not to be put- by !” 
 
 The truths that man is fallen, exposed because of sin to the 
 just indignation of God, in peril of his soul for ever, the ob- 
 ject of all the stupendous histories and scenes of revelation 
 recorded in the Bible, surrounded by dangers, and directed 
 how to avoid them, pointed to heawen, and told what to do 
 tliat he may enter there, and watched in all his course with 
 anxiety by heavenly spirits, do, rightly considered, throw 
 round every spiritual movement a thrilling, absorbing in- 
 terest ; an interest, for the individual who knows and feels 
 it personally, too deep and awful, till he is in a place of 
 safety, to be the subject of poetry. He can no more com- 
 mand attention to the sublimity of his situation, than Lot, 
 hurried by the hand of the angel to Zoar, with the storm of 
 fire rushing after him, could have stood to admire burning 
 Sodom and Gomorrah. It was not amidst his distressing 
 conflicts with the enemy, when it seemed as if his soul would 
 be wrested from his body, that a thought of the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress came in upon the Author’s mind. It was when 
 the Fiend had spread his dragon wings and fled for ever, and 
 the hand came to him with leaves from the Tree of Life, and 
 the presence of God gladdened him, and on the mountain 
 summit, light shone around him, and a blessed prospect 
 stretched before him, with the Celestial City at its close, 
 that that sweet vision rose upon his view. To the Pilgrim, 
 
BUNYAN AND HIS TIMES. 
 
 37 
 
 looking back from a safe resting-place^ all the way is fraught 
 with poetical recollections and associations. His imagina- 
 tion now sees a spiritual life full of beauty. In the new 
 light that shines upon him, he loves to retrace it again and 
 again, and to lift his hands in grateful, speechless wonder at 
 the unutterable goodness of the Lord of the Way. lie is 
 like Jacob, sleeping in the open air of Padan-aram, and 
 dreaming of heaven. Angels of God are ascending and 
 descending continually before his sight. His are no longer 
 the 
 
 “ Blank misgivings of a creature 
 Moving about in worlds not realized,” 
 
 but the rejoicings of a weary Pilgrim, on whose forehead 
 the mark of Heaven has been placed, and who sees close at 
 hand his everlasting rest. Once within the strait gate, and 
 in the holy confidence of being a Pilgrim hound from the 
 City of Destruction to the City of Immanuel, and all past 
 circumstances of trial or danger, or of unexpected relief and 
 security, wear a charmed aspect. Light from a better world 
 shines upon them. Distance softens and lends enchantment 
 to the view. Proof from experience as well as warnings 
 from above, shew how many dangerous places he has passed, 
 how many concealed and malignant enemies were here and 
 there lying in ambush around him, and in how many in- 
 stances there were hairbreadth escapes from ruin. There 
 were the Slough of Despond, the fiery darts at the entrance 
 to the Wicket Gate, the hill Difficulty, that pleasant arbour 
 where he lost his roll of assurance, the lions that so terrified 
 him, when in the darkness of evening he could not see that 
 they were chained ; there was that dark valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, and that dread conflict with Apollyon 
 before it. There were those fearful days and nights passed 
 in the Dungeon of the Castle of Giant Despair, and the joy- 
 ful escape from his territories. There were the Land Beulah, 
 and the Delectable Mountains, and the Enchanted Ground, 
 and all the glimpses of the Holy City, not dream-like, hut 
 distinct and full of glory, breaking in upon the vision, to last 
 in the savour of them, for many days and nights of the 
 blessed pilgrimage ! Ingenious Dreamer, who could invest 
 
38 
 
 LECTURE FIRST. 
 
 a life of such realities with a colouring so full of Heaven ! 
 Who can wonder at the affectionate sympathy, with which 
 a heart like Cowper’s was wont to turn to thee ? 
 
 “ And e’en in transitory life’s late day 
 That mingled all his brown with sober gray, 
 
 Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road. 
 
 And guides the Progrkss of the soul to God.” 
 
LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 IBungan’g Ceraptationis. 
 
 The Valley of the Shadow of Death in Bunyan’s experience— Blasphemous 
 suggestions of Satan — Bunyan’s meeting with Luther— Conflict of scripture 
 with scripture in his mind — The fiery darts of the Wicked One — Power 
 of conscience by the aid of memory— Bunyan’s intense study of the Bible — 
 Secret of his power in preaching — Of the purity and simplicity of his style 
 —Bunyan’s call to the ministry— Existence and agency of Satan as the 
 Tempter and Adversary of Mankind. 
 
 We come now to a great and important subject — Bun- 
 yan’s temptations. In the midst of deep and terrible con- 
 victions of sin, he received great comfort and joy on hearing 
 a sermon preached on the love of Christ. He was so taken 
 with the love and mercy of God, as he says, that he could 
 scarcely contain himself till he got home. To use his own 
 graphic language, “ I thought 1 could have spoken of his 
 love, and have told of his mercy to me, even to the crows 
 that sat upon the ploughed lands before me, had they been 
 capable to have understood me ; wherefore I said to my soul 
 with much gladness. Well, I would I had a pen and ink here, 
 I would write this down befoi’e I go any farther ; for surely 
 I will not forget this forty years hence.” But now very 
 speedily began to be renewed the great power of inward 
 temptation upon him. I must tell the warning he had of 
 it, and the beginning of it, in his own words. Now, about 
 a week or fortnight after this, I was much followed by this 
 .scripture — SimoTiy Simon^ behold Satan hath desired to have 
 
40 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 you ; and sometimes it would sound so loud within me, yea,^ 
 and as it were call so strongly after me, that once, above 
 all the rest, I turned my head over my shoulder, thinking 
 verily that some man behind me had called me ; being at a 
 great distance, methought he called so loud. It came, as I 
 have thought since, to have stirred me up to watchfulness ; 
 it came to acquaint me that a cloud and a storm was com- 
 ing down upon me. But so foolish was I and ignorant, 
 that I knew not the reason of this sound, only I mused and 
 wondered in my mind that at this rate, so often and so loud, 
 it should still he sounding and rattling in mine ears. But 
 I soon perceived the end of God therein. 
 
 For about the space of a month after, a very great storm 
 came down upon me, which handled me twenty times 
 worse than all I had met with before ; it came stealing 
 upon me, now by one piece, then by another ; first, all my 
 comfort was taken from me ; then darkness seized upon me, 
 after which whole floods of blasphemies, both against God. 
 Christ, and the Scriptures, were poured upon my spirit, to 
 my great confusion and astonishment.” He was tempted to 
 question the very being of God and of Christ, and, in burn* 
 ing language, he continues the description of these fearful 
 suggestions, many of which he says he dare not utter, 
 neither by word nor pen, which nevertheless for the space 
 of a whole year did, with their number, continuance, and 
 fiery force, seize upon and over weigh his heart. Now I 
 thought, surely I am possessed of the devil ; again I thought 
 I should he bereft of my wits ; for instead of lauding and 
 magnifying God the Lord with others, if I have heard him 
 spoken of, presently some most horrible blasphemous thought 
 or other would holt out of my heart against him ; which 
 things did sink me into very deep despair, for I concluded 
 tliat such things could not possibly he found amongst them 
 that loved God.” 
 
 The provocations by which he was beset are indeed al- 
 most too terrible to be spoken of. It is a wonder that he 
 was kept from absolute despair. He was especially dis- 
 tressed in this manner whenever he attempted an attend- 
 ance on any of the ordinances of God, when he was at 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 41 
 
 prayer, when he was labouring to compose his mind, and 
 fix it upon God ; such distracting temptations would rush 
 upon him as are almost inconceivable. Sometimes, in the 
 midst of all this, his heart was so hard, that if he could 
 have given a thousand pounds for a tear, he could not have 
 shed one. Yet at times he had strong and heart-affecting 
 apprehensions of God and divine truth ; and then, oh ! with 
 what eagerness, in such intervals of relief, did his soul pour 
 itself forth with inexpressible groanings for God’s mercy ; 
 his whole soul in every word. And then again the Tempter 
 would be upon him with such discouragements as these : — 
 ‘ You are very hot after mercy, but I will cool you ; this 
 frame shall not last always ; many have been as hot as you 
 for a season, but I have quenched their zeal.’ And with 
 this such and such who were fallen off would be set before 
 mine eyes. Then would I be afraid that I should do so too ; 
 but, thought I, I am glad this comes into my mind ; well, 
 I will watch and take what care I can. ‘ Though you do,’ 
 said Satan, ‘ I shall be too hard for you : I will cool you 
 insensibly by degrees, by little and little. What care I,’ 
 saith he, ‘ though I be seven years in chilling your heart, if 
 I can do it at last ? Continual rocking will lull a crying child 
 asleep ; I will ply it close, but I will have my end accomplish- 
 ed. Though you be burning hot at present, yet I can pull 
 you from this fire ; I shall have you cold before it be long.’ ” 
 Was ever anything more natural than this ] Was ever 
 more solemn truth couched in such a dialogue, of which the 
 very sarcasm and humour is awful ? It was the taunting 
 of the devil ; but Bunyan’s heart, once set on fire by divine 
 grace, was not so easy to cool as Satan at this time thought 
 for. The poor Pilgrim was well nigh in despair under his 
 fierce enemy, but he kept up his crying and pleading with 
 God. Little did he think at this time how gracious and 
 powerful a friend was near him, for he could not see the 
 Heavenly Refiner watching over this child, his jewel, guard- 
 ing the furnace and tempering its heat. Neither could his 
 great adversary see him, or surely he would have left his 
 devilish work in despair. The passage reminds me of a 
 place in the Pilgrim’s Progress, of which it is so evidently 
 4 
 
42 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 the germ, that I must refet you to it. It is one of those 
 instructive sights which Christian was indulged with, and 
 instructed by, in the house of the Interpreter. You recollect 
 that the Interpreter took Christian by the hand, and led 
 him into a place where was a fire burning against a wall, 
 and one standing by it always casting much water upon it 
 to quench it ; yet did the fire burn brighter 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 notwith- 
 standing burn higher and hotter, thou shalt also see the 
 reason of that. So he had him about to the backside of the 
 wall, where he saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, 
 of which he did also continually cast, but secretly, into 
 the fire. Then said Christian, What means this ? The In- 
 terpreter 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 ; and 
 in that thou sawest that the man stood behind the wail to main- 
 tain the fire, this is to teach thee that it is hard for the tempt- 
 ed to see how this work of grace is maintained in the soul.” 
 You will also read, if you wish to see another passage of 
 great beauty that grew out of these dreadful temptations, 
 the account of Christian’s fight with Apollyon in the Valley 
 of Humiliation. “ In this combat no man can imagine, 
 unless he had seen and heard, as I did, what yelling and 
 hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight ; 
 he spake like a dragon ; and on the other side, what sighs 
 and groans burst from Christian’s heart. I never saw him 
 all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he 
 perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged 
 sword ; then indeed he did smile and look upw^ard. But it 
 was the dreadfullest fight that ever I saw.” Ay ! and this 
 is so vivid, because the Dreamer himself was gazing back 
 upon his own fearful experience. He sees himself, describes 
 himself, as in his Grace Abounding, beneath the horrible 
 assaults of Satan, during this long and murky year of temp- 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 43 
 
 tcation^— a year passed beneath a continual storm of the 
 nery darts of the Wicked One. But now came an interval 
 of mercy ; a hand came to poor exhausted Bunyan, with 
 the leaves from the Tree of Life for his healing ; his comfort 
 and deliverance he always obtained from the word of God, 
 which would come into his soul with the power of an im- 
 mediate voice from heaven. “ The Lord,” he says, did 
 more fully and graciously discover himself unto me, tlie 
 temptation was removed, and I was put into my right mind 
 again, as other Christians were.” The glory of God’s word 
 was now at times so weighty upon Bunyan, that he was 
 ready to swoon away with solid joy and peace. This was 
 the Tree of Life after the conflict. And now he had a season 
 of great delight under holy Mr Gifford’s ministry, and now 
 did God set him down in all the tilings of Christ, and did 
 open unto him his words, and cause them to shine before 
 him, and make them to dwell with him, talk with him, 
 and comfort him. And now about this time, what was next 
 to the very leaves from the Tree of Life for Bunyan’s spirit, 
 came into his hands by God’s providence, while he was 
 longing to see some ancient godly man’s experience, an old 
 tattered copy of Martin Luther’s Comment on Galatians ; in 
 ivhich he had but a little way perused, before he found his 
 own condition in Luther’s experience so largely and pro- 
 foundly handled, as if the book had been written out of his 
 own heart. Oh ! with what joy did Bunyan, in the midst 
 of his temptations, hail this trumpet voice of the old Re- 
 former ! He saw now that he was not alone. It was like 
 that voice which his own Christian heard, when groping 
 in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and which caused 
 his heart to leap for gladness to find that some other soul 
 that feared God was in that valley with him, the voice 
 as of a man going before and crying. Though I walk 
 through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no 
 evil, for Thou art with me ! I must, said Bunyan, declare 
 before all men, that I do prefer this book of Martin Luther 
 upon the Galatians before all the books, excepting the Holy 
 Bible, that I ever have seen, as most fit for a wounded con- 
 science. 
 
44 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 Kow was Bunyaii in great blessedness in the love of Christ ; 
 but it lasted only for a little, and then again the Tempter 
 rushed upon him with a dreadful violence for the space of 
 another whole year, in which, if I should take the whole 
 evening, I could not describe to you the twinings and wrest- 
 lings, the strivings and agonies of Bunyan’s spirit. Strange 
 as it may seem, the temptation presented was that of selling 
 Christ, sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, as fast as man 
 can speak, which tortured Bunyan as upon the rack, and 
 against which, with a morbid fear lest he should consent 
 thereto, he bent the whole force of his being with a strife 
 unuttemble. At length, one morning there seemed to pass 
 deliberately through his heart, as if he were tired of resisting 
 the wickedness, this thought, Let him go if he will,” and 
 from that moment down fell Bunyan, “ as a bird that is shot 
 from the top of a tree into great guilt and fearful despair.” 
 And now commenced a great strife of scripture against 
 scripture in his soul, the threatenings against the promises, 
 the law against the gospel, a conflict of unbelief and terror, 
 in which he was indeed in the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, and not a glimpse of light through its darkness. 
 Deep called unto deep at the noise of God’s water-spouts ; 
 all the waves and billows seemed to have gone over him. 
 And now, like a man seeking to escape from a labyrinth of 
 lire, in which he was bewildered, he would run from scrip- 
 ture to scripture, from this avenue to that in the Bible, but 
 found every door closed against him. With a dreadful 
 perverseness and ingenuity of unbelief under the power of 
 his adversary, who seemed now indeed to have gotten the 
 victory, he would compare his case with that of all the 
 greatest criminals recorded in the Bible, but always turned 
 every comparison against himself. In this state of mind he 
 met with that terrible book, the despairing death of the 
 Apostate Francis Spira, which, he says, was to his troubled 
 spirit as salt rubbed into a fresh wound ; and so it must 
 have been inevitably, such a picture of the sufferings of a 
 soul in despair ; and that sentence was frightful to him, 
 Man knows the beginning of sin, but who bounds the issues 
 thereof ?” And that scripture, which was pursuing his soul 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 45 
 
 all this year like one of the avenging furies, fell continually 
 as an hot thunderbolt upon his conscience : “ For ye know 
 how that afterwards, when he would have inherited the 
 blessing, he was rejected ; for he found no place of repent- 
 ance, though he sought it carefully with tears.” 
 
 Now he is in the midst of his ov/n Death- Valley, beset 
 behind and before ; and if we compare the account of this 
 Valley with Bunyan’s own experience, we shall see that the 
 picture is simply the elements of his own inward sufferings 
 combined and reorganized. “ Thus Christian went on a 
 great while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards 
 him ; also he heard doleful voices and rushings to and fro, 
 so that sometimes he thought he should be torn to pieces, or 
 trodden down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight 
 was seen, and these dreadful voices 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 stopt and began to muse what he had best to 
 do : sometimes he had a thought to go back ; then again he 
 thought he might be half-way through the valley ; he 
 remembered also how he had vanquished many a danger 
 already ; and that the danger of going back might be much 
 more than to go forward.” 
 
 “ 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 stept up softly to him, and whis- 
 peringly suggested many grievous blasphemies to him, which 
 he verily thought had proceeded from his own mind ! This 
 put Christian more to it than any thing 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 those blas- 
 phemies came.” 
 
 Nothing could be more vividly descriptive than this 
 passage from the Pilgrim’s Progress, of the state of Bunyan’s 
 own mind, as from a point of calm and clear observation, he 
 
46 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 afterwards looked back upon it in light from Heaven. His 
 obstinate unbelief, his entanglement in the wrathful places 
 of God’s word, his jealousy against all consolation, and his 
 holding of the dagger to his heart, that he had sold Christ, 
 these things in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, were as 
 much the work of the unseen Devil, as the crowds of blas- 
 phemous suggestions that were shoaled upon him, well-nigh 
 driving him distracted. And now you see his own thought- 
 ful, deliberate, well considered judgment in regard to that 
 state of mind. He had not the discretion, either to stop 
 his ears, or to know whence those blasphemies came.” And 
 who would have had ] Bunyan possessed a very strong 
 mind ; but let any man be thus assaulted of the Devil, and 
 see if he will possess his soul in patience any better than 
 Bunyan did ? How tender was his conscience ! How fear- 
 ful of offending God ! How pierced with anguish in the 
 thought of such ingratitude to Christ ! And how fervid 
 and powerful his imagination at work amidst eternal reali- 
 ties ] Ah ! here were materials for Satan to work upon in 
 Older to persuade Bunyan that he had sinned irrecoverably, 
 in order to make him endorse against himself the bill of 
 blasphemy and unbelief presented by his implacable, malig- 
 nant, hellish adversary ! And he did endorse it, in all the 
 anxiety, trembling, and agony of despair, he did endorse 
 those bitter dreadful things against himself ; but it was a 
 forged bill ; it was known in Heaven’s Chancery ; the 
 Saviour himself denied it. 
 
 Upon a day when Bunyan was bemoaning and abhorring 
 himself in this abyss of misery, there came as it were a voice 
 from Heaven, in a sweet pleasant wind, that like the wings 
 of angels rushed past him, with this question, “ Didst thou 
 ever refuse to be justified by the blood of Christ ?” and 
 Bunyan’s heart, in spite of all the black clouds of guilt that 
 SataTi’s malignity had rolled around his conscience, was 
 compelled honestly to answer. No. Then fell with power 
 that word of God upon him. See that ye refuse not Him that 
 speaketh. This, says Bunyan, made a strange seizure upon 
 my spirit ; it brought light with it, and commanded a silence 
 m my heart of all those tumultuous thoughts that did before 
 
eunyan’s temptations. 47 
 
 use, like masteiiess hell-houmis, to roar and bellow and 
 make a hideous noise within me. 
 
 Not Milton himself could have described this with more 
 energy ; nay, you may apply the very language of the great 
 Poet of Heaven, Hell, and Satan ; for the thunder now, 
 winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,” had for a 
 season spent his shafts, and ceased for a moment 
 
 “ To bellow through the vast and boundless deep !” 
 
 Yea, says Bunyan, this was a kind of check for my prone- 
 ness to desperation ; a kind of threatening of me, if I did 
 not, notwithstanding my sins, and the heinousness of them, 
 venture my salvation upon the Son of God. But this pro- 
 vidence was so strange, so wonderful to Bunyan, that for 
 twenty years he could not make a judgment of it, would 
 scarce dare give an opinion ; only one thing he knew, it 
 commanded a great calm in his soul ; and another thing he 
 knew, namely, that he laid not the stress of his salvation 
 upon this wonderful interposition, of which he knew not 
 what to say, but u'pon the Lord Jesus in the ‘promise. 
 
 And here we see a remarkable trait in Bunyan’s character, 
 and that is, that with all the strength of his feelings, and 
 the glowing, restless power of his imagination, he was so 
 entirely free from fanaticism, so unwilling, except compelled, 
 to refer his experience to any thing like personal miraculous 
 interpositions. He was exceedingly cautious to rest upon 
 nothing, to trust in nothing, but for whicli he had the war- 
 rant of God’s word. This, as we have seen, was what holy 
 Mr Gifford, as well as his own good sense, taught him ; but 
 there are few men who could have gone through Bunyan’s 
 experience, and not come out fanatics, — certainly none with- 
 out the guidance of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 And we see here in a striking manner the distinction 
 between fanaticism and true piety. Fanaticism interprets 
 according to its own vagaries, and not according to God’s 
 word ; fanaticism leaves the word, and rises into its own 
 wild spirit. Fanaticism interprets God’s providences as 
 miracles for self ; it says, God is working miracles for me, I 
 am the favoured one of God, I have a special mission from 
 
48 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 God, and all my enemies are God’s enemies. Then it pro- 
 ceeds to say, I belong to the true church, and all that do not 
 go with me are of God’s uncovenanted mercies, heathen, 
 uncircumcised, fit only, if I can get the power, for fire-and- 
 faggot application. This indeed is the convulsive, Romish 
 stage of fanaticism ; but so it proceeds. Self and intolerance, 
 pride and cruelty, are its constituent elements. But now 
 how different these characteristics of Bunyan ; as fearful, 
 almost, of daring to appropriate any of God’s miraculous 
 interpositions in his own behalf, as he was of hiding himself 
 from God under a false refuge. All Bunyan’s hallucinations, 
 if you please to call them such, were against himself, and 
 made him remarkably gentle and humble ; so here Satan 
 overdid his own work ; but the hallucinations of fanaticism 
 are all in behalf of self, and make the subject of them proud, 
 self-righteous, and intolerant. Bunyan’s conscience was as 
 tender, as sensitive, as quick to the evil and pain of sin, as 
 the apostle John’s ; and Bunyan was writing bitter things 
 against himself, when he was full of .love, tenderness, and 
 deference to others ; but fanaticism is always writing proud 
 things concerning itself, and despising others. Two men 
 went up into the temple to pray ; the one a Pharisee, and 
 the other a Publican. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus 
 with himself ; God, I thank thee that I am not as other 
 men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this Publi- 
 can. I fast twice in the week. I give tithes of all that I 
 possess.” I belong to the true church. “ And the Publican 
 standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes to 
 heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful 
 to me a sinner !” 
 
 I have said that these blasphemies and unbelief were 
 Satan’s work, and not Bunyan’s ; and now let us see another 
 material, which Satan’s devilish ingenuity had to work upon 
 in Bunyan’s composition, indeed in the very constitution of 
 all our minds. There is a morbid disposition in the mind, 
 when in an anxious state, or under great trials, to fasten 
 upon any evil imagination, or conjecture, or suggestion 
 which it dreads greatl}?', and to clasp it, as it were, and hold 
 to it. There is a sort of feverish state of the mind, which 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 41j 
 
 holds these phantasms, as a fever does in the body. In such 
 a state, evil suggestions, though rejected, have a most hor- 
 rible pertinacity in cleaving to the mind ; and the more the 
 mind dreads them, and tries to avoid them, the more palp- 
 able they become. They really seem like fiends pursuing 
 the soul, shouting over the shoulder, hissing in the ear. 
 And I say the more direct and intense efforts a man makes 
 to reject and avoid them, the more palpable and fiend-like 
 they become. 
 
 This is in part our very constitution, in the memory as 
 well as imagination ; for, let a man try to forget any dread- 
 ful thing, of which he hates the remembrance, and the more 
 he tries to forget it, the more surely he remembers it, the 
 more he bodies it forth, and every thrust he makes at it 
 causes it to glare up anew, reveals some new horror in it. 
 Doubtless, this peculiarity in our mental constitution is 
 destined to play a most terrific part in the punishment of 
 men’s sins in eternity ; for there can be nothing so dreadful 
 as the remembrance of sin, and nothing, which men will 
 strive with more intense earnestness to hide from and forget, 
 than the recollection of their sins ; and yet every effort they 
 make at such forgetfulness only gives to such sins a more 
 terrible reality, and makes them blaze up in a more lurid 
 light to the conscience. Oh, if they could but be forgotten ! 
 But the more intense is the earnestness of this wish, the 
 more impossible becomes the forgetfulness, the more terribly 
 the dreaded evil stands out. There are cases even in this 
 life, in which men would give ten thousand worlds if they 
 possessed them, could they only forget ; but how much more 
 in eternity ! The man that has committed a secret midnight 
 murder, how often, think you, though perhaps not a human 
 being suspects it, would he give the riches of the material 
 universe, if he had them at command, could he but forget 
 that one moment’s crime ! But it is linked to his very 
 constitution, and every time he tries to cut the chain, he 
 does but rattle and rouse the crime out of its grave into a 
 new existence. Did my hearers ever see Allston’s picture of 
 the bloody hand ? It is a revelation of the power of sin 
 through the combined agency of imagination, memory, and 
 
50 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 conscience — sin unrepented in the conscience, unpardoned in 
 the soul. 
 
 Now all this Satan knew far better than Bunyan. Was 
 not the lost archangel’s own soul always and obstinately 
 dwelling upon his own sins ? Could he but forget his fall, 
 his once blessed state, his holiness, his happiness, it would 
 be almost heaven to him ! But no ! he might fly from 
 heaven, and fly to the utmost limits of an external hell ; 
 but he could not fly from himself. 
 
 “ Me miserable ! Which way shall I fly 
 Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ? 
 
 ^Vhich way 1 fly is hell ; myself am hell ; 
 
 And in the lowest deep a lower deep 
 Still threatening to devour me opens wide 
 To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.” 
 
 This is poetry, of the highest, sublimest kind ; but it is 
 not fiction ; it is not deeper poetry than it is truth, terrific 
 truth ! It would seem as if Satan disgorged upon Bunyan 
 the hell of his own soul more fully than ever he did upon 
 any other mortal. Certainly, he made use of this morbid 
 self-reproaching disposition of Bunyan’s mind to the utmost. 
 He plied him, vexed him, overwhelmed him with devilish 
 suggestions, well knowing that Bunyan would start from 
 them as if an adder stung him, and yet that they would 
 possess a sort of fascinating, icy, paralyzing power, like thaf 
 which dwells in the eye of a rattlesnake. Now, if Bunyan 
 could but have had his attention turned away from the eye 
 of the temptations, from the face of the Tempter, from the 
 point of almost morbid lunacy, as it were, the horrid charm 
 would be broken. If at this time Bunyan’s mind could 
 have been strongly arrested and filled by a presentation of 
 Christ crucified, Satan would have found himself quite 
 unnoticed, and all his temptations unnerved ; but he suc- 
 ceeded in getting the morbid attention of Bunyan fixed on 
 himself, and his own detestableness and diabolical malignity 
 and blasphemy, and then he could fasten his serpent’s fangs 
 in him, and nothing but Christ by his word and Spirit ever 
 did or could deliver him. 
 
 In regard to these temptations, Bunyan was sometimes 
 just like a scared child, that thinks it sees a ghost, or like a 
 
bcnyan’s temptations. 
 
 51 
 
 timid person in a wood by twilight, that sees in the stump 
 of a tree a man couched and lying in wait, and instead of 
 daring to go boldly up to it, to see what it is, stands shiver- 
 ing and almost dead with terror. Who has not realized this 
 in his own experience, timid or brave ? And just so, 
 Bunyan did not dare to go up to, and examine and look in 
 the face, the shocking blasphemies, accusations, and wrath- 
 ful passages, that Satan would be ever thrusting into his 
 soul ; but went cowering and shivering, and bowed down as 
 a man in chains under the weight of them. There was a 
 time when all that Satan said to him he seemed morbidly 
 inclined to take upon trust ; and if it were a fiery passage 
 of God’s word, so much the worse ; for instead of coming 
 up to it as a child of God to see what it was, and whether it 
 were really against him, he fled from it at once, as from the 
 fier}^, flaming sword in the gate to Eden. And nothing can 
 be more curious, more graphic, more affecting in its interest, 
 more childlike in its simplicity, than the manner in which 
 Bunyan describes the commencement and progress of his 
 recovery out of this state of condemnation and terror ; how 
 timidly and cautiously, and as it were by stealth, he began 
 to look these dreadful passages in the face, when they had 
 ceased pursuing him ; standing at first afar off, and gazing 
 at them, and then, as a child, that cannot get rid of its fears, 
 slowly drawing near, and at length daring to touch them, 
 and to walk around them, and to see their true position and 
 meaning, but always conscious of their awful power. 
 
 If ever there was a man who knew to the full the meaning 
 of that passage. The fiery darts of the Wicked One ; and of 
 that. The word of God is sharper than any two-edged sword, 
 piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit ; it 
 was John Bunyan. You cannot possibly tell, except you 
 read it for yourself, the conflicts that his soul sustained 
 between opposing passages of scripture, wielded on the one 
 side by the Spirit of God, and on the other by his soul’s 
 malignant adversary ; the blessed Spirit holding out some 
 sweet, gracious, comprehensive promise, and then Satan 
 flashing between it and Bunyan’s soul the gleaming sword 
 of a threat to keep him from it ; and so, as I have said, the 
 
52 
 
 LECTURE SECOIfP. 
 
 swords of Michael and of Satan are thus crossing and flash- 
 ing continually in this protracted and fearful conflict. 
 
 There were two passages especially, that thus met and 
 struggled for the mastery ; and the one was that sweet 
 promise, My grace is sufflcient for thee and the other 
 that most tremendous passage in regard to Esau selling his 
 birthright, and after finding no place of repentance. Oh,” 
 says Bunyan, the combats and conflicts that I did meet 
 with ! As I strove to hold by this word of promise, that of 
 Esau would fly in my face like lightning. So my soul did 
 hang as in a pair of scales, sometimes up, and sometimes 
 down ; now in peace, and nov\^ again in terror. And 1 
 remember one day, as I was in divers frames of spirit, and 
 considering that the frames were according to the nature of 
 several scriptures that came in upon my mind, if this of 
 grace, then I was quiet ; but if that of Esau, then tormented. 
 Lord, thought I, if both these scriptures should meet in my 
 heart at once, I wonder which of them would get the better 
 of me. So methought I had a longing mind that they might 
 come both together upon me ; yea, I desired of God they 
 might. Well, about two or three days after, so they did 
 indeed ; they bolted both upon me at a time, and did work 
 and struggle strongly in me for a while ; at last that about 
 Esau’s birthright began to wax weak, and withdraw, and 
 vanish, and this about the sufficiency of grace prevailed with 
 power and joy. And as I was in a muse about this thing, 
 that scripture came in upon me, Mercy rejoiceth over judg- 
 ment. This was a wonderment to me, yet truly I am apt 
 to think it was of God, for the word of the law and wrath 
 must give place to the word of life and grace ; because, 
 though the word of condemnation be glorious, yet the word 
 of life and salvation doth far exceed in glory. Also, that 
 Moses and Elias must both vanish, and leave Christ and his 
 saints alone.” 
 
 Now we may call this a conceit, if we please, but to some 
 minds this use of scripture is inimitably sweet and beautiful. 
 Nor can there be any thing more beautiful than to see this 
 soldier of Jesus Christ escaped from the perils of the con- 
 flict, sitting down to trace, with so calm and skilful a hand, 
 
uunyan’s temptations. 
 
 53 . 
 
 and a heart so believing, joyous, and grateful, the evolutions 
 and currents of the battle, the movements of his great Com- 
 mander on the one side, andof his fierce Adversary on the other. 
 
 The consideration of Bunyan’s temptations reveals to us 
 three great secrets ; the secret of his deep experimental 
 knowledge of the power of God’s word ; the secret of his 
 great skill and power in preaching ; and the secret of his 
 pure, idiomatic, energetic, English style. Every step he 
 took in the word of God was experimental. The Bible was 
 his book of all learning ; for years he studied it as for his 
 life. No bewildered mariner, in a crazy bark on an unknown 
 sea, amidst sunken reefs and dangerous shallows, ever pond- 
 ered his chart with half the earnestness. It was as if life or 
 death depended on every time he opened it, and every line 
 he read. The scriptures were wonderful things unto him ; 
 he saw that the truth and verity of them were the keys of 
 the kingdom of heaven ; those that the scriptures favour, 
 they must inherit bliss ; but those that they oppose and 
 condemn must perish for evermore. One sentence of the 
 scripture did more afflict and terrify my mind, I mean those 
 sentences that stood against me, as sometimes I thought they 
 every one of them did, than an army of forty thousand men 
 that might come against me. Wo be to him, against whom 
 he scriptures bend themselves. This made me, with careful 
 heart and watchful eye, with great fearfulness, to turn over 
 every leaf, and with much diligence mixed with trembling, 
 to consider every sentence, together with its natural force and 
 latitude. Now would he leap into the bosom of that promise, 
 that yet he feared did shut its heart against him. Now also 
 I would labour to take the word as God hath laid it down, 
 without restraining the natural force of one syllable thereof. 
 Oh ! what did I now see in that blessed sixth of John ! 
 ‘ And him that cometh unto me I will in nowise cast out.’ 
 Oh many a pull hath my heart had with Satan for that 
 blessed sixth of John ! A word, a word, to lean a wear^ 
 soul upon, that it might not sink for ever ! It was that I 
 hunted for ! Yea, often when I have been making for the 
 promise, I have seen as if the Lord would refuse my soul 
 for ever. I was often as if I had run upon the pikes, and as 
 
54 
 
 LECTUBE SECOND. 
 
 if the Lord had thrust at me, to keep me from him as with 
 a flaming sword !” 
 
 Here we have the secret of Bunyan’s experimental know- 
 ledge of the word of God ; and this, coupled with the remem- 
 brance of the tenor of holy Mr Gifford’s instructions to take 
 nothing upon trust, but to labour to be set down by the 
 Spirit of God in the word of God, and how faithfully Bunyan 
 made this his practice, shews us how he came to be so rooted 
 and grounded in divine truth, so consummate a master in it, 
 in its living beauty and harmony. He was led from truth 
 to truth by the Divine Spirit ; every part of the gospel was 
 thus revealed unto him ; he could not express what he saw 
 and felt of its glory, of the steadiness of Jesus Christ the Rock 
 of man’s salvation, and of the power, sweetness, light, and 
 fitness of his word. It was as a fire and a hammer in his 
 own soul, burning and beating. It was food and nourishment 
 to his spiritual life, and a clothing of majesty and glory to 
 his intellect. There never was a being more perfectly and 
 entirely created out of the scriptures. 
 
 And here too, in his intense study of the Bible, you have 
 the secret of the purity of his English style. How is it 
 possible, it might have been asked, that this illiterate man, 
 familiar with none of the acknowledged models of his native 
 tongue, can have acquired a style which its most skilful and 
 eloquent masters might envy, for its artless simplicity, purity, 
 and strength ! It was because his soul was baptized by the 
 Spirit of God in its native idioms ; because he was familiar 
 as no other man of his age was, with the model, the very 
 best model of the English tongue in existence, our common 
 English Bible ! Yes ! that very Bible, which .some modern 
 infidel reformers would exclude from our schools, and from 
 its blessed place of influence over the hearts and minds of 
 our children ! The fervour of the poet’s soul, acting through 
 the medium of such a language as he learned from our com- 
 mon translation of the scriptures, has produced some of the 
 most admirable specimens in existence of the manly power 
 and familiar beauty of the English tongue. There are 
 ])assages even in the Grace Abounding, which for fervidness 
 and power of expression might be placed side by side with 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 55 
 
 any thing in the most admired authors, and not suffer in the 
 comparison. Bunyan is not less to he praised than Shak* 
 speare himself for the purity of his language, and the natural 
 simplicity of his style. It comes even nearer indeed, to the 
 common diction of good conversation. Its idioms are 
 genuine English, in their most original state, unmingied 
 with any external ornament, and of a beauty unborrowed 
 from any foreign shades of expression. 
 
 Then too, Bunyan’s imagination, his judgment, his taste, 
 every faculty of his mind was developed, disciplined, and 
 enriched at the same great fountain of the Scriptures. The 
 poetry of the Bible was the source of his poetical power. His 
 heart was not only made new by the Spirit of the Bible, but 
 his whole intellectual being was penetrated and transfigured 
 by its influence. He brought the spirit and power gathered 
 from so long and exclusive a communion with the prophets 
 and apostles to the composition of every page of the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress. To the habit of mind thus induced, and the 
 workings of an imagination thus disciplined, may be traced 
 the simplicity of all his imagery, and the great power of his 
 personifications. The spirit of his work is Hebrew ; we 
 may trace the mingled influence both of David and Isaiah 
 in the character of his genius ; and as to the images in the 
 sacred poets, he is lavish in the use of them, in the most 
 natural and unconscious manner possible : his mind was 
 imbued with them. He is indeed the only poet, whose 
 genius was nourished entirely by the Bible. He felt and 
 thought in scripture imagery. 
 
 Now hei’e are great lessons for ail our minds. We say to 
 every young man, whose intellectual as well as moral habits 
 are now formed, Do you wish to gain a mastery over your 
 native language in its earliest, purest, freshest idioms, and 
 to command a style, in which you may speak with power 
 to the very hearts of the people ? Study your Bible, your 
 English Bible ; study it with your feelings, your heart, and 
 let its beautiful forms of expression entwine themselves 
 around your sensibilities, your very habits of thinking, no 
 more to be separated from them, than sensibility and thought 
 itself can be separated from your existence. We stand in 
 
LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 Be 
 
 aiDazement at tlie blessed power of transfiguration which the 
 Bible possesses for the human intellect. And yet we are not 
 amazed, for the Bible is the voice of God, and the words of 
 the Bible are the words of God, and he who will give him- 
 self up to them, who will feed upon them, and love them, 
 and dwell amidst them, shall have his intellect and his soul 
 transfigured with glory and blessedness by them. Do you 
 ask for experience ? Do you desire life ? Hear our Saviour : 
 
 The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit and they 
 are life !” But beware you let no mediator come between 
 your soul and its immediate, electric contact with those 
 lively oracles. Beware you let no church with its self- 
 assumed authority of interpretation, hang up its darkening 
 veil between your soul and the open face of God in the 
 scriptures. Come to them for yourself. Say to yourseli^ 
 This is my possession, and no church, and no priest, and no 
 power in the universe shall wrest it from me. This is my 
 God and my Saviour speaking to me ; and he shall speah 
 to me, though the whole church were against me, or though 
 I were the only Christian in the world. Yea,” saith om 
 Saviour, if ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye 
 shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.” We 
 say. Put your soul beneath the fire of God’s word, and not be- 
 neath the winking tapers of the fathers, or the councils, or the 
 traditions in the churches ! And just so, if we could get the 
 Roman Catholics within the sound of our voice in God’s 
 sanctuary, we would say to every Roman Catholic, How can 
 you be willing, as a man and a Christian, to let any priest, 
 or pope, or church, or daring council, or saint on earth, or 
 saint in heaven, take from your soul your immediate per- 
 sonal communion with your God ? Come to him yourself, 
 and live upon his words yourself, and all the anathemas of 
 all the popes, councils, priests, and churches in the world, 
 shall only strengthen and deepen in your soul the elements 
 of eternal blessedness. 
 
 And to every Christian we would say. Mind the example 
 of Bunyan and his wise Evangelist, holy Mr Gifford,” and 
 when you study the Scriptures, study them as for your life, 
 take fast hold upon them, bind them upon your neck, en- 
 
BUNYA^’’S TEMPTATIONS. 57 
 
 grave them in your affections, seek to be set down in them 
 by the Spirit of God, seek their experimental knowledge, 
 the living, burning experience of their power. Let the Spirit 
 of God lead you from truth to truth. So, and in no other 
 way, you can be powerful as a Christian. Yea, this was the 
 experience of Paul and Luther and Bunyan, and of all men 
 mighty in the Scriptures. This is the experience that we 
 need, in this very age into which we are thrown, in order 
 to save the church and the world from destruction. This is 
 the experience that must constitute a new era of power in 
 the church, if we would meet the crisis that has come upon 
 us, in the resurrection of old exploded errors under new 
 forms. We must not let Christ be displaced by the churcli. 
 We must enter, as Zuingle said, into God’s thoughts in his 
 own word ; and we must dwell there, as in a tower of in- 
 vincible strength and glory ! Hear an old, noble, martyred 
 saint, now in glory. I had rather follow the shadow of 
 Christ,” said the blessed reformer and martyr. Bishop Hooper, 
 “ than the body of all the general councils or doctors since 
 the death of Christ. It is mine opinion unto all the world, 
 that the Scriptures solely, and the apostles’ church, is to be 
 followed, and no man’s authority, be he Augustine, Tertul- 
 lian, or even cherubim or seraphim !” 
 
 And to every unconverted person we would say, See how 
 Bunyan entered the strait and narrow way, and rose to 
 Heaven. He followed the word of God. Take you the word 
 of God. Take that one sentence. Flee from the wrath to 
 come ; and let it point you to that other sentence. Believe in 
 the Lord Jesus Christ. And if the world, seeing you so set 
 out, ridicule you, shut your ears, like Christian, and run 
 forward, and stay not, till the Wicket Gate opens before you, 
 and you enter, and become a blessed Pilgrim from the City 
 of Destruction to the City of Immanuel. 
 
 Here now is the secret of Bunyan’s power in preaching. 
 He became a preacher through his power in God’s word. 
 That word, so kindled in his soul by the Spirit of God, could 
 not be repressed ; it would blaze out ; it was as a fire in his 
 bones, if he restrained it, and it must burn. Unconsciously 
 to himself, others first marked its power in him, and marked 
 5 
 
68 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 him as an instrument of God, for the instruction of his people 
 and the conversion of men. Bunyan was pressed on, but 
 never put himself forward. The gifts and graces of God in 
 him shone so brightly, that men would have him for their 
 minister. He was exceedingly retiring, humble, trembling, 
 self-distrustful, and began to speak only to a few, in few 
 words, in little meetings. But it was soon seen and felt that 
 the Spirit and the word of God were speaking in him. And 
 even before he became the ordained pastor of a people, he 
 had that seal of God’s ambassadors, which is better than all 
 the consecrating oil of the Vatican, better than the hands of 
 all the Bishops, better than all apostolical successions traced 
 down through idolaters and adulterers in the House of God ; 
 he had the seal of the Spirit of God upon his preaching, 
 bringing men to Christ, He could say, if he chose, The 
 seal of mine apostleship are ye in the Lord ! Though I he 
 not an apostle unto others, yet doubtless I am unto you.” 
 These things were, as well they might he, an argument unto 
 Bunyan, that God had called him to, and stood by him in 
 this work. Wherefore, says he, though of myself of all the 
 saints the most unworthy, yet T, but with great fear and 
 trembling at the sight of my own weakness, did set upon 
 the work, and did, according to my gift, and the proportion 
 of my faith, preach that blessed gospel that God has shewed 
 me in the holy word of truth ; which, when the country 
 understood, they came in to hear the word by hundreds, and 
 that from all parts, though upon divers and sundry accounts. 
 
 Bunyan was called to his ministry, and led into it, by 
 God’s word, though most unfortunately not in the regular 
 iine of the apostolical succession. He enumerates the pas- 
 sages which ran in his mind, and encouraged and strength- 
 ened him ; and they are very striking, and all-sufficient for 
 his justification. The first of them is that of Acts, viii. 4, 
 Therefore they that were scattered abroad, went everywhere 
 preaching the word.” Bunyan knew there was no aposto- 
 lical succession there. Another passage was that in 1 Peter, 
 iv. 10, “ As every man hath received the gift, even so minis- 
 ter the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold 
 grace of God.” Bunyan knew that being addressed to the 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 59 
 
 strangers scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, 
 Asia, and Bithynia, there was no apostolical succession there. 
 He also knew that in the case of the household of Stephanus, 
 who had addicted themselves to the ministry of the saints, 
 there was no apostolical succession. And these passages all 
 were as so many certificates to him from Jesus Christ, that 
 he, being called by the Holy Ghost, might preach the gos- 
 pel. And so he did preach it, and many and blessed were 
 tlie seals of his faithful stewardship. He knew what the 
 office of the ministry was. He had often read Paul’s cata- 
 logue of its qualifications, and they suited the frame of his 
 own intrepid spirik In all things approving ourselves as 
 the ministers of God, in much patience, in afflictions, ia 
 necessities, in distresses, in stripes, in imprisonments, in 
 tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings ; by pureness, 
 by knowledge, by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy 
 Ghost, by lovo unfeigned, by the word of truth, by the 
 power of God, by the armour of righteousness on the right 
 hand and on the left, by honour and dishonour, by evil 
 report and good report : as deceivers, and yet true ; as un- 
 known, and yet well known ; as dying, and behold we live ; 
 as chastened, and not killed ; as sorrowful, yet always re- 
 joicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, 
 and yet possessing all things,” 2 Cor. vi. 4-10. There is no 
 apostolical succession here, nor prelatical nor episcopal con- 
 secration ; but a succession of adversities ; a consecration to 
 the sacred fires of self-denial and of suffering for Christ’s 
 sake. Assuredly John Bunyan was as true, and regular, and 
 heaven -commissioned a minister of Jesus Christ, as any 
 bishop in lawn sleeves, under whose jurisdiction he was for- 
 bidden to preach, and was thrust into prison. 
 
 Bunyan’s life and discipline, under the leadings of Divine 
 Providence, were very much like those of some of the early 
 Reformers of England. In his character and his preaching 
 he resembled not a little the honesty and vigour, the straight- 
 forwardness and humour of Bishop Latimer. He had kin- 
 dred qualities also with those of Luther ; and the perusal of 
 Luther’s Commentary on Galatians, we doubt not, exerted 
 a great influence on the character , of Bunyan’s preaching. 
 
60 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 Nevertheless, the little that Bunyan received from others 
 became his own, as much as if it had originated with him- 
 self ; being a process as natural and unconscious in his in- 
 tellectual and moral being, as that in which the dews and 
 light from heaven, falling on the plants, are worked into the 
 nature of the fruits and foliage. 
 
 Bunyan always preached what he saw and felt, and so 
 the character of his preaching varied with the aspect which 
 divine truth, in the colouring of his personal hopes and 
 fears, wore to his own soul. lie enumerates three chief 
 enclosures in the pastures of divine truth, in which he was 
 detained by his own experience ; for he dared not break 
 through that hedge, and take things at second hand, as he 
 might find them. He says, that he never endeavoured, nor 
 durst make use of, other men’s lives or tracings, though, he 
 adds, I do not condemn all that do ; for I verily thought, 
 and found by experience, that what was taught me by the 
 word and Spirit of Christ could be spoken, maintained, and 
 stood to by the soundest and best established conscience. He 
 could, in a great measure, say with the apostle, “ I certify 
 you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me is 
 not after man ; for I neither received it of man, neither was 
 I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ.” 
 
 In the first years of his preaching, Bunyan had not ad- 
 vanced to that richness and blissfulness of religious expe- 
 rience, in the possession and command of which he wrote 
 the Pilgrim’s Progress. As a preacher, he was at first as 
 a man flying from hell, and warning others to flee also, but 
 not having reached the gates of heaven. He was as his own 
 pilgrim, trembling beneath the overhanging rocks of Sinai, 
 stunned by the crashing peals of thunder, and wellnigh 
 Ijlinded by the lightning. He was passing through the Val- 
 ley of the Shadow of Death, and knowing the terrors of the 
 Lord, he persuaded men, pouring out upon them, as in a 
 stream of fire, the intensity of his own convictions. How 
 ne preached in the midst of such soul-torturing experience 
 may be gathered from his own language : — This part of 
 my work,” says he, I fulfilled with great sense : for the 
 terrors of the law, and guilt for my transgressions, lay heavy 
 
bu^^yan’s temptations. 
 
 61 
 
 upon my conscience. I preached what I felt, what smart- 
 ingly I did feel, even that under which my poor soul did 
 groan and tremble to astonishment. Indeed, I have been as 
 one sent to them from the dead. I went myself in chains 
 
 TO PIlEACn TO THEM IN CHAINS ; AND CAIIRIED THAT FIRE 
 IN MY OWN CONSCIENCE THAT I PERSUADED THEM TO BE 
 AWARE OP. I can truly say, that when I have been to 
 preach, I have gone full of guilt and terror to the pulpit 
 door ; and then it hath been taken off, and I have been at 
 liberty in my mind until I have done my w^ork ; and then 
 immediately, even before I could get down the pulpit stairs, 
 I have been as bad as I was before. Yet God carried me 
 on ; but surely wdth a strong hand, for neither guilt nor 
 hell could take me off my work.” So Bunyan preached, 
 and preaching so, it is no wonder that he made an impres- 
 sion both on men and devils. lie describes with great nature 
 and truth his various frames in preaching ; sometimes with 
 such enlargement of soul, that he could speak as in a very 
 flame of fire ; and then again so straitened in his utterance 
 before the people, as if his head had been in a bag all the 
 time of his exercise. The truth is, the heart of the preacher 
 is more apt to be in the bag than his head is ; and when his 
 heart is there, then generally, as to effect, his head is there 
 also. This experience of the bag, we are sorry to say, is 
 rather more common than that of the seraphic enlargement 
 of soul, which the love of Christ ought always to give us. 
 
 Thus Bunyan went on preaching, travelling through those 
 special enclosures in the word of God of which he speaks, 
 about the space of five years or more, when, says he, “ I was 
 caught in my then present practice, and cast into prison, 
 w here I have lain above as long again to confirm the truth 
 by way of suffering, as I w^as before in testifying of it 
 according to the Scriptures, in a w ay of preaching.” Nor 
 is it to be supposed that during all this time Bunyan w^as 
 free from the temptations of Satan in his ministry ; nay, he 
 had them abundantly, but somewhat changed from inw^ard 
 to external ; for when Satan perceived that his thus tempt 
 ing and assaulting me would not answ^er his design — to wdt, 
 to overthrow^ the ministry, and make it ineffec.tual as to the 
 
62 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 ends thereof — then he tried another way, which was to stir 
 up the minds of the ignorant and malicious to load me with 
 slanders and reproaches : now therefore I may say, that 
 what the devil could devise, and his instruments invent, 
 was whirled up and down the country against me, think- 
 ing, as I said, that by that means they should make my 
 ministry to he abandoned. It began therefore to be ru- 
 moured up and down among the people that I was a witch, 
 a Jesuit, a highwayman, a whoremonger, and the like. To 
 all which I shall only say, God knows that I am innocent. 
 I have a good conscience ; and whereas they speak evil of 
 me as an evil-doer, they shall be ashamed that falsely accuse 
 my good conversation in Christ. So then, what shall I say 
 to those who have thus bespattered me ? Shall I threaten 
 them ] Shall I chide them ? Shall I flatter them 1 Shall 
 I entreat them to hold their tongues ] !Mo, not I. Were it 
 not that these things make those ripe for damnation who 
 are the authors and abettors, I would say unto them. Report 
 it, because it will increase my glory. Therefore, I bind 
 these lies and slanders to me as an ornament ; it belongs to 
 my Christian profession to be thus vilified, slandered, re- 
 proached, and reviled ; and since all this is nothing else, 
 as my God and conscience do bear me witness, I rejoice in 
 reproaches for Christ’s sake.” 
 
 Now, as Satan endeavoured by reproaches and slanders 
 to make me vile among my countrymen, that if possible 
 my preaching might be made of no more effect, so there 
 was added hereto a long and tedious imprisonment, that 
 thereby I might be frightened from the service of Christ, 
 and the world terrified, and made afraid to hear me preach. 
 Of wliich I shall, in the next place, give you a brief ac- 
 count.” 
 
 Now, in this matter of Runyan’s imprisonment, it is evi- 
 dent that, so far as Satan had a share in it, he did, as we 
 say, overshoot the mark ; he was a clear illustration of that 
 saying of Shakspeare’s concerning 
 
 “ Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself, 
 
 And falls on t’other side.” 
 
 Doubtless this enemy of souls, and this adversary of Bun- 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 63 
 
 van, because of the great good he was doing in his preach- 
 ing, supposed he had accomplished a great work when, 
 through the tyranny of the Church Establishment, he had 
 succeeded in silencing the preacher ; and when he got him 
 into prison, he tliought within himself. There is an end of 
 that man’s usefulness ; no more souls shall rise to glory 
 through him. But what a signal mistake ! Perhaps the 
 greatest mistake but one or two that Satan ever committed ! 
 If this man, John Bunyan, had been permitted still to go 
 at large and preach, the world, doubtless, would never have 
 been blessed with the Pilgrim’s Progress. But God per- 
 mitted the wrath of Bunyan ’s adversaries to shut him up 
 in prison just at that point, where the inward temptations 
 of the devil, and the discipline of God’s Spirit, and Bunyan’s 
 varied acquaintance with men, and knowledge of his own 
 heart, and experience in the business of preaching, and ex- 
 perimental knowledge of the gospel, and of the power, bless- 
 edness, and fitness of God’s word, had just fitted him for the 
 composition of precisely such a work. I say, just at the 
 point when God had fitted his chosen instrument for this 
 work, he permitted the malice of his infernal enemy, and 
 the wrath of his earthly adversaries, to put him in a quiet 
 cell, where he would have heavenly retirement to meditate 
 upon it, and uninterrupted leisure to accomplish it. Was 
 there ever a more perfect and delightful illustration of that 
 promise, ‘^Surely thou wilt cause the wrath of man to 
 praise thee, and the remainder of wrath thou wilt restrain 
 And now as to these satanic temptations : — Having fol- 
 lowed Bunyan to prison, we must perforce leave him there 
 till such time as we can, God willing, dwell more particu- 
 larly on the manner in which he was brought there, and the 
 way in which the light and loveliness of the creations of his 
 Pilgrim arose like the sun in his soul out of that imprisoned 
 darkness. But a few Avords as to these satanic temptations. 
 It is a deeply interesting and important subject ; one on 
 which we would much rather devote a whole lecture. We 
 do not suppose that any man who, in spite of the testimony 
 of the Scriptures, is a disbeliever in the existence of the 
 devil and his angels, Avill be brought to believe on the testi 
 
64 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 mony of Bunjan ; and yet, in the providence of God there 
 might be such a thing ; at any rate, the strong and simple 
 experience and testimony of Bunyan might lead such a man 
 to review with more candour and less doubt the scripture 
 argument and evidence. And we say, that the murky ex- 
 perience of Bunyan cannot philosophically be accounted for 
 on any other principles than those laid down in the Scrip- 
 tures, nor in any other way so rationally, so probably, so 
 truly, as Bunyan himself under the light of the Scriptures 
 has taken to illustrate it. Refer it to satanic agency, and 
 all is plain, consistent, and full of the deepest, most solemn 
 interest. Reject that agency, and all is unaccountable, ab- 
 surd, prodigious ; unless, indeed, you make Bunyan a down- 
 right madman — a lunatic ; which conclusion, in regard to 
 a man whose whole life, from the time when that madness 
 commenced, was one bright career of goodness, and who in 
 the midst of it wrote the most sensible, excellent, and delight- 
 ful book in the language, would he the most ahsui'd of all con- 
 clusions. Indeed, there was more “ method in his madness” 
 than there is in most other men’s sanity. But his own de- 
 liberate conclusions concerning the workings of his mind, 
 and the influences brought to hear upon him, formed fifteen 
 years or more after his own personal passage through the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death ; formed in the midst of 
 light from heaven, formed with the most careful adherence 
 to the words and principles of the Scriptures, formed with 
 the help of much observance of the conflicts of others, and 
 formed by a mind not at all inclined to fanaticism, but re- 
 markably liberal, tolerant, free from extremes, and cautious 
 in asserting a supernatural interposition, as in some remark- 
 able cases we have seen he was ; I say, the conclusions of 
 such a mind, after such a period of thoughtful, prayerful 
 examination, are invaluable, and to be relied upon. 
 
 They even form an important addition to our external 
 testimony for the truth of the Scriptures, and the manner 
 of their interpretation. How often do we have to resort to 
 existing realities to explain texts of Scripture otherwise 
 inexplicable, and which to the infidel vulgar — to men of 
 the kin of Voltaire and Tom Paine — serve for ignorant and 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 65 
 
 senseless ridicule ? For example, to take one of the very 
 simplest instances : if a man meet with the passage, I am 
 become like a bottle in the smoke,” or the passage about 
 putting new wine into old bottles, he must go to an external 
 reality to determine its meaning ; and if he does not know 
 (as most infidel writers have not known enough even about 
 the Scriptures to know) that bottles were made out of goat- 
 skins, he may, perhaps, like Voltaire or Tom Paine, exer- 
 cise his wit upon these passages. But if he be a believer, 
 and come for the first time upon such an illustration, he 
 will say. How delightful is this ! I bless God for this ! 
 Now I know the meaning of a passage of which before I 
 was ignorant. And just so, if what is said in the Scriptures 
 in many passages about the temptations of the devil, were 
 perfectly inexplicable to one who had never met with those 
 temptations, and he should for the first time meet the tale 
 of Bunyan’s trials, he would say, when he sees such ex- 
 perience, Now I know how to interpret those Scriptures ; 
 now I see the meaning of things which I did not see before ; 
 now I know the meaning of those fiery darts of the Wicked 
 One. Poor Bunyan ! — his suffering was, as it were, vica- 
 rious ; he was tried, that I might be instructed. 
 
 Suffer me to illustrate this matter still further, for it is 
 ’mportant. Among the difficulties brought against the 
 Scriptures, it had, at one time, often been alleged as an ob- 
 jection to the historical accuracy of the New Testament, 
 that it gave the title of Proconsul to the Governor of Cyprus 
 (Acts, xiii. 7), when, in strict propriety, he could only have 
 been styled Praetor of the Province. So strongly did this 
 apparent inaccuracy weigh with Beza, observes Mr Benson, 
 that he absolutely attempted to remove it by translation ; 
 and our own translators have used the term Deputy, instead 
 of the correct title of Proconsul. Now, it is a fact, that a 
 medal has since then been discovered, on which the very 
 same title is assigned, about the same period, to the gover- 
 nor of the same province, and so that difficulty vanishes for 
 ever. But, as Benson well remarks in his Scripture Diffi- 
 culties,” it does not vanish wdthout leaving stronger evidence 
 for the truth. Now, as to these difficulties about satanic 
 
66 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 temptations, about the devil, and his agency with the mind, 
 a man may say, it is inexplicable, incredible, not to be taken 
 as strict history, but something figurative, a mythos. But 
 suppose, in a really candid and inquiring frame of mind, this 
 inexperienced man lights upon the personal history of 
 Luther, or upon this thrilling story of Bunyan’s temptations, 
 a hundred years afterwards, is it not just as if he had found 
 a medal, struck in the same sacred treasury where the 
 words of Scripture were engraven, with the very image of 
 the devil on one side, and the inscription Satanic Tempter 
 above it ? And now ought not the difficulty to van ish for 
 ever ? And are not discoveries like these of incalculable im- 
 portance to the believer in the evil hour of temptation % 
 Yea, it is like Christian himself hearing a human voice be- 
 fore him in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where it 
 seemed as if no living creature ever could pass safely. 
 
 Now, on this point there is a wonderful coincidence be- 
 tween the experience of men recorded in the word of Cod, 
 and those out of it ; and these two things illustrate each 
 other. Take Job, for example. If a man say, this expe- 
 rience of Bunyan is all a delusion, it is merly his own ima- 
 gination tormenting him, there never was or could be such 
 a reality. We say, beware ; this experience of Bunyan has 
 its original in the word of God itself; it is countersigned, 
 as it were, in Job’s own history. Or if a man say, this ex- 
 perience of Job is figurative ; no man ever experienced such 
 dealings in reality ; we say, so far from this, other men have 
 experienced such discipline ; it is countersigned, as it were, 
 and illustrated, in the experience of a modern Christian. It 
 is true, that in the account of Job, the steps are marked by 
 the Divine hand ; but in the account of Bunyan, also, the 
 steps are just as clear, with that single exception. They are 
 almost as clear as if it had been said, as in the case of Job, 
 There was a man in the land of England whom Cod would 
 take and prepare for the greatest usefulness of all men living. 
 And Satan said, let me take Bunyan, and I will tempt him 
 from his integrity, and make him curse God, and deny his 
 very being. And God said, Let Satan try his uttermost 
 upon this man, and the awful discipline shall only prepare 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 G7 
 
 him for greater usefulness and glory. So Satan went forth, 
 and by the space of two years filled the soul of Bunyan 
 with distresses and temptations, and the fiery darts of the 
 Wicked One. Is not this the very truth of the matter ? You 
 may say, that with Job, Satan’s temptations were all exter- 
 nal, while with Bunyan they were mostly inward. Yes, 
 hut let it be remembered that Job had a bosom companion, 
 a treacherous, unbelieving, discontented wife, who would, in 
 the place of the devil, do all the whisperings, and the blas- 
 phemous suggestions that were needed. Yea, while Job was 
 passing through the valley of temptation, this woman was as 
 a fiend at his ear, Curse God and die,” to make it as the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death ! Bunyan, on the other hand, 
 had a godly wife, who would do no part of the work of the 
 tempter, but would shield her husband, and help him on to 
 God. As to many matters the cases are wonderfully similar, 
 especially if in Bunyan’s imprisonment likewise you trace 
 the malice of the devil, as assuredly you ought. 
 
 Now, if you pass from the Old Testament to the New, the 
 very experience of our blessed Lord at the very outset con- 
 firms this view. Before entering on his great work, he was 
 led of the Spirit into the wilderness, to be tempted of the 
 Devil. 
 
 To be tempted of the Devil ! And for what cause ? What 
 ineffable mystery is this ! Nay, it is indeed a mystery, 
 and yet in part it is so brightly, so sweetly, so lovingly 
 explained to us, that nothing could be more delightful to 
 the soul than this very fact. Turn, then, in your Bibles, to 
 those precious passages in the Epistle to the Hebrews, which 
 explain our blessed Lord’s temptations, and the reason for 
 them, and in some respects the manner of them. They tell us 
 that it became Him, for whom are all things, and by whom 
 are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make 
 the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings. 
 And, therefore, as the children are partakers of flesh and 
 blood, he also himself took part in the same, that through 
 death he might destroy him that had the power of death, 
 that is, the devil. Wherefore, in all things it behoved him 
 to be made like unto his brethren* that he might be a mer- 
 
68 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 ciful and faithful High Priest, to make reconciliation for the 
 sins of the people. For in that he himself hath suf- 
 fered, BEING tempted, HE IS ABLE TO SUCCOUR THEM THaT 
 ARE TEMPTED. Wherefore, people of God, rejoice ! For we 
 have not an Fligh Priest which cannot he touched with the 
 feeling of our infirmities, hut was in all points tempted like 
 as we are, yet without sin. Let us, therefore, come boldly 
 unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and 
 find grace to help in time of need. 
 
 How, is any further explanation needed than such a pas- 
 sage, so full of light, mercy, loveliness, in regard to that 
 other passage, “ Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into 
 the wilderness to be tempted of the devil P’ And how 
 could he be tempted with evil thoughts in any other way 1 
 They could not spring out of his own soul, for he was per- 
 fectly sinless. They could not come from his own imagina- 
 tion, for that imagination was invested with the splendours 
 of heaven. They could not be the ravings of lunacy ; for 
 though, because of our Saviour’s supremacy of goodness, be- 
 cause of the lightning of his countenance, his life, and his 
 wmrds against sin, and because of his irresistible power in 
 casting out devils, his enemies asserted that he had a devil 
 and was mad, yet no man now would dare the blasphemy. 
 They could only come from the personal suggestions of the 
 Evil One ; and thus did our blessed Lord take part in our 
 temptations ; thus did that spotless being pass through a fur- 
 nace of blasphemies and hell-born propositions, the very 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and thus, at the very com- 
 mencement of his ministry, did the Captain of our salvation 
 begin to be made perfect through sufferings. Hor is there in all 
 his ministry, nor, I had almost said, even in his death upon the 
 cross, a greater, more wonderful, more affecting proof of his 
 boundless compassion and love. The spotless Son of God 
 consenting, for our sakes, at the very entrance on his mi- 
 nistry, to pass through so revolting, so awful, so hideous an 
 ordeal ; an ordeal ten thousand times w^orse to an infinitely 
 holy mind than death itself ! Consenting to be for forty days 
 alone in the wilderness with Satan as a personal companion, 
 with this blaspheming, daring, polluted, tortured fiend, dra- 
 
bunyan’s te:\iptatioxs. 
 
 69 
 
 gon, devil, belching forth his hellish thoughts, and insulting 
 our blessed Lord with the application even of sacred scrip- 
 ture ! All this for us ! that he might be in all points tempted 
 like as we are, yet without sin ! Oh, who can tell the 
 smallest part of the infinite goodness and condescension of 
 our Redeemer ! 
 
 He was led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be 
 tempted of the devil. Now let me say, if you will read the 
 opening of Milton’s Paradise Regained, you will find there 
 a marvellously probable and beautiful description of the 
 manner in which Satan would enter on this work of temp- 
 tation. Nor did his disappointment, and his utter discom- 
 fiture in it, prevent him from renewing it on the eminent 
 disciples of our blessed Lord. There were some of them 
 that, like Runyan, were made to know the very depths of 
 Satan.” There was Peter, of whom our blessed Lord fore- 
 warned him, that Satan would try him to the utmost of his 
 malignity and power ! “ Simon, Simon, I say unto thee that 
 Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may sift thee as 
 wheat.” Why ! this is the very renewal of tlie scene in the 
 Old Testament in regard to Job. Let me but lay my hand, 
 says this sarcastic and malignant devil, upon this Peter, this 
 disciple so hot and zealous for his Lord and Master, and I 
 will make him blaspheme his very Saviour. I will make 
 him curse God and die. Yes ! and the devil did succeed in 
 making him curse God ! ^ Awful, awful truth ! Fearful 
 revelation of the meaning of our Saviour in his warning to 
 Peter, and of the dreadful power of this Tempter of man- 
 kind ! But he did not succeed in making him die, not in 
 utterly putting out the light of faith and life within him. 
 No, there again was Satan disappointed, and out of evil still 
 was brought forth good. But why, how, by what agency ? 
 Ah, how beautiful, how precious is the explanation ! Si- 
 mon, Simon, Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may 
 sift thee as wheat ; but I have prayed for iheCy that thy faith 
 fail not'^ So thou shalt yet be saved and strengthened, 
 even though thou shalt deny thy Lord ; and when thou art 
 converted, strengthen thy brethren ! Ah yes, that was the 
 reason, I have prayed for thee. And what saint is there 
 
70 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 that Christ does not pray for ? So, if our trust he in him, we 
 are all safe, but not otherwise. And now, who does not see 
 that in Peter’s case, just as in Bunyan’s, these dreadful 
 storms^of temptation were permitted to overwhelm him, that 
 even out of that terrible experience, out of these very “ depths 
 of Satan,” the tempted and fallen disciple might gain a 
 strength in the end, through the good Spirit of God, which 
 not another of the brethren, except perhaps Paul, ever ma- 
 nifested. And hence you can trace in Peter’s rich instruc- 
 tive epistles, a knowledge of the great adversary, and a 
 warning and a vigilance against him, that sprung from Peter’s 
 own dreadful wrestlings with him. Yea, those very blas- 
 phemies that Satan made Peter utter, turned out to be the 
 most effective weapons, in remembrance, against himself. 
 
 And now I should like to ask any man of common sense 
 to contemplate that striking declaration of our Lord to 
 Peter, “ Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may sift 
 thee as wheat and tell me in what possible way he would 
 translate or interpret it, except as a manifest absurdity 
 without recognising the existence and agency of fallen spirits ? 
 IIow, I say, shall we translate it, supposing it to mean 
 merely an evil thought, impulse, principle of wickedness ] 
 Simon, Simon, I say unto thee, the principle ot wickedness 
 hath desired to have thee that it may sift thee as wheat ? 
 Could any thing be more ineffably absurd, paltering, emas- 
 culating, than such a mode of dealing with the Scriptures 1 
 But why desire to resort to such absurdity ? Can any thing 
 be more consistent, steadfast, and definite, than the voice of 
 the whole Bible in regard to the personality and agency of 
 Satan ? In the very opening of the word of God he comes 
 before us in that awful character, sustained ever since, as 
 the Tempter of mankind, the Tempter, and by his dreadful 
 power the conqueror of the first Adam ; and in the opening 
 of the New Testament, the very first thing we see of him 
 again is as the great Tempter of mankind, in personal con- 
 flict with the Son of God, the Second Adam, to be by him 
 thrown as lightning from heaven ; and his very weapons 
 are those which he used with Bunyan, a diabolical perver- 
 sion of the word of God itself, and a suggestion of devilish 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 71 
 
 blaspliemies. And then in the closing up of all revelation, 
 the same accursed being comes into view as the llragon, the 
 Serpent, the Devil and Satan, the Deceiver of the world, the 
 Deceiver of the nations, the Tempter of mankind, the Accuser 
 of our brethren ! 
 
 I have referred you to the temptation of our blessed Lord, 
 and to that beautiful work of Milton, in which, with so 
 much verisimilitude, the character and reflections of the 
 devil, in entering on that work of temptation, are drawn 
 before us. And I say, that Satan would be likely to make 
 the same reflections, and pursue the same measures, though 
 on a smaller scale, whenever he saw men like Luther or 
 Bunyan in such an attitude, under such a discipline, of such 
 a make, that he might expect great danger to his own king- 
 dom from their efforts. For it is characteristic of Satan, as 
 of all the wicked, never to profit by his own experience ; 
 and though all the evil he ever did, recoils, and ever must 
 recoil, upon his own head, still he goes on doing it, providing 
 materials for God to display his own glory, and out of evil 
 still to bring forth good. “ Experience, like the stern-lights 
 of a ship,” only shews Satan the path that has been passed 
 over, and on he goes, committing the same errors in crime 
 again. 
 
 Passing, now, in this argument, from our Lord’s tempta- 
 tion to our Lord’s prayer, we find there a distinct recognition 
 of the Satanic tempter ; “ Lead us not into temptation, hut 
 deliver us from the Wicked One.” This is one of the few 
 passages in which our translation of the Scriptures, incom- 
 parably excellent though it be, is peculiarly defective, not 
 rendering the power and full meaning of the original. There 
 is another passage, equally unfortunate, where the transla- 
 tion, in the opinion of almost all commentators, ancient and 
 modern, ought to be the Evil One, or the Wicked One, the 
 same word being used as in our Lord’s prayer : — “ But the 
 Lord is faithful, who shall establish you, and keep you from 
 the Wicked One,” 2 Thess. iii. 3. And yet another passage 
 in Ephesians, concerning which there cannot be a moment’s 
 doubt : “ Above all taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye 
 shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the Wicked 
 
72 
 
 LECTURE SECOND. 
 
 One,” Ephes. vi. 16. And tliis is a passage in wliicli the 
 phrase fiery darts is wonderfully expressive and powerful, 
 being taken from the use in war of those slender arrows of 
 cane, to which ignited combustible matter was attached, 
 which, v/hen shot, would set on fire wood- work, tents, what- 
 ever there was that would catch fire. Just so are the fiery 
 darts of the Wicked One shot into the soul, or shot at the 
 Christian, tipped, as it were, with damnation ; and if there 
 ])e wood, hay, stubble, in a Christian’s works, instead of 
 prayer, self-denial, labour for Christ, and in such a case 
 these darts fall into the soul, then what a conflagration, 
 perhaps what apostasy, what ruin, what death ! Now in 
 war it was the aim of persons so assailed to intercept and 
 quench these burning arrows ; and a most nimble and 
 powerful exercise in the use of the shield did it require ; and 
 in the Christian warfare, it is nothing but the Shield of 
 Faith, and an equally nimble and dexterous use of it, that 
 can defend the Christian. And this Bunyan found to his 
 cost ; for his great adversary assailed him with a fierce fiery 
 storm of those darts, when he had but very little faith ; and 
 his very experience in the use of his shield he had to gain 
 in his conflicts with the enemy. Now, if you compare these 
 passages with some others — such as, “ I would have come to 
 you once and again, but Satan hindered me Lest Satan 
 get an advantage of us, for we are not ignorant of his de- 
 vices “ Lest by any means the tempter may have tempted 
 you, and our work be in vain and other passages of the 
 like character, you will see delineated in the Scriptures the 
 features of that fiend who tempted Bunyan ; and you cannot 
 doubt the meaning of the declaration that your adversary 
 the devil goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he 
 may devour.’’ 
 
 Let it be marked that I have here confined myself to one 
 class of passages in regard to Satan, those which present him 
 in the character in which we have to do with him in the 
 case of Bunyan. There are multitudes of passages, which I 
 have not touched, and shall not. In the Revelation of St 
 John the ’devil is said to be concerned in throwing saints 
 into prison, that they may be tried there ; and here is a new 
 
bunyan’s temptations. 
 
 73 
 
 mark of identity between the adversary of Bunyan and the 
 devil of the Scriptures ; and a new proof that in every age 
 his wiles and stratagems are the same. I could easily fill a 
 whole volume with arguments drawm from Scripture, and 
 another volume with proofs from experience, on this subject. 
 There is one point of importance in Bunyan’s experience of 
 the wiles of the devil, which I have not noticed, and that is? 
 the great advantage which early habits of sin give to the 
 Tempter against our owm souls. Perhaps w^e may note this 
 in the case of Peter, in the readiness w ith which Satan could 
 fill his mouth with profaneness in tlie recurrence of what 
 were probably his oaths as a youthful passionate fisherman. 
 You may note it mucli more clearly in the case of Bunyan, 
 who used to swear so dreadfully in his childhood, so that 
 when the devil in his manhood tempted him wdth blas- 
 phemies, he had a pow^erful advantage over him. God 
 indeed often uses a man’s owm sins to be terrible scourges to 
 him ; and in this is realized wdiat is said in Jeremiah, 
 Thine own wickedness shall correct thee, and thy back- 
 slidings shall reprove thee ; know therefore and see that it is 
 an evil and bitter thing that thou hast forsaken the Lord 
 thy God.” The truth of this Bunyan found to his great cost 
 under the assaults of the Tempter, opening anew^ the sluices 
 of his youthful wickedness. 
 
 8 
 
LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 Bun^an’*! iEramtnatton. 
 
 Bnnyan’s use of his temptations. — The gloom of his mind in the early part of 
 his imprisonment. — His faithfulness to Chri.st in the midst of it. — His per- 
 fect disinterestedness. — His little blind daughter. — Relation of his exami- 
 nation and imprisonment.— That old enemy Dr Lindale. — Bunyan’s admi- 
 rable answers and Christian deportment.— The nature and preciousness of 
 religious liberty. — Parable by Dr Franklin. 
 
 There never was a man who made better use of his temp- 
 tations, especially the temptations by his Great Adversary, 
 than Bunyaii. In the preface to his Grace Abounding, ad- 
 dressed to those whom God had counted him worthy to bring 
 to the Redeemer by his ministry, he says, I have sent you 
 here enclosed a drop of the honey that I have taken out of 
 the carcass of a lion. I have eaten thereof myself, and am 
 much refreshed thereby. Temptations, when we meet them 
 at first, are as the lion that roared upon Samson ; but if we 
 overcome them, the next time we see them we shall find a 
 nest of honey within them.” Nor was there ever a man who 
 traced the parental care, tenderness, and goodness of God 
 more clearly, or with more gratitude, in those temptations, 
 the designs of God in suffering such things to befall him, 
 and the manner in which those designs were accomplished. 
 It was for this, Bunyan said, that God suffered liiin to lie 
 so long at Sinai, to see the fire, and the cloud, and the dark- 
 ness, that I might fear the Lord all the da^^s of my life 
 upon earth, and tell of his wondrous works to my children.’’ 
 It was in the calm, clear light of heaven, in the light of 
 divine mercy to bis rescued soul, that Bunyan remembered 
 
BUNYAN S EXAMINATION. 
 
 75 
 
 Ms ways, his journey ings, the desert and the wilderness, 
 the Rock that followed him, and the Manna that fed him. 
 
 Thou shalt remember all the ways which the Lord thy 
 God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble 
 thee, and prove thee, and to know what was in thine heart, 
 whether thou wouldst keep his commandments or no.” The 
 grace of God was above Runyan’s sins, and Satan’s tempta- 
 tions too ; he could remember his fears and doubts and sad 
 months with comfort ; they were as the head of Goliah in 
 his hand.” lie sang of God’s grace as the children of Israel, 
 with the Red Sea between them and the land of their ene^ 
 mies. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the temptations of Satan 
 departed entirely from Runyan when he was thrown into 
 prison. On the contrary, he was for a time assailed through 
 the same spirit of unbelief, of which his Adversary had made 
 such fearful use, when he was passing through the Valley 
 of Humiliation, and of the Shadow of Death. It was in the 
 early part of his imprisonment, when he was in a sad and 
 low condition for many weeks. A pretty business he says 
 it was ; for he thought his imprisonment might end at the 
 gallows, and if it did, and he should be so afraid to die when 
 the time came, and so destitute of all evidence of preparation 
 for a better state hereafter, what could he do ! These thoughts, 
 revolved in his mind in various shapes, greatly distressed 
 him. He was afraid of dishonouring his Saviour, and though 
 he prayed earnestly for strength, yet no comfort came ; and 
 the only encouragement he could get was this : that he should 
 doubtless have an opportunity to speak to the great multi- 
 tudes that would come to see him die, and if God would but 
 use his last words for the conversion of one single soul, he 
 would not count his life thrown away nor lost. How de- 
 lightful is the evidence of Runyan’s disinterestedness, forget- 
 fulness of self, and love to souls, even in the darkness and 
 distress of his sore spiritual conflicts ! 
 
 Rut still the things of God were kept out of his sight, and 
 still the Tempter followed hard upon him ; a desperate foe, 
 and able still at times to overwhelm Runyan’s soul with 
 anguish, although there remained only the hinder part of 
 
76 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 the tempest, and the thunder was gone beyond him 
 
 Whither must you go when you die was the gloomy, 
 moody, sullen question of unbelief in Bunyan’s soul beneath 
 his temptation. What will become of you ? Where will you 
 be found in another world ? What evidence have you for 
 heaven and glory, and an inheritance among them that are 
 sanctified ? For many weeks poor Bunyan knew not what 
 to do ; till at length it came to him with great power, that 
 at all events, it being for the word and way of God that he 
 was in this condition of danger, perhaps in the path of death, 
 he was engaged not to flinch an hair’s-breadth from it. 
 Bunyan thought, furthermore, that it was for God to choose 
 whether he would give him comfort then, or in the hour of 
 death, or whether he would or would not give him comfort 
 in either, comfort at all ; but it was not for Bunyan to 
 choose whether to serve God or not, whether to hold fast his 
 profession or not, for to this he was bound. He was bound, 
 but God was free ; “ Yea,” says he, “ it was my duty to stand 
 to his word, whether he would ever look upon me, or save 
 me at the last, or not ; wherefore, thought I, the point being 
 thus, I am for going on, and venturing my eternal state with 
 Christ, whether I have comfort here or no. If God doth not 
 come in, thought I, I will leap off the ladder even blindfold 
 into eternity ; sink or s^wim, come heaven, come hell. Lord 
 J esus, if thou wilt catch me, do ; if not, I will venture for 
 thy name ! ” 
 
 Well done, noble Bunyan ! Faithful even unto death, and 
 faithful even in darkness ! Here was no imaginary tempta- 
 tion to sell thy Saviour, but a real inducement, by relin- 
 quishing thy confession of the truth, to escape from prison 
 and from death ; a temptation accompanied by, dreadful dark- 
 ness in thy soul. And yet, amidst it all, he ventured every 
 thing upon Christ, yea, determined to die for him, even though 
 rejected by him ! Was not this a noble triumph over the 
 Tempter ? One would think that from this hour he would 
 have left Bunyan in utter despair, yea, that he would have 
 spread his dragon-wings, and Bunyan have seen him no more 
 for ever ! And this indeed I believe that he did ; for so soon 
 as Bunyan had come to this noble and steadfast resolution. 
 
BUNYAIs’s EXAMINATION?. 
 
 77 
 
 the word of the Tempter flashed across his soul, Doth Job 
 serve God for nought ? Hast thou not made an hedge about 
 him ? lie serves God for benefits. Ah, thought Bunyan, 
 then, even in the opinion of Satan, a man who will serve 
 God when there is nothing to keep or to gain by it, is a 
 renewed man, an upright man. Now, Satan, thou givest 
 me a weapon against thyself. Is this the sign of a re- 
 newed soul, to desire to serve God, when all is taken from 
 him ? Is he a godly man that will serve God for nothing, 
 rather than give out 1 Blessed be God, then, I hope I have 
 an upright heart; for I am resolved, God giving me strength, 
 never to deny my profession, though I had nothing at all 
 for my pains.” 
 
 Here was a second fight with Apollyon, and a conquest of 
 him for ever. Bunyan’s perplexities, after this, were but as 
 drops from the trees after a thunder-shower. He greatly 
 rejoiced in this trial. It made his heart to be full of com- 
 fort, because he hoped it proved his heart sincere. And 
 indeed it did ; a man that resolves to serve Christ, come 
 heaven, come hell, shews, whatever he his darkness, that 
 God is with him ; and Bunyan’s noble resolution, amidst 
 such deep gloom over his soul, was a remarkable instance of 
 obedience to that word of God by the prophet, Who is 
 among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of 
 his servant, that walketh in darkness and hath no light ? 
 Let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his 
 God.” Bunyan could now say, in a passage in the forty- 
 fourth Psalm, brought powerfully to remembrance, Though 
 thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and co- 
 vered us with the shadow of death, yet our heart is not turned 
 back, neither have our steps declined from thy way.” This 
 indeed, is the truest sign of conversion, to venture all on 
 Christ, and resolve to serve him come what may. 
 
 When a soul comes to this determination, it always finds 
 light. And so it was with Bunyan ; and he says himself, 
 “ I would not have been without this trial for much. I am 
 comforted every time I think of it ; and I hope I shall bless 
 God for ever for the teaching I have had by it.” In this trial, 
 Bunyan may in truth be said to have been added to the 
 
78 
 
 LECTURE Tlimi). 
 
 number of the witnesses in the Revelation, who overcame 
 the Tempter hy the blood of the Lamb, and the word of their 
 testimony ; and they loved not their lives unto the death. For 
 Bunyan was as if he had been brought to the scaffold, and 
 there taken the leap into eternity in the dark. This pass- 
 age in Bunyan’s prison experience reminds us powerfully 
 of Christian’s woeful confinement in the dungeon of Giant 
 Despair’s castle from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, 
 and of his sudden and joyful deliverance ; nor can there be 
 any doubt that some of the lights and shades in that beauti- 
 ful passage grew out of those melancholy weeks, when Bun- 
 yan’s soul as well as his body was in prison. Afterwards, 
 his soul was unfettered, and then what cared he for the 
 confinement of his body ? He could say, in an infinitely 
 higher sense than some of his enemies in the celebrated song 
 of his times, 
 
 “ stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron-bars a cage ; 
 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 That for a hermitage.” 
 
 In Bunyan’s prison meditations, he describes most forcibly, 
 in his own rude but vigorous rhymes, the freedom and 
 triumph of his soul. 
 
 “ 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. 
 
 ’Tis not the baseness of this state 
 Doth hide us from God’s face ; 
 
 He frequently, both soon and late. 
 
 Doth visit us with grace. 
 
 We change our drossy dust for gold, 
 
 From death to life we fly ; 
 
 We let go shadows, and take hold 
 Of immortality. 
 
 These be the men that God doth count 
 Of high and noble mind ; 
 
 These be the men that do surmount 
 Wnat you in nature find. 
 
 First they do conquer their own hearts, 
 
 All worldly fears, and then 
 Also the Devil’s fiery darts. 
 
 And persecuting men. 
 
13UNYAI^’S EXAMINATION. 
 
 79 
 
 They conquer when they thus do fall. 
 
 They kill when they do die ; 
 
 They overcome then most of all, 
 
 And get the victory,” 
 
 Such poetry would have been noble from any man of ge- 
 nius, but it came from Bunyan’s heart ; it was his own ex- 
 perience. I never had in my life,” he says, “ so great an 
 inlet into the word as now. Those scriptures that I saw 
 nothing in before, are made in this place and state to shine 
 upon me. Jesus Christ also was never more real and apparent 
 than now ; here I have seen and felt him indeed.” Three 
 or four sweet and thrilling scriptures were a great refresh- 
 ment to him, especially that sweet fourteenth of John, Let 
 not your heart be troubled,” &c., and that of John, xvi. 33, 
 In the world ye shall have tribulation ; but be of good 
 cheer, I have overcome the world ;” and also that inspiring, 
 animating word, We are come unto Mount Zion,” &c. 
 Sometimes, when Bunyan was “ in the savour” of these 
 scriptures, he was able to laugh at destruction, and to fear 
 neither the horse nor his rider. I have had sweet sights 
 of the forgiveness of my sins in this place, and of my being 
 with Jesus in another world. 0 the Mount Zion, the hea- 
 venly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and 
 God the Judge of all, and the spirits of just men made per- 
 fect, and Jesus the Mediator, have been sweet unto me in 
 this place ! I have seen that here, which I am persuaded I 
 shall never, while in this world, be able to express. I have 
 seen a truth in this 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.’ 
 
 I never knew what it was for God to stand by me at all 
 times, and at every offer of Satan to afflict me, as I have 
 found him since I came in hither ; for look how fears have 
 presented themselves, so have supports and encouragements ; 
 yea, when I have started even as it were at nothing else 
 but my shadow, yet God, as being very tender of me, hath 
 not suffered me to be molested, but would, with one scrip- 
 ture or another, strengthen me against all, insomuch that 
 I have often said. Were it lawful, I could pray for greater 
 trouble for the greater comfort’s sake.” Bunyan could now 
 
80 
 
 LECTURE THIRD, 
 
 say with Paul, that as his sufferings jor Christ abounded, 
 so his qonsolation in Christ abounded likewise. 
 
 Bunyan had thought much upon these things before he 
 went to prison ; for he saw the storm coming, and had some 
 preparatory considerations warm upon his heart.” Like 
 a prudent, skilful, fearless mariner, he took in sail at the 
 signs of the hurricane, and made all tight aloft, by prayer, 
 and by consideration of the things which are unseen and 
 eternal. He kept on his course, turning neither to the right 
 hand nor the left, in his Master’s service, but he made all 
 ready for the tempest, and familiarized himself to the worst 
 that might come, be it the prison, the pillory, or banish- 
 ment, or death. With a magnanimity and grandeur of 
 philosophy which none of the princes, or philosophers, or 
 sufferers of this world ever dreamed of, he concluded that 
 the best way to go through suffering, is to trust in God 
 through Christ as touching the world to come ; and as touch- 
 ing this world, to be dead to it, to give up all interest in it, 
 to have the sentence of death in ourselves and admit it, to 
 count the grave my house, to make my bed in darkness, 
 and to say to corruption. Thou art my father ; and to the 
 worm. Thou art my mother and sister ; that is, to familiar- 
 ize these things to me.” 
 
 With this preparation, when the storm suddenly fell, 
 though the ship at first bowed and laboured heavily under 
 it, yet how, like a bird, did she afterwards flee before it ! It 
 reminds me of tliose two lines of Wesley, 
 
 “ The tempests that rise, 
 
 Shall gloriously hurry our souls to the skies !” 
 
 So Bunyan’s bark sped onward, amidst howling gales, with 
 rattling hail and thunder ; but onward, still onward, and 
 upward, still upward, to heaven ! 
 
 There is one passage in his experience at this time which 
 is deeply affecting, as shewing what he had to break from 
 and to leave, and in what difficult circumstances, as well as 
 to encounter, in going to prison, and perhaps to death. 
 
 Notwithstanding these spiritual helps,” he says, I found 
 myself a man encompassed with infirmities. The parting 
 with my wife and poor children hath often been to me, in 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 81 
 
 this place, as the pulling the flesh from my bones ; and that 
 not only because I am somewhat too fond of these mercies, 
 but also because I should have often brought to my mind 
 the many hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor fa- 
 mily was likewise to meet with ; especially my poor blind 
 child, who lay nearer my heart than all I had beside. Oh, 
 the thoughts of the hardships I thought my blind one might 
 go under would break my heart to pieces ! Poor child, 
 thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy por- 
 tion in this world ! Thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer 
 hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though 
 T cannot now endure the wind shall blow upon thee ! But 
 yet recalling myself, thought I, I must venture you all with 
 God, though it goeth to the quick to leave you. Oh, I saw 
 in this condition I was as a man who is pulling down his 
 house upon the head of his wife and children ; }^et, thought 
 f, I must do it, I must do it. And now, I thought on those 
 two milch kine, that were to carry the ark of God into an- 
 other country, to leave their calves behind them.” 
 
 Nothing could be more touching than this artless picture 
 of Bunyan’s domestic tenderness, especially of the father’s 
 affection for his poor blind child. If anything could have- 
 tempted him from duty ; if anything could have allured him 
 to conform against his conscience, it had been this. But 
 the Scriptures and the love of Christ supported him ; and 
 lie who could venture to die for Christ, even while his soul 
 was in darkness, could also trust in the promise, Leave 
 t hy fatherless children ; I will preserve them alive ; and let 
 thy widow trust in me. Verily, it shall go well with thy 
 remnant.” So, by divine grace, Bunyan overcame this 
 temptation also. 
 
 And now, having followed this instructive picture of Bun- 
 yan’s conflicts, partly while under fear of prison and of death, 
 laying our tracery, as it were, over his own deeply engraven 
 lines to make it accurate, we come next to his own account 
 of his commitment, which is one of the most humorous, cha- 
 racteristic, and instructive pieces in the English language. 
 This is not to be found in the Grace Abounding,” but stands 
 by itself in a tract entitled, A Relation of the Imprisonment 
 
82 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 of Mr John Bunyan, Minister of the Gospel at Bedford, in 
 November 1660 ; his Examination before the Justices ; his 
 Conference with the Clerk of the Peace ; what passed be- 
 tween the Judges and iiis Wife, when she presented a Peti- 
 tion for his Deliverance, and so forth. Written by himself.” 
 
 I was indicted,” says Bunyan, for an upholder and 
 inaintainer of unlawful assemblies and conventicles, and for 
 not conforming to the national worship of the Church of 
 England ; and after some conference there with the justices, 
 they taking my plain dealing with them for a confession, 
 as they termed it, of the indictment, did sentence me to a 
 perpetual banishment, because I refused to conform. So 
 being again delivered up to the jailor’s hands, I was had 
 home to prison, and there have lain now complete twelve 
 years, waiting to see what God would suffer these men to do 
 with me^ 
 
 It is a striking phraseology which Bunyan uses, he was 
 had home to prison it was indeed a home to him, for God 
 made it such, sweeter, by divine grace, than any earthly 
 home in his pilgrimage. He had been preaching for years 
 when he was first taken, which was upon the 12th of Novem- 
 ber 1660. He had engaged, if the Lord permitted, to come 
 and teach some of the people who desired it on that day ; 
 but the justice of the peace hearing of it, issued his warrant 
 to take Bunyan, and mean time to keep a strong watch 
 about the house, as if,” says Bunyan, “ we that were to 
 meet together in that place, did intend to do some fearful 
 business to the destruction of the country.” Yea, they could 
 scarce have been more alarmed and vigilant, if there had 
 been rumour of a Popish gunpowder plot on foot. When, 
 alas ! the constable, when he came in, found us only with 
 our Bibles in our hands, ready to speak and hear the word 
 of God ; for we were just about to begin our exercise. Nay, 
 we had begun in prayer for the blessing of God upon our 
 opportunity, intending to have preached the word of the 
 Lord unto them there present ; but the constable coming 
 in, prevented us.” 
 
 Bunyan might have escaped had he chosen, for he had 
 fiiir warning ; but he reasoned nobly , that as he had shewed 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 83 
 
 himself hearty and courageous in his preaching, and made 
 it his business to encourage others, if he should now run, his 
 weak and newly converted brethren would certainly think 
 he was not so strong in deed as in word. Also, I feared 
 that if I should run, now that there was a warrant out for 
 me, I might, by so doing, make them afraid to stand, when 
 great words only should be spoken to them. Besides, I 
 thought that seeing God of his mercy should choose me to 
 go upon the forlorn hope in this country ; that is, to be the 
 first that should be opposed for the gospel ; if I should fly, 
 it might be a discouragement to the whole body that might 
 follow after. And further, I thought the world thereby 
 would take occasion at my cowardliness to have blasphemed 
 the gospel, and to have had some grounds to suspect worse of 
 me and my profession than I deserved.” So Bunyan staid 
 with full resolution, and began the meeting. And when 
 brought before the Justice, and questioned as to what he did 
 there, and why he did not content himself with following 
 Uis calling, for it was against the law that such as he should 
 lie admitted to do as he did ; he answered, that the intent of 
 his coming thither, and to other places, was to instruct and 
 counsel people to forsake their sins, and close in with Christ, 
 lest they did miserably perish, and that he could do both 
 these without confusion, to wit, follow his calling, and 
 preach the WQrd also. 
 
 “ Now,” says Bunyan, in a passage where you have the 
 germ of many a character that afterwards figured in the 
 pages of the Pilgrim’s Progress, Now, while my mittimus 
 was a-making, the justice was withdrawn, and in comes an 
 old enemy to the truth. Dr Lindale, who when he was come 
 in, fell to taunting at me with many reviling terms. To 
 whom I answered, that I did not come thither to talk with 
 him, but with the Justice. Whereat he supposing that I 
 had nothing to sa}^ for myself, triumphed as if he had got 
 the victory, charging and condemning me for meddling with 
 that for which I could shew no warrant, and asked me if I 
 had taken the oaths, and if I had not, it was pity but that I 
 should be sent to prison. I told him that if I was minded, 
 I could answer to any sober question put to me. He then 
 
84 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 urged me again, how I could prove it lawful for me to 
 preach, with a great deal of confidence of the victory. But 
 at last, because he should see that I could answer him if I 
 listed, I cited to him that in Peter, which saith, As every 
 man hath received the gift, even so let him minister the 
 same.” 
 
 Lindale. Ay, saith he, to whom is that spoken ? 
 
 Bunyan, To whom ? said I ; why, to every man that 
 hath received a gift from God. Mark, saith the apostle, as 
 every man hath received the gift from God ; and again. You 
 may all prophecy one by one. Whereat the man was a 
 little stopt, and went a softlier pace. But not being willing 
 to lose the day, he began again, and said : 
 
 Lind. Indeed, I do remember that I have read of one 
 Alexander a coppersmith, who did much oppose and disturb 
 the apostles : (aiming, it is like, at me, because I was a 
 tinker), s 
 
 Bun. To which I answered, that I also had read of very 
 many priests and Pharisees, that had their hands in the 
 blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 Lind. Ay, saith he, and you are one of those scribes and 
 Pharisees, for you, with a pretence, make long prayers to 
 devour widows’ houses. 
 
 Bun. I answered, that if he got no more by preaching 
 and praying than I had done, he would not be so rich as now 
 he was. But that scripture coming into my mind, Answer 
 not a fool according to his folly,” I was as sparing of my 
 speech as I could without prejudice to the truth. 
 
 After this there was another examination with one Mr 
 Foster of Bedford, who tried hard to persuade Bun^^an to 
 promise that he would leave off preaching, in which case he 
 should be acquitted. Bunyan’s honest, straightforward 
 truth, good sense, and mother-wit, answered as good a pur- 
 pose with this Mr Foster, as it did with that old enemy,” 
 Dr Lindale. Mr Foster told Bunyan there were none that 
 heard him but a company of foolish people. 
 
 Bun. I told him that there were the wise as well as the 
 foolish that did hear me ; and again, those that are most 
 commonly counted foolish by the world, are the wisest before 
 
bunyan’s examination. 85 
 
 God. Also, that God had rejected the wise and mighty and 
 noble, and chosen the foolish and the base. 
 
 Foster. He told me that I made people neglect their call- 
 ing ; and that God hath commanded people to work six 
 days, and serve him on the seventh. 
 
 Bun. I told him that it was the duty of people, rich and 
 poor, to look out for their souls on those days, as well as 
 their bodies ; and that God would have his people exhort 
 one another daily, while it is called to-day. 
 
 Fost. He said again, that there were none but a company 
 of poor, simple, ignorant people that came. 
 
 Bun. I told him that the foolish and the ignorant had 
 most need of teaching and information ; and therefore it 
 would be profitable for me to go on in that work. 
 
 Fost. Well, said he, to conclude, but will you promise that 
 you will not call the people together any more, and then 
 you may be released and go home ? 
 
 Bun. I told him that I durst say no more than I had 
 said ; for I durst not leave off that work which God had 
 called me to. If my preaching might be said to call the 
 people together, I durst not say that I would not call them 
 together. 
 
 Foster upon this told the justice that he must send Bunyan 
 to prison ; and so to prison he went, nothing daunted, but 
 singing and making melody in his heart unto the L(?i’d. 
 After this follows an inimitably rich and humorous dia- 
 logue, which Bunyan called the Sum of my Examination 
 before Justice Keelin, Justice Chester, Justice Blmidale, 
 Justice Beecher, and Justice Snagg. These men’s names 
 are immortalized in a way they never dreamed of ; nor can 
 any one read this scene, and compare it with the trial of 
 Faithful in the Pilgrim’s Progress, and not see what rich 
 materials Bunyan was now gathering, in the providence of 
 God, out of his own experience, for his future work. These 
 persons are just as certainly to be detected in Bunyan’s 
 sketches of the court, in the town of Vanity Fair, as Sancho 
 Panza whenever he appears in any part of Don Quixote. It 
 was an almost unconscious operation of quiet, but keen 
 satire, when this scene remoulded its materials afterwards 
 
86 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 in Banyan’s imagination. The extent of the indictment 
 against Banyan was as follows : That John Banyan, of the 
 town of Bedford, lahonrer, being a person of sach and snch 
 conditions, he hath, since such a time, devilishly and perni- 
 ciously abstained from coming to church to hear divine ser- 
 vice, 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. When this was read, the clerk 
 of the sessions said to Bunyan, What say you to this ? 
 
 Bunyan, I said that as to the first part of it, I was a com- 
 mon frequenter of the church of God, and was also, by 
 grace, a member with those people, over whom Christ was 
 the head. 
 
 Keelin. But, saith Justice Keelin, who was the judge in 
 that court — Do you come to church — you know what I mean 
 — to the parish church, to hear divine service 1 
 
 Bun. I answered no, I did not. 
 
 Keel. He asked me why. 
 
 Bun. I said, because I did not find it commanded in the 
 word of God. 
 
 Keel. He said we were commanded to pray. 
 
 Bun. I said, hut not by the Common Prayer Book. 
 
 Keel. He said, how then ? 
 
 Bun. I said, with the Spirit. As the apostle saith, I will 
 pray with the Spirit, with understanding. 
 
 Keel. He said, we might pray with the Spirit with under- 
 standing, and with the Common Prayer Book also. 
 
 Bun. I said that those prayers in the Common Prayer 
 Book were such as were made by other men, and not by the 
 motions of the Holy Ghost within our hearts ; and as I said, 
 the apostle saith he will pray with the Spirit and with 
 understanding, not with the Spirit and the Common Prayer 
 Book. 
 
 Another Justice. What do you count prayer ] Do you think 
 it is to say a few words over, before or among a people ? 
 
 Bun. I said, not so ; for men might have many elegant 
 or excellent words, and yet not pray at all ; but when a 
 man prayeth, he doth, througli a sense of those things which 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 87 
 
 he wants, which sense is begotten by the Spirit, pour out his 
 heart before God through Christ ; though his words be not 
 so many and so excellent as others. 
 
 Justices, They said that was true. 
 
 Bun. I said this might be done without the Common 
 Prayer Book, 
 
 There was a strange mixture of candour and bitterness in 
 these Justices, for they acknowledged the truth of some things 
 that Bunyan said, and that very freely, while they were 
 blasphemous in other things, as we shall see. Bunyan’s own 
 argument against the Common Prayer Book would not be 
 admitted as valid by many out of the Episcopal Church as 
 well as in it ; but his argument against the enforcing of it 
 on the conscience is incontrovertible, as well as his own 
 candid and tolerant spirit towards those who preferred to use 
 it. Let them use it, if they choose,” said he, we would 
 not keep them from it ; only, for our part, we can pray to 
 God without it ; and all we ask is the liberty of so praying 
 and preaching.” Could any thing be more fair, equitable, 
 or generous than this 1 The same we say now to those who 
 assert, that we cannot worship God aright without episco- 
 pacy, confirmation, and a liturgy; and who arrogantly say, 
 that without these things we are not of the true church, and 
 are neither ministers nor flocks of Jesus Christ. We say to 
 those who are guilty of such unchristian conduct. Use you 
 your liturgy, and love it as much as you please, and we will 
 agree with you, that for those who choose a liturgy, it is, 
 with some great faults, an admirable composition ; but dare 
 not to impose it upon us ; be not guilty of the great intole- 
 rance and wickedness of unchurching and anathematizing 
 others, because they do not use a liturgy nor hold to epis- 
 copacy ; stand not by yourselves and^say, I am holier than 
 thou by the apostolical succession, and episcopacy, and the 
 liturgy ! Above all, if you do these things, expect to be 
 met with severity and indignation ; and accuse no man of 
 bitterness who defends, or because he defends, the church 
 and the ministry of Christ from your unrighteous assump- 
 tions. 
 
 Bunyan’s chief reason for not using the Common Prayer 
 
88 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 Book was, that it is not commanded in the Scriptures. 
 
 Shew me,” said he, “ the place in the epistles where the 
 Common Prayer Book is written, or one text of Scripture 
 that commands me to read it, and I will use it. But yet, 
 notwithstanding,” said he, “ they that have a mind to use it, 
 they have their liberty ; that is, I would not keep it from 
 them, or them from it ; but for our parts, we can pray to 
 God without it. Blessed be his name.” 
 
 With that one of them said. Who is your God, Beelzebub ? 
 Moreover they often said that I was possessed with the spirit 
 of delusion and of the devil. All which sayings I passed 
 over, the Lord forgive them ! And further, I said. Blessed 
 be the Lord for it, we are encouraged to meet together, and 
 to pray, and exhort one another : for we have had the com- 
 fortable presence of God among us, for ever blessed be his 
 holy name. 
 
 Justice Keelin called this pedler’s French, saying that 1 
 must leave off my canting. The Lord open his eyes. 
 
 Bun, I said that we ought to exhort one another dail}^, 
 while it is called to-day. 
 
 Keel, Justice Keelin said that I ought not to preach ; and 
 asked me where I had niy authority ? 
 
 Bun, I said that I would prove that it was lawful for me, 
 and such as I am, to preach the word of God. 
 
 Keel, He said unto me. By what scripture ? 
 
 Bun, I said. By that in the first epistle of Peter, the fourth 
 chapter, the eleventh verse ; and Acts the eighteenth, with 
 other scriptures, which he would not suffer me to mention. 
 But hold, said he, not so many ; which is the first ? 
 
 Bun, I said this : “ As every man hath received the gift, 
 so let him minister the same one to another, as good stewards 
 of the manifold grace of God ; if any man speak, let him 
 speak as the oracles of God.” 
 
 Keel, He said. Let me a little open that scripture to you. 
 As every man hath received the gift ; that is, said he, as 
 every man hath received a trade, so let him follow it. If 
 any man hath received a gift of tinkering, as thou hast done, 
 let him follow his tinkering ; and so other men their trades, 
 and the divine his calling, <H:c. 
 
BUNYAN S EXAMINATION. 
 
 89 
 
 Bun. Nay, sir, said I, but it is most clear that the apostle 
 speaks here of preaching the word ; if you do but compare 
 both the verses together, the next verse explains this gift, 
 what it is ; saying, If any man speak, let him speak as 
 the oracles of God so that it is plain that the Holy Ghost 
 doth not, in this place, so much exhort to civil callings, as 
 to the exercising of those gifts that we have received from 
 God. I would have gone on, but he would not give me leave. 
 
 Keel. He said, we might do it in our families, but not 
 otherwise. 
 
 Bun. I said, if it was lawful to do good to some, it was 
 lawful to do good to more. If it was a good duty to exhort 
 our families, it is good to exhort others ; but if they hold it 
 a sin to meet together to seek the face of God, and exhort 
 one another to follow Christ, I should sin still, for so we 
 should do. 
 
 Keel. Then you confess the indictment, do you not ? 
 
 Bun. This I confess, we have had many meetings toge- 
 ther, both to pray to God and to exhort one another, and 
 that we had the sweet comforting presence of the Lord among 
 us, for our encouragement, blessed be his name therefore. 
 I confess myself guilty no otherwise. 
 
 Keel. Then, said he, hear your judgment. You must be 
 had back again to prison, and there lie for three months fol- 
 lowing ; and at three months’ end, if you do not submit to 
 go to church to hear divine service, and leave your preach- 
 ing, you must be banished the realm ; and if, after such a 
 day as shall be appointed you to be gone, you shall be found 
 in this realm, or be found to come over again without spe- 
 cial license from the king, you must stretch by the neck for 
 it, I tell you plainly. And so he bid my jailer have me away. 
 
 Bun. I told him, as to this matter I was at a point with 
 him ; for if I was out of prison to-day, I would preach the 
 gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God. 
 
 Thus ended the examination and commitment of John 
 Bunyan. This answer of his is equal in nobleness to any 
 thing recorded of Luther. Ir I was out op the prison to- 
 day, I would preach the gospel again to-morrow, by 
 THE HELP OF GoD. There was neither obstinacy nor vain- 
 
 7 
 
90 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 glory in it, but a calm steadfast determination to obey God 
 rather than man. Bunyan had good examples for his stead- 
 fastness and courage. The scene reminds us^ more than 
 almost any thing else, of certain events in the Acts of the 
 Apostles. What shall we do to these men ? said the Jewish 
 rulers. That it spread no further among the people, let us 
 straitly threaten them, that they speak henceforth to no 
 man in this name. And they called them, and commanded 
 them not to speak at all, nor teach in the name of Jesus. 
 But Peter and John answered and said unto them. Whether 
 it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more 
 than unto God, judge ye. For we cannot but speak the things 
 which we have seen and heard. And again they spake ; and 
 again they were thrust into prison ; and again they spake ; 
 and again the council and high priest charged them. Did we 
 not straitly command you that ye should not teach in this 
 name ? So they beat the apostles, and commanded that they 
 should not speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go. 
 And what next h Why, just this : And daily in the temple, 
 and in every house, they ceased not to teach, and to preach 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 In all these trying and vexing examinations, Bunyan 
 appears to the greatest advantage, both as a man and a 
 Christian. If he sometimes answered a fool according to 
 his folly, it was never with railing or bitterness ; and with 
 all his prejudices against the Common Prayer Book, he has 
 not one word to say against those who choose it, or consci- 
 entiously use it, or against their religion. And now, to those 
 who may think it strange that so strong a prejudice should 
 have prevailed against that book, so that men would rather 
 go to prison than use it, we would simply say. What think 
 you would be your feelings in regard to the Presbyterian 
 Book of Discipline, if you were compelled by law to use 
 it, and abide by it, or else have no religion at all ? If the 
 strong grasp of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny were laid 
 upon you, and your face were pressed in the dust beneath 
 that book, and it were said to you. Either abide by this and 
 obey it, or you shall neither preach nor teach, nor hold any 
 civil office ; nay, you shall be thrust into prison, or banished, 
 
BCN tan’s examination. 
 
 91 
 
 and if found returning, you shall be hanged by the neck till 
 you are dead ! I say, what think you would be your feel- 
 ings towards that book ? Why, if it were better than the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress itself, you would abhor it, and I had 
 almost said, you would do well to hate it ; and you would, 
 as an instrument of pride and tyranny. Prejudice against 
 the Common Prayer Book ! If men wish to bring it into 
 disgrace, let them persevere in their assumption that there is 
 no true church, and no true ministry without it. The cross 
 itself, the moment you erect it into a thing of worship, the 
 moment you put the image in place of the thing signified, 
 becomes an idol, a mark of sin instead of glory. Just so it 
 was with the brazen serpent. There was a race of Romanists 
 in that day, who kept it as an object of idolatrous adoration ; 
 had they been let go on in their absurdities, they would have 
 passed a law that no person should worship without the 
 brazen serpent. But good King Hezekiah, the noble old 
 image-breaker, took it, and called it with the utmost con- 
 tempt, a piece of brass, Kehushtan, and burned it in the fire, 
 and ground it to powder. 
 
 Here I am reminded of a very beautiful remark by Mr 
 Coleridge, taken partly from an old writer, that an appro- 
 priate and seemly religious ceremony is as a gold chain about 
 the neck of faith ; it at once adorns and secures it. Yes^ 
 says Mr Coleridge, but if you draw it too close, you strangle 
 it. You strangle and destroy religion, if you make that 
 which is not essential, and especially that which is not com- 
 manded in scripture, to be essential and inevitable. And 
 just so with the Prayer Book, the Liturgy ; if you seek to 
 enforce it on men’s consciences, if you make it essential to 
 religion or to the true church, you suffocate and strangle 
 your religion, and instead of finding in it a living seraph, it 
 will be to you a dead corpse. Let no man judge you in 
 regard to these things, saith Paul ; let no man be admitted 
 to spy out and destroy your liberty, which ye have in Christ 
 Jesus. Give no place in subjection to such an one, no, not 
 for an hour. 
 
 One of the most instructive and important lessons to be 
 drawn from this part of Bunyan’s history, and from the 
 
92 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 survey of his times, is the invaluable preciousness of that 
 discipline of trial, which God, in infinite wisdom and mercy, 
 has appointed for his people, as their pathway to the kingdom 
 of heaven. We scarcely know how the church of Christ 
 could have existed, or what she would have become, without 
 the purifying and ennobling fires of persecution to burn upon 
 her. The most precious of her literary and religious trea- 
 sures have come out of this furnace. The most heavenly 
 and inspiring names in the record of her living examples are 
 the names of men whose souls were purged from their dross 
 by just such discipline, and perhaps taken out of their bodies, 
 and conveyed in a chariot of fire to heaven. The martyr 
 literature of England, a possession like which, in glory and 
 in value, no nation in the world can shew the counterpart, 
 grew out of that fiery process upon men’s souls ; it is as gold 
 seven-fold purified in the furnace. This book of Bunyan’s, 
 the heavenly Pilgrim’s Progress, grew out of just such a 
 process ; for such is the nature of adversity in the hand of 
 God, not only to refine and purify, but to bring out hidden 
 virtue into exercise, and to give to all qualities so wrought, 
 a power over the universal heart of man, such as no 
 learning can sway, and no philosophy communicate. 
 The best work of Baxter’s was written on the borders of 
 the grave, in weakness and suffering, having bidden the 
 world adieu, and being raised by the magic of such dis- 
 cipline to a mount of vision, from whence he could take a 
 broad and near survey of the glories of heaven. And 
 perhaps self-denial, by the grace of God, is still more 
 efficacious to raise a man’s soul, impart to it power, and 
 transfigure it with glory, than even adversity under the 
 hand of God. At any rate, here is the true secret of great- 
 ness. Virtue, said Lord Bacon, is like precious odours, most 
 fragrant when they are either burned or crushed. This is 
 the power of adversity with noble natures, or, with the 
 grace of God, even in a poor nature. But self-denial is a 
 sort of self-burning, that makes a purer fire, and more surely 
 separates the dross from a man’s being, than temptation and 
 affliction. Indeed, self-denial is the great end in this world, 
 of which temptation and affliction are the means ; a man 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 93 
 
 bein^ then most free and powerful, when most completely 
 dead to self and absorbed in God the Saviour. 
 
 The importance of suffering and self-denial as elements of 
 spiritual discipline, is never by us sufficiently considered. 
 If we draw back from the baptism of suffering, we are not 
 likely to be instrumental in the regeneration either of the 
 soul or the literature of the world. How beautiful the 
 language of the poet Cowper, wrung from him by his own 
 experience of anguish ! 
 
 “ The path of sorrow, and that path alone. 
 
 Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.” 
 
 And Cowper’s own intellectual being, Cowper’s own poetry, 
 derived a strength and a sacred fire of inspiration from his 
 own sufferings, which nothing else could have communicated. 
 Such has been the experience of multitudes ; and it is true 
 that the very best part of our literature has come out of that 
 same furnace. And must not this be our experience if in 
 our piety and intellect we would retain the elements of 
 originality and vital power ? It was a remark of Mr Cole- 
 ridge, that cannot be too often quoted, that Death only 
 supplies the oil for the inextinguishable lamp of life ; a great 
 truth, which is true even before our mortal dissolution ; 
 that death to self, which trial, by God’s grace, produces, 
 constituting, even in this world, the very essence of strength, 
 life, and glory. 
 
 Another most important and instructive lesson to be drawn 
 from this part of Bunyan’s history, and from our survey of 
 his times, is that of the invaluable preciousness of religious 
 liberty, and the importance not only of the possession, but 
 of the right understanding and use of this great blessing. 
 The experience of ages has proved that there is no lesson so 
 difficult for mankind to learn as that of true religious tolera- 
 tion ; for almost every sect in turn, wlien tempted by the 
 power, has resorted to the practice of religious persecution. 
 Were it not for the seeming incongruity of the sentiment, we 
 should say that good men have even taken turns in burning 
 one another ; though, to the credit of Rome, it must be said 
 that the baptism of fire is almost exclusively her sacrament 
 
94 
 
 LECTURE TDIRD. 
 
 for heretics. Good men of almost all persuasions have been 
 confined in prison for conscience’ sake. 
 
 Bunyan was the first person in the reign of Charles II. 
 •punished for the crime of non-conformity. This, in part, is 
 Southey’s own language, punished is the phrase he uses ; it 
 should have been, persecuted for the virtue ; for such it was 
 in Bunyan : and any palliation which could be resorted to 
 for the purpose of justifying the English Hierarchy for 
 shutting up John Bunyan in prison, would also justify a 
 Romish Hierarchy for burning Latimer and Ridley at the 
 stake. Strange, that the lesson of religious toleration should 
 be one of the last and hardest, even for liberal minds, to 
 learn ! It cost long time, instruction, and discipline even for 
 the disciples of Christ to learn it ; and they never would 
 have learned it, had not the infant church been cut loose 
 from the state, and deprived of all possibility of girding the 
 Secular arm with thunder in its behalf. John had not 
 learned it, when he would have called down fire from heaven 
 to destroy the Samaritans ; nor John nor his fellows, wher 
 they forbade a faithful saint (some John Bunyan of those 
 ays, belike), from casting out devils, because he followed 
 o t tlmn. And they never would have learned it had the 
 union of church and state been sanctioned by the Saviour. 
 Wherever one sect in particular is united to the state, the 
 lesson of religious toleration will not be perfectly learned ; 
 nay, w))o does not see that toleration itself, applied to religion, 
 implies the assumption of a power that ought not to exist, 
 that in itself is tyranny. It implies that you, an earthly 
 authority, an earthly power, say to me, so condescendingly, 
 I permit you the free exercise of your religion. You permit 
 me ! And what authority have you to permit me, any 
 more than I to permit you ? God permits me, God com- 
 tnands me ; and do you dare to say that you tolerate me 1 
 Who is he that shall dare come in between me and God, 
 either to say yea or nay ? Your toleration itself is tyranny, 
 for you have no right to meddle wdth the matter. But 
 wherever church and state are united, then there will be 
 meddling with the matter ; and even in this country, if one 
 
BUNYAN^’S EXAMINATION. 
 
 95 
 
 particular sect were to get the patronage of the state, there 
 would be an end to our perfect religious freedom. 
 
 In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the poet Southwell, who 
 wrote one of the most exquisitely beautiful death-hymns in 
 our language, and who seems to have been truly a devout 
 man, was put to death violently and publicly, no other crime 
 being proved against him, but what he honestly and proudly 
 avowed, that he had come over into England simply and 
 solely to preach the Roman Catholic religion. And he ought 
 to have been left at liberty to preach it ; for if the Protestant 
 religion cannot stand against Roman Catholic preaching, it 
 ought to go down ; no religion is worth having, or worth 
 supporting, that needs racks, or inquisitions, or fires and 
 faggots to sustain it ; that dare not or cannot meet its 
 adversaries on the open battle-field of truth ; no religion is 
 worth supporting that needs any thing but the truth and 
 Spirit qf God to support it ; and no establishment ought to 
 be permitted to stand, that stands by persecuting others ; 
 nor any church to exist, that exists simply by unchurching 
 others. 
 
 So, if the English Church Establishment dared not consider 
 herself safe without shutting up John Bunyan and sixty 
 other dissenters with him in prison, some of them ministers, 
 and some laymen — some for preaching the gospel, and some 
 for hearing it, the English Church Establishment was not 
 worthy to he safe ; the English Church Establishment was 
 a disgrace and an injury to the gospel, and a disgrace and 
 an injury to a free people. No church is worth saving from 
 destruction, if it has to be saved by the destruction of other 
 men’s religious liberties ; nay, if that be the case with it, it 
 ought to go down, and the sooner the better. No church 
 is worthy to stand that makes non-conformity to its rites 
 and usages a penal crime. It becomes a persecuting church 
 the moment it does this. For, supposing that every man, 
 woman, and child in the kingdom is kept from non-confor- 
 mity simply by that threat, and that through the power of 
 such terror there comes to be never the need to put such 
 penal laws in execution, and so never a single subject really 
 molested or punished ; still that church is a persecuting 
 
96 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 church, and that people a persecuted people, a terrified people^ 
 a people cowed down, a people in whose souls the sacred fire 
 of liberty is fast extinguishing, a people bound to God’s 
 service by the fear of men’s racks. Such a people can never 
 be free ; their cowardice will forge their fetters. A people 
 who will sell themselves to a church through fear of punish- 
 ment, will sell themselves to any tyrant through the same 
 fear ; nay, a people who will serve God through the fear of 
 punishment, when they would not serve him otherwise, will 
 serve Satan in the same way. 
 
 If you make non-conformity a crime, you are therefore a 
 persecuting church, whether your name be Rome, or Eng- 
 land, or America, even though there be not a single non- 
 conformist found for you to exercise your wrath upon, not 
 one against whom you may draw the sword of your penalty. 
 But it is drawn, and drawn against the liberty of conscience, 
 and every man whom in this way you keep from non-con- 
 formity, you make him a deceiver to his God ; you make 
 him barter his conscience for exemption from an earthly 
 penalty ; you make him put his conscience not into God’s 
 keeping, but into the keeping of your sword ; you dry up 
 the life-blood of liberty in his soul ; you make him in his 
 inmost conscience an imprisoned slave, a venal victim of 
 your bribery and terror : and though he may still walk 
 God’s earth as others, it is with the iron in his soul — it is 
 with your chain about his neck — it is as the shuffling fugi- 
 tive from your penalties, and not as a man of noble soul, 
 who, fearing God religiously, fears nothing else. There 
 may, indeed, be no chain visible, but you have wound its 
 invisible links around the man’s spirit ; y ou have bound 
 the man within the man ; you have fettered him, and laid 
 him down in a cold dark dungeon ; and until those fetters 
 are taken off, and he stands erect and looks out from his 
 prison to God, it is no man, but a slave that you have in 
 your service ; it is no disciple, but a Simon Magus that you 
 have in your church. If a man obeys God through the fear 
 of man, when he would not do it otherwise, he obeys not 
 God, but man ; and in that very obedience he becomes a 
 dissembler and a coward. If he says, I do this, which I 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 97 
 
 should not do otherwise, for fear of such or such a penalty ; 
 or, I partake of this sacrament, which I should not otherwise 
 touch, because the continuance of my office depends upon it, 
 what is he but an acknowledged sacrilegious hypocrite 1 And 
 thus it is that your system of penalties for an established 
 church inevitably makes hypocrites. 
 
 Let me now close what I have said on this point with a 
 very beautiful parable hy*Dr Franklin, taken originally, it 
 is said, from a Persian poet, and to he found in substance also 
 in Jeremy Taylor. Its imitation of the scripture style is as 
 exquisite as its lessons are admirable : — “ And it came to 
 pass, after these things, that Abraham sat in the door of his 
 tent, about the going-down of the sun ; and behold a man 
 bent with age coming from the way of the wilderness, lean- 
 ing on a staff. And Abraham arose and met him, and said 
 unto him. Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and 
 tarry all night ; and thou shalt arise early in the morning, 
 and go thy way. And the man said, Nay ; for I will abide 
 under this tree. But Abraham pressed him greatly : so he 
 turned, and they went into the tent ; and Abraham baked 
 unleavened bread, and they did eat. And when Abraham 
 saw that the man blessed not God, he said unto him. Where- 
 fore dost thou not worship the most high God, Creator of 
 heaven and earth ? And the man answered and said, I do 
 not worship thy God, neither do I call on his name ; for I 
 have made to myself a god, which abideth always in my 
 house, and provideth me with all things. And Abraham’s 
 zeal was kindled against the man, and he arose, and fell 
 upon him, and drove him forth with blows into the wilder- 
 ness. And God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, 
 where is the stranger 1 And Abraham answered and said, 
 Lord, he would not worship thee, neither would he call upon 
 thy name ; therefore have I driven him out from before my 
 face into the wilderness. And God said. Have I borne with 
 him these hundred and ninety and eight years, and nourished 
 him and clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against 
 me ; and couldst not thou, who art thyself a sinner, bear 
 with him one night V* 
 
 Now this supposed zeal of Abraham was far more natural, 
 
LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 9B 
 
 though not more excusable, than most ebullitions of reli- 
 gious intolerance. But who are we, that dare take into our 
 hands the prerogative of God over the conscience ? Who 
 are we, that we should punish with blows, or penalties of 
 any kind, the fellow-creatures who differ from us, or because 
 they differ from us, in their religious worship ? Let us 
 hope that the time is hastening, when that zeal divorced 
 from love, which has produced such incalculable misery on 
 earth, shall be banished from all human hearts, and its place 
 forever supplied by the charity of the gospel. Out of God ’a 
 holy word, I know of no brighter example of that charit}' 
 on record than J ohn Bunyan. 
 
 In the Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, Bunyan 
 published what he names, A Brief Account of the Author^ 
 Call to the Worh of the Ministry. It is one of the most in- 
 teresting and instructive portions of that remarkable work, 
 shewing the deep exercises of his soul for others, in as vivid 
 a light as the account of his conversion sheds upon his per- 
 sonal spiritual experience. We venture to say, that tliere 
 was never in the world, since the time of the Apostle Paul, 
 a more remarkable instance of a wrestling spirit in behalf 
 of others. And this it was, that, by the blessing of God, 
 made his preaching efficacious ; it was the deep, powerful, 
 soul-stirring intensity of interest with which he entered into 
 it himself, preparing himself for it by fervent prayer, and 
 following his own sermons with a restless importunity of 
 supplication for the divine blessing. In my preaching,” 
 he tells us himself, I have really been in pain, and have 
 as it were travailed to bring forth children to God ; neither 
 could I be satisfied unless some fruits did appear in my 
 work. If it were fruitless, it mattered not who commended 
 me ; but if I were fruitful, I cared not who did condemn 
 I have thought of that word, ^ Lo ! childi*en are an heritage 
 of the Lord ; and the fruit of the womb is his reward. As 
 arrows in the hands of a mighty man, so are children of the 
 youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of 
 them ; they shall not be ashamed, but shall speak with the 
 enemies in the gate.’ 
 
 It pleased me nothing to see a people drink in my opi- 
 
BUNYAN S EXAMINATION. 
 
 99 
 
 nions, if they seemed ignorant of Jesus Christ, and the worth 
 of their own salvation ; sound conviction of sin, especially 
 of unbelief, and an heart set on fire to he saved by Christ, 
 wdth strong breathings after a truly sanctified soul, that 
 it was that delighted me ; those were the souls I counted 
 blessed. 
 
 If any of those who were awakened by my ministry did 
 after that fall back (as sometimes too many did), I can truly 
 say their loss hath been more to me than if my owm chil- 
 dren, begotten of my owm body, had been going to the grave. 
 I think verily I may speak it without any offence to the 
 Lord, nothing has gone so near me as that ; unless it w^as 
 the fear of the loss of the salvation of my own soul. I have 
 counted as if I had goodly buildings and lordships in those 
 places where my children were born. My heart hath been 
 so wTapped up in the glory of this excellent work, that I 
 counted myself more blessed and honoured of God by this, 
 than if he had made me emperor of the Christian w^orld, or 
 the lord of all the glory of the earth without it. Oh these 
 words I He that converteth a sinner from the error of his 
 ways doth save a soul from death. The fruit of the right- 
 eous is a tree of life ; and he that ^vinneth souls is wdse. 
 They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the fir- 
 mament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the 
 stars for ever and ever. For what is our hope, our joy, our 
 crown of rejoicing ? Are not ye even in the presence of our 
 Lord J esus Christ at his coming ? For ye are our glory 
 and joy. These, I say, with many others of a like nature, 
 have been great refreshments to me.” 
 
 Not only before and after preaching was Bunyan accus- 
 tomed to cry mightily to God for an effectual blessing, but 
 also while he was in the exercise ; for every word that lie 
 spake sprang out of an earnest desire by all means to save 
 some. “ When I have been preaching, I thank God my 
 heart hath often, all the time of this and the other exercise, 
 with great earnestness cried to God that he w^ould make the 
 w^ord effectual to the salvation of the soul ; still being grieved 
 lest the enemy should take the w^ord away from the con- 
 
100 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 science, and so it should become unfruitful ; wherefore I 
 should labour so to speak the word, as that thereby, if it 
 were possible, the sin and person guilty might be particu- 
 larized by it. 
 
 Also, when I have done the exercise, it hath gone to my 
 heart to think the word should now fall as rain on stony 
 places ; still wishing from my heart. Oh that they who have 
 heard me speak this day did hut see as I do, what sin, death, 
 hell, and the curse of God is ; and also, what the grace and 
 love and mercy of God is, through Christ, to men in such 
 a case as they are who are yet estranged from him. And 
 indeed, I did often say in my heart before the Lord, that if 
 to he hanged up presently before their eyes would be a 
 means to awaken them, and confirm them in the truth, I 
 should gladly be contented.” 
 
 Justification by faith was Bunyan’s great delight in 
 preaching, as it was Luther’s ; and he had gone through a 
 depth and power of experience in learning personally tlie 
 nature of this doctrine, remarkably similar to the fiery dis^ 
 cipline of Luther’s own soul in coming to it. Hence it is 
 not wonderful that there should be a striking similarity 
 between Bunyan’s style, thoughts, and expressions in preach- 
 ing, and those of the great Reformer. For example, the 
 following passages from his Heavenly Footman,” ai-e such 
 as might have been written down from Luther’s own 
 lips : — 
 
 They that will go to heaven must run for it : because, 
 as the way is long, so the time in which they are to get to 
 the end of it is very uncertain. The time present is the only 
 time ; thou hast no more time allotted thee than that thou 
 now enjoy est : ^ Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou 
 knowest not what a day may bring forth.’ Do not say, I 
 have time enough to get to heaven seven years hence ; for 1 
 tell thee, the bell may toll for thee before seven days more 
 be ended ; and when death comes, away thou must go, 
 whether thou art provided or not ; and tliercforo look to it ; 
 make no delays ; it is not good dallying with things of so 
 great concernment as the salvation or damnation of thy 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 101 
 
 soul. You know he that hath a great way to go in a little 
 time, and less by half than he thinks of, he had need to 
 run for it. 
 
 They that will have heaven must run for it ; because 
 the devil, the law, sin, death, and hell follow them. There 
 is never a poor soul that is going to heaven, but the devil, 
 the law, sin, death, and hell, make after that soul. ‘ The 
 devil, your adversary, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking 
 whom he may devour.’ And I will assure you, the devil is 
 nimble, he can run apace, he is light of foot, he hath over- 
 taken many, he hath turned up their heels, and hath given 
 them an everlasting fall. Also the law, that can shoot a 
 great way, have a care thou keep out of the reach of those 
 great guns, the ten commandments. Hell also hath a wide 
 mouth ; it can stretch itself farther than you are aware of. 
 And as the angel said to Lot, ^ Take heed, look not behind 
 thee, neither tarry thou in all the plain (that is, any where 
 between this and heaven), lest thou he consumed so say I 
 to thee. Take heed, tarry not, lest either the devil, hell, 
 death, or the fearful curses of the law of God, do overtake 
 thee, and throw thee down in the midst of thy sins, so as 
 never to rise and recover again. If this were well considered, 
 then thou, as well as I, wouldst say. They that will have 
 heaven must run for it. 
 
 They that will go to heaven must run for it ; because, 
 perchance, the gates of heaven may shut shortly. Some- 
 times sinners have not heaven’s gates open to them so long 
 as they suppose ; and if they be once shut against a man, 
 they are so heavy, that all the men in the world, nor all the 
 angels in heaven, are not able to open them. ‘ I shut, and 
 no man can open,’ saith Christ. And how if thou shouldst 
 come but one quarter of an hour too late ? I tell thee, it 
 will cost thee an eternity to bewail thy misery in. Francis 
 Spira can tell thee what it is to stay till the gate of mercy 
 be quite shut ; or to run so lazily, that they be shut before 
 thou get within them. What, to be shut out ! what, out of 
 heaven ! Sinner, rather than lose it, run for it ; yea, and 
 ‘ so run that thou mayest obtain,’ ” 
 
 Such preaching as this, such fire and life, coming from 
 
102 
 
 LECTURE THIRD. 
 
 such a spirit as was in Banyan’s heart, could not hut be 
 effectual ; the Spirit of God attended it ; crowds of people 
 would flock together to hear it, and many who came to scoff 
 went away with the fire of the preacher in their consciences. 
 Banyan enjoyed himself more in preaching on the subject 
 of faith than on any other, though he proclaimed “ the 
 terrors of the Lord” with unequalled power and pungency. 
 
 For I have been in my preaching,” says he, “ especially 
 when I have been engaged in the doctrine of life by Christ 
 without works, as if an angel of God had stood at my back 
 to encourage me. Oh ! it hath been with such power and 
 heavenly evidence upon my own soul, while I have been 
 labouring to unfold it, to demonstrate it, and to fasten it 
 upon the conscience of others, that I could not be contented 
 with saying, I believe and am sure ; methought I was more 
 than sure, if it be lawful to express myself so, that those 
 things which there I asserted were true.” 
 
 Bunyan, from time to time, even in his preaching, expe- 
 rienced the assaults of his old adversary. Sometimes,” he 
 says, I have been violently assaulted with thoughts of 
 blasphemy, and strongly tempted to speak the words with 
 my mouth before the congregation.” He was also tempted 
 to pride and liftings up of heart ;” but it was his ever 
 day portion to be so let into the evil of his own heart, and 
 still made to see such a multitude of corruptions and infir- 
 mities therein, that it ‘‘ caused hanging down of the head 
 under all his gifts and attainments.” Moreover, Bunyan 
 had experience on this point from the word of God, which 
 greatly chastened and humbled his spirit. “ I have had 
 also,” says he, “ together with this, some notable place or 
 other of the word presented before me, which word hath con- 
 tained in it some sharp and piercing sentence concerning the 
 perishing of the soul, notwithstanding gifts and parts ; as, 
 for instance, that hath been of great use to me, Though 1 
 speak with the tongues of men and angels^ and have not charity y 
 J am become as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. 
 
 A tinkling cymbal is an instrument of music with which 
 a skilful player can make such melodious and heart-inflaming 
 music, tnat all who hear him play can scarcely hold from 
 
bunyan’s examination. 
 
 103 
 
 dancing ; and yet behold the cymbal hath not life, neither 
 comes the music from it, but because of the art of him that 
 plays therewith ; so then the instrument at last may come 
 to naught and perish, though in times past such music hath 
 been made upon it. 
 
 Just thus I saw it was, and will be, with them that have 
 gifts, but want saving grace : they are in the hand of Christ 
 as the cymbal in the hand of David ; and as David could 
 with the cymbal make that mirth in the service of God as 
 to elevate the hearts of the worshippers, so Christ can use 
 these gifted men, as with them to affect the souls of his 
 people in the church ; yet when he hath done all, hang them 
 by, as lifeless, though sounding cymbals. 
 
 This consideration, therefore, together with some others, 
 were, for the most part, as a maul on the head of pride and 
 desire of vain-glory. What, thought I, shall I be proud because 
 I am a sounding brass ? Is it so much to be a fiddle 1 Hath 
 not the least creature that hath life more of God in it than 
 these ? Besides, I knew it was love should never die, but 
 these must cease and vanish ; so I concluded a little grace, 
 a little love, a little of the true fear of God, is better than all 
 the gifts ; yea, and I am fully convinced of it that it is pos- 
 sible for souls that can scarce give a man an answer, but 
 with great confusion as to method, — I say it is possible for 
 them to have a thousand times more grace, and to be more 
 in the love and favour of the Lord, than some who, by the 
 virtue of the gift of knowledge, can deliver themselves like 
 angels.” 
 
LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 TBun^an in jprision. 
 
 Illustrations of the Times of Bunyan. — Results of the spirit of persecution.— 
 The Puritans driven to America. — Baxter in the Parliamentary Army.— 
 The multiplicity of Sects, and Milton’s opinion thereon. — Bedford Jail, and 
 Bunyan in it, with his little child. — The Plague in London, and the perse- 
 cuting King and Court in Oxford. — Bunyan’s conference with the Justice’s 
 Clerk. — Interview of Bunyan’s wife with the Judges. — Bunyan’s prison 
 emploj'ments.- Suggestion and pursuit of the Pilgrim’s Progress. 
 
 In a former lecture, I have briefly sketched the principal 
 movements of intolerance and persecution during the reign 
 of those English monarchs who bore the name of Charles. 
 In order the better to illustrate that persecuting spirit, which 
 from the reign of James passed into this, and the glorious 
 issues that grew out of it, through that omnipotent prero- 
 gative, whereby the Divine Being causes the wrath of man 
 to praise him, we will call up several great separate scenes 
 from the past, with the actors in them ; to note which will 
 be better for our purpose, than would be a whole volume of 
 historical dissertations. The first scene is in the great era of 
 1620, just eight years before the birth of Bunyan. It is a 
 lowering winter’s day ; on a coast rock-bound and perilous, 
 sheeted with ice and snow, hovers a small vessel, worn and 
 weary like a bird with wet plumage, driven in a storm from 
 its nest, and timidly seeking shelter. It is the May-flower, 
 tlirown on the bosom of Winter. The very sea is freezing ; 
 the earth is as still as the grave, covered with snow, and as 
 hard with frost, as iron ; there is no sign of a human habi- 
 tation ; the deep forests have lost their foliage, and rise over 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 105 
 
 the land like a shadowy congregation of skeletons. Yet there 
 is a band of human beings on board that weatherbeaten 
 vessel, and they have voluntarily come to this savage coast 
 to spend the rest of their lives, and to die there. Eight 
 thousand miles they have struggled across the ocean, from 
 a land of plenty and comfort, from their own beloved coun- 
 try, from their homes, firesides, friends, to gather around an 
 altar to God in the winter, in the wilderness ! What does it 
 all mean ? It marks to a noble mind the invaluable blessed- 
 ness of FREEDOM TO WORSHIP GoD ! It means, that religious 
 oppression is worse to bear, more hard, more intolerable to 
 a generous mind, more insufferable to an upright conscience, 
 than the war of the elements, than peril and nakedness, than 
 cold and hunger, than dens and caves of the earth, than 
 disease and the loss of friends, and the tomahawks of savage 
 enemies ! These men have fled from religious oppression ; 
 the hand of power has attempted to grasp and bind the 
 conscience ; and conscience, and an undying religious faith, 
 have borne these men into the wilderness to worship God as 
 freely as the air that breathes God’s praises. 
 
 So noble, so grand, so holy, was the national birth of the 
 best part of these United States of America ! Well may we 
 glory in the name of Puritan. It is a synonyme for all 
 that is holy in piety, unbending in moral rectitude, patient 
 in self-denial, illustrious in patriotism, precious in liberty 
 and truth. But the virtues of our Puritan ancestors, in their 
 development, at least, grew out of oppression ; they were 
 good out of evil, the wrath of man turned into the praise of 
 God. It was the touch of the iron sceptre of the Stuarts, 
 laid upon that sacred thing, a pure, enlightened, religious 
 conscience, and upon that sacred possession, a chosen, con- 
 scientious, religious faith and worship, that brought to pass 
 all this glory ; it was the tyranny of an Established Church, 
 the daring usurpation by the King of England of the prero- 
 gative of Christ as the head of his people, that planted on 
 this continent the germ both of civil and religious liberty, 
 the elements of the purest religious faith, and of the freest 
 political institutions in the world ! 
 
 This is one of the most remarkable instances on record, of 
 
 8 
 
106 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 the overruling sovereignty of God in its blessed purposes, by 
 the instrumentality of his own enemies. The persecution, 
 which in England threw John Bunyan into prison to write 
 the Pilgrim’s Progress, drove those holy men and women 
 out of England ink) the wilderness, to form an asylum of 
 liberty and religion for the whole world. It was one of King 
 James’s sayings, No Bishop, no King ; and here, in this 
 land, under the oppression of James, a church without a 
 bishop, and a government without a king, secured and es- 
 tablished that charter of uivil and religious freedom, which 
 king and prelate had alike violated and destroyed. 
 
 The colony of the Puritans was driven out of England, as 
 the oppressed Hebrews were driven out of Egypt ; and to 
 this country they came, under just as sacred and holy an 
 invisible guidance, as the Israelites of old to the land of 
 Canaan. In the simple, striking language of the Bible, “ It 
 is a night to be much observed unto the Lord for bringing 
 them out from the land of Egypt ; this is that night of the 
 Lord to be observed of all the children of Israel, in their 
 generations.” And so was the night of the departure of our 
 pilgrim ancestors a night of the Lord ; it was to them a night 
 of sorrow, both when they came, and when they landed ; but 
 it was that night of the Lord ; and it brought a day of glory, 
 such as the world had not seen for ages, and of which, God 
 grant the light may never go out. 
 
 Ay ! call it holy ground, 
 
 The spot where first they trod ! 
 
 They left unstained what there they found, 
 
 Freedom to worship God ! 
 
 We leave now this colony, growing, under God’s protect- 
 ing care, in numbers and in graces, and pass to another 
 scene, about twenty years afterwards, when the conflict for 
 liberty on the one side and tyranny on the other, was raging 
 between King Charles I. and the Parliament with Oliver 
 Cromwell. 
 
 The scene is in a church, and yet it looks like a camp, for 
 it is crowded with soldiers, as well as with a village congre- 
 gation. It is not the Lord’s day, but a public talking day 
 for sectarian controversy ; and you might think the confusion 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 107 
 
 of Babel had been there renewed, from the strife of tongues 
 and opinions to which you listen. There are fierce Antino- 
 mians, and Free-willers, and Episcopalians, and Independ- 
 ents, and Anabaptists, and Presbyterians, and Nonconform- 
 ists ; all animated with zeal, and ready to contend for their 
 peculiar opinions. The troopers of one regiment, and the 
 soldiers of another, throw forth opinions and arguments with 
 almost as much fury as they did musket-balls in war. But 
 in the midst of all this confusion, there stands in the read- 
 ing-pew under the pulpit, a plain man in a black dress, 
 evidently a clergyman, with the Bible in his hand ; a thin, 
 pallid, but heavenly countenance, though indicating as great 
 a sliarpness in controversy as any of the soldiers in war ; 
 and he stands, and disputes, and discusses with the soldiers, 
 without once quitting his post or relinquishing the contest, 
 from morning till night. This is Richard Baxter, the holy, 
 venerated author of the Saints’ Rest. He served for a season 
 as chaplain in the Parliamentary army ; and in justice to 
 that army, as well as to himself, I must describe in his 
 own words something more of his position. “ I was almost 
 always,” says he, “ when opportunity offered, disputing with 
 one or the other ; sometimes upon civil government, and 
 sometimes upon church order and government ; sometimes 
 upon infant baptism, often against Antinomianism and the 
 contrary extreme. But their most frequent and vehement 
 disputes were for liberty of conscience, as they called it ; that 
 is, that the civil government hath nothing to do to determine 
 any thing in matters of religion by constraint or restraint ; 
 but that every man might not only hold, but preach and 
 do, in matters of religion, what he pleased : that the civil 
 magistrate hath nothing to do but wkh civil things, to keep 
 the peace, protect the church’s liberties, &c.” 
 
 This is certainly a most striking testimony as to the cha- 
 racter of Oliver Cromwell’s army. Their very relaxations 
 and amusements were chosen, not in the tap-room or the 
 tavern, not in revelling and drunkenness, but in serious, 
 hard-contested arguments with one another, and with the 
 keenest disputant of the times, on some of the most import- 
 ant questions tliat can occupy the human mind. They were 
 
108 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 deeply interested, as no army ever was before, on the sub 
 ject of religion ; nor was it any wonder, that with such an 
 army, Oliver Cromwell was invincible. Religious liberty 
 was new to them ; it was the grand heresy of the army ; 
 Richard Baxter pays the highest compliment to them in 
 saying that they contended more vehemently for this than 
 for any thing else. It was this precious possession and birth- 
 right of the Christian, which a persecuting religious hier- 
 archy, in alliance with the despotism of the Stuarts, would 
 have utterly destroyed. 
 
 A word seems necessary in regard to the multitude of 
 sects existing in those days, and the causes and the nature 
 of them. In the nature of the human mind there never can 
 be a dead uniformity of opinion on any subjects ; . there can- 
 not be on political subjects, and on religious matters it was 
 never intended by the great Head of the church that there 
 should be. We may liken religious opinion in the church 
 of Christ to the growth of a tree ; there are ten thousand 
 varying twigs and branches, and of the buds and blossoms 
 you can find no two exactly alike, and in a million leaves 
 there are a million varieties of outline, hue, veins, and fibres ; 
 and the fruit itself is different in shape, colour, fragrance, 
 and taste. And for all this, the tree is incomparably more 
 beautiful and wholesome. Now suppose, while that tree is 
 growing, you should, for one season only, cover it over with 
 some great crushing weight ; it would still grow ; the life 
 of nature is too vigorous, too indestructible, except you up- 
 root it, to be kept from shooting ; but if you remove that 
 weight in the autumn, what will you find as the result of 
 compressed vital energy ? Distortions, excrescences, mon- 
 strosities ; knotted and contorted branches, uptwisted and 
 inveterately convolved ; leaves nested with worms, and over- 
 curled, and grown in spasms and bunches ; and fruit, if at 
 all, hard and deformed, green, odious, and bitter. Precisely 
 such is the effect of violently crushing the growth of opinion ; 
 sects, that would have spread into symmetrical varieties in 
 twigs and foliage, with fair mellow fruit to suit all palates, 
 are vermiculated, and pressed into inveterate deformities and 
 perhaps poisonous monstrosities. 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 109 
 
 “ They corrupt the discipline of Christ,” says Baxter, by 
 mixing it with secular force. They reproach the keys, or 
 ministerial power, as if it w^ere a leaden sw^ord, and not 
 w^orth a straw, unless the magistrates’ sword enforced it. 
 What then did the primitive church for three hundred years ? 
 Worst of all, they corrupt the church, by forcing in the 
 rabble of the unfit and unwilling ; and thereby tempt many 
 godly Christians to schisms and dangerous separations. TiU 
 magistrates keep the sword themselves, and learn to deny it 
 to every angry clergyman who would do his own work with 
 it, and leave them to their own weapons, — the word and 
 spiritual keys, — the church will never have unity and peace. 
 I disliked also,” Baxter adds, some of the Presbyterians, 
 that were not tender enough to dissenting brethren ; but too 
 much against liberty, as others were too much for it ; and 
 thought by votes and numbers to do that which love and 
 reason should have done.” Ah ! how much truth in this 
 sad aphorism, as the habit of mankind ; votes and numherSy 
 instead of love and reason. “ The poor church of Christ,” 
 Baxter curiously remarks, the sober, sound, religious part, 
 are like Christ, that was crucified between two thieves. 
 The profane and formal persecutors on the one hand, and 
 the fanatic dividing sectaries on the other, have in all ages 
 been grinding the spiritual seed, as the corn is ground 
 between the millstones.” 
 
 And now, I must add to this the sensible remarks of the 
 judicious and impartial biographer of Baxter, as to the 
 period on which w^e have been dwelling. It is worthy of 
 observation,” says Mr Orme, “ that all attempts to produce 
 uniformity have either been defeated or have occasioned fresh 
 divisions. Under the appearance of outward unity, the 
 greatest diversity of opinion generally prevails. And 
 genuine religion flourishes most amidst what is commonly 
 denounced as the contentions of rival sects. The soil whose 
 rankness sends forth an abundant crop of weeds, will pro- 
 duce, if cultivated, a still more luxuriant harvest of corn. 
 If the times of Baxter were fruitful of sects, and some of 
 them wild and monstrous, they were still more fruitful in 
 the number of genuine, holy, and devoted Christians. It 
 
110 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 was not an age of fanaticism only, but of pure and undefiled 
 religion.” 
 
 I am reminded also of that noble passage in Milton’s 
 Areopagitica : For when God shakes a kingdom with 
 
 strong and healthful commotions to a general reforming, it 
 is not untrue that many sectaries and false teachers are then 
 busiest in seducing ; but yet more true it is, that God then 
 raises to his own work men of rare abilities, and more than 
 common industry, not only to look back and revise what 
 hath been taught heretofore, but to gain further, and go on 
 some new enlightened steps in the discovery of truth. And 
 do we not see that while we still affect by all means a rigid 
 external formality, we may as soon fall again into a gross 
 conforming stupidity, a stark and dead congealment of wood, 
 and hay, and stubble, forced and frozen together, which is 
 more to the sudden degeneracy of a church than many sub- 
 dichotamies (subdivisions) of petty schisms. Kot that I can 
 think well of every light separation ; or that all in a church 
 is to be expected gold and silver and precious stones ; it is 
 not possible for men to sever the wheat from the tares, the 
 good fish from the other fry ; that must be the angel’s 
 ministry at the end of mortal things. Yet, if all cannot be 
 of one mind, as who looks they should be ? this, doubtless, 
 is more wholesome, more prudent, and more Christian, that 
 many be tolerated, rather than all compelled.” 
 
 The period on which we are dwelling might almost be 
 termed a religious and political whirlwind ; a hurricane of 
 opinions, in which the elements of heaven and earth met 
 and contended. But tyranny and unnatural restraint acting 
 upon elements that in our human and religious nature must 
 always exist, but that, if left to a quiet growth and develop- 
 ment, will, under God’s providence and grace, make a whole- 
 some, transparent, circumfluent atmosphere for society ; 
 produced infernal mixtures, electric explosions, black 
 thunder-clouds, charged at once with the fires of angry 
 passion, and the tremendous energy of conscience, piety, and 
 fanaticism together. Look over this, our own beloved land 
 of liberty and religion ; there are as many sects in it as 
 there ever were on the borders, or in the heart of the period 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 Ill 
 
 of the Commonwealth of England ; and if you were to put 
 upon them here those violent restraints, by which they had 
 then and there been made to chafe, and smoulder, and irritate 
 in confinement, and from which they broke loose with such 
 astounding developments, such flames, such indomitable life, 
 such exulting and contending fury, you would change the 
 calm and blessed aspect of our state into a hurricane of 
 anarchy and revolution ; out of this all-surrounding atmos- 
 phere of peace and freedom, in which every man sees clearly, 
 and breathes securely, you would evoke storms and lightning ; 
 thunder-clouds would appear charged against each other, 
 and houses would be seen unroofed, and trees uprooted and 
 flying through the darkened air in tornadoes. Such is the 
 inevitable consequence of laying the hand of civil or religi- 
 ous tyranny upon the liberty of opinion. It is like laying 
 a mountain without a crater upon a raging volcano. The 
 continent shakes with earthquakes ; the thunder bellows 
 from its subterranean confinement ; the lava breaks out in 
 plains, and pours and burns over smiling villages ; and just 
 so, earth will be a symbol of the chaos of hell, if you lay 
 your mountain of civil or religious tyranny on the human 
 conscience. Leave it free, and it is like the atmosphere with 
 God to govern its elements ; confine it, and it is like a pent 
 volcano, that will shake and devastate the world. 
 
 Fanaticism grows by opposition, in confinement, in con- 
 strained silence and darkness ; it may be thus produced, 
 where there was nothing of it before. This is but the Poet’s 
 principle, that 
 
 “ Thoughts shut up want air, 
 
 And spoil, like bales unopened to the sun.” 
 
 It is especially so with religious opinion that is suffering 
 tyrannical restraint. It becomes a smouldering fire, that 
 burns inwardly ; and as in a cotton-ship at sea, or a barn 
 crammed with wet hay, the combustion having once com- 
 menced, if you open the hatches or cut the bundles to put it 
 out, it is ten to one that you are too late, and it all bursts into 
 a light flame together, so that houses and ships, and human 
 lives, are consumed in the conflagration ; just so with re- 
 strained, smouldering opinions in the civil and ecclesiastical 
 
112 
 
 LECTURE rOURTH. 
 
 state. But if a bundle of wet hay were spread open with 
 the rake, or tossed on the fork in the sun and air, it would 
 speedily become dry and safe for your barns and cattle. 
 Just so with swarming opinions, that by restraint would 
 turn to fanaticism in the popular mind ; give them the air ; 
 turn them, rake them, toss them, over and over again, in the 
 bright sun, to the sound of free and merry voices ; let all 
 the world, if they wish, see what they are ; let all the 
 world, if they wish, help to turn and spread them ; the 
 mischief, if there were any, dies in such a process. Truth, 
 liberty, justice, never fears the freedom of opinion, tossed 
 out so in the open air, and spread beneath the sunlight ; 
 truth only asks the light and air, and the whole world to 
 come and see every thing ; but error, despotism, tyranny, 
 fears such a tossing and spreading of the truth, and would 
 rather shut it up in bundles and crowd it into a Bastile, or 
 into the hold of a slave-ship. Such things have been, no 
 doubt such things will be again. And we hope in God that 
 in this country, by his word, and by his grace, his people 
 will be prepared for the conflict. Nobly says Milton, 
 “ Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play 
 upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously 
 by licensing and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. 
 Let her and Falsehood grapple ; who ever knew truth put 
 to the worse in a free and open encounter 1” No man, ever ; 
 and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is Liberty. 
 
 Pass we now to another scene, about twenty years later, 
 during which time, save in the brief and glorious Protec- 
 torate of Cromwell, there had been an almost uninterrupted 
 succession of arbitrary, persecuting measures in the Church 
 and State of England. We enter the prison of John Bun- 
 yan. It is, you are aware, the common jail of Bedford. It 
 is said to have been the damp and dreadful condition of this 
 prison which first set Howard’s philanthropic spirit in exer- 
 cise for the improvement of the prisons throughout Europe. 
 Bunyan’s prison stood upon the Bedford bridge. It was a 
 bridge of sighs to many, though, by God’s grace, not to him ; 
 its walls were probably almost as damp as the dungeons in 
 V enice, but it was not sea- water that washed its foundations, 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 113 
 
 and trickled its rusty iron gates with moisture. There was 
 no court-yard, no space for out-of-door work, or exercise in 
 the open air ; there were stone-walls and iron-bars, a bridge 
 and a river. The window in his cell was grated, so that he 
 could not look far or freely out of it ; hut he could see the 
 sun-light, the water, the fields, and the clouds. The glimpses 
 of sweet nature in this world were not so clear to him here, 
 as were the perspective visions of the Holy City coming in 
 upon his soul. His cell was small and comfortless, as was 
 the whole jail ; and when he would step farther than the 
 few paces hack and forth between the walls of that cell, he 
 must go into the common room of the prison. In those 
 times of persecution it was crowded ; there were at one pe- 
 riod more than sixty dissenters incarcerated along with Bun- 
 yan, some for hearing the gospel, some for preaching it. He 
 had, it is said, the experience of some cruel and oppressive 
 jailers, though others were very kind to him. Twelve years 
 of imprisonment are long to hear, — 
 
 Long years, it tries the thrilling frame to bear ; 
 
 and for six or seven of those it has been said that there is no 
 reason to believe that he ever was permitted to set his foot 
 outside the rocky threshold. Perhaps he had died, says the 
 continuation of his own life, which is supposed to have been 
 written by a brother Baptist minister intimately acquainted 
 with him — perhaps he had died, by the noisomeness and ill- 
 usage of the place, had not his enlargement been procured 
 from his hard and unreasonable sufferings. Unable to pur- 
 sue the honest trade at which he had always hitherto wrought 
 for the support of his family, he now learned — assisted, 
 doubtless, by them — to make tagged thread laces, by the sale 
 of which they might procure what must have been, at best, 
 a scanty subsistence. A beloved wife and four childen were 
 dependent upon him, and were permitted at times to visit 
 him ; and that dear blind child, in regard to whom he has, 
 in so artless and affecting a manner, related the trial of his 
 feelings, was permitted to abide with him through the day, 
 a solace to his heart, a companion in his work, and one to 
 whom he could talk as artlessly as to his own soul ; theix 
 
114 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 conversation must have been often as the prattle of two chil- 
 dren, for Bunyan had in him the freshness and simplicity 
 of childhood, even in riper years ; a mark of genius, which 
 a great and profound writer has pointed out as one of its 
 most precious and undoubted characteristics. 
 
 Now, let us enter his little cell. He is sitting at his 
 table, to finish by sunlight the day’s work for the liveli" 
 hood of his dear family, which they have prepared for him. 
 On a little stool his poor blind child sits by him, and with 
 that expression of cheerful resignation with which God seals 
 the countenance when he takes away the sight, the daughter 
 turns her face up to her father, as if she could see the affec- 
 tionate expression with which he looks upon her, and 
 prattles to her. On the table and in the grated window 
 there are three books, the Bible, the Concordance, and Bun- 
 yan’s precious old copy of the Book of Martyrs. And now 
 the day is waning, and his dear blind child must go home 
 with the laces he has finished, to her mother. And now 
 Bunyan opens his Bible, and reads aloud a portion of scrip- 
 ture to his little one, and then encircling her in his arms, 
 and clasping her small hands in his, he kneels down on the 
 cold stone floor, and pours out his soul in prayer to God foi 
 the salvation of those so inexpressibly dear to him, and for 
 whom he has been all day working. So daily he prays for 
 them and for her, and daily he prays with her, and teaches 
 his blind child to pray. This done, with a parting kiss, he 
 dismisses her to her mother, by the rough hands of the jailer. 
 
 And now it is evening. A rude lamp glimmers darkly on 
 the table, the tagged laces are laid aside, and Bunyan, alone, 
 is busy with his Bible, the Concordance, and his pen, ink, 
 and paper. He writes as though joy did make him write. 
 His pale, worn countenance is lighted with a fire, as if re- 
 flected from the radiant jasper walls of the Celestial City 
 He writes, and smiles, and clasps his hands, and looks up- 
 ward, and blesses God for his goodness, and then again 
 turns to his writing, and then again becomes so entranced 
 with a passage of scripture, the glory of which the Holy 
 Spirit lets in upon his soul, that he is forced, as it were, to 
 lay aside all his labours, and give himself to the sweet work 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 115 
 
 of his closing evening’s devotions. The last you see of him 
 for the night, he is alone, kneeling on the floor of his prison ; 
 he is alone with God. 
 
 Hear him when he speaks of the blessedness he thus en- 
 joyed ; — I never had, in all my life, so great an inlet into 
 the word of God as now. Those scriptures that I saw no- 
 thing in before, are made, in this place and state, to shine 
 upon me. Sometimes, when I have been in the savour of 
 them, I have been able to laugh at destruction, and to fear 
 neither the horse nor his rider. I have had sweet sights of 
 the forgiveness of my sins in this place, and of my being 
 with Jesus in another world. 0 the Mount Zion, the hea- 
 venly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and 
 God the Judge of all, and the spirits of just men made per- 
 fect, and Jesus, have been sweet to me in this place ! I 
 have seen that here which I am persuaded I shall never, 
 in this world, be able to express. I have seen a truth in 
 this 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.’ ” 
 
 And where, and by whom, and for what, is this man im- 
 prisoned ? In a Christian land, by an Established Church, 
 for preaching the gospel to the poor, the ignorant, the desti- 
 tute, and for not praying with a Common Prayer-Book ! 
 For this a heaven-commissioned minister of Jesus Christ 
 languishes twelve years in prison ! For this he is kneeling 
 on the cold stone-floor of a narrow cell, in secret with his 
 God, because he chose, without a commission from the go- 
 vernment, to worship God in public, and to lead the devo- 
 tions of others by the Scriptures merely, without the litur- 
 gical form imposed by the State upon the conscience. Yes ! 
 astounding as the fact may seem, John Bunyan is shut up 
 within iron bars and stone walls, as men would shut up a wild 
 beast or a murderer, because he would pray without a Com- 
 mon Prayer-Book ! The only parallel instance of persecu- 
 tion is to be found in the case of Daniel, thrown by an 
 oriental despot into the lions’ den, for praying to God with- 
 out the State liturgy. The cases are strikingly similar, the 
 
116 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 concoction of bigotry very much the same : — All the pre- 
 sidents of the kingdom, the governors and the princes, the 
 councillors and the captains, had consulted together to esta- 
 blish a royal statute, and to make a firm decree, that who- 
 soever shall ask a petition of any god or man for thirty 
 days, save of thee, 0 king, he shall be cast into the den of 
 lions. Then Daniel, with his window^s open towards Jeru- 
 salem, eschewing the king's liturgy, kneeled upon his knees 
 without it three times a-day, and prayed and gave thanks 
 before his God, as he did aforetime. Then these men assem- 
 bled, and found Daniel praying and making supplications 
 before his God ; so they hasted with their accusation, and 
 under the king’s royal signet, caused Daniel to be thrown 
 into the den of lions, because they found him praying and 
 making supplications before his God.” 
 
 And so did the sheriffs to Bunyan ; they found him pray- 
 ing without the Common Prayer-Book, in a place not per- 
 mitted by tlie decree of the king ; they found him with the 
 Bible in his hand, worshipping God in a conventicle, and 
 forthwith, according to the king’s decree, they threw him 
 into prison, to remain there, for no crime whatever, twelve 
 years, as a common malefactor ! But they were years of 
 mercy, comfort, glory. He has himself given some account , 
 of his own blessedness in this tribulation. “ Many more of 
 the dealings of God towards me,” says he, “ I might relate ; 
 but these, out of the spoils won in battle, have I dedicated 
 to maintain the house of God.” 
 
 And now we will turn to another scene during the same 
 period, in the city of London. It is in the midst of the 
 plague. The grass is growing in the streets. The red cross 
 is marked upon the houses, the dead-cart is moving from 
 street to street, with its melancholy bell, and the hoarse 
 wailing cry of the grave’s-man reverberates through the 
 deserted passages. Bring out your dead ! The pulpits have 
 been forsaken of the established clergy ; but holy men of 
 God, persecuted of the Church and State, and forbidden to 
 preach because of their Non-conformity, have entered tbe 
 vacant churches, and are “ holding forth the word of life” 
 
BUN Y AN IN PRISON. 
 
 117 
 
 in the face of death, to trembling multitudes, in pulpits 
 from which they had been driven with penal inflictions in 
 a season of health ! They preach as dying unto dying men ; 
 hearers one day, sick the next, and dead the next. They 
 preach and listen, as though never to preach or listen again. 
 But while God is consuming the people by these judgments, 
 and the Non-conformists, fearless of death, are labouring to 
 save men’s souls. King Charles is revelling with his dissolute 
 court at Oxford, and contriving with his Parliament and 
 clergy, removed thither from London for fear of the Plague, 
 an additional act of persecution, to drive these fearless mi- 
 nisters, whom death itself cannot stop from preaching, be- 
 yond the very limits of cities, towns, and villages ! The 
 impiety of such proceedings could not have been much 
 greater, had they passed a law enacting that if any man at- 
 tempted to be saved out of the Established Church, he should 
 forthwith be consigned to eternal perdition. ‘^So little,” 
 says Baxter, “ did the sense of God’s terrible judgments, or 
 of the necessities of many hundred thousand ignorant souls, 
 or the groans of the poor people for the teaching which they 
 had lost, or the fear of the great and final reckoning, affect 
 the hearts of the prelatists, or stop them in their way.” 
 It is a fearful picture of impiety, hut nevertheless a picture 
 of the times. 
 
 We return in the next scene to Bunyan’s prison. The 
 graphic dialogue forms so instructive a sketch in manner as 
 in matter, that it shall be given in his own words. After he 
 had lain in jail for some time, the justices sent their clerk 
 of the peace, Mr Cobb, to admonish him and demand his 
 submission. This man sent for Bunyan, and when he was 
 come to him, he said, 
 
 Cobh, Neighbour Bunyan, how do you do ? 
 
 Bun, I thank you, sir, said I, very well, blessed be the 
 Lord. 
 
 Cobh, Saith he, I come to tell you that it is desired you 
 would submit yourself to the law^s of the land, or else, at the 
 next sessions it will go worse with you, even to be sent away 
 out of the nation, or else worse than that. 
 
118 
 
 LECTURE FOURTn. 
 
 Bun. I said tliat I did desire to demean myself in the 
 world both as becometh a man and a Christian. 
 
 Cobh. But, saitli he, you must submit to the laws of the 
 land, and leave off those meetings which you were wont to 
 have ; for the statute-law is directly against it ; and I am 
 sent to you by the justices to tell you that they do intend 
 to prosecute the law against you, if you submit not. 
 
 Bunyan made answer to this, that the law by which he 
 was in prison neither reached himself nor his meetings, 
 being directed only against those who met for wicked trea- 
 sonable purposes. 
 
 The clerk argued that Bunyan ought to consider it liberty 
 enough, if permitted to speak to his neighbour privately 
 and alone on the subject of religion ; and added, that it was 
 his private meetings that the law was against. 
 
 Bun. Sir, said I, if I may do good to one by my discourse, 
 why may I not do good to two ? And if to two, why not 
 to four, and so to eight, and so forth ? Bunyan’s arithmeti- 
 cal progression would soon make a congregation. Ay, saitli 
 Cobb, and to an hundred, I waiTant you. 
 
 Bun. Yes sir, said I, I think I should not be forbid, to 
 do as much good as I can. If I, by discoursing, may 
 do good to one, surely by the same law, I may do good to 
 many. 
 
 Cohh. The law, saith he, doth expressly forbid your 
 private meetings, therefore they are not to be tolerated. 
 
 Bunyan argued again that the law only intended mis- 
 chievous meetings. 
 
 Cobh. But, goodman Bunyan, said he, methinks you need 
 not stand so strictly upon this one thing, as to have meetings 
 of such public assemblies. Cannot you submit, and not- 
 withstanding do as much good as you can in a neighbourly 
 way, without having such meetings ! You may come to the 
 public assemblies and hear. What though you do not 
 preach, you may hear ; do not think thyself so well en 
 lightened, and that you have received a gift so far above 
 others, but that you may hear other men preach. 
 
 Bunyan answered that he was as willing to be taught as 
 
BUNYAN IN PKISON. il9 
 
 to give instruction, and that he looked upon it as his duty to 
 do both. 
 
 Cohh. But, said he, what if you should forbear awhile, and 
 sit still, till you see further how things will go ? 
 
 And now comes into view one of the mighty impulses, 
 which B Liny an had gained, doubtless from the Book of 
 Martyrs, which had come sweeping down through the cur- 
 rent of time and revolution, from John WicklifFe ; Wick- 
 liffe’s soul and Bunyan’s meeting and communing together, 
 across the gulf of more than two hundred years, in this pas- 
 sage, as Bunyan’s and Luther’s had done, to such powerful 
 purpose, in the great Reformer’s Commentary on the Epistle 
 to the Galatians. 
 
 Sir, said Bunyan, as if he had been speaking scripture — 
 and it shews what inspiring power the Book of Martyrs had 
 over him — Sir, said Bunyan, WicklifFe saith, that he 
 which leaveth ofF preaching and hearing of the word of 
 God, for fear of excommunication of men, he is already ex- 
 communicated of God, and shall, in the day of judgment, be 
 counted a traitor to Christ. 
 
 Cohh, Ay, saith he, they that do not hear. 
 
 Bun, But, sir, said I, he saith, he that shall leave ofF eithei 
 preaching or hearing. That is, if he hath received a gift for 
 edification, it is his sin if he doth not lay it out in a way of 
 exhortation and counsel, according to the proportion of his 
 gift, as well as to spend his time altogether in hearing others 
 preach. 
 
 Cohh, But, said he, how shall we kno^v that you have re- 
 ceived a gift % 
 
 Bun. Said I, let any man hear and search, and prove the 
 doctrine by the Bible. 
 
 Cohh. But will you be willing, said he, that two indifferent 
 persons shall determine the case, and will you stand by their 
 judgment % 
 
 Bun. I said, are they infallible ? 
 
 There outspoke the true Protestant. 
 
 Cohh. He said no. 
 
 Bun. Then said I, it is possible my judgment may he as 
 good as theirs ; but yet I will pass by either, and in this 
 
120 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 matter be judged by the Scripture. I am sure that is in- 
 fallible, and cannot err. 
 
 Cobh. But, said he, who shall be judge between you, for 
 you take the Scriptures one way and they another ? 
 
 Bun. I said the Scriptures should, and that by comparing 
 one Scripture with another ; for that will open itself, if it be 
 rightly compared. As for instance, naming several passages. 
 
 Cohb, But are you willing, said he, to stand to the judg- 
 ment of the Church ] 
 
 Bun. Yes, sir, said I, to the approbation of the Church of 
 God ; the Church’s judgment is best expressed in Scripture. 
 This answer of Bunyan was admirable ; nor can any one 
 do other than admire the wisdom, patience, and pertinency, 
 as well as sometimes wit, and always calmness, of Bunyan’s 
 replies. 
 
 Well, neighbour Bunyan, said Mr Cobb, indeed, I would 
 wish you seriously to consider of these things, between this 
 and the quarter-sessions, and to submit yourself. You may 
 do much good, if you continue still in the land ; but alas, 
 what benefit will it be to your friends, or what good can it 
 do to them, if you should be sent away beyond the seas into 
 Spain or Constantinople, or some other remote part of the 
 world ? Pray, be ruled. 
 
 Jailer. Indeed, sir, I hope he will be ruled. 
 
 Bun. I shall desire, said I, in all godliness and honesty, 
 to behave myself in the nation whilst I am in it. And if I 
 must be so dealt withal as you say, I hope God will help 
 me to bear what they shall lay upon me. I know no evil 
 that I have done in this matter to be so used. I speak as in 
 the presence of God. 
 
 Cohh. You know, saith he, that the Scripture saith. The 
 powers that be are ordained of God. 
 
 Bun. I said yes, and that I was to submit to the king as 
 supreme, also to the governors, as to them that are sent by 
 him. 
 
 Cohh. W ell, then, said he, the king commands you, that 
 you should not have any private meetings, because it is 
 against his law ; and he is ordained of God, therefore you 
 should not have any. 
 
BUNTAN IN PIIISON. 
 
 121 
 
 How was Bim^^an to get over this ? I told him,” said 
 he, “ that Paul did own the powers that were in his day to 
 De of God ; and yet he was often in prison under them for 
 all that. And also, though Jesus Christ told Pilate that he 
 had no power against him hut of God, yet he died under tlie 
 same Pilate ; and yet, said I, I hope you will not say that 
 either Paul or Christ did deny magistracy, and so sinned 
 against God in slighting the ordinance. Sir, said I, the law 
 hath provided two ways of obeying ; the one to do that 
 which in my conscience I do believe that I am bound to do 
 actively, and where I cannot obey actively, then I am willing 
 to lie down, and to suffer what they shall do unto me. At 
 this he sat still, and said no more ; which when he had 
 done, I did thank him for his civil and meek discoursing 
 with me ; and so we parted. Oh, that we might meet in 
 heaven !” 
 
 This was indeed a civil and meek discoursing, in compa- 
 rison with the impious treatment Bunyan received from the 
 justices in a preceding examination. And so they parted. 
 But after this, Bunyan’s wife, while he lay in prison, under- 
 took to present a petition in his behalf to the judges. Three 
 times she made the attempt, twice to Lord-chief-justice 
 Hale, and nothing could daunt her, but she would receive a 
 hearing. The scene is worthy the pencil of some great 
 painter, where, without a creature to befriend or sustain her, 
 this young and trembling woman, unaccustomed and abashed 
 at such presences, entered the court-room, and stood before 
 the judges, in the midst of the crowd of justices and gentry 
 of the country assembled. She addressed herself, with a 
 trembling heart, directly to Lord-chief-justice Hale, who wore 
 in his countenance so clearly the lines of that gentleness and 
 goodness for which he was illustrious, that the courage of the 
 wife was somewhat supported, even amidst the frowns and 
 wrathful words of the other justices. 
 
 My Lord, said she to Judge Hale, I make bold to come 
 once again to your lordship, to know what may be done to 
 my husband. 
 
 Bunyan loved to put these examinations in the form of a 
 dialogue ; it made every thing more vivid to his mind ; and 
 9 
 
122 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 in this case he wrote down the account from the lips of hia 
 courageous wife, just as the scene was evolved in the court- 
 room. 
 
 Judge Hale answered, Woman, I told thee before I could 
 do thee no good, because they have taken that for a convic- 
 tion, which thy husband spoke at the sessions ; and unless 
 there he something done to undo that, I can do thee no good. 
 
 Woman. My Lord, said she, he is kept unlawfully in 
 prison ; they clapped him up before there were any procla- 
 mation against the meetings ; the indictment also is false ; 
 besides, they never asked him whether he was guilty or no ; 
 neither did he confess the indictment. 
 
 All this was true ; hut one of the justices, whom she knew 
 not, said. My Lord, he was lawfully convicted. 
 
 Woman. It is false, said she ; for when they said to him. 
 Do you confess the indictment ? he said only this, that he 
 had been at several meetings, both where there was preach- 
 ing of the word and prayer, and that they had God’s pre- 
 sence among them. 
 
 Judge Twisdon. Whereat Judge Twisdon answered very 
 angrily, saying, What, you think we can do what we list ? 
 your husband is a breaker of the peace, and is convicted by 
 the law. Whereupon Judge Hale called for the statute- 
 book. 
 
 Woman. But, said she, my Lord, he was not lawfully 
 convicted. 
 
 Chester. Then Justice Chester said. My Lord, he was law- 
 fully convicted. 
 
 Woman. It is false, said she ; it was but a word of dis- 
 course that they took for conviction, as you heard before. 
 
 Chester. But it is recorded, woman, it is recorded, says 
 Justice Chester. As if it must of necessity he true, because 
 it is recorded. With which words he often endeavoured to 
 stop her mouth, having no other argument to convince her, 
 but it is recorded, it is recorded. 
 
 Woman. My Lord, said she, I was awhile since in Lon- 
 don, to see if I could get my husband’s liberty, and there I 
 spoke with my Lord Barkwood, one of the House of Lords, 
 to whom I delivered a petition, who took it of me, and pro- 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 123 
 
 sented it to some of the rest of the House of Lords for my 
 husband’s releasement ; Vvdio, when they had seen it, they 
 said that they eould not release him, but had committed his 
 releasement to the judges, at the next assizes. This he told 
 me ; and now I come to you to see if any thing can be done 
 in this business, and you give neither releasement nor relief. 
 To which they gave her no answer, hut made as if they 
 lieard her not. Only Justice Chester was often up with this, 
 He is convicted, and it is recorded. 
 
 Woman. If it he, it is false, said she. 
 
 Chester. My Lord, said Justice Chester, he is a pestilent 
 fellow ; there is not such a fellow in the country again. 
 
 Twisdon. What, will your husband leave preaching ? If 
 he will do so, then send for him. 
 
 Bunyan’s wife remembered the sublime and noble answer 
 of her husband. If I were out of the prison to-day, I would 
 ju-each the Gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God. 
 My lord, said she, he dares not leave preaching as long as 
 he can speak. 
 
 Tiuisdon. See here ; what should we talk any more about 
 such a fellow ; must he do what he lists ? He is a breaker 
 of the peace. 
 
 Wo77ian. She told him again that he desired to live peace- 
 ably, and to follow his calling, that his family might he 
 maintained ; and moreover, my lord, I have four small chil- 
 dren that cannot help themselves, of which one is blind, and 
 have nothing to live upon but the charity of good people. 
 This, with some other affecting distresses which she told, 
 troubled Judge Hale. Alas, poor woman ! said he. 
 
 Twisdon. But Judge Twisdon told her that she made 
 poverty her cloak ; and said, moreover, that he understood 
 I was maintained better by running up and dowm in preach- 
 ing, than by following my calling. 
 
 Hale. What is his calling ? said Judge Hale. 
 
 Answer. Then some of the company that stood by said, 
 A tinker, my lord. 
 
 Wo7uan. Yes, said she, and because he is a tinker, and a 
 poor man, therefore he is despised, and cannot have justice. 
 
 Hale. Then J udge Hale answered very mildly, saying, I 
 
124 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 tell thee, woman, seeing it is so that they have taken what thy 
 husband spake for a conviction, thou must either apply thy- 
 self to the king, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error. 
 
 Chester, But when Justice Chester heard him give hei 
 this counsel, and especially, as she supposed, because he 
 spoke of a writ of error, he chafed, and seemed to be very 
 much offended, saying. My lord, he will preach and do what 
 he lists. 
 
 Woman. He preacheth nothing but the word of God, said 
 she. 
 
 Twisdon. He preach the word of God ! said Twisdon (and 
 withal she thought he would have struck her), he runneth 
 up and down, and doth harm. 
 
 Woman. No, my lord, said she, it is not so ; God hath 
 owned him, and done much good by him. 
 
 Twisdon. God ! said he ; his doctrine is the doctrine of 
 the devil. 
 
 Woman. My lord, said she, when the righteous Judge shall 
 appear, it will be known that his doctrine is not the doctrine 
 of the devil. 
 
 Twisdon. My lord, said he to Jude Hale, do not mind her, 
 but send her away. 
 
 Hale. Then, said Judge Hale, I am sorry, woman, that 
 I cannot do thee any good ; thou must do one of those three 
 tilings aforesaid, namely : either to apply thyself to the 
 king, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error ; but a 
 writ of error will be cheapest. 
 
 Woman. At which Chester again seemed to be in a chafe, 
 and put off his hat, and, as she thought, scratched his head 
 for anger ; but then I saw, said she, that there was no pre- 
 vailing to have my husband sent for, though I often de- 
 sired them that they would send for him, that he might 
 speak for himself, telling them that he could give them better 
 satisfaction than I could, in what they demanded of him, 
 with several other things^ which now I forget. Only this 
 I remember, that though I was somewhat timorous at my 
 first entrance into the chamber, yet before I went out I could 
 not but break forth into tears, not so much because they were 
 so hard-hearted against me and my husband, but to think 
 
BUN Y AN IN miSON. 
 
 125 
 
 what a sad account such poor creatures will have to give at 
 the coining of the Lord, when they shall there answer for all 
 things whatsoever they have done in the body, whether it be 
 good or whether it be evil. 
 
 Banyan’s wife was a partaker of his own spirit, a heroine, 
 in this trying situation, of no ordinary stamp. This cou- 
 rageous woman, and Lord-chief-justice Hale, and Bunyan, 
 have long since met in heaven, but how little could they 
 recognise each other’s character on earth ! How little could 
 the distressed, insulted wife have imagined, that, beneath the 
 J udge’s ermine, there was beating the heart of a child of God, 
 a man of humility, integrity, and prayer ! How little could 
 the great, learned, illustrious, and truly pious judge have 
 dreamed, that the man, the obscure tinker, whom he was 
 suffering to languish in prison for want of a writ of error, 
 would one day be the subject of greater admiration and praise 
 than all the judges in the kingdom of Great Britain ! How 
 little could he dream, that from that narrow cell where the 
 prisoner was left incarcerated, and cut off apparently from all 
 usefulness, a glory would shine out, illustrating the govern- 
 ment and grace of God, and doing more good to man, than 
 all the prelates and judges in the reign of Charles II. put 
 together had accomplished ! 
 
 Twelve full years Bunyan remained in this prison. He 
 wrote several works while there, besides the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress, among which was a work entitled, “ A Confession of 
 my Faith, and a Reason of my Practice.” In this w'ork, 
 written but a short time before the end of his imprisonment, 
 he makes a more distinct allusion to the sufferings of his 
 incarceration than he v/as wont to do. “ Faith and holiness,” 
 says he, are my professed principles, with an endeavour, 
 so far as in me lieth, to be at peace with all men. What 
 shall I say ? Let mine enemies themselves be judges, if any 
 things in these following doctrines, or if aught that any man 
 hath heard me preach, doth or hath, according to the true 
 intent of my words, savoured either of heresy or rebellion. 
 I say again, let they themselves be judges if aught they 
 find in my writing or preaching, doth render me worthy of 
 almost twelve years imprisonment, or one that deserved to 
 
126 
 
 LEdTURE FOURTH. 
 
 be hanged, or banished for ever, according to their tremen- 
 dous sentence. But if nothing will do, unless I make my 
 conscience a continual butchery and slaughter-shop, unless 
 putting out my 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, if 
 frail life might continue so long, even till the moss shall 
 grow on mine eye-brows, rather than thus to violate my 
 faith and principles.” 
 
 When J ohn Bunyan was first thrown into prison, he found 
 a great friend in the jailer, through whose kindness his con- 
 finement, previous to his last examination, and the petition 
 of his wife, was not at all rigorous. He was permitted to 
 preach, to visit his friends, and even to go to London. It is 
 related of him, that it being known to some of the perse- 
 cuting prelates that Bunyan was often out of prison, they 
 sent down an officer to talk with the jailer on the subject ; 
 and in order to find him out, he was to arrive there in the 
 middle of the night. Bunyan was at home with his family, 
 but so restless that he could not sleep. He thex^efore told his 
 wife that he must return immediately. He did so, and the 
 jailer blamed him for coming in at so unseasonable an hour. 
 Early in the moiming the messenger came, and said, Are 
 all tlie prisonei-s safe “ Yes.” “ Is John Bunyan safe?” 
 ‘‘ Yes.” Let me see him.” He was called and appeai'ed, 
 and all was well. After the messenger left, the jailer said 
 to Bunyan, “ Well, you may go out again when you think 
 proper ; for you know when to return better than I can tell 
 you.” 
 
 Bunyan made use of his liberty at this time to visit his 
 fellow-Christians in London, which, says he, “ my enemies 
 heaidng of were so angry, that they had almost cast my 
 jailer out of his place, threatening to indict him, and to do 
 what they could against him. They charged me also that I 
 went thither to plot and raise division, and make insurrec- 
 tion, which^ God knows, was a slander ; whei^eupon my liberty 
 was more straitened than, it was before, so that I must not 
 look out of the door.” From this severe imprisonment it 
 wsLS that he wrote his Prison Meditations, dedicated to the 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 127 
 
 heart of suffering saints and reigning sinners. From the 
 character of these stanzas, we should deem it very pi*obable 
 that he had accustonled himself to scribble in verse before 
 his imprisonment, — a habit with which he doubtless solaced 
 not a few of the hours in his little cell. Some verses in his 
 Meditations upon the four last things. Death and Judgment, 
 Heaven and Hell, are not wanting in beauty. His medit^v- 
 tion of Heaven sprung from its vivid foretastes. 
 
 What gladness shall possess our heart, 
 
 When we shall see these things ! 
 
 What light and life in every part 
 Rise like eternal springs ! 
 
 O, blessed face ; O, holy grace, 
 
 When shall we see this day ? 
 
 Lord, fetch us to this goodly place, 
 
 We humbly to thee pray. 
 
 Thus, when in heavenly harmony 
 These blessed saints appear. 
 
 Adorned with grace and majesty. 
 
 What gladness will be there ! 
 
 Thus shall we see, thus shall we be. 
 
 O, would the day were come 1 
 Lord Jesus, take us up to thee. 
 
 To this desired home. 
 
 Angels we also shall behold. 
 
 When we on high ascend. 
 
 Each shining like to men of gold. 
 
 And on the Lord attend. 
 
 These goodly creatures, full of grace, 
 
 Shall stand about the throne. 
 
 Each one with lightning in his face. 
 
 And shall to us be known. 
 
 There cherubim, with one accord, 
 
 Continually do cry — 
 
 Ah, holy, holy, holy Lord, 
 
 And heavenly majesty ! 
 
 These will us in their arms embrace. 
 
 And welcome us to rest. 
 
 And joy to see us clad with grace. 
 
 And of the heavens possest. 
 
 Doubtless it was such music in his soul, such visions be- 
 fore him, and such panting desires after heaven, that set 
 him to the composition of the Pilgrim’s Progress. He wrote 
 a book of poems entitled, “ Divine Emblems, or Temporal 
 Things Spiritualized, fitted for the use of Boys and Girls.” 
 Some of them are very beautiful, revealing the true poet ; 
 
i28 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 passages there are, which would not dishonour Chaucer or 
 Shakspeare, and which shew to what great excellence, as a 
 poet, Biinyan might have attained, had he dedicated himself 
 to the effort. What he wrote, he wrote with the utmost 
 simplicity, and in the same pure, idiomatic language which 
 is so delightful in the Pilgrim’s Progress. Here is a ballad 
 of the child with the bird on the bush ; and as a child’s 
 ballad, it is one of the sweetest, most natural things in the 
 language. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE BIRD. 
 
 My little bird, how canst thou sit 
 And sing amidst so many thorns ? 
 
 Let me but hold upon thee get. 
 
 My love with honour thee adorns. 
 
 Thou art at present little worth, 
 
 Five farthings none will give for thoo : 
 
 But prithee, little bird, come forth, 
 
 Thou of more value art to me. 
 
 ’Tis true, it is sunshine to-day, 
 
 To-morrow birds will have a storm ; 
 
 My pretty one, come thou away. 
 
 My bosom then shall keep thee warnL 
 
 Thou subject art to cold o’nights. 
 
 When darkness is thy covering ; 
 
 At day thy danger’s great by kites. 
 
 How canst thou then sit there and sing ? 
 
 Thy food is scarce and scanty too, 
 
 'Tis worms and trash which thou dost cat, 
 
 Thy present state I pity do. 
 
 Come, I’ll provide thee better meat. 
 
 I’U feed thee with white bread and milk, 
 
 And sugar-plums, if thou them crave ; 
 
 I’ll cover thee with finest silk, 
 
 That from the cold I may thee save. 
 
 My father’s palace shall be thine. 
 
 Yea, in it thou shalt sit and sing ; 
 
 My little bird, if thou’lt be mine. 
 
 The -whole year round shall be thy spring. 
 
 fTl teach thee all the notes at court, 
 
 Unthought-of music thou shalt play. 
 
 And all that thither do resort 
 Shall praise thee for it every daj\ 
 
 ni keep thee safe from cat and cur. 
 
 No manner o’ harm shall come to thee 
 
 Yoa, I will be thy succourer. 
 
 My bosom shall thy cabin be. 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 129 
 
 But lo, behold, the bird is gone ! 
 
 These charmings would not make her yield ; 
 The child’s left at the bush alone. 
 
 The bird flies yonder o’er the field. 
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 The child of Christ an emblem is ; 
 
 The bird to sinners I compare ; 
 
 The thorns are like those sins of theirs 
 Which do surround them every whera 
 Her songs, her food, her sunshine day. 
 Are emblems of those foolish toys, 
 Which to destruction leads the way. 
 
 The fruit of worldly, empty joys. 
 
 The arguments this child doth choose 
 To draw to him a bird thus wild. 
 Shews Christ familiar speech doth use 
 To make the sinner reconciled. 
 
 The bird, in that she takes her wing 
 To speed her from him after all. 
 
 Shews us vain man loves any thing 
 Much better than the heavenly call. 
 
 Now, if this ballad had been found among the poems of 
 Wordsworth, with one or two touches of his peculiar colour- 
 ing, it would have been regarded as one of his happiest 
 examples of the artless simplicity and truth of nature. But 
 with Bunyan these things were thrown off without any 
 elaborate effort, in such language as he might naturally 
 command, not with studied simplicity, but in such simplicity 
 of style, matter, and language, as his childlike musings 
 naturally fell into. And this constitutes their charm. He 
 says himself that he could have written in higher strains 
 but he would not attempt it ; and well for the poetry it 
 was that he did not ; instead of the childlike carelessness 
 and naturalness, which pleases older minds as well as 
 children, he might have fallen into a stiffness and affected 
 elegance that would have pleased none. As it is, there is 
 great genius and beauty in these hymns for infant minds. In 
 the introduction to the courteous reader, Bunyan says, in a 
 vein of vigorous and well-directed satire — 
 
 The title page will shew, if thou wilt look, 
 
 "V^lio are the proper subjects of this book ; 
 
 They’re boys and girls of all sorts and degrees, 
 
 From those of age, to children on their knees. 
 
130 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 Thus comprehensive am I in my notions. 
 
 They tempt me to it by their childish motions. 
 
 We now have boys with beards, and girls that be 
 Huge as old women, wanting gravity. 
 
 Then do not blame me, since I thus describe 'em. 
 
 Flatter I may not, lest thereby I bribe ’em 
 To have a better judgment of themselves 
 Than wise men have of babies on their shelves ; 
 
 Their antic tricks, fantastic modes and way 
 Shew they, like very boys and girls, do play 
 With all the frantic fooleries of the age, 
 
 And that in open view as on a stage. 
 
 Our bearded men do act like beardless boys. 
 
 Our women please themselves with childish toys. 
 
 Our ministers long time by word and pen 
 Dealt with them, counting them not boys but men ; 
 
 They shot their thunders at them, and their toys, 
 
 But hit them not, for they were girls and boys. 
 
 The better charged, the wider still they shot. 
 
 Or else so high, these dwarfs they touched not. 
 
 Instead of men, they found them girls and boys 
 To nought addicted but to childish toys. 
 
 I repeat it, that this is pleasant, good-natured, and in- 
 structive satire ; its vein of strong sense and native humour 
 may remind us of our elder, early poets, whom, indeed, 
 Bunyan in his poetry resembles not a little, and with whom 
 he would have taken the highest rank as a poet, had Divine 
 Providence directed his native gifts to he developed that way. 
 Bunyan apologizes for seeming to play the fool, that he 
 might, like Paul, by all means, gain some, and he hopes 
 that even men of graver fancies may possibly he taken by 
 his homely rhymes. 
 
 Some, I persuade me, will be finding fault. 
 
 Concluding, here I trip, and there I halt ; 
 
 Na doubt some could those grovelling notions raise 
 By fine-spun terms, that challenge might the bays. 
 
 Should all be forced to lay their brains aside. 
 
 That cannot regulate the glowing tide 
 By this or that man’s fancy, we should have 
 The wise unto the fool become a slave. 
 
 What though my text seems mean, my morals be 
 Grave, as if fetched from a sublimer tree I 
 And if some better handle can a fly, 
 
 Tlien some a text, wherefore should we deny 
 Their making proof or good experiment 
 Of smallest things great mischiefs to prevent. 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 131 
 
 I could, were I so pleased, use higher strains. 
 
 And for applause on tenters stretch my brains; 
 
 But what needs that ? The arrow out of sight 
 Does not the sleeper nor the watchman fright ; 
 
 To shoot too high doth make but children gaze ; 
 
 Tis that which hits the man doth him amaze. 
 
 As for the inconsiderableness 
 Of things, by which I do my mind express ; 
 
 May I by them bring some good things to pass. 
 
 As Samson, with the jaw bone of an ass ; 
 
 Or as brave Shamgar with his ox’s goad, 
 
 (Both things unmanly, not for war in mode,) 
 
 I have my end, though I myself expose. 
 
 For God will have the glory at the close. 
 
 This was ever Banyan’s disinterestedness and forgetfulness 
 of self. So he might glorify God, it was no matter what 
 became of his own reputation, his own will. Human applause 
 he sought not, and while writing the most original work of 
 genius produced in his age, he wrote with an absolute uncon- 
 sciousness of fame, and a disregard of it, such as marked the 
 character of no other writer of the period. Baxter was an 
 eminently holy man, and his mind wrought under holy in- 
 fluences, but never with such unconsciousness of greatness, 
 such forgetfulness of self. Yet the maxim of both was, To 
 God alone be the glory ! 
 
 These Divine Emblems, of which I have spoken, are much 
 in the manner of Quarles, whose poetry Bunyan may have 
 been acquainted with, as the Puritans were fond of it, and 
 who died while Bunyan was in prison. Some of them re- 
 mind us of the significant things seen by Christian in the 
 house of the Interpreter. It was thus that Bunyan filled up 
 his vacant seasons, and with various sweetness recreated 
 himself in prison. While he was musing, the fire burned. 
 When he began his Pilgrim’s Progress, he was surprised into 
 it, for he was writing another book, which he had nearly 
 finished ; but as he was penning some things concerning the 
 race of the saints in the day of the gospel, his thoughts fell 
 suddenly into the form of an allegory in a number of parti- 
 culars, which he put down ; these grew into more, and again 
 continued to multiply, as he was attracted from fancy to 
 fancy, and still he wrote them down, till he said within 
 himself, If I go on at this rate, it will be ad infinitum, and 
 
LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 I shall never finish the hook I am already about. Wherefore 
 my thick-coming fancies I’ll put you by yourselves, and 
 when I have leisure from the work I have undertaken, then 
 I will return to you. 
 
 Thus his work, so produced, came to be the pure, artless, 
 spontaneous creation of piety and genius. There was scarcely 
 a conscious effort in the writing of it ; nay, rather a restraint 
 of its exquisite sweetness, till such moments as he could 
 attend to and take- down the lovely images, the fervent 
 thoughts, that were crowding one another in his mind, and 
 seeking for utterance. It was but for him to say the word, 
 to say to himself, Now my favourite meditations I release 
 you ; and suddenly, as songsters from a cage, his thoughts 
 flew from him, as has been beautifully said of Dr Payson’s 
 conversation, in every possible variety of beauty and har- 
 mony, like birds from a South American forest. His vivid 
 imagination filled his lonely cell with these realities ; and it 
 would appear that only when he was alone did his genius 
 brood over this sacred work ; in secrecy and silence did he 
 pursue it ; it was a joy of his heart, with which heaven itself 
 mingled, and lent its own blessedness, but with which no 
 stranger could intermeddle. 
 
 That this was the manner of the suggestion and production 
 of this great work of genius, is clear from Bunyan’s own 
 amusing and instructive preface ; and it is one of the most 
 curious things in all the history of literature, to be admitted 
 thus into the secret developments of spontaneous genius in 
 a great writer’s mind, on a work, the subject of which pos- 
 sesses the writer as with the power of an angel, instead of 
 being possessed by him ; carries him away with its sweet- 
 ness, bears him up upon its wings as a child in a dream, and 
 moves him swiftly through the luminous air, gazing at the 
 divinely coloured pictures painted upon it. So was Bunyan 
 l)orne upward as on eagles’ wings, both by the Spirit of God, 
 and by the power of that natural genius, which was the gift 
 of God ; and I may add, by the exciting celestial beauty of a 
 subject, which kindles the heart of the simplest Christian 
 with enthusiasm, and shapes, for the time being, a poet in 
 the plainest mind. All this, without difficulty, you may 
 
BUNYA.N IN PRISON. 
 
 133 
 
 read under cover of Bun^^an’s rude rhymes, which are good, 
 iinadulterate Saxon, and full of genuine simplicity and hu- 
 mour, though he scorned attempting to make them more 
 elegant. 
 
 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 thus 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 1 set down. 
 This done, I twenty more had in my crown, 
 
 And they again began to multiply, 
 
 Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fiy. 
 
 Nay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 
 
 ITl put you by j’ourselves, lest you at last 
 Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out 
 The book that I alread}’ am about. 
 
 Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
 To shew to all the world my pen and ink 
 In such a mode ; I only thought to make 
 I knew not what ; nor did 1 undertake 
 Thereby to please my neighbour ; no, not J, 
 
 1 did it mine ownself to gratify. 
 
 Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
 In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 
 But to divert myself in doing this. 
 
 From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss. 
 
 Thus I set pen to paper w ith delight. 
 
 And quickly had my thoughts in black and wdiite. 
 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 w'hich you see. 
 
 Well, when I thus had put my ends together, 
 
 I .shew’d them others, that I might see whether 
 They w'ould condemn them, or them justify : 
 
 And some said, Let him live^, some. Let him die. 
 Some said, John, print it : others said. Not so. 
 
 Some said. It might do good ; others said. No. 
 
 Now I was in a strait, and did not see 
 Which w’as the best thing to be done by me; 
 
 At last I thought, since you are thus divided, 
 
 I print it wdll : and so the case decided. 
 
 And how could it have been decided otherwise ? Bunjan 
 proceeds with an ingenious and amusing apology and justi- 
 
134 
 
 BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 fication for using similitudes. Gold, pearls, and precious 
 stones worth digging for, he thought might fitly be put into 
 an allegory ; and truth, even in swaddling clothes, as a 
 sweet laughing babe, might win upon the mind, inform the 
 judgment, make the will submissive, and fill the memory 
 with things pleasant to the imagination. There is refreshing 
 water in dark clouds, when there is none at all in bright 
 ones ; and when there silver drops descend, then the earth 
 yieldeth her ripe harvest. A fisherman goes patiently up 
 and down the river-side, and engages all his wits to catch a 
 few nibbles, with snares, lines, angles, hooks and nets ; all 
 stratagems he uses for the silly fish. So doth the fowler for 
 the birds ; one can scarce name the variety of his means, 
 his gun, his nets, his lime-twigs, light and bell ; one can 
 scarce tell the variety of his postures : he creeps, he goes, 
 he stands, he pipes and whistles. So shall he, who wisely 
 seeks to catch men, speak dialogue-wise, parable-wise, in 
 prose and poetry, in figures, metaphors, and meaning fables ; 
 in cunning cabinets and mantles he shall enclose truth’s 
 golden beams ; he shall set his apples of gold in pictures of 
 silver. 
 
 Yea, let Truth be free 
 To make her sallies upon thee and me. 
 
 Which way it pleases God. 
 
 So Bunyan thought, and would not check the variety of his 
 fancies, though some would-be critics laughed at their sim- 
 plicity, and some were offended at their novelty. Yet he 
 knew he might write in such a method, and not miss his 
 end, which was the good of his readers ; and so he wrote, 
 and so he published, committing all to God. The close of 
 liis preface is very beautiful, and would to God that every 
 man who reads, might, according toBunyan’s directions, lay 
 tlie book, the head, and the heart together, and so follow the 
 pilgrim from the City of Destruction to the City of Im- 
 mamicl ! 
 
 This book will make a traveller of thee, 
 
 If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be ; 
 
 It will direct thee to the holy land. 
 
 If thou wilt its direetions understand ; 
 
 Yea, it will make the slothful active^be; 
 
 The blind also delightful things to se.k 
 
BUNYAN IN PRISON. 
 
 135 
 
 Art thou for something rare and profitable ? 
 
 Or wouldst thou see a truth within a fable? 
 
 Art thou forgetful ? or wouldst thou remember 
 From new-year’s day to the last of December? 
 
 Then read my fancies ; they will stick like burrs, 
 
 And may be to the helpless comforters. 
 
 This book is wrote in such a dialect, 
 
 As may the minds of listless men atfect : 
 
 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 explanatiou? 
 
 Or else be drown’d in thy contemplation ? 
 
 Dost thou love picking meat ? or wouldst thou see 
 A man i’ th’ 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 ? 
 
 Or, wouldst thou lose thyself, and catch no harm ; 
 
 And find thyself again without a charm ? 
 
 Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know’st not what. 
 
 And yet know whether thou art bless’d or not, 
 
 By reading the same lines? O then come hither ! 
 
 And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. 
 
 A great characteristic of original genius, perhaps its greatest 
 proof, and one which Bunyan possessed in common witli 
 Shakespeare, is its spontaneous exertion ; the evidence of 
 having written without labour, and without the conscious- 
 ness of doing any thing remarkable, or the ambitious aim of 
 performing agreat work. The thought, “how will this please ?” 
 has little or no power as a motive, nor is it suggested to 
 such minds : the greatest efforts of genius seem as natural to 
 it as it is for common men to breathe. • In this view, Bun- 
 yan’s work comes nearer to the inspired poetry of the He- 
 brews in its character, than any other human composition. 
 He wrote from the impulse of his genius, sanctified and 
 illuminated by a heavenly influence ; and its movements 
 were as artless as the movements of a little child left to play 
 upon the green by itself ; as if, indeed, he had exerted no 
 voluntary supervision whatever over its exercise. Every 
 thing is as natural and unconstrained as if there had been no 
 other breather in this world but himself, — no being, to whose 
 inspection the work he was producing could ever possibly be 
 exhibited, and no rule or model with which it could ever be 
 compared. 
 
136 
 
 LECTURE FOURTH. 
 
 We can imagine this suffering Christian and unconscious 
 poet in the gloom of his prison, solacing his mind witn liis 
 own visions, as they came in, one after another, like heavenly 
 pictures, to his imagination. They were so pleasant that he 
 could not hut give them reality, and when he found how 
 they accumulated, then first did the ideal of the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress rise before his view. Then did he, with the per- 
 vading, informing, and transfusing power of genius, melt 
 the materials, and mould them into shape. He puts the 
 pictures into one grand allegory, with the meaning of heaven 
 shining over the whole, and a separate interest and beauty 
 in every separate part. It is an allegory, conducted with 
 such symmetry and faithfulness, that it never tires in its 
 examination, but discloses continually new meaning to the 
 mind, and speaks to the heart of the Pilgrim volumes of 
 mingled encouragement, warning, and instruction. 
 
 And how precious is the volume, which thus stores the 
 nursery as well as the shelves of the theologian, with whole- 
 some learning ; which brings the divinest mysteries of grace 
 into the quick conscience and soft heart of childhood, even 
 before the understanding is prepared to receive and ponder 
 their grave teachings ! This is the point of Cowper’s beauti- 
 ful apostrophe to Bunyan. 
 
 “ O thou, whom, borne on fancy’s eager wing, 
 
 Back to the season of life’s happy spring, 
 
 I pleased remember, and Avhile memory yet 
 Holds fast her office here, can ne’er forget ; 
 
 Ingenious Dreamer ! in whose well-told tale 
 Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; 
 
 Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style, 
 
 May teacli the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 
 
 Witty, and well employed, and like thy Lord, 
 
 Speaking in parables his slighted word ; 
 
 I name thee not, lest so despised a name 
 Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame. 
 
 Yet e’en in transitory life’s late day. 
 
 That mingles all my brown with sober grey, 
 
 Rovire the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road. 
 
 And guides the Progress of the soul to God ; 
 
 ’Twere well with most, if books that could engage 
 Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age ; 
 
 The man, approving what had charmed the boy. 
 
 Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ; 
 
 And not with curses on his heart, who stole 
 Tlic gem of truth from his unguarded soul.'” 
 
LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 J^robiSencc, (S^race, anti (Banfus, 
 
 IN BUrSYAN AND THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, 
 
 Illustrations of Divine Providence in selecting Bunyan to write the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress. — Weak things chosen to confound the mighty. — The Author ol 
 the Pilgrim’s Progress selected not from the Establishment, but from with- 
 out it. — Signal rebuke of ecclesiastical exclusiveness and hierarchical pre- 
 tensions, in the Pilgrim’s Progress and the Saint’s Rest.— More of Bunyan’s 
 Divine Emblems. — Bunyan’s release from prison.— His release from life, and 
 entrance into the Celestial City. — Dr Scott’s opinion of the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress.— Its entire freedom from Sectarianism.— Its universality, both in 
 genius and piety. — Comparison between Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and 
 Edwards on the Religious Affections. — Bun3'an and Spenser.— Survey of 
 the Events, Characters, and Scenery in the Pilgrim’s Progress. — The Splen- 
 dour of its conclusion. 
 
 We meet in the life of Bunyan some of the most remark- 
 able illustrations to he found anywhere on record, of the 
 manner in which God has chosen the weak things of the 
 world to confound the mighty, and base things of the world, 
 and things which are despised, and things which are not, 
 to bring to nought things that are ; to abase the pride, and 
 rebuke the pretensions of all human glory. Bunyan’s preach- 
 ing, which was the means of the conversion of so many 
 souls, how utterly despised and counted like insanity was it, 
 by all the wise, the noble, the esteemed of this world ! And 
 Bunyan’s Allegory, when it first appeared, with how much 
 contempt was it regarded, as a sort of story or ballad for 
 the vulgar, by the lords, gentlemen, and ecclesiastics of the 
 age. If any prophet in those days could have gone to the 
 bishop and justices under whose jurisdiction Bun van was 
 10 
 
138 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 thrust into the common jail, and left twelve years in prison, 
 and could have said, My Lords, there is one John Bunyan, 
 formerly a tinker, and now a tagged-lace maker in a cell in 
 the prison of Bedford, imprisoned by your Lordships for 
 preaching the gospel, who hath composed and published an 
 allegory which shall work more to the accomplishment of 
 God’s counsels, and to the establishment of sound piety and 
 morality, and to the usefulness and glory of the literature 
 of this kingdom, than all that your Lordships, with all the 
 preachers and authors in this civil and ecclesiastical circuit, 
 shall have accomplished in your whole life-time ; he would 
 have been regarded as void of understanding, if not impri- 
 soned for contempt of the higher authorities. 
 
 And yet, such a prophet would have spoken hut the 
 simple truth ; for into how many languages this book hath 
 been translated no man can tell, and how many editions it 
 has passed through still less may any man enumerate, nor 
 how many souls it may have guided to eternal glory. It 
 has gone almost wherever the Bible has gone, and has left 
 the stamp of the best part of English literature, where neither 
 Milton nor Shakspeare were ever heard of. Indeed, it may 
 doubtless be said of Bunyan as of that woman of sacred 
 memory in the New Testament, Wherever this gospel shall 
 be preached in all the world, there shall that, which this 
 man hath done for Christ, be told for a memorial of him. 
 The alabaster-box of very precious ointment which that 
 woman poured upon the Saviour’s head was an unutterably 
 precious offering, because her heart went with it ; but this 
 alabaster-box of genius and piety, the fruit of these twelve 
 years’ imprisonment, was the work — both the offering itself, 
 and the feelings with which it was offered — equally of Bun- 
 yan’s heart, filled with love to the same Saviour. And 
 wherever the Bible goes, doubtless, in all time, this book will 
 follow it. 
 
 As the book itself is an illustration of this great principle 
 of God’s administration, so was his own selection of Bunyan 
 as his instrument to do so mighty a work. Disregarding 
 the claims of great establishments and mighty hierarchies, 
 passing by the gorgeous state religions of the world and all 
 
TROVIBENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &C. 139 
 
 their followers, passing the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
 the See of London, and the great consecrated shrines of 
 applauded genius and piety, even the genius of Milton, and 
 the pulpits of Jeremy Taylor, and Howe, and Usher, and 
 the wise and mighty and noble together, he entered the 
 prison cell in Bedford, and poured this unction of his Spirit 
 upon John Bunyan, and touched his lips alone with this 
 hallowed fire, and dipped his pen alone in these colours of 
 heaven. There were as great boasts, if not of the apostolical 
 succession, at least of the Ecclesiastical Establishment, in 
 those days as in this ; and God saw that a lordly hierarchy, 
 and many a lordly bishop, were proclaiming to all the world 
 this lie, that there could be no lawful worship of God, and 
 no true church of Christ, without a prayer book and pre- 
 latical consecration, without episcopacy, confirmation, and 
 a liturgy ; but all this was as wood, hay, and stubble ; and 
 Divine Providence selected, to make the brightest jewel of 
 the age as a Christian, a minister, and a writer, a member 
 of the then obscure, persecuted, and despised sect of Baptists, 
 lie took John Bunyan ; but he did not remove him from the 
 Baj)tist church of Christ into what men said was the only 
 true church ; he kept him shining in that Baptist candle- 
 stick all his lifetime ; for what is it to Christ whether a man 
 be Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist, Presbyterian, Inde- 
 pendent, or Episcopalian, so he be but a true follower of the 
 Saviour, so he lord it not over God’s heritage, nor be guilty 
 of schism in consigning to God’s uncovenanted mercies, in 
 defiance of all Christian charity, those whom thfe Saviour 
 holds as dear as the apple of his eye ? What are these sec- 
 tarian shibboleths to Christ, if his people will but walk 
 according to this rule, which was a text of favourite note 
 with Bunyan, By this shall all men know that ye are my 
 disci])les, if ye love one another ! ” My disciples, no^ 
 memliers of this or that sectarian persuasion, be it Episco- 
 pal, Baptist, Presbyterian, or what not. My disciples, not 
 Church-men, nor Paul’s-men, nor Rome’s- men, but my 
 DISCIPLES. 
 
 All gorgeous and prelatical establishments God passed by, 
 and selected the greatest marvel and miracle of grace and 
 
140 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 genius in all the modem age from the Baptist church in 
 Bedford ! If this he not a rebuke and a refutation of that 
 absurd mockery, the apostolical succession,” and all pre- 
 tensions like it, we know not how Divine Providence could 
 construct one. It is just as clear as the Saviour’s own per- 
 sonal rebuke of the same intolerant proud spirit in his day ; 
 and the feeling with which its application is received by the 
 pretenders to the only true church in our day is remarkably 
 similar. I tell you of a truth, many widows were in Israel 
 in the days of Elias, when the heaven was shut up three 
 years and six months, when great famine was throughout 
 all the land ; but unto none of them was Elias sent, save 
 unto Sarepta, a city of Sidon, unto a woman that was a 
 widow. And many lepers were in Israel in the time of 
 Eliseus the prophet ; and none of them was cleansed saving 
 Naaman the Syrian. And all they in the Synagogue, when 
 they heard these things, were filled with wrath, and rose up, 
 and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow 
 of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might 
 cast him down headlong !” Why, what mighty evil hath 
 our blessed Lord done to awaken this dreadful hell of wrath 
 and malignity in this synagogue of Satan ? He hath simply 
 told them that their church was no longer to be the only 
 true Church of Christ on earth, but that he was going to 
 preach to the Gentiles ! And the wickedness of this Jewish 
 hierarchy is but a specimen of the wickedness which this 
 pretence of being the only true church inevitably sets in 
 motion and brings with it, wherever such a pretended true 
 church can get the power to enforce its excommunications. 
 It will lead our blessed Lord himself to the brow of the hill, 
 and cast liim down headlong, if he visit this earth in a 
 conventicle, if he come to any other than an Established 
 Church. 
 
 The same principle thus marvellously illustrated in the 
 life of Bunyan, was that by which God passed by the many 
 thousands of Israel of loftier genealogy and prouder claims, 
 and fixed upon David the son of Jesse, the keeper of liis 
 father’s flock in the wilderness, and anointed and crowned 
 him King of Israel ; passed by also tlie great towns and 
 
rllOVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, ikc. 141 
 
 beautiful cities of Judea, and Jerusalem itself, and fixed 
 upon Bethlehem as the birth-place of our Saviour ; passed 
 by also th^e learned and excellent, the princes and scholars 
 of the land, when he would found a new spiritual kingdom 
 to last for ever, and took the fishermen and the tax-gather- 
 ers ; and to step out of sacred history once more, into com- 
 mon, in a case in some respects of great similarity to Bun- 
 yan’s own, passed by the godliest learned men of honour, 
 title, and rank, and chose a chaplain in Oliver Cromwell’s 
 parliamentary army to write the Saint’s Rest. The two 
 greatest, most important, most efficacious spiritual works 
 the world has ever seen, written by men cast out, perse- 
 cuted, imprisoned, as not being members of the true church, 
 as not conforming to the will of the Established hierarchy ! 
 The world is full of these blessed instances of God’s wisdom 
 to cast down the pride of man, and abase his pretensions, 
 that no flesh may glory in his presence. And as to these 
 hierarchical arrogancies, it would seem that Divine Wisdom 
 itself could resort to no expedient more sure to put them to 
 shame, than when the Holy Spirit takes up his abode, and 
 displays his glory, in beings cast out, persecuted, imprisoned, 
 and burned, by such bigotry and violence. The great over- 
 shadowing, remorseless, hierarchical unity of the Church, 
 when it is any thing else but unity in the possession and 
 exercise of the Spirit of Christ, becomes a destructive unity 
 of evil, a unity of ambition, consecrated under the name of 
 religion, a unity of earthly power and aggrandizement, in 
 which the passion of universal conquest, that like a chariot 
 of fire whirled a Nimrod or Napoleon over the world, kindles 
 in the bosom of churchmen, and makes out of the church 
 itself the most perfect, awful form of despotism. It is such 
 a dreadful unity that has anathematized and destroyed some 
 of the brightest temples of the Holy Ghost, out of which 
 God has shined in this world of darkness. It was indeed 
 this remorseless, despotic, persecuting unity, to which our 
 blessed Lord himself was sacrificed, to prevent a schism in 
 the Jewish hierarchy. But under whatever form, save that 
 of love to Christ, and participation in his Spirit, this unity 
 is vaunted, it becomes an unhallov/ed, worldly, vain, am- 
 
142 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 bitious boast ; and powerfully, indeed, are its pretensions 
 shewn to be vanity, when God raises up, beyond its pre- 
 cincts, such men as Baxter and Bunyan, Owen and Dod- 
 dridge, Calamy and Howe, Brainerd and Edwards, Pa^^son 
 and Dwight. Rather let every Christian be in himself a 
 separate sect, than the church of Christ a compulsory des- 
 potism. 
 
 And how may we suppose the great Head of the church 
 regards such daring presumption, whether under pretence 
 of apostolical succession or prelatical consecration, that shuts 
 out such men from the church of Christ on earth, and gives 
 them over even to God’s uncovenanted mercies in heaven ] 
 Merely the statement of such pretensions is enough to shew 
 how opposed they are to the spirit of the gospel. If a desire 
 to spread that gospel, and to bring all men into the fold of 
 Christ, had prevailed, or were now prevalent, we should 
 hear nothing of such pretensions ; if that unity of love 
 existed, which our blessed Lord requires, and without which 
 all other unity is worthless, there would be the kindest 
 charity and piety, but no pride ; Christians would, as Paul 
 requires, receive one another, but not to doubtful disputa- 
 tions ; and all sects would be found vying with each other, 
 not to spread their own name, but the knowledge of the 
 gospel ; not to eject each other from the missionary field, 
 but to fill the world with love and mercy. We trust in God 
 that this spirit shall prevail over every other ; and when it 
 does, then will be the time when there shall be nothing to 
 hurt nor destroy in all God’s holy mountain. 
 
 The prison hours of such men as Bunyan have done much 
 to bring the full blessedness of such a period, and out of 
 Bunyan’s prison shone much of that rosy light, that in the 
 morning of the Reformation is more romantically beautiful, 
 than even the clear shining of the sun at noon. His prison 
 work was one of the stars, co-herald with the dawn, reflect- 
 ing the Sun of Righteousness, but struggling with the dark- 
 ness all night long. If, during his confinement, he wrote 
 those Divine Emblems, of which I have spoken, as is very 
 probable, there was calm, sweet light, shining out of tlie 
 soul of the true poet, hidden, as by God’s mercy, in a pavi- 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUNYAN, &C. 143 
 
 lion from the strife of tongues. As the tuneful bird of night 
 sits even amidst the rain, and sings darkling, so the heart of 
 Bunyan sang, while the storm raged round his prison ; nay, 
 it may be said of him, as of Luther, that he poured the 
 music of truth from his soul as from a church organ. I 
 could present some of his finished pieces in verse, that may 
 well be compared with the best of our elder poets, and that, 
 contrasted with the doggerel of his early days, shew an in- 
 tellectual transformation as wonderful, almost, as his spiritual 
 new creation. And yet, I must remark, in regard to those 
 rude verses, which, with such inconceivably bad spelling, 
 and with such cramped and distorted chirography, Bunyan 
 used to write in the margin of his old copy of Foxe’s Book 
 of Martyrs, that they do not make upon the mind the im- 
 pression of that word doggerel ; the mint out of which they 
 fall is too sacred for that, and the metal, though wrought 
 with such extreme rudeness, manifestly too precious. As 
 we gaze upon that chirography, in connection with the 
 martyrdom that excited the passionate emotion of the writer, 
 we seem to see the very soul of Bunyan impressing, as with 
 the point of a diamond, in the only language he then knew 
 how to command, the hieroglyphics of the martyr’s spirit 
 in his own bosom. Those verses are as Indian arrows, tipped 
 with flint, in comparison with a rifle inlaid with gold. But 
 tliey are more than curious ; there is vigour in them, and 
 fire of the soul. 
 
 If the following emblems (in addition to those I have be- 
 fore referred to) be taken as specimens of what fancies tlie 
 poet could play with for the prisoner’s amusement, there is 
 no good critic but will recognise in them the elements of a 
 true poetical genius. Who, for example, in Bunyan’s 
 stanzas upon the sun’s reflection on the clouds in a fair 
 morning, will not irresistibly be reminded of Milton’s beau- 
 tiful image in the Mask of Comus ? 
 
 Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
 
 Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? ^ 
 
 Bun^’an, certainly, never imitated any living creature, nor 
 the writings of any genius, living or dead ; yet there aro 
 
144 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 passages, that, with the exception of the recurrence of 
 grace” or similar religious phrases, formed in a very dif- 
 ferent school from that of the poets of this world, might be 
 deemed to have been cut directly from the pages even of such 
 a writer as Shakspeare. Juliet, looking from her window, 
 might have uttered the following lines, had her thoughts 
 been upon such sacred things as the prayer of the saints. 
 
 Look yonder! ah, methinks mine eyes do see 
 Clouds edged with silver, as fine garments be ! 
 
 They look as if they saw the golden face 
 
 That makes black clouds most beautiful with grace. 
 
 Unto the saints’ sweet incense of their prayer 
 These smoky curled clouds I do compare ; 
 
 For as these clouds seem edged or laeed with gold, 
 
 Their prayers return with blessings manifold. 
 
 Remark also the beauty of the following lines upon the rising 
 of the sun : 
 
 Look how brave Sol doth peep up from beneath, 
 
 Shows us his golden face, doth on us breathe | 
 
 Yea, he doth compass us around with glories 
 Whilst he ascends up to his highest stories. 
 
 Where he his banner over us displays. 
 
 And gives us light to see our works and ways. 
 
 Nor are we now as at the peep of light. 
 
 To question is it day, or is it night ; 
 
 The night is gone, the shadow’s fied away. 
 
 And now we are most certain that ’tis day. 
 
 And thus it is when Jesus shews his face. 
 
 And doth assure us of his love and grace. 
 
 Take also the following very beautiful moral upon the pro- 
 mising fruitfulness of a tree. Who could have written in 
 purer language, or with more terseness and graphic bnii- 
 plicity ? 
 
 A eomely sight indeed it is to see, 
 
 A world of blossoms on an apple-tree : 
 
 Yet far more comely would this tree appear. 
 
 If all its dainty blooms young apples were ; 
 
 But how much more might one upon it see. 
 
 If each would hang there till it ripe should be, 
 
 But most of all in beauty, ’t would abound. 
 
 If every one should then be truly sound. 
 
 But we, alas I do commonly behold 
 Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold, 
 
 They too which hang till they young apples are. 
 
 By blasting winds and vermin take despair. 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &C. 146 
 
 Store that do hang while almost ripe, we see, 
 
 By blust’ring winds are shaken from the tree. 
 
 So that of many, only some there be, 
 
 That grow and thrive to full maturity. 
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 This tree a perfect emblem is of those 
 Which do the garden of the Lord compose. 
 
 Its blasted blooms are motions unto good, 
 
 Which chill affections nip in the soft bud. 
 
 Those little apples which yet blasted are. 
 
 Shew some good purposes, no good fruit bear. 
 
 Those spoil’d by vermin are to let us see 
 How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin’d be. 
 
 Those which the wind blows down while they are green, 
 
 Shew good works have by trials spoiled been. 
 
 Those that abide while ripe, upon the tree. 
 
 Shew, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be. 
 
 Behold then how abortive some fruits are, 
 
 Which at the first most promising appear. 
 
 The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth shew, 
 
 There flow from much appearance works but few. 
 
 I may add to these extracts the following emhleiii nj)on a 
 snail, very much in the manner of our elder poets, and with 
 an exquisite religious moral, which you might look far to 
 discover in English poetry, and not find at all, or not find so 
 simply and so well expressed. 
 
 She goes but softly, but she goeth sure. 
 
 She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do ; 
 
 Her journey’s shorter, so she may endure 
 Better than they which do much further go. 
 
 She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on 
 The flower or herb, appointed for her food ; 
 
 The which she quietly doth feed upon, 
 
 While others range and glare, but find no goevi,. 
 
 And tho’ she doth but very softly go. 
 
 However slow her pace be, yet ’tis sure : 
 
 And certainly they that do travel so. 
 
 The prize which they do aim at, they procure. 
 
 Altho* they seem not much to stir or go, 
 
 Who thirst for Christ, and who from wrath do flee. 
 
 Vet what they seek for, quickly they come to, 
 
 Tho’ it does seem the farthest off to be. 
 
 One act of faith doth bring them to that fiow’r 
 They so long for that they may eat. and live, 
 
 Which to attain is not in others' power, 
 
 Tho’ for it a king’s ransom they would give. 
 
146 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 Then let none faint, nor be at all dismay’d, 
 
 That life by Christ do seek, they shall not fail 
 To have it ; let them nothing be afraid : 
 
 The herb and flow’r are eaten by the snail. 
 
 In tlie collection of Bunyan’s poetical pieces in liis works 
 there are some very thoughtful and vigorous stanzas, en- 
 titled, A Caution to Stir up to Watch against Sin.” They 
 may very probably be ranked along with the Divine Em- 
 blems, as the production of his prison hours. The following 
 lines are powerful. 
 
 Sin is the living worm, the lasting fire, 
 
 Hell soon would lose its heat, could sin expire. 
 
 Better sinless in hell, than to be where 
 Heaven is, and to be found a sinner there. 
 
 One sinless with internals might do well. 
 
 But sin would make of heaven a very hell. 
 
 Look to thyself then, keep it out of door, 
 
 Lest it get in and never leave thee more. 
 
 No match has sin but God in all the world, 
 
 Men, angels, has it from their station hurled ; 
 
 Holds them in chains, as captives, in despite 
 Of all that here below is called might. 
 
 Release, help, freedom from it none can give. 
 
 But even he, by whom we breathe and live. 
 
 Watch, therefore, keep this giant out of dwr, 
 
 Lest, if once in, thou get him out no more. 
 
 Fools make a mock at sin, will not believe 
 It carries such a dagger in its sleeve ; 
 
 How can it be, say they, that such a thing. 
 
 So full of sw'eetness, e’er should wear a sting? 
 
 They know not that it is the very spell 
 Of sin, to make men laugh themselves to hell. 
 
 Look to thyself then, deal with sin no more. 
 
 Lest he that saves, against thee shuts the door. 
 
 In the prose works of Bunyan there are here and there 
 passages, which, had he put them into rhyme, would have 
 made exquisite poems. Such, for example, is the following 
 paragraph, which one might suppose to have been cut from 
 the pages of the holy Leighton, so much do the spirit, the 
 language, and the imagery resemble his. ^^I have thus 
 written,” says Bunyan, speaking of his work on Christian 
 Behaviour, “ because it is amiable and pleasant to God, when 
 Cliristians keep their rank, relation, and station, doing all 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUN IAN, 147 
 
 as becomes their quality and calling. When Christians 
 stand every one in their places, and do the work of their 
 relations, then they are like the flowers in the garden, that 
 stand and grow where the gardener hath planted them, and 
 then they shall both honour the garden in which they are 
 planted, and the gardener that hath so disposed of them. 
 From the hyssop in the wall to the cedar in Lebanon, their 
 fruit is their glory. And seeing the stock into which we 
 are planted is the fruitfulest stock, the sap conveyed thereout 
 the fruitfulest sap, and the dresser of our souls the wisest 
 husbandman, how contrary to nature, to example, and 
 expectation we should be, if we should not be rich in good 
 works. Wherefore, take heed of being painted fire, wherein 
 is no warmth ; and painted flowers, which retain no smell ; 
 and of being painted trees, whereon is no fruit. Whoso 
 boasteth himself of a false gift, is like clouds and wind 
 without rain. Farewell ! .The Lord be with thy spirit, 
 that thou mayest profit for time to come.” 
 
 In the same work on Christian Behaviour, he says beauti- 
 fully, “ It is the ordinance of God that Christians should be 
 often asserting the things of God each to others, and that by 
 their so doing they should edify one another. The doctrine 
 of the gospel is like the dew and the small rain, that distilleth 
 upon the tender grass, wherewith it doth flourish, and is 
 kept green. Christians are like the several flowers in a 
 garden, that have upon each of them the dew of heaven, 
 which being shaken by the wind, they let fall their dew at 
 each other’s roots, whereby they are jointly nourished, and 
 become nourishers of one another. For Christians to com- 
 mune savourily of God’s matters one with another is as if 
 they opened to each other’s nostrils boxes of perfume. Saitli 
 Paul to the church at Rome, I long to see you, that I may 
 impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end that you 
 may be established ; that is, that I may be comforted 
 together with you, by the mutual faith both of you and me.” 
 Thus have I, in few words, written to you before I die, 
 a word to provoke you to faith and holiness, because I desire 
 that you may have the life that is laid up for all them that 
 believe in the Lord Jesus, and love one another, wlien 1 am 
 
148 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 deceased. Though there I shall rest from my labours, and 
 be in Paradise, as through grace I comfortably believe, but 
 it is not there, but here, I must do you good. Wherefore I, 
 not knowing the shortness of my life, nor the hinderance 
 that hereafter I may have of serving my God and you, I 
 have taken this opportunity to present these few lines unto 
 you for your edification. Consider what hath been said, 
 and the Lord give you understanding in all things. Fare- 
 well !” 
 
 How beautiful is the spirit here manifested, how full of 
 the sweet charity of the gospel, and of what sweet simplicity 
 and beauty are the thoughts and images here expressed ! 
 It is not there in heaven^ hut here on earthy that I must do 
 you good. We are reminded of Paul’s language, “ To abide 
 in the flesh is more needful for you.” Infinitely desirable 
 is such a blessed hope of heaven, as shall make the Christian 
 desire to depart and be with Christ, and shall, at the same 
 time, quicken and animate and fill with blessedness all hia 
 efforts for the good of others. 
 
 In that ingenious work of Bunyan, entitled “ Solomon’s 
 Temple Spiritualized,” there are passages of exquisite beauty 
 and significancy. Take, for example, the two following 
 extracts, the first in regard to the Gates of the Porch of the 
 Temple, the second in regard to the Pinnacles of the Temple ; 
 and see the ingenuity and beauty of the author of the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress, in other modes of allegorizing besides 
 that of the great admired production of his genius. 
 
 Of the Gates of the Porch of the Temple. 
 
 The porch, at which was an ascent to the temple, had a 
 gate belonging to it. This gate, according to the prophet 
 Ezekiel, was six cubits wide. The leaves of this gate were 
 double, one folding this way, the other that. Ezek. xl. 48. 
 
 Now here some may object, and say. Since the way to 
 God by these doors was so wide, why doth Christ say, the 
 way and gate is narrow ? 
 
 “ Ans. The straitness, the narrowness, must not be under- 
 stood of the gate simply, but because of that cumber that 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUNTAN, SiC. 149 
 
 gome men carry with them, that pretend to be going to 
 heaven. Six cubits ! What is sixteen cubits to him who 
 would enter in here with all the world on his back ? The 
 young man in the Gospel, w^ho made such a noise for heaven, 
 might have gone in easy enough ; for in six cubits breadth 
 there is room : but, poor man ! he was not for going in 
 thither, unless he might carry in his houses upon his shoulder 
 too, and so the gate was strait, Mark x. 17-23. 
 
 “ Wherefore he that will enter in at the gate of heaven, of 
 which this gate into the temple was a type, must go in by 
 himself, and not with his bundles of trash on his back ; and 
 if he will go in thus, he need not fear there is room. The 
 righteous nation that Jceepeth the truth, they shall enter in. 
 
 They that enter at the gate of the inner court, must be 
 clothed in fine linen ; how then shall they go into the temple 
 that carry the clogs of the dirt of this world at their heels 1 
 Thus saith the Lord, ^ No stranger uncircumcised in heart, 
 or uncircumcised in flesh, shall enter into my sanctuary.’ 
 The wideness therefore of this gate, is for this cause here 
 made mention of, to wdt, to encourage them that would gladly 
 enter thereat, according to the mind of God, and not to flatter 
 them that are not for leaving of all for God, 
 
 Wherefore let such as would go in remember that here is 
 room, even a gate to enter at, six cubits wide. We have 
 been all this while but on the outside of the temple, even in 
 the courts of the house of the Lord, to see the beauty and 
 glory that is there. The beauty hereof made men cry out, 
 and say, ‘ How amiable are thy tabernacles, 0 Lord of hosts ! 
 my soul longeth, yea, fainteth for the courts of the Lord 
 and to say, ‘ A day in thy courts is better than a thousand.’ ” 
 
 Of the Pinnacles of the Temple. 
 
 “ There were also several pinnacles belonging to the temple. 
 These pinnacles stood on the top aloft in the air, and were 
 sharp, and so difficult to stand upon : what men say of their 
 number and length I waive, and come directly to their signi- 
 fication. 
 
 “ I therefore take those pinnacles to be types of those lofty, 
 airy notions, with which some delight themselves, while they 
 
150 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 hover like birds above the solid and godly truths of Christ 
 Satan attempted to entertain Christ Jesus with this type, 
 and antitype, at once, when he set him on one of the-pinnacles 
 of the temple, and offered to thrust him upon a false con- 
 fidence in God, by a false and unsound interpretation of a 
 text. Matt. iv. 5, 6 ; Luke iv. 9, 10, 11. 
 
 You have some men cannot be content to worship in tlie 
 temple, but must be aloft ; no place will serve them but 
 pinnacles, pinnacles ; that they may be speaking in and to 
 the air, that they may be promoting their heady notions, 
 instead of solid truth ; not considering that now they are 
 where the devil would have them be : they strut upon their 
 points, their pinnacles : but let them look to it, there is 
 difficult standing upon pinnacles ; their neck, their soul, is 
 in danger. We read, God is in his temple, not upon these 
 pinnacles, Psal. xi. 4 ; Hah. ii. 20. 
 
 “ It is true, Christ was once upon one of these : but the 
 devil set him there, with intent to dash him in pieces by a 
 fall ; and yet even then told him, if he would venture to 
 tumble down, he should be kept from dashing his foot 
 against a stone. To be there, therefore, was one of Christ’s 
 temptations ; consequently one of Satan’s stratagems ; nor 
 v ent he thither of his ownnccord, for he knew that there 
 was danger ; he loved not to clamber pinnacles. 
 
 This should teach Christians to be low and little in their 
 own eyes, and to forbear to intrude into airy and vain 
 speculations, and to take heed of being* puffed up with a foul 
 and empty mind.” 
 
 In the same work, Bunyan says in regard to the ornaments 
 carved upon the doors of the temple. 
 
 There were also carved upon these doors open flowers ; 
 and that to teach us, that here is the sweet scent, and frag- 
 rant smell ; and that the coming soul will find it so in 
 Christ this door ; I am saith he, the rose of SharoUj and the 
 lily of the vallies. And again. His cheeks are as beds of spices 
 and several Jloivers, his lips like lilies drop sweet smelling 
 myrrh. 
 
 Open flowers. Open flowers are the sweetest, because full 
 grown, and because, as such, they yield their fragrancy most 
 
PROVIDENCE, OR ACE, AND GENIUS IN BUN VAN, &C. 1/51 
 
 freely. Wherefore, when he saith, upon the doors are open 
 flowers, he setteth Christ Jesus forth in his good savours as 
 high as by such similitudes he could ; and that both in 
 name and office ; for open flowers lay, by their thus opening 
 themselves before us, all their beauty also most plainly 
 before our faces. There are varieties of beauty in open 
 flowers, the which they also commend to all observers. 
 Now upon these doors, you see, are open flowers, flowers 
 ripe, and spread before us to shew that his name and offices 
 are savoury to them that by him do enter his house to God 
 his Father, Song i. 1, 2, 3, 4. 
 
 All these were overlaid with fine gold. Gold is most rich 
 of all metals ; and here it is said the doors, the cherubims, 
 the palm-trees, and open flowers, were overlaid there witli. 
 And this shews, that as these things are rich in themselves, 
 even so they should be to us. We have a golden door to 
 go to God by, and golden angels to conduct us through the 
 world : we have golden palm-trees, as tokens of our victory 
 and golden flowers to smell on all the way to heaven.” 
 
 A man who, with the Bible and his Concordance for his 
 only library, could write, and loved to write, in this man- 
 ner, need be in no want of occupation or of solace in his 
 prison hours. They fled swiftly and sweetly with Bunyan, 
 notwithstanding all his cares ; and never, since the begin- 
 ning of the world, were twelve prison years made to yield 
 a riper, more blessed harvest for his own soul’s happiness 
 and the world’s good. Of them, as well as of his tempta- 
 tions, Bunyan could say, I have found a nest of honey in 
 the carcass of the lion that roared upon me. Not only him- 
 self but all the world, are refreshed by its sweetness, and 
 healed by it, as by a spiritual medicinal Nepenthe, in the 
 midst of guilt and wretchedness. So, out of darkness God 
 can bring forth light, out of evil good, out of the adversities 
 of his people, the most precious of all manna for the nourish- 
 ment of his church in the wilderness. 
 
 Bunyan’s release from prison took place in the year 1672, 
 or early in 1673; befriended, according to Bunyan’s own 
 grateful acknowledgments, by Br Barlow, afterwards Bishop 
 of Lincoln. His liberation is now said to have been obtained 
 
152 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 from Charles II., by Whitehead the Quaker. For two or 
 three years the strictness of his imprisonment had been 
 loosened, so that, probably through the kindness of his jailer, 
 he used to meet with his church in Bedford, if not to preach 
 to them. Indeed, it was even before his release from prison 
 that he was chosen by that church, and ordained their 
 pastor, in the year 1671, and that notwithstanding the re- 
 vival and re-enactment of the barbarous Conventicle Act in 
 1670. This act was the means of a severe persecution of the 
 members of Bunyan’s church, from which he himself escaped 
 only because he was already a prisoner, as he had been for 
 near twelve years. In this there was at least a verification 
 of Bunyan’s own poetry in the Pilgrim’s Progress : — 
 
 “ He that is down needs fear no fall.” 
 
 How he escaped afterwards, or how, without the slightest 
 relinquishment of his principles, he should have been let 
 out of prison, is almost inexplicable ; only it was the good 
 providence of God. He was thrown into prison as a preacher, 
 and as a preacher he came out, in the full spirit of his first 
 declaration, that if he were out of prison to-day he would 
 preach the gospel to-morrow hy the help of God, 
 
 He continued, for the rest of his life, writing, preaching, 
 visiting, in Bedford and the region round about, often visiting 
 London, and preaching there ; preaching with such divine 
 unction and power, that Owen, who heard him, made answer 
 to Charles II., when the king ridiculed him for hearing an 
 illiterate tinker prate, Please your Majesty, could I possess 
 that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would most gladly 
 relinquish all my learning.” With all the great learning 
 of Owen, it would have been a good exchange ; and the 
 speech was in the highest degree creditable to that great 
 and good man, and an admirable reproof to the king ; for 
 Bunyan’s preaching was in demonstration of the Spirit, and 
 with power ; and his own account of his own exercises in 
 preaching, with the wrestling and yearning of his soul for 
 the conversion of men, shews something of the deep secret 
 of that power. He preached in prison as well as out of it ; 
 and one of his biographers, who visited him while tliere, 
 
PEOVIDENCE, GliACE, ANE GENIUS IN BUNYAN, 8zC. 153 
 
 just after the prison was crowded with more than three- 
 score dissenters newly taken, relates, that in the midst of 
 all that hurry which so many new comers occasioned, he 
 had heard Mr Bunyan both preach and pray with that 
 mighty spirit of faith, and plethory of divine assistance, that 
 had made him stand and wonder.” That is a graphic ex- 
 pression, that plethory of divine assistance. 
 
 Bunyan is said to have clearly foreseen the designs of 
 King James in favour of popery, and advised the brethren 
 to avail themselves of the sunshine by diligent endeavours 
 to spread the gospel, and to prej)are for an approaching storm 
 by fasting and prayer.’’ For himself, he was always ready, 
 but always labouring after a greater readiness. It was in 
 the successful prosecution of a labour of love and charity 
 that he died ; having travelled to Reading to make peace 
 between an alienated son and father. The gentle spirit of 
 Bunyan prevailed to do away the alienation ; but for him- 
 self, returning to London on horseback through the rain, he 
 fell sick with a mortal fever, and died at the age of sixty 
 on the 31st day of August 1688. On his dying bed, he acted 
 the part of Hopeful in crossing the River of Death ; for the 
 Saviour was with him, and the songs of the Celestial City 
 were ravishing his heart. The most ancient biography of 
 Bunyan declares, that He comforted those that wept about 
 him, exhorting them to trust in Grod, and pray to him for 
 mercy and forgiveness of their sins, telling them what a 
 glorious exchange it would be, to leave their troubles and 
 cares of a wretched mortality, to live with Christ for ever, 
 with peace and joy inexpressible ; expounding to them the 
 comfortable scriptures, by which they were to hope and 
 assuredly come unto a blessed resurrection in the last day. 
 He desired some to pray with him, and he joined with them 
 in prayer ; and his last words, after he had struggled with 
 a languishing disease, were these : — ‘ Weep not for me, but 
 for yourselves. I go to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 who will, through the mediation of his blessed Son, receive 
 me, though a sinner, where I hope we ere long shall meet 
 to sing the new song, and remain everlastingly happy, world 
 without end.’ ” 
 
 11 
 
154 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 So holy and blessed was the life, so happy was the death, 
 but indescribably, inconceivably glorious the immortality 
 of John Bunyan. Farther the pen traces him not, but the 
 eye of faith follows him, and beholds him in glory. 
 
 I saw in my dream that this man went in at the gate ; 
 and lo ! as he entered he was transfigured, and he had rai- 
 ment put on him that shone like gold. There were also 
 that met him with harps and crowns, and gave unto him ; 
 the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in token of honour. 
 Then I heard in my dream, that all the bells in the city rang 
 again for joy ; and that it was said unto him, 
 
 ^ Enter thou into the joy of our Lord.’ 
 
 I also heard the man himself sing with a loud voice, saying, 
 ^ Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto 
 
 HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE LaMB 
 FOR EVER AND EVER.’ ” 
 
 In remarking on the manner in which the truths of the 
 Holy Scriptures come to view in the Pilgrim’s Progress, and 
 constitute its texture, it is important to remember that 
 Bunyan was taught those truths not as a system, at second- 
 hand, but by the Spirit of Grod, through his own experience 
 in the word of God. His great w^ork is as a piece of rich 
 tapestry, in which, with the word of God before him as his 
 original and guide, and with all his heaven-coloured mate- 
 rials tinged also in the deep fountain of feeling in his own 
 converted heart, he wove into one beautiful picture the va- 
 rious spiritual scenery and thrilling events of his own life 
 and journey ings as a Christian pilgrim. So, if it is all fresli 
 and graj>hic from his own experience, vivid with real life, 
 and not with speculation, it is also equally fresh and graphic 
 from the word of God, and answering thereto as a counter- 
 part, all that experience having been built throughout upon 
 that word. We come to it with wrong criticism, therefore, 
 if we look at it as a theological theory or system, though at 
 tlie same time it is beyond measure interesting and delight- 
 ful to recognise, while we read it as a book of life, the same 
 great living elements of truth with which we are familiar 
 ill tlie Bible. The anatomy of speculation in the Pilgrim’s 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &C. 1 56 
 
 Progress, the bones, the vertebrae, and the articulations, aie, 
 if I may so speak, the same with the anatomy of Divine 
 Truth in the Scriptures ; and hence the beauty and perfect 
 symmetry of the body of life formed upon them. 
 
 The purity of the stream of the water of life, clear as 
 crystal, flowing through these pages, is nowhere, in the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress, tinged or darkened with speculative 
 error. Much the same remark may he made in regard to 
 that beautiful, most ingenious, and instructive work, the 
 Holy War in the Town of Mansoul. The theoretical system, 
 and the practical spirit, can nowhere he separated, and both 
 proceeded from the word and the Spirit of God in the under- 
 standing and the heart of the writer. 
 
 Dr Scott has said — and it is a remark sometimes quoted 
 ■ — that the Calvinistic system in theology has never been 
 traced so unexceptionably as in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress. This remark, though unquestionably intended in 
 tlie way of praise to Bunyan, may, nevertheless, in some 
 respects, be regarded as doing him injustice ; for he followed 
 no man’s theological system in the world. He knew almost 
 as little, perhaps quite as little, about John Calvin as he 
 did about Thomas Aquinas himself. He drew his theology 
 fi»om the Scriptures, under the teaching of God’s Spirit, and 
 thence only, and from no man’s system in the world. And 
 in his Pilgrim’s Progress he delineates the theology of the 
 Scriptures, and of the Scriptures only, and not of the Cal- 
 vinistic system, nor of any other system, with any human 
 name attached to it. If any man’s name could with any 
 justice be connected with Bunyan’s system, it would perhaps 
 more probably be that of Luther than Calvin, either of them 
 being great and venerable ; for Luther’s Commentaries on 
 Galatians had gone into Bunyan’s soul like fire, whereas we 
 are not aware that he ever read a page of Calvin in the 
 world. Ho ! It was one of God’s providential disciplinary 
 preparatives for him, that h-e might write the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress, that he was kept from the shackles of any human 
 system. You cannot tell, from the perusal of that work, 
 that Bunyan was of any religious persuasion, save that he 
 was a living member of the church of Christ. 
 
156 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 And this is one of its supremest merits. It belongs to no 
 sect. It is Christianity, pure Christianity, and not churchism. 
 You cannot say, from the perusal of that work, whether its 
 author were a Presbyterian, or a Baptist, or a Congregation- 
 alist, or a Methodist, or an Episcopalian, or a Calvinist, or 
 a Lutheran ; only that he did not mean, in drawing his own 
 portrait of a true Christian, that he should belong to any of 
 these parties exclusively ; or, if there were any one of these 
 that approached nearest to the Bible, in its comprehensive, 
 Christ-like, gentle, and forbearing spirit, it should he that. 
 The portraiture was a compound of what was excellent in 
 them all ; for what was truly excellent they all drew from the 
 Bible, and the Pilgrim’s Progress was drawn from the Bible, 
 and from no sect, from nothing at second-hand. There is no 
 ite, nor ian^ nor ist^ that you dare put to Christian’s name ; 
 no lisping, halting Shibboleth of a party ; for he came from 
 the mint of the Holy Scriptures, where no party names dis- 
 grace the glory of Christianity ; where men are neither of 
 Paul, nor Apollos^ nor Cephas, hut of Christ ; and so, blessed 
 be God, under his guidance Bunyan made Christian no 
 Church-man, hut Christ’s-man. That is good, that is noble ! 
 as great a proof, almost, of the excellence of Bunyan’s hook, 
 as it is of the divine origin of Christianity that to the poor 
 the Gospel is preached. 
 
 And now, in very truth, if Dr Scott, or any other man of 
 like candour, finds in this hook, which is drawn only from 
 the Bible, the pure outlines of the Calvinistic system, then, 
 BO far, there is a presumption in favour of the Calvinistic 
 ystem ; and it is a compliment which Dr Scott pa}^s to that 
 ^stem, when he says it is to be found in a book which is 
 taken directly from the Bible. But in very truth, you can 
 say no more of the Pilgrim’s Progress, that it is the Calvin- 
 istic system, than you could say of Raphael’s great picture 
 of the Transfiguration, that it was copied from Washington 
 Allston. You may say both of Bunyan and of Calvin that 
 tliey were children of God, and drank at the fountain of the 
 Holy Scriptures, and were fed and nourished by God’s word ; 
 and that so far as their systems resemble each other, it is 
 proof of their likeness to their divine original ; but that 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUNYAN, &C. 157 
 
 either copied or contains the other, you cannot say. Just as 
 you might say of both Raphael and Allston, that their 
 genius was a gift from God ; one far superior to the other, 
 indeed, but neither an imitator, both original, both from 
 God. 
 
 There has been in this world too much of the imitation of 
 great names and great authorities in theology, and too little 
 of exclusive adherence to the Bible ; too much human nomen- 
 clature, and too little divine baptism. A Christian man may 
 say, and ought to say, I would not give much for any com- 
 pliment to my theology, nor thank you for any description 
 of it, that likens it, and much less that links it, to Calvin’s, 
 or Luther’s, or Archbishop Usher’s, excellent though they 
 all be ; and much less to any man’s system or authority 
 nearer to my times, or contemporary wdth me. I follow 
 Christ, Paul, and the Holy Scriptures, and not Emmons, 
 or Edwards, or Jeremy Taylor, or the Prayer Book Homi- 
 lies, nor any man’s authority, be he Augustine or Tertullian, 
 Cherubim or Seraphim. 0 for the spirit of combined inde- 
 pendence and humility that characterized the noble company 
 of martyrs and reformers ! We need a greater independence 
 of all human authority, church or individual, and a more 
 entire dependence on the word and the Spirit of God. This 
 makes a true theologian ; and doubtless, if we could all be 
 shut up in prison for twelve years, like Bunyan, with no- 
 thing but the Bible, and Foxe’s old Book of Martyrs, we 
 too should come out with a living theology, drawn from no 
 man’s system, but ready to set all men’s hearts on fire. 
 Indeed, indeed, this is what is needed in this day of the 
 resurrection of rites and forms and apostolical successions, 
 and patristical authorities, and traditions of the fathers, and 
 of the rags of Judaism itself patched and gilded anew ; this 
 return to the Scriptures solely, and the Spirit of God, is 
 what is needed. 
 
 And here let me say, in this connection, that it was a 
 great thing in that personal experience, by which God pre- 
 pared Bunyan to write the Pilgrim’s Progress, that he could 
 never say precisely at what time he became a Christian. So 
 was he prevented from putting in his work what many men 
 
158 
 
 LECTURE FIPTH. 
 
 would have set up at its very entrance, a Procrustes' Tbed for 
 tender consciences in the alleged necessity or importance of 
 knowing the exact day or hour of a man’s conversion. 
 Bunyan always shrank from making his experience a test 
 for others. His was one of the purest, humblest, noblest, 
 least bigoted, most truly liberal minds that ever lived. Non- 
 essentials he would never set up as standards. His Book, in 
 its delineation of Christianity, differs from almost all unin- 
 spired records and systems, in that it has neither caricatures, 
 nor extremes, nor marked deficiencies. Some men get a 
 likeness, indeed, of Christian doctrine, but it is by making 
 some feature predominate ; you never think of some men’s 
 system, but you think of some peculiar tenet that stamps it, 
 that throws the atmosphere, not of the cross, but of a par- 
 ticular dogma, around it. Other men have monstrous ex- 
 crescences, which are imitated and adored as virtues, and 
 even held sacred as the sign of a party ; just as if a great 
 commander, having an enormous wart upon his features, 
 should have it painted on the shield of every one of his 
 soldiers. 
 
 And here I am constrained to say, that this figment of the 
 apostolical succession is just such a wart, of which, in the 
 opinion of some, if there be not a true painting and proper 
 veneration in a man’s escutcheon, he is no minister of J esus 
 Christ. Now, if any such party -man in theology had had 
 the making of the Pilgrim’s Progress, be you sure he would 
 never have suffered a single Evangelist to come in to guide 
 his Christian, not even to pull him out of the Slough of 
 Despond, without first painting him over with this wart of 
 the apostolical succession, or giving him a diploma stating 
 his descent, in a true line, down through the Antichristian 
 church of Borne, clear across the monstrous corruptions of 
 the dark ages, from one of the twelve apostles. Or he would 
 have put up an exclusive church-sign over the wicket-gate ; 
 and that would have been making it strait and narrow in- 
 deed, in a way never contemplated by the Saviour. Yea, he 
 would have let a soul wait there even to perishing, exposed 
 to all the artillery of Satan, before he would have had even 
 a porter to open the door, who was not of the true aposto- 
 
FR0V1I»ENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUNYAN, ikc. 15U 
 
 lical succession. And other men would have sprinkled their 
 pages with conversations about the form of baptism, or the 
 sign of the cross, or baptismal regeneration, or the Book of 
 Discipline, or perhaps the Saybrook Platform, or one and 
 another mark of party ; letting the work he coloured in its 
 progress, or rather discoloured by a thousand varying shades, 
 through the prism of personal or party prejudice. 
 
 There is nothing of all this in Bunyan ; in him you do 
 not meet truth in fragments, or in parts put for the whole. 
 You do not meet prejudice instead of truth, nor bigotries, 
 nor reproaches, nor any thing in the sweet fields through 
 which he leads you, that can drive away, or repel any, the 
 humblest, most forgotten Christian, or the wisest, most ex- 
 alted one, from these lovely enclosures. He is as a familiar 
 friend, an angel from heaven, and not a partisan, walking 
 with you through green pastures, and leading you beside still 
 waters ; and conversing with you all the way so lovingly, so 
 instructively, so frankly, that nothing can be more delight- 
 ful. You have in him more of the ubiquity, unity, and 
 harmony of the divine truth, more of the pervading breath 
 and stamp of inspiration, than in almost any other unin- 
 spired writer. 
 
 If I should compare Bunyan with other men, I should say 
 that he was a compound of the character of Peter, Luther, 
 and Cowper. He had Peter’s temptations, and deep, rich 
 experience ; and Luther’s Saxon sturdiness, and honesty, 
 and fearlessness of as many devils as there were tiles on the 
 roofs of houses, and not a little of Cowper’s own exquisite 
 humour, tenderness, and sensibility. And he had as little 
 of the thirst of human applause as either Luther or Cowper. 
 
 As Bunyan’s religious experience was not sectarian, hut 
 Christian, that it might be universal, so it was thorough 
 and deep, that the colours might stand. In him there was 
 a remarkable translucence of the general in the particular, 
 and of the particular through the general. His hook is to 
 the religious sensibilities as the day-light to the flowei's ; 
 from its rays they may imbibe what lasting colours are most 
 suited to their peculiarities. So it is like the sun of God’s 
 word, in which the prism of each individual mind, undac 
 
160 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 the influence of the Divine Spirit, separates the heavenly 
 colours, and puts them in a new aspect, so that every Chris- 
 tian, in the rays of Divine Truth, becomes a new reflection 
 of the Divine Attributes. Bunyan’s book has the likeness 
 of this universality, and Christians of every sect may take 
 what they please out of it, except their own sectarianism ; 
 they cannot find that. In this respect it bears remarkably 
 the divine stamp. 
 
 Bunyan’s mind was long under the law, in his own reli- 
 gious experience, under a sense of its condemnation. This 
 alone would never have prepared him to write the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress, though it must have prepared him to preach with 
 pungency and power. It fitted him to sympathize with men’s 
 distresses on account of sin, wherever he found them. A 
 man’s religious anxieties are sometimes so absorbing, that 
 they defeat their own end, they oppose themselves to his 
 deliverance. Just as in a crowded theatre on fire, the doors 
 of which open inward, the very rush of the multitude to 
 get out shuts them so fast, that there is no unclosing them. 
 Such at one time seemed to he Bunyan’s situation ; so it 
 often is with the heart that has within it the fire of a guilty 
 conscience ; and in this case it is only the Saviour, who 
 knocks for admittance, that can open the door, put out the 
 flames, and change the soul from a theatre of fiery accusing 
 thoughts into a living temple of his grace. The Pilgrim’s 
 Progress would never have been given to the world, except 
 Bunyan had been relieved of his difficulties ; but these dif- 
 ficulties were as necessary to furnish him with the experi- 
 mental wisdom requisite for the author of that book as the 
 relief itself. 
 
 There is one book in our language, with which the Pil- 
 grim’s Progress may be compared, as a reality with a theory, 
 a personification with an abstraction, and that is Edwards 
 on the Religious Affections. This book is the work of a 
 holy, but rigid metaphysician, analyzing and anatomising 
 the soul, laying the heart bare, and, I had almost said, dry- 
 ing it for a model. As you study it, you know it is truth, 
 and you know that your own heart ought to be like it ; but 
 you cannot recognize in it your own flesh and blood. Ed- 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &C. 161 
 
 wards’ delineations are like the skeleton leaves of the forest, 
 through which, if you hold them to the sun, you can see 
 every minute fibre in the light ; Bunyan’s work is like 
 the same leaves as fresh foliage, green and glossy in the 
 sunshine, joyfully whispering to the breathing air, with now 
 and then the dense rain-drops glittering on them from a June 
 shower. In Edwards’ work you see the Divine life in its 
 abstract severity and perfection ; in Bunyan’s work you see 
 it assuming a visible form, like your own, with your own 
 temptations and trials, touched with the feeling, and coloured 
 with the shade of your own infirmities. Yet both these 
 books are well-nigh perfect in their way, both equally adapted 
 to their purpose. We love the work of Bunyan as a bosom 
 friend, a sociable confiding companion on our pilgrimage. 
 We revere the work of Edwards, as a deep, grave teacher, 
 but its stern accuracy makes us tremble. Bunyan encou- 
 rages, consoles, animates, delights, sympathizes with us ; 
 Edwards cross-examines, probes, scrutinizes, alarms us. Bim- 
 yan looks on us as a sweet angel, as one of his own shining 
 ones, come to take off our burden, and put on our robe ; 
 Edwards, with the rigidity of a geometrician, as a sort of 
 military surveyor of the king’s roads, meets us with his map, 
 and shews us how we have wandered from the way, and 
 makes us feel as if we never were in it. Bunyan carries our 
 sensibilities, Edwards our convictions. In short, Bunyan is 
 the Man, the Pilgrim ; Edwards the Metaphysician. 
 
 Bunyan was as great a master of allegory as Edwards was 
 of logic and metaphysics ; but not artificially so, not de- 
 signedly so, not as a matter of study. He scarcely knew the 
 meaning of the word allegory, much less any rules or prin- 
 ciples for its conduct ; and the great beauty of his own is 
 that it speaks to the heart ; it is the language of nature, and 
 needs no commentator to understand it. It is not like the 
 allegorical friezes of Spenser or of Dante, or like those on a 
 Grecian temple, which may pass into darkness in a single 
 generation, as to all meaning but that of the exquisite beauty 
 of the sculpture, except there be a minute traditionary com- 
 mentary. Bunyan’s Allegory is a universal language. 
 
 D’ Israeli has well designated Bunyan as the Spenser of 
 
IG2 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 the people ; every one familiar with the Fairy Queen must 
 acknowledge the truth of the description. Johnson thought 
 Bunyan must have read Spenser, and there are some passages 
 in each writer surprisingly similar, especially in each writer’s 
 description of Despair. If it were not apparently incongru- 
 ous, we would call him, on another score, the spiritual 
 Shakspeare of the world ; for the accuracy and charm with 
 which he has delineated the changes and progress of the 
 spiritual life, are not less exquisite than those of Shakspeare 
 in the Seven Ages, and innumerable scenes of this world’s 
 existence. He is scarcely less to be praised than Shakspeare 
 for the purity of his language, and the natural simplicity of 
 his style. It comes, as I have said, even nearer to the com- 
 mon diction of good conversation. 
 
 The allegorical image of a Pilgrimage is beautifully adapted 
 to express the dangers and hardships of the Christian Life : 
 a Pilgrimage, with a glorious city at its end, into which the 
 weary but faithful Pilgrim shall be received, to repose for 
 ever from his toils. Every thing connected with the idea is 
 pleasant to the imagination. It has been the origin of many 
 beautiful hymns. Jerusalem ! my happy home,” is a 
 sweet one. The glories of the Celestial City, and the 
 employments of its inhabitants, are the sources of many 
 images in the Bible, and constitute much of the poetry in the 
 Apocalypse. And these images always had a powerful effect 
 upon the inmost soul of Bunyan. Spenser remembered them 
 not a little. The following beautiful stanzas from the Fairy 
 Queen are a picture in miniature of the close of the Pilgrim’s 
 Progress ; 
 
 From thence far off he unto him did shew 
 A little path that was both steep and long, 
 
 Which to a goodly city led his view, 
 
 Whose walls and towers were builded high and strong 
 Of pearl and precious stones, that earthly tongue 
 Cannot describe, nor wit of man can tell ; 
 
 Too high a ditty for my simple song ! 
 
 The city of the Great King hight it well. 
 
 Wherein eternal peace and happiness doth dwelL 
 
 As he thereon stood gazing, he migiit see 
 The blessed angels to and fro descend 
 
PROVIDENCE, GrRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, SiC. 1G3 
 
 From highest Heaven in gladsome company, 
 
 And with great joy into that city wend, 
 
 As commonly as friend doth with his friend ; 
 
 Whereat he wondered much, and 'gan inquire 
 What stately buildings durst so high extend 
 Her lofty towers into the starry sphere. 
 
 And what unknowen nation there empeopled were. 
 
 We know of no other work in which we take a deeper 
 sympathetic interest in all the circumstances of danger, trial, 
 or happiness befalling the hero. The honesty, integrity, 
 open-heartedness, humour, simplicity, and deep sensibility of 
 Christian’s character, make us love him ; nor is there a cha- 
 racter depicted in all English literature that stands out to 
 the mind in bolder truth and originality. There is a won- 
 derful charm and truth to nature in Christian’s manifest 
 growth in grace and wisdom. What a different being is 
 Christian on the Delectable Mountains, or in the land Beulah, 
 and Christian when he first set out on his pilgrimage ! And 
 yet he is always the same being ; we recognise him at once. 
 The change is not of the original features of his character, 
 but a change into the character of the Lord of the way,” a 
 gradual imbuing with his spirit ; a change, in Paul’s ex- 
 pressive language, from glory to glory into the same image. 
 In proportion as he arrives nearer the Celestial City he shines 
 brighter, his character unfolds in greater richness, he com- 
 mands more veneration from us, without losing any of our 
 affection. As we witness his steadily increasing lustre, we 
 think of that beautiful Scripture image, the path of the 
 just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto 
 the perfect day.” From being an unwary Pilgrim, just set- 
 ting out with all the rags of the City of Destruction about 
 him, and the burden of guilt bending him down, he becomes 
 that delightful character, an experienced Christian ; with the 
 robe given him by the Shining Ones, shining brighter and 
 brighter, and the roll of assurance becoming clearer, and 
 courage more confirmed and steady, and in broader and 
 broader light Heaven reflected from his countenance. We go 
 with him in his pilgrimage all the way. We enter the In- 
 terpreter’s house ; we see all the varieties which the Lord of 
 the Way keeps there for the entertainment of the Pilgrims ; 
 
164 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 we solemnly gaze on that terrible picture of the IMan of 
 Despair ; we tremble as we listen to the Dream of the Judg- 
 ment ; and the description of that venturous man that cut 
 his way through the armed men, and won eternal glory, 
 ravishes our hearts. Then we leave the house comforted and 
 refreshed, and proceed on our way ; we climb the hill Dif- 
 ficulty, we rest in the Arbour, and lose our roll, and come 
 back weeping and seeking for it ; in this much time is lost, 
 and the night comes on, and we are fearful of the darkness 
 We tremble and weep for Christian in his dreadful fight with 
 Apollyon, in the Valley of Humiliation ; we rejoice in the 
 radiant smile that at length breaks out from his distressed 
 soul over his countenance ; then we plunge with him into 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and amidst all its gloom 
 and horrors and hobgoblins, we think we hear a voice sing- 
 ing ; by and by we overtake Faithful ; we pass through 
 Vanity Fair ; farther on we become tired of the way, and 
 turn aside from the rough path to go in the soft meadow ; 
 we are overtaken by the storm ; we fall into Giant Despair’s 
 Castle ; we are there from Wednesday noon till Saturday 
 night ; — there never was a poem into which we entered so 
 wholly, and with all the heart, and in such fervent love 
 and believing assurance. 
 
 How all this admirable accuracy and beauty Bunyan 
 wrought seemingly without design. It was not so much an 
 exertion, a labour of his mind, as the promptings and wan- 
 derings at will of his unconscious genius. He never thought 
 of doing all this, but he did it. He was as a child under 
 the power and guidance of his genius, and with a child’s ad- 
 miration he would look upon the creations which his own 
 imagination presented to his mind. Thus Bunyan went on, 
 painting that narrow way, and the exquisite scenery on each 
 side of it, and the many characters crossing, appearing, and 
 j)assing at a distance, and Christian and Hopeful on theif 
 way, and making every part of the picture, as he proceeded, 
 harmonize with the whole, and yet add anew to its meaning, 
 and all with as much quiet unconscious ease and simplicity, 
 as an infant would put together a baby -house of cards, or as 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &C. 105 
 
 the frost on a winter's night would draw a picture on the 
 window. 
 
 The minute passages of beauty, and the exquisite lessons 
 of the allegory, are so many from beginning to end, that it 
 is vain to make a selection. The whole description of the 
 Slough of Despond, the character of Pliable, and his getting 
 out on the side nearest the City of Destruction, and the 
 reception he met from his neighbours when he came back, 
 are rich in truth and beauty. The comparison of Chris- 
 tian’s and Faithful’s experience is beautiful ; so is Faithful’s 
 description of a bold fellow he met in the Valley of Humi- 
 liation — ShaiR^ ; so is their encounter with the plausible, 
 gentlemanly, money-making Demas. The character of Talk- 
 ative, and the way they took to prove him, are excellent. 
 Their passage through Vanity Fair, and the whole trial in 
 that town, with the names of the jurors and judges, and the 
 characteristic speeches of each, are admirably described. The 
 character of By-ends, who was for religion in her silver 
 slippers, and the humour and keen satire in the dialogue 
 between By-ends, Money-love, Save-all, and Hold-the-world, 
 are equally admirable. Then we may remember that plea- 
 sant river, and the roughness of the road where it parted 
 from the river, so that it made them not scrupulous to get 
 over the stile, and walk in By-path Meadow, when that 
 tempestuous night came on ; and though amidst the dark- 
 ness they heard a voice sounding. Let thy feet be to the 
 King’s highway, yet, with all the effort they made, they 
 could not that night regain it, but trespassed on Giant De- 
 spair’s grounds, and fell into his Castle. That night was a 
 dreadful night for the Pilgrims. The Key of Promise, in 
 Christian’s bosom, while lying in the Dungeon, is a beauti- 
 ful incident. It was a pleasant thing to see the Pilgrims, 
 when they had escaped the giant, and got again to the King’s 
 highway, and so were safe, devising an inscription to keep 
 those that should come after from falling, as they did, into 
 the hands of Giant Despair. Over this stile is the way 
 to Doubting Castle, kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth 
 the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to destroy his 
 holy Pilgrims.” On the Delectable Mountains they saw 
 
166 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 some pleasant and admonitory sights. "When the Shepherds 
 unconsciously were telling Hopeful and Christian of Doubt- 
 ing Castle and Giant Despair, Christian and Hopeful looked 
 meaningly on one another, but said nothing. It is also a 
 beautiful incident, when, though they were bidden to look 
 through the telescope at the Celestial City in the distance, 
 their hands so trembled at the remembrance of the dangers 
 they had seen, that they could not hold the glass so as to 
 discern it with any* clearness. The dialogue between Hope- 
 ful and Christian on Little-Faith’s misfortunes, is exceed- 
 ingly characteristic and full of humour. One of the most 
 solemn and striking lessons is taught in . the character ol 
 Ignorance, who met with none of the difficulties Christian 
 passed through, and was even ferried over the river of Death 
 in the boat of one called Vain-tlope. Then his disappoint- 
 ment at the gate of the city ! 
 
 The scenery, and the countries all the way that lie on 
 l)oth sides the path, are in perfect keeping with the whole 
 allegory. So are the paths that “ butt down” on the king’s 
 liighway, by which many enter, because the right way is 
 too far round — not entering at the wicket-gate through 
 which Christian, Faithful, and Hopeful entered, after sore 
 difficulties encountered. The characters we meet here and 
 there on the road, that have entered by such lanes and cross 
 paths, are equally in keeping ; and as they come succes- 
 sively under Christian’s observation, it is amusing to see the 
 manner in which, by turns, their real character is exposed 
 in his honest, plain- dealing, rugged and humorous way. 
 The conversation of Hopeful and Christian all along is truly 
 delightful. It is as hecometh saints ; grave, sincere, full of 
 good sense and discrimination, with much cheerful plea- 
 santry ; exhibiting Hopeful’s youthful experience and ardour, 
 and Christian’s superior experience, richness of thought, 
 frankness, and kindness. They walk together so lovingly, 
 so sympathizing, so faithful to each other, that all must 
 acknowledge they are a perfect example of the hrotherl}^- 
 kindness becoming tlie fellow pilgrims of that way. 
 
 Between tlie first and second parts of the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress there is a diversity that may he compared to that be- 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN RUNYAN, &:C, 107 
 
 tween the Paradise Lost and the Paradise Regained. Mil- 
 ton’s genius, in his second effort, appeared not less than the 
 excess of glory obscured. In the second part of Runyan’s 
 work we readily recognise, and are pleased to follow, the 
 footsteps of that original genius which has so delighted* us 
 in the first. Yet we feel that the region is inferior ; there 
 IS more familiarity and humour, hut less poetry ; and though 
 there is the same vigorous delineation of character, the alle- 
 gory is imperfect. One of the most humorous and amusing 
 portions of the whole work is the account of the courtship 
 between Mercy and Mr Brisk, which took place while the 
 parties were at the House-Beautiful. There are also some 
 exquisitely beautiful snatches of melody in this second pan 
 of the pilgrimage. 
 
 Perhaps no other work could be named, which, admired 
 by cultivated minds, has had at the same time such an 
 ameliorating effect on the lower classes in society as the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress. It is a work so full of native good 
 sense, that no mind can read it without gaining in wisdom 
 and vigour of judgment. What an amazing effect must it 
 have produced in this way on the mass of common minds 
 brought under its power ! We cannot compute the good 
 it has thus accomplished on earth, nor tell the number of 
 souls it may have been the means of guiding to heaven. It 
 is one of the books, that, by being connected with the dearest 
 associations of childhood, always retain their hold on the 
 heart ; and it exerts a double influence, when, at a graver 
 age, and less under the despotism given to imagination in 
 childhood, we read it with a serene and thoughtful perception 
 i)f its meaning. How many children have become better 
 citizens of the world through life, by the perusal of this book 
 almost in infancy ! And how many, through its instrumen- 
 tality, may have been fitted after life to live for ever ! The 
 Christian warfare is here arrayed in the glow of imagina- 
 tion, to make it attractive. How many Pilgrims, in hours 
 when perseverance was almost exhausted, and patience was 
 vielding, and clouds and darkness were gathering, have felt 
 a sudden return of animation and courage from the remem- 
 
]68 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 brance of Christian’s severe conflicts, and liis glorious en- 
 trance at last through the gates into the city ! 
 
 As the work draws to its conclusion, the poet’s soul seems 
 to expand with the glory of the subject. The description 
 of Christian and Hopeful’s entrance up through the regions 
 of air into the Celestial City, preceded by the touching 
 account of their passing the River of Death, though com- 
 posed of the simplest materials, and depicted in the simplest 
 language, with scripture imagery almt)st exclusively, con- 
 stitutes one of the finest passages in English literature. The 
 Shining Ones, and the beauty and glory of their conversa- 
 tion ; the Angels, and their melodious notes ; the Pilgrims 
 among them, in heaven as it were, before they come at it ; 
 the city itself in view, and all the bells ringing with joy of 
 their welcome ; the warm and joyful thoughts they had 
 about their own dwelling there with such a company, and 
 that for ever and ever ; the letters of gold written over the 
 gate ; the transfiguration of the men as they entered, and 
 the raiment put on them that shone like gold ; the harps 
 and crowns given them — the harps to praise withal, and the 
 crowns in token of honour ; the bells in the city ringing 
 again for joy ; the shout of welcome, Enter ye into the 
 JOY OF OUR Lord the men themselves singing with a loud 
 voice, “ Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power be 
 
 UNTO HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE 
 
 Lamb for ever and ever !” 
 
 Now, says the Dreamer, 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 upon their 
 licads, palms in their hands, and golden harps to sing praises 
 withal. There were also of them that had wings ; and they 
 answered one another without intermission, saying. Holy 
 holy, holy is the Lord ; and after that, they shut up the 
 gates ; which ^ when 1 had seen, I wished myself among them. 
 
 And who would not wish himself among them ? or what 
 man, reading of these things, or hearing of these things, can 
 refuse to join them 1 In what attractive beauty of descrip- 
 
PROVIDENCE, GRACE, AND GENIUS IN BUNTAN, &C. 169 
 
 Uon are the life and the rewards of practical religion here 
 delineated ! The whole course of the Pilgrim’s Progress 
 shines with a light borrowed from its close. Just so it is 
 in the reality. The splendours of the Celestial City, though 
 rather to be dreamed of and guessed at, than distinctly seen, 
 do nevertheless break from the clouds, and fall from moun- 
 tain top to mountain top, flashing on forest and vale, down 
 into the most difficult craggy passes of our mortal pilgrim- 
 age. At times, the Hornes and towers seem resting on our 
 earthly horizon, and in a season of fair weather our souls 
 have sight of the streets of gold, the gates of pearl, the walls 
 of jasper. Then we walk many days under the remem- 
 brance of such a vision. At otlier times, the inhabitants of 
 that city seem to be walking with us, and ministering to 
 us ; men do eat angels’ food ; melodious music ravishes the 
 ear ; listening intently, we think we hear the chimes of bells 
 wafted across the sea ; and sometimes the gales are laden 
 with such fragrant spicy airs, that a single breath of them 
 makes the soul recognise its immortal Paradise, and almost 
 transports it thither. 
 
 When shall the day break, and the shadows flee away ! 
 It is night here, but there the sun shall never go down. 
 Light is sown for the righteous^ and in the harvest time it 
 shall come up ; but as Goodwin beautifully remarks in his 
 
 Child of Light Walking in Darkness,” we must be content 
 to let it lie under ground ; and the longer it doth so, the 
 greater crop and harvest will spring up in the end. 
 
 In the Pilgrim’s Progress there is a charming passage 
 descriptive of the Pilgrim’s entertainment in the House 
 Beautiful, which was thus : — “ The Pilgrim they laid in a 
 large upper chamber, whose windows opened towards the 
 sunrising ; the name of the chamber was Peace ; where he 
 slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang.” A 
 great and thoughtful poet has written a poem with this 
 description as its motto, which he has entitled Day -break,” 
 and which closes with the following stanza : — 
 
 How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft 
 Shot ’thwart the earth ! In crown of living fire 
 12 
 
170 
 
 LECTURE FIFTH. 
 
 Up comes the day ! As if they, conscious, quaffed 
 The sunny flood, hill, forest, city, spire. 
 
 Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire ! 
 
 The dusky lights have gone ; go thou thy way ! 
 
 And pining Discontent, like them expire I 
 Be called my chamber Peace, when ends the day, 
 And let me, with the dawn, like Pilgrim, sing and pray 
 
 BEU MONa AOHA. 
 
 
LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 <S.6e Cftp of Destruction anu ©Ioug5 of iSesponn. 
 
 Localitj’- of the City of Destruction. — Character of Christian. — The awakened 
 sinner. — The sinner convinced of sin, and fleeing from the wrath to come.— 
 Character of Pliable. — Ditference between a burden and no burden.— 
 Pliable and Christian in the Slough of Despond. — Mr Worldly Wiseman 
 and his instructions.— Mr Legality and the town of Carnal Policy.— 
 Tire terrors of the Law of God to an awakened conscience. — Christian’s 
 entrance at the Wicket Gate. 
 
 The City of Destruction ! We are all inhabitants of 
 it ; no man needs ask, Where is it ? What is it ? Who 
 are its people ? Alas S our world of sin is the City of 
 Destruction, and we know of a certainty from God’s Word 
 that it is to be burned up, and that if we do not escape from 
 it, though we may die at peace in it before its conflagration, 
 yet to be found with its spirit in our souls when we die, is 
 to he for ever miserable. There is a blessed pilgrimage from 
 the City of Destruction to the City of Immanuel. It is full 
 of dangers, trials, difficulties ; hut the perils are not worthy 
 to be named in comparison with the glory at its close. And 
 indeed the pilgrimage itself, with all its roughnesses and 
 trials, is romantic and delightful. As the author of this 
 book has delineated it, he makes many a man wish that he 
 were set out in it. And yet this delineation is not in the 
 colouring of imagination, hut of sober reality ; there is 
 nothing overdrawn, nothing exaggerated in it ; the scenery 
 along the Avay is not painted too beautiful, there are no 
 ecstacies, or rapturous frames, or revelations in it ; the 
 
172 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 colouring is sober, with all its richness, the experience is 
 human, with all its variety ; the very angels are more like 
 gentle sympathizing friends than glittering supernatural 
 intelligences. 
 
 It is this charm of common sense and reality that con- 
 stitutes in a great measure the power of this hook. Its 
 characters are not removed from our own experience ; the 
 piety of Christian, though very rich and mellow, is progres- 
 sive, and for every day’s use, and for every saint’s attainment. 
 It is neither mystical, nor visionary, nor in extremes ; it is 
 not perfection, nor ascetic sublimation from the world, nor 
 contemplation, nor penance, nor the luxury of mere spiritual 
 frames and exercises. It is deep, sincere, gentle, practical, 
 full of the fruits of the Spirit, full of intelligence and kind- 
 ness, of love, joy, peace, long-suffering, goodness, and truth. 
 They are every day virtues which shine in Christian ; and 
 his character is an example of what ours ought to be in oui 
 daily pilgrimage. His conflicts are such as every Christian 
 may pass through, his consolations and enjoyments such as 
 every Christian may experience, his knowledge of the Word 
 of God, and indeed all his attainments, within reach of every 
 pilgrim. He is indeed a model of excellence for all. 
 
 I think we shall observe, as we study the book through, 
 that from fir&t to last Bunyan has composed this character 
 out of the most general and universally recognised traits 
 belonging to the experience of a child of God. This, it is 
 clear, was necessary, in order to its highest success and use- 
 fulness. And yet the individuality and originality of the 
 character is as perfect, as striking, as graphic, as if it were 
 the delineation from life of some person well known to 
 Bunyan with all his peculiarities. Now, we do not suppose 
 that Bunyan intended this in so definite a form of art and 
 philosophy ; we do not suppose that he said within himself, 
 I must make this Christian, in the absence of all peculiarities, 
 a suitable model for all, and yet, in the translucencc through 
 liis particular characteristics, of the general qualities belong- 
 ing to our conception of a Christian, a character recognisable 
 by, and the counterpart of, every individual. This would 
 involve a greater degree of art and criticism than Bunyan 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 173 
 
 ever exercised ; and yet liis genius, under the guidance of 
 the Holy Spirit, did spontaneously work according to these 
 rules. Just so, Bunyan’s own incomparable freedom from 
 all sectarianism, even in a sectarian age, has prevented the 
 character of Christian and of the whole Progress of the 
 Pilgrim, from being narrowed or disfigured by any thing 
 which could even be tortured to restrict its application, or 
 its preferences, to any religious party. Accordingly, the 
 more bigoted, exclusive, and sectarian a man is, the less he 
 will like this hook ; to a violent Churchman it wants a 
 bishop and the apostolical succession : to a rigid Baptist it 
 wants immersion at the Wicket Gate. But Bunyan was 
 wonderfully preserved from affixing to any part of this book 
 the seal of any such local or party distinctions. Though he 
 was himself a Baptist, yet he was an open communion 
 Baptist, and experienced the wrath of his more exclusive 
 Baptist brethren, because he laid no stress whatever on their 
 })eculiarities. They had bitter controversies against him as 
 a deserter from the faith, because he would not pronounce 
 their Shibboleths, and was completely free from the un- 
 churching spirit of his age. 
 
 How here was a characteristic of the presence of the 
 Holy Spirit in him very remarkable ; and his work ac- 
 cordingly has come from that school of heaven in which no 
 man is of Apollos, or Cephas, or Paul, hut all of Christ. 
 Ah, this is delightful ; and accordingly, in such a contro- 
 versial world as this, this work is like oil upon the waters ; 
 it is as the very voice of the Saviour in the tempest. Peace, 
 be still ; it is like the dove with her olive leaf, a prophet of 
 the garden of the Lord ; it is like a white-robed herald with 
 his sacred flag, privileged to go every where, and admitted 
 every where, even amidst contending armies. This book 
 will remain, vv^hen there shall be nothing to hurt nor destroy 
 in all God’s holy mountain, 'when Judah shall no more vex 
 Ephraim, nor Ephraim envy Judah ; for it has come forth 
 from the mint of celestial universal love ; it has no leaf in 
 it, which the Spirit of God may not sweetly mingle with 
 those leaves of the Tree of Life for the healing of the na- 
 tions. We doubt whether there was another individual in 
 
174 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 that age, except Leighton, whose piety could have produced 
 so catholic, so unsectarian, so heavenly a work. 
 
 In accordance with what I have said, you will perceive 
 how Bunyan commences with his Pilgrim. He begins with 
 releasing himself and the position of the Dreamer from any 
 positive locality ; he does not suffer his personal situation 
 or feelings to throw a single determinate shade upon the 
 picture ; he does not say (as many persons would very 
 naturally have said). As I lay suffering for the Gospel in 
 the prison of Bedford, hut. As I walked through the wilder- 
 ness of this world, I lighted upon a certain place where was 
 a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep ; and as I 
 slept, I dreamed a dream. Ah, it was a wilderness indeed, 
 and no small part of Bunyan’s life was spent in the deserts 
 and caves of it. It is a wilderness to us all, hut to many a 
 wilderness of sinful pleasures infinitely more dangerous than 
 dens and caves, bonds and imprisonments. It is a wilder- 
 ness to the soul, away from its God, surrounded by dangers, 
 exposed to the wiles of its great adversary the devil, in peril 
 of eternal ruin. 
 
 There are lions, chained and unchained, in the way, and 
 temptations of every shape and name, and unseen dangers 
 too, from which God alone can protect us. He only walks 
 safely who walks as a stranger and a pilgrim. 
 
 Yet the dear path to thine abode 
 Lies through this horrid land ; 
 
 Lord, we would trace the dangerous road, 
 
 And run at thy command. 
 
 And if we do this, then a blessed Faith comes in, and ours 
 is a more cheerful, delightful, heavenly vision. We walk 
 under the gracious care, and in the safe dominions of the 
 King of the Celestial City ; we travel the King’s own high- 
 way ; we come to the land Beulah ; 
 
 We’re marching through Immanuel’s ground 
 
 To fairer worlds on high ! 
 
 You will observe what honour, from his Pilgrim’s first 
 setting out, Bunyan puts upon the Word of God. He would 
 give to no inferior instrumentality, not even to one of God’s 
 Providences, the business of awakening his Pilgrim to a 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 175 
 
 sense of his danger ; but he places him before us reading his 
 book, awakened by the Word. Now we know that it is 
 often God’s providence, in the way of sickness, the loss of 
 friends, earthly disappointments, the voice and discipline of 
 pain of various kinds, that awakens careless men in the 
 first place, and leads them to the Word of God ; and kind 
 and gracious providences are always, all through life, all 
 through our Christian course, combining with the Word and 
 the Spirit of God to help us on our pilgrimage, and make us 
 wary in it ; but in general it is the Word of God, in some 
 form, which God uses as the instrument in awakening men, 
 as well as in converting them. And so Bunyan, with 
 heavenly wisdom and truth, gives us the first picture of his 
 Pilgrim, anxiously reading the Word of God. And he 
 makes the first efficacious motive in the mind of this Pil- 
 grim, a salutary fear of the terrors of that Word, a sense of 
 the wrath to come, beneath the burden of sin upon his 
 soul. 
 
 There is a passage so beautiful, in the pages of a great 
 writer, on this very point, that it might have been ^s^ritten 
 as a commentary on this very opening of the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress, and I shall set it before you. “ Awakened,” says Mr 
 Coleridge, “ by the cock-crow (a sermon, a calamity, a sick- 
 bed, or a providential escape) the Christian Pilgrim sets out 
 in the morning twilight, while yet the truth is below the 
 horizon. Certain necessary consequences of his past life and 
 his present undertaking will be seen by the refraction of its 
 light : more will be apprehended and conjectured. The 
 phantasms, that had predominated during the hours of 
 darkness, are still busy. No longer present as forms, they 
 will yet exist as moulding and formative motions in the 
 Pilgrim’s soul. The Dream of the past night will transfer 
 its shapes to the objects in the distance, while the objects 
 give outwardness and reality to the shapings of the Dream. 
 The fears inspired by long habits of selfishness and self-seek- 
 ing cunning, though now purified into that fear which is 
 the beginning of wisdom, and ordained to be our guide and 
 safeguard, till the sun of love, the perfect law of liberty, is 
 fully arisen — these fears wTll set the fancy at work, and 
 
176 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 haply, for a time, transform the mists of dim and imperfect 
 knowledge into determinate superstitions. But in either 
 case, whether seen clearly or dimly, whether beheld or only 
 imagined, the consequences contemplated in their bearings on 
 the individual’s inherent desire of happiness and dread of 
 pain become motives : and (unless all distinction in the 
 words be done away with, and either prudence or virtue be 
 reduced to a superfluous synonyme, a redundancy in all the 
 languages of the civilized world) these motives, and the acts 
 and forbearances directly proceeding from them, fall under 
 the head of prudence, as belonging to one or other of its 
 three very distinct species. It may be a prudence that 
 stands in opposition to a higher moral life, and tends to pre- 
 clude it, and to prevent the soul from ever arriving at the 
 hatred of sin for its own exceeding sinfulness (Rom. vii. 13) ; 
 and this is an evil prudence. Or it may be a neutral 
 prudence not incompatible with spiritual growth ; and to 
 this we may, with especial propriety, apply the words ot 
 our Lord, ^ What is not against us is for us.’ It is therefore 
 an innocent and (being such) a proper and commendable 
 
 PRUDENCE. 
 
 “ Or it may lead and be subservient to a higher principle 
 than itself. The mind and conscience of the individual 
 may be reconciled to it, in the foreknowledge of the higher 
 principle, and Avith a yearning towards it that implies a 
 foretaste of future freedom. The enfeebled convalescent is 
 reconciled to his crutches, and thankfully makes use of 
 them, not only because they are necessary for his immediate 
 support, but likewise, because they are the means and con- 
 dition of EXERCISE ; and by exercise of establishing, grada- 
 tim paulatim, that strength, flexibility, and almost sponta- 
 neous obedience of the muscles, which the idea and cheering 
 presentiment of health hold out to him. He finds their value 
 in their present necessity, and their worth as they are the 
 instruments of finally superseding it. This is a faithful, a 
 WISE PRUDENCE, having indeed its birth-place in the world, 
 and the wisdom of this loorld for its father ; but naturalized 
 in a better land, and having the Wisdom from above for its 
 Sponsor and Spiritual Parent.” 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 177 
 
 Tlie Pilgrim is in rags, the rags of depravity and sin, and 
 the intolerable burden of sin is bending him down ; but the 
 book is in his hand, and his face is from his own house. 
 Reading and pondering, and full of perplexity, foreboding 
 and a sense of sin, gloom and wrath, he cries out. What 
 shall I do ! This is his first exclamation. He has not as 
 yet advanced so far as to say. What shall I do to be saved ? 
 And now for some days the solemnity, and burden, and dis- 
 tress of his spirit increases ; his unconverted friends see that 
 he is becoming serious they think it is some distemper 
 of the mind or animal spirits ; they hope he may sleep 
 it away ; they chide, neglect, deride him ; carnal physic 
 for a sick soul, as Bunyan describes it in the margin, is ad- 
 ministered. But nothing answers. The sense of his mortal 
 disease and danger, the painful sense of sin, and of what is 
 to come on account of it, increases. Not even his wife and 
 sweet babes can do any thing for him, but only add to his 
 misery in a sense of their danger as well as his own. He 
 pities and prays for those who deride him, and spends much 
 solitary time in reading and praying. He looks this way 
 and that way, as if he would run, and cries out in the 
 anguish of his wounded spirit, What shall I do to be saved ? 
 This is the first stage of genuine conviction. I perceive by 
 the book in my hand, that I am condemned to die, and after 
 that to come to judgment ; and I find that I am not willing 
 to do the first nor able to do the second.” 
 
 And now he meets Evangelist, who gives him the parch- 
 ment roll. Flee from the wrath to come ! It is a godly mi- 
 nister of Christ, whom the Father of mercies has sent to help 
 him. Bunyan has here put in the margin. Conviction of the 
 necessity of fleeing. But which way shall I fly ? Then 
 said Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide 
 field. Do you see yonder Wicket Gate % The man said, No. 
 He cannot see that yet, he is in such darkness. Then said 
 the other. Do you see yonder shining light ? Thy ivord is 
 as a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. He said, 
 I think I do. Then said Evangelist, Keep that light in your 
 eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate ; 
 at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what 
 
178 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 thou shalt do. Bunyan has here put in the margin, Christ, 
 and the way to him cannot he found without the Word. So, 
 if any awakened sinner will fill his eye with that light, and 
 follow it, it will bring him to Christ. 
 
 And now the trembling Pilgrim, with fixed resolution, 
 having a glimpse of the light, and a definite direction, begins 
 to run ; it is an unutterable relief to his perplexities to run 
 towards Christ ; though as yet he sees him not. But now 
 the world clamours after him, yea, the dearest ones in it try 
 to stop him ; but the fire in his conscience is stronger than 
 they ; he stops his ears, and runs without looking behind 
 him, and stays not in all the plain, hut runs as swiftly as 
 his burden will let him, crying. Life, life, eternal life ! 
 
 And now he is fairly set out. But he becomes a gazing- 
 stock to the world, and some of them set off after him to 
 fetch him back. There is no telling the wiles which un- 
 godly ridiculing companions have sometimes tried to turn 
 their awakened friends from the way of life. There is no- 
 thing can stand against such enemies, hut a resolute purpose 
 like Christian’s, a fire in the conscience, and a fixedness in 
 the Word of God. These things will not, indeed, if he goes 
 no further, make a man a Christian ; hut these things, as 
 long as they last, will make him despise the world’s ridicule, 
 and if he runs on, he will soon, by God’s grace, get beyond 
 the reach of ridicule, beyond all worldly harm. 
 
 Two of these City of Destruction men, who came to bring 
 Christian hack. Obstinate and Pliable, are portraitures of 
 classes. They, together with Christian, constitute the repre- 
 sentatives of most of the hearers of the Gospel, and of the 
 manner in which they receive it ; they are either hardened 
 against it, or are somewhat softened and disposed to set out, 
 or they become real Pilgrims. Obstinate, finding Christian 
 was not to be moved, tried to persuade Pliable not to give 
 heed to him ; and then he went railing back, saying, I will 
 he no companion to such misled, fantastical fellows. 
 
 And now Christian and Pliable went talking over the 
 plain, Christian with a sense of sin and of the terrors of the 
 Lord, with the fire in his conscience and the burden on his 
 back, yet something of the light of life already within him, 
 
TUE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 179 
 
 Rnd a resolute purpose never to give over seeking Christ ; 
 Pliable, with some slight superficial sympathy and convic- 
 tion, and somewhat moved with what Christian had told 
 him of the glories of the heavenly inheritance at the end of 
 their pilgrimage, hut with no sense of sin, no knowledge of 
 his own heart, no desire after Christ, no feeling of his need 
 of a Saviour. In their talk, Christian speaks really like a 
 Christian already, though he is not one yet ; and certainly, 
 his ravishing descriptions of the things that are to be en- 
 joyed in heaven are very instructive, as shewing how far the 
 mind may be affected with a merely intellectual and ima- 
 ginative sense of the beauty and excellency of the Gospel, 
 and the glory of its promises without regeneration. Never- 
 theless, it must be remembered, that where a work of grace 
 is really begun in the soul, though as yet it may not have 
 gone further than genuine conviction of sin, yet the sense 
 of divine things in such a soul is very different, even before 
 regeneration, from the views of the man, whom the Spirit of 
 God is not beginning to teach. Moreover, they are very 
 different in a man who has been accustomed to God’s word, 
 and in one who has not. Pliable begs to be told more fully 
 what the glorious things are, and how to be enjoyed. So 
 Christian goes directly to his book. I cannot describe 
 them,” he says to Pliable, so well as I can conceive them, 
 but I will read them to you in my book.” 
 
 And now you see the difference between a man who has 
 been educated in the precious belief of the Gospel as the 
 word of God, and has been brought up in the habit of read- 
 ing it, and the man who has all his life neglected it, and is 
 a stranger to it. You may see what a faint hold the Gospel 
 has over the one, and what a strong hold over the other. 
 Of these two men, neither of them as yet Christians, Pliable 
 is doubtful, Christian is as firm and unshaken as a rock. 
 Christian also, in the very sense of sin within him, begins 
 to have an irresistible proof and sense of the truth of God’s 
 word, of which Pliable, without any such inward experience 
 and conviction, is entirely destitute. “ I will read of them 
 in my book,” says Christian. “ And do you think,” says 
 Pliable, that the words of your book are certainly true T* 
 
180 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 Yes, verily,” says Christian, “ for it was made by him 
 that cannot lie.” There is a volume in those touches of 
 Bunyan’s pencil. What sweet simplicity of faith already in 
 the Pilgrim ! True ? certainly it is true ; for it is God's 
 word, God that cannot lie. 
 
 W ell said, answered Pliable, and what things are they ? 
 There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, said Christian, 
 and everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit 
 that kingdom for ever. Well said, answered Pliable, and 
 what else ? 
 
 CliT, There are crowns of glory to be given us, and gar- 
 ments that will make us shine like the sun in the firmament 
 of heaven. 
 
 Pli. This is very pleasant, and what else ? 
 
 Chr. There shall be no more crying nor sorrow ; for he 
 that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes. 
 
 Pli. And what company shall we have there 1 
 
 Chr. There we shall be with Cherubim and Seraphim, 
 creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them. There 
 also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands that 
 have gone before us to that place ; none of them are hurt- 
 ful, but loving and Holy ; every one walking in the sight of 
 God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. 
 In a w^o-rd, there we shall see the elders with their golden 
 crowns ; there we shall see the holy virgins with their gol- 
 den harps ; there we shall see men that by the world were 
 cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in 
 the seas, for the love they bore to the Lord of the place ; all 
 well, and clothed with immortality as with a garment. 
 
 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 
 sliarers thereof ? 
 
 Chr. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded 
 that in his book ; the substance of which is, if we be truly 
 willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely. 
 
 Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of tliese 
 things ; come on, let us mend our pace. 
 
 Here you have another volume of meaning in a single 
 touch of the pencil. Pliable is one of those who are wdllingj 
 
THE CITY OP DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 181 
 
 or think they are willing, to hare heaven, but without 
 any sense of sin, or of the labour and self-denial necessary 
 to enter heaven. But now his heart is momentarily fired 
 with Christian’s ravishing descriptions, and as he seems 
 to have nothing to trouble his conscience, and no diffi- 
 culties to overcome, the pace of an honest, thorough in- 
 quirer, the movement of a soul sensible of its distresses 
 and its sins, and desiring comfort only in the way of heal- 
 ing and of holiness, seems much too slow for him. He is 
 for entering heaven at once, going much faster than poor 
 Christian can keep up with him. Then, said Christian, 
 I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that 
 is on my back. 
 
 Of poor Christian’s burden of sin. Pliable was totally 
 ignorant, and doubtless Christian was not a little grieved 
 within himself; to see how lightly Pliable could step forward, 
 while it was with much ado that he could take step after 
 step beneath that great and heavy burden. So sometimes, 
 they who are heartily and conscientiously, with a deep sens3 
 of sin, seeking after Christ, do almost look with envy and 
 much surprise upon those others, who seem to run wdth so 
 little difficulty, and sometimes, moreover, seem to find Christ 
 without having any burden to be taken off by him. But 
 Christian had the burden from his first setting out, and could 
 by no means be rid of it. 
 
 However, Pliable’s eagerness to get forw^ard did not con- 
 tinue a great while. They were both w^alking somewdiat 
 heedlessly in the midst of their talk, as inquirers are very 
 apt to do w^hen they converse more than they pray, and 
 missing the steps, or taking that for firm ground which was 
 nothing but mud, they both fell into the Slough of Despond. 
 This was especially sudden and unexpected to Pliable, who 
 was not dreaming of difficulties, and it quenched his eager- 
 ness at once ; and although Christian beneath his burden 
 was sinking far deeper than he, yet he was filled with rage 
 and discouragement. Is this the brave country you told 
 me of ? You may have it all to yourself for me ; let me but 
 get out with my life, and never again will I set out on a 
 pilgrimage. 
 
182 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 Now, it is not always that the Pliables of this world, w ho 
 have some transitory sympathy towards heaven, and set 
 out for a season in this pilgrimage, get so immediately tired, 
 and turn hack with such open rage and discouragement 
 And yet this character, it is a most melancholy truth, is the 
 representative of a class almost innumerable. Almost all 
 men are, at some period of their lives, inclined to set out on 
 this pilgrimage. Under God’s Providence, Word, and Spirit, 
 it cannot he otherwise ; for men do and will feel that death 
 and the judgment are before them ; and all that pleasures 
 and business and cares can do, they cannot utterly stifle the 
 voice of conscience, nor the sense of sin, God, and eternity. 
 And when these fires revive a little in the soul, and hurst 
 up out of the thick ashes, then men begin to think of this 
 pilgrimage, then they begin to feel that they are inhabiting 
 a City of Destruction, and must he getting out of it ; then 
 in fact, they do often set out for a little season ; but not 
 having much sense of sin, nor any purpose of renouncing it, 
 nor any settled resolution, cost what it may, of becoming 
 the disciples of Clirist, they soon become wearied or discou- 
 raged, and turn back. Alas for them ! Their case is worse 
 when they get hack to the City of Destruction than it was 
 even while they were tumbling in the Slough of Despond. 
 A sense of shame pursues them as long as they live, for their 
 tergiversation. Oftentimes the inhabitants of that city do 
 at first as stoutly ridicule those who turn hack as those who 
 set out ; and oftentimes you will find those who have turned 
 hack become the loudest in their ridicule of the whole pil- 
 grimage. Alas ! the world is full of Pliables, who have not 
 decision enough, in the face of contempt, trial, and danger, 
 to run towards heaven ; and yet they have many designs of 
 doing so ; but the word in their hearts is among thorns ; the 
 cares and pleasures and riches of this world, the lusts of other 
 tilings, choke the word, although there he good designs; 
 and hence the proverb, that “ hell is paved with good in- 
 tentions.” 
 
 Farewell, then, to Pliable, who after a desperate struggle 
 or two, got out of the mire on that side of the slough that 
 was nearest his own house, and so Christian saw him no 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 183 
 
 more for ever. If he had borne Christian’s burden, at first 
 setting out, that is, if he had had an awakened conscience, 
 a view of his guilt, and of the wrath which he deserved^ and 
 liad reason to dread on account of it, not forty Sloughs of 
 Despond would have turned him hack, nor all the ridicule 
 in the world would have moved him. And you see, in the 
 case of these two men, how much more powerful are the 
 terrors of the law and a sense of sin, as motives in an un- 
 converted mind, than any mere description of the glories of 
 heaven. That is good in its place, good when there is also 
 a sense of sin to accompany it ; and as in the case of Chris- 
 tian, where there is this burden on the soul, then the 
 description of those glories will have an effect deep and last- 
 ing ; while in the case of one who does not feel that burden, 
 does not see and feel his guilt, as with Pliable, the most 
 ravishing description of heaven will be but as a sweet tune 
 on a flute flung to the wind and forgotten, — it will make but 
 a momentary impression, create only a transitory, superfi- 
 cial sympathy. There must he the preaching of the law and 
 a law- work in the conscience, before men are likely even to 
 set out resolutely for heaven, and without this law-work 
 they do almost invariably turn hack ; unless, indeed, avoid- 
 ing the Slough of Despond, and all the difficulties Christian 
 met with, they take up with a false hope, as Ignorance did, 
 and make a profession of religion ; in which case they may, 
 even as Ignorance, hold on to the last, and even at the river 
 of Death be ferried over in the boat of one named Yain- 
 Ilope, not to find out their error, till on coming up and 
 knocking at the gate, and crying, Lord, Lord, open unto 
 us, the Lord shall answer, I never knew you. 
 
 And now is poor Christian left to struggle alone ; and with 
 the burden on his back, lamentable indeed is his case in the 
 Slough of Despond. And here he would have remained and 
 died, for he would struggle in no direction but that toward 
 the Wicket Gate, the side farthest from his own house, had 
 not a heavenly helper reached forth his hand to draw him 
 out. Some men, like Pliable, endeavour to throw off their 
 convictions of sin, by returning to worldly pleasures, get- 
 ting out of the Slough on tlie side nearest the City of 
 
384 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 Destruction ; this, you remember, Bunyan himself did at 
 one time ; from his convictions he returned desperately to 
 his sports. But the resolute Pilgrim, once fixed towards 
 heaven, will not seek to be rid of his burden in any wa}^ 
 but by going to Christ ; in the midst of his distressing con- 
 victions, he will still struggle, as Christian did, toward the 
 side farthest from the City of Destruction ; and so doing he 
 will find help. 
 
 In this Slough of Despond there were good and firm steps, 
 sound promises to stand upon, a causeway, indeed, better 
 than adamant, clear across the treacherous quagmires ; hut 
 mark you, fear followed Christian so hard, that he fled the 
 nearest way, and fell in, not stopping to look for the steps, 
 or not thinking of them. Now this is often just the opera- 
 tion of fear ; it sets the threatenings against the promises, 
 when it ought simply to direct the soul from the threaten- 
 ings to the promises. That is the object of the threatenings 
 to make the promises shine, and to make the soul lay hold 
 upon them, and that is the purpose and the tendency of a 
 salutary fear of the divine wrath on account of sin, to make 
 the believer flee directly to the promises, and advance on 
 them to Christ. But in general, men under conviction of 
 sin, having more desire to escape from hell than to get to 
 Christ ; more desire to he relieved of their distresses than to 
 become holy ; are blinded by the very fears which should 
 liave pointed out the promises, and without looking nar- 
 rowly for those steps, they struggle for relief rather than 
 holiness, for comfort rather than Christ, and so fall deeper 
 into difficulty. Just so in all applications that we make of 
 any remedies but the Gospel ; in all directions that we go 
 for relief but just to Christ, and with all the physicians we 
 can have without him, our sickness of sin and misery never 
 grows better, but rather grows worse. Flying from our 
 fears, we fly only into greater guilt and fear, if we do not 
 flee to Christ. Struggling to be rid of our burden, it only 
 sinks us deeper in the mire, if we do not rest by faith upon 
 the promises, and so come indeed to Christ. Precious pro- 
 mises they are, and so free and full of forgiveness and 
 eternal life, that certainly the moment a dying soul feels its 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 185 
 
 guilt and misery, tliat soul may lay hold upon them, and 
 find Christ in them ; and were it not for unbelief, there need 
 be no Slough of Despond for the soul to struggle and plunge 
 in its mire of depravity. 
 
 You see, said the dreamer’s teacher, this Slough of Des- 
 pond is a dreadful place, because unbelief and sin are such 
 deep and dreadful evils. And as long as unbelief continues 
 it cannot he mended ; for still as th-e sinner is awakened 
 about his lost condition there arise in his soul many fears 
 and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, whicli 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 : his labourers also have, by the direction of 
 his Majesty’s surveyors, been above these eighteen hundretl 
 years employed about this patch of ground, if perhaps it 
 might have been mended ; millions of cartloads of whole- 
 some instructions have been swallowed up in it, that have 
 at all seasons been brought from all places of the King’s 
 dominions ; the very best materials to make good ground of 
 the place, if so it might have been mended ; but it is the 
 Slough of Despond still, and so will be, when they have 
 done what they can. Nevertheless, the steps are there, if 
 the burdened and terrified Pilgrims will but take them ; and 
 the ground is good, when the^^ are once got in at the gate. 
 There was also a heavenly Helper for poor Christian, as 
 there always will be for one who is humble and sincere, even 
 though, in the excess of his fear, he misses the steps, and 
 seems to be sinking to destruction. The Lord will not leave 
 him to perish, any more than he left Peter, because of his 
 unbelief, to sink to the bottom. The Lord Jesus Christ can 
 never resist that outcry of the sinking soul. Lord, save me, 
 I perish ! 
 
 And now you may think perhaps that Christian having 
 got out of the Slough of Despond, and fairly on his way, it 
 is all well with him ; but not so, for now ke comes into a 
 peril that is far greater than the last, a peril through which 
 we suppose that every soul that ever goes on pilgrimage 
 passes, and a peril in which multitudes that get safely 
 13 
 
LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 186 
 
 across the Slough of Despond, perish for ever. For now 
 Christian meets, not with mud and mire, hut with Mr 
 Worldly Wiseman, from the great town of Carnal Policy, 
 who besets and waylays him with another gospel. He directs 
 him to a famous preacher ^f that gospel, Mr Legality, a 
 gentleman whose parish is in the very respectable village of 
 Morality, where there are nice, honest, and amiable neigh- 
 bours, in credit and good fashion, where provision is cheap 
 and good, where there are houses that stand empty to be 
 had at a very reasonable rate, where Christian can get good 
 and comfortable garments, and withal fashionable, instead 
 of those rags that he has on his back ; where also he can get 
 rid of his burden, for Mr Legality hath great skill to take 
 oflp the Pilgrim’s burdens, and also to cure those that are 
 somewhat crazed in their wits on account of them. He hath 
 also a pretty young man to his son, Mr Civility, who can 
 take off a burden, if need be, as well as the old gentleman ; 
 and moreover, to this very respectable village Christian can 
 remove his wife and children, and so not be separated from 
 them ; and Mr Worldly Wiseman would have him do this 
 by all means, and so not go back to the City of Destruction 
 at all. 
 
 Now, is not all this very pleasant, a most comfortable 
 prospect, rather than to forsake all that he hath, and go on 
 in a pilgrimage begun with so many dangers ! Here you 
 i ee that Christian need no longer be in fear on account of 
 the City of Destruction, for the town of Morality would keep 
 him safe, even if that Sodom, which Mr Worldly Wiseman 
 would certainly not advise him any longer to live in, should 
 be burned up with fire on account of the sins of its inhabit- 
 ants. Nevertheless, the comfort and respectability of this 
 place would not have tempted Christian, had it not been for 
 the advantage which Mr Worldly Wiseman had over him, 
 because of his great desire and eagerness to be rid of his 
 burden. The very first thing, when Mr Worldly Wiseman 
 met him, and asked him whither he was going after this 
 burdened manner, groaning and sighingso heavily, Christian 
 made answer that he was going to get rid of his burden, and 
 for that purpose was going to the Wicket Gate. Now see 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 187 
 
 the advice of Mr Worldly Wiseman, and how it chimes in 
 with the soul’s desire for comfort rather than holiness. 
 Christian was very impatient to get rid of his burden. Well, 
 said Mr Worldly Wiseman, wilt thou hearken to me, if I 
 give thee counsel ? Certainly, said Christian, I stand in 
 great need of good counsel. Well then, said Mr Worldly 
 Wiseman, I would advise thee that with all speed thou get 
 rid of thy burden ; for thou wilt never be settled in thy 
 mind till then ; nor canst thou enjoy the benefit of the 
 blessings which God hath bestowed upon thee till then. 
 
 This was counsel indeed ! Get rid of thy burden, get rid 
 of thy burden ! This is the amount of the teachings of 
 morality, this the perilous voice of all teachers that do not 
 point the sinner to Christ, and his atoning sacrifice. Get rid 
 of thy burden, it is a foolish thing ; secure thy comfort by 
 going to the town of Morality, and placing thyself under 
 the pastoral care of that very judicious man and civil 
 gentleman, Mr Legality. Evangelist had directed Christian 
 to Christ ; he had not told him to get rid of his burden, but 
 to go to Christ, and Christ would remove it in good time. 
 Now that was good counsel, all the counsel that Christian 
 needed ; but still he was very impatient to be rid of his 
 burden, and so Mr Worldly Wiseman’s counsels pointed to 
 the same thing, and with great ingenuity he tried to pre- 
 judice Christian against Evangelist, and the strait and 
 narrow way. Mr Worldly Wiseman, and all his connections, 
 dislike the atonement ; the Cross of Christ is foolishness 
 unto them, except to make signs with it, and put it on the 
 roofs of their houses and the outside of their churches. In 
 all likelihood Mr Legality’s own chapel, in that town of 
 Morality, had a cross on the top of it ; for so do men, who 
 deny the atonement, cover up that denial by mingling the 
 atonement and morality together, which answers the same 
 purpose as denying it utterly ; for if a man seeks to get rid 
 of his burden by morality in part, he does not rest on the 
 atonement at all. And just so, the men who hate the great 
 truth of justification by faith, because that cuts off all worldly 
 pride, and kills sin and self utterly, will often not avow that 
 hatred plainly, but say that men must be justified by faith 
 
188 
 
 LECTUKE SIXTH. 
 
 and works together ; whereas it is the blood of Christ alone, 
 and no works, though a man had a universe full of them to 
 present to Grod, that can cleanse the soul from sin. 
 
 However, Mr Worldly Wiseman was very plump and 
 bold in his condemnation of Evangelist and his doctrine. 
 “ Beshrew him for his counsel ! there is not a more danger- 
 ous and troublesome way in the world, than is that into 
 which be 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 goest, wearisomeness, 
 painfulness, hunger, perils, nakedness, swords, lions, dragons, 
 darkness, and in a word, death and what not. These things 
 are certainly true, having been confirmed by many testi- 
 monies. And should a man so carelessly cast away himself 
 by giving heed to a stranger 
 
 Mr Worldly Wiseman had read his Bible to some purpose, 
 after all, for he almost gives Paul’s exact catalogue of the 
 evils he had met with in his pilgrimage. But Paul said, 
 None of these things move me, and these things are not 
 worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed. 
 Mr Worldly Wiseman could understand the catalogue of 
 evils, and he thought to frighten Christian with them ; but 
 he could not understand the glory, and he had not calculated 
 the power of genuine conviction of sin, to make a man de- 
 spise death itself for the sake of deliverance from it. See 
 now, says Bunyan in the margin, the frame of the heart of 
 a young Christian. Why, sir, said Christian, this burden 
 ipon my back is more terrible to me than are all those 
 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 my burden. 
 
 How earnest thou by thy burden at first ? 
 
 By reading this book in my hand, said Christian. 
 
 And now, Mr Worldly Wiseman goes further, and shews, 
 as Bunyan says in the margin, that he does not like that 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 189 
 
 men should be serious in reading the Bible. I thought so, 
 said he, and it is happened unto thee as to other weak men 
 who, meddling with things too high for them, do suddenly 
 fall into thy distractions ; which distractions do not only 
 unman men, as thine I perceive have done thee, but they 
 run them upon desperate ventures, to obtain they know not 
 what. 
 
 This conversation of ?*Tr Worldly Wiseman is almost the 
 exact counterpart of the dealings of those teachers who deny 
 the Divinity and Atonement of Christ, and the truth of ever- 
 lasting punishment. One of the most celebrated of those 
 teachers in his day had been himself in early life under 
 deep conviction of sin, had set out from the City of Destruc- 
 tion, but had turned into the town of Morality, and estab- 
 lished himself as a preacher there. He used to say to those 
 whom he ever saw in distress on account of Christian’s 
 burden, or Evangelist’s counsel, I have been that way my- 
 self, and know all about it ; I have passed through all that 
 experience, and know that it is all nonsense. These dis- 
 tresses on account of sin are pure fanaticism, they are 
 unmanly superstitions, which pleasant company, exercise, 
 and recreation, will drive away. 
 
 Why wilt thou seek for ease this way of the Cross, said 
 Mr Worldly Wiseman, 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 thyself into ; 
 yea, and the remedy is at hand ; besides, I will add, that 
 instead of these dangers thou shalt meet with much safety, 
 friendship, and content. 
 
 Now was Christian snared by these counsels, and taking 
 ]\Ir Worldly Wiseman’s direction to Mr Legality’s house, 
 past Mount Sinai, for by that way he must go, he set out. 
 But behold, when he was now got 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, 
 then he stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also, his 
 burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was in 
 
190 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 his v/ay. There came also flashes of fire out of the hill that 
 made Christian afraid that he should be burnt ; here there- 
 fore he did sweat and quake for fear. Poor Christian ! he 
 could not get past Mount Sinai ! Nay, happy Christian ! 
 in that the terrors of the law got such hold upon him, that 
 they would not let him pass ; for if he had gone by, he too, 
 like many thousand others, would have gone to the town of 
 Morality, and got comfortably settled in perdition. He 
 would have become a member of Mr Legality’s parish, if he 
 could have got past this mountain. But here Evangelist 
 found him, half dead with shame, confusion, and terror. 
 And here, with the most ingenuous simplicity and contrition, 
 Christian made confession of his guilt. Yes, dear sir, I am 
 the man ! And now the reproofs and instructions of Evan- 
 gelist are incomparably beautiful, and Christian, bemoaning 
 his folly and sin in listening to the wicked counsels of the 
 Deceiver, applied himself again to Evangelist in words and 
 sense as follows : — • 
 
 Sir, what think you ? Is there any hope ] May I now 
 go back, and go up to the Wicket Gate 1 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 1 
 
 The mingling of reproof and encouragement with which 
 Evangelist comforted the penitent, is exquisitely wise and 
 beautiful. A rare pastor Bunyan found in holy Mr Gifford, 
 to be able to draw so sweet and grave a character from real 
 life. Evangelist kissed him, gave him one smile, and bid 
 him God speed. And now you may be sure there was no 
 more turning of Christian out of the way, no more inclina- 
 tion after Sinai, or Mr Legality, or the town of Morality, 
 not though a hundred worldly wisemen had beset him. As 
 an arrow to its mark, he went straight with haste, neither 
 spake he to any man by the way ; nor if any asked him 
 would he vouchsafe them an answer. This experience of 
 Sinai was enough for him, nor could he think himself safe, 
 till in process of time lie got up to the gate. There he 
 knocked with trembling earnestness, for over the gate was 
 written, Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. 
 
THE CITY OF. DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 191 
 
 May I now enter here 1 said Christian, 
 
 May I now enter here? Will he within 
 Open to sorry me, though I have been 
 An undeserving rebel ? Then shall I 
 Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high. 
 
 Bunyan has put in the margin, The gate will be open to broken- 
 hearted sinners ; and so it was, and Christian went in. But 
 as he was stepping in, the kind Master gave him a sudden 
 pull, at which Christian wondered ; but he was told that at 
 a little distance from the gate there was a frowning castle, 
 under command of Beelzebub, from whence they shot arrows 
 at those that were entering the gate, or had come up to it, 
 if haply they might die before they could enter. So Chris- 
 tian entered with joy and trembling. 
 
 This undoubtedly is an incident drawn from Bunyan’s 
 own experience ; for often when he himself was standing at 
 mercy’s gate, and knocking as for his life for entrance, he 
 had been assaulted by these fiends ; when he was praying, 
 then especially would there sometimes come a fiery stonn of 
 the darts of the AVicked One, so that often he thought he should 
 have died indeed beneath them. Doubtless something like 
 this is the experience of all who come up to this gate ; for 
 sometimes the point of greatest difficulty and danger is just 
 that point where the soul is summoning all its forces to come 
 to Christ, or where it is just about sweetly to cast itself upon 
 his mercy ; or where there is a great decisive struggle at the 
 Wicket Gate, between good and evil in the soul, and where 
 the perishing sinner is just able to say. Lord, I believe, help 
 thou mine unbelief. All moments of decision are moments 
 of danger, and when Satan, from his battlement, sees the soul 
 knocking at the gate, then he says within liimself. It is my 
 last hope ; my archers must destroy him now or never. And 
 so sometimes just the point of mercy is the point of greatest 
 strife and danger. 
 
 A characteristic instructive conversation ensued betw^een 
 Christian and the Man at the Gate, in the course of whicli 
 Christian, being questioned, told the man about his adven- 
 tures in the Slough of Despond, and how Pliable had left 
 him : and here Bunyan has put in the margin, A man may 
 
192 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 have company when he sets out for heaven, and yet go 
 thither alone ; but Christian also added, with sweet ingenu- 
 ousness, that he was quite as bad as Pliable, for that he 
 also turned aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded 
 thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr Worldly Wiseman. 
 The Man at the gate comforted and encouraged him, and 
 pointed out the strait and narrow way before him, so that 
 he could not miss it ; and now Christian was about to gird 
 up his loins, and address himself to his journey; but 0 
 that heavy burden ! Christian could not go without asking 
 to be rid of his burden ; so kind and skilful a man (thought 
 ne) may surely take it off, and I am sore weary with it. 
 But the answer he received was memorable. As to thy 
 burden, be content to bear it, until thou comest to the place 
 of deliverance ; for there it will fall from thy back of itself. 
 Bunyan has here put in the margin. There is no deliverance 
 from the guilt and burden of sin, but by the death and blood 
 of Christ. 
 
 Now there is a vast deal of instruction and comfort in this 
 last incident. Young Christians are very apt to expect entire 
 relief from all their burdens, and a complete deliverance 
 from sin, the moment they are got within the Wicket Cate, 
 the moment they have come to Christ. But very often this 
 expectation is not realized, and then they faint and become 
 disheartened, or filled with gloomy doubts on this account. 
 Now this experience of Christian having to bear his burden 
 so long, and yet going on so patiently with it, for you will 
 observe, he asked nobody after this to take off his burden, 
 is very instructive and encouraging. The truth is, we are all 
 more apt to be seeking for comfort than for Christ; whereas 
 Christ should be our first object, and comfort will come of 
 itself ; Christ first, and all things else shall be added. 
 
 By the experience of Christian and Pliable in their com- 
 mencement of this pilgrimage, we are taught some salutary 
 lessons ; as, firsts The importance of a deep and thorough 
 conviction of sin at first setting out ; second^ The importance 
 of a resolute purpose in seeking salvation, so as not to be 
 turned back ; and, thirds The importance of a hearty recep- 
 tion and thorough knowledge of God’s word. The difficul- 
 
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION AND SLOUGH OF DESPOND. 19?^ 
 
 ties that Christian meets and overcomes in the beginning, 
 do, instead of discouraging him, prepare him for constancy 
 and conquest even to the end. It is no superficial Christian 
 that Bunyan is describing, but a man of God, thoroughly 
 furnished unto all good works ; a soldier clad in armour of 
 proof, the armour of righteousness on the right hand and 
 on the left. He needed, as we shall see, a deep and thorough 
 discipline from the beginning, in order to prepare him for 
 the fiery ordeal through which he was to pass. 
 
 It is always thus that God deals with his people ; the 
 discipline of the Christian race and conflict is such, in its 
 very nature, as best to prepare them for usefulness here, 
 and for their place in glory hereafter. If there is to be en- 
 durance to the end, there must be thoroughness at the be- 
 ginning ; if victory at the end, a fight at the beginning ; 
 if rest at the end, a burden at the beginning. There must 
 be fires to consume the dross here, if there is to be end- 
 less brightness and purity hereafter ; self-denial and suf- 
 fering in this world must prepare the way to glorify God 
 and enjoy him for ever. There was a great connection be- 
 tween Christian’s burden at first, and his delight in God 
 afterwards ; so there was between all the toils of his pilgrim- 
 age, and his panting desires after God ; for certainly, if this 
 pilgrimage were all the way a way of ease, then we should 
 not much desire to hasten on in it, or to come to the end of 
 it, or to see God in heaven ; too much satisfied with the 
 sweetness of the streams, we should stay away from the 
 fountain. We having here no continuing city, seek one to 
 come, that city which hath foundations, whose builder and 
 maker is God. 
 
 Jerusalem, Jerusalem, 
 
 Would God I were with thee ! 
 
 Oh that my sorrows had an end, 
 
 Thy joys that I might see ! 
 
 Thy walls are made of precious stone. 
 
 Thy bulwarks diamonds square ; 
 
 Thy gates are made of orient pearl ; 
 
 O God, if 1 were there ! 
 
 O happy harbour of God’s saints! 
 
 O sweet and pleasant soil ! 
 
 In thee no sorrows can be found. 
 
 No grief, no care, no toil. 
 
194 
 
 LECTURE SIXTH. 
 
 No dimly cloud o’ershadows thee, 
 
 No gloom nor darksome night, 
 
 But every soul shines as the sun, 
 
 For God himself gives light. 
 
 Lord, in my forehead plant thy narntj^ 
 And take me hence away. 
 
 That I may dwell with thee in bliss. 
 And sing thy praise for aye. 
 
 O mother dear, Jerusalem’ 
 
 When shall I come to thee ? 
 
 When shall my sorrows have an end ? 
 Joys when shall I see? 
 
LECTURE SEYENTH. 
 
 CJirtjit(an in tSe of tfie Enterpreter 
 
 Meaning of the Interpreter, what great personage he stands for. — Richness 
 and beauty of his instructions. — The Law and the Gospel as sweepers of 
 the soul. — Passion and Patience, Sense and Faith. — How grace is sustained 
 in the soul. — How the victory is gained by the Man in armour. — Misery of 
 the soul in Despair. — Dream of the Judgment.— Power of Conscience. — 
 Beauty of the Pilgrim’s Progress as a book for Childhood. — Christian’s 
 deliverance from his burden. 
 
 It would be difficult to find twelve consecutive pages in 
 the English language, that contain such volumes of mean- 
 ing, in such beautiful and instructive lessons, with such 
 heavenly imagery, in so pure and sweet a style, and with so 
 thrilling an appeal to the best affections of the heart, as 
 these pages descriptive of Christian’s sojourning in the 
 House of the Interpreter. This good man of the House, the 
 Interpreter, we are, without doubt, to take as the represen- 
 tative of the Holy Spirit, with his enlightening and sancti- 
 fying influences on the heart. He is our Comforter, Guar- 
 dian, and Guide through all our pilgrimage ; our Instruc- 
 tor to take of the things which are Christ’s, and to shew 
 them to our souls ; our Sanctifier, to lead us into all truth, 
 and to make it the nourishing food of our souls, and with it 
 and in it bringing Christ before us continually, to fasten our 
 affections upon him, and make him, of God, unto us, our 
 wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. From 
 the first moment of a Christian’s setting out on his pilgrim- 
 age, this heavenly Comforter takes him under his peculiar 
 
196 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 guidance ; so soon as lie enters the Strait Gate, and puts 
 himself under the care of the Great Shepherd, then the 
 Spirit of God begins the work of discipline, instruction, re- 
 finement, and sanctification with him as a child of God. 
 So you will obserye that the very first thing which the 
 Interpreter said to Christian was. Come in, and I will shew 
 thee that which will he profitable unto thee. And then he 
 bid his man light the candle, and brought Christian into a 
 private room, where he shewed him the first of the beauti- 
 ful and instructive visions that were to pass before him. 
 Bunyan has put in the margin the word Illumination, and 
 he might have added the text, Open thou mine eyes that I 
 may behold wondrous things out of thy law. Or he might 
 have referred us to the blessed walk of the two disciples with 
 Christ in the way to Emmaus, when he opened their under- 
 standings, that they might understand the Scriptures ; for 
 such a work does the Spirit of God commence with us 
 when he lights the candle of the Lord within our hearts. 
 
 But we are to observe that Christian did not get into the 
 House of the Interpreter, nor obtain his precious guidance, 
 without knocking, yea, and that earnestly. This is to sig- 
 nify that after Christ has let us in, as we hope, at the 
 Wicket Gate, our great and immediate work must be to 
 seek with most humble diligence and earnestness the gracious 
 illuminating and sanctifying influences of his Spirit. In 
 our first ignorance and darkness, how greatly they are 
 needed no language can tell. The young convert will make 
 but a poor soldier of Jesus Christ, hut a weak and lagging 
 pilgrim, if he does not go directly to the House of the Inter- 
 preter. Ah, what earnest prayer is needed, that the soul, 
 having come to Christ, may he filled with the Spirit, he 
 rooted and grounded in love, and built up in him and pre- 
 pared to shew forth his praises ! Be assured that the im- 
 mediate time which passes after a soul’s conversion is of in- 
 describable importance for all after life. If it be passed in 
 the House of the Interpreter, and under his divine instruc- 
 tion, if the soul is much in prayer for divine grace and illu- 
 mination, then will there be a rich and precious prepara- 
 tion for a joyful and triumphant pilgrimage, in which the 
 
CnmSTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 197 
 
 path of the soul shall he as a shining light, that shineth 
 more and more unto the perfect day. But if joy come first, 
 without the instruction and discipline of the Interpreter, 
 then will there be trouble afterwards, a great many falls 
 by the way, a great many Hill Difficulties, and perhaps a 
 great many weeks instead of days passed in the Castle of 
 Giant Despair. When a soul first comes to Christ, then for 
 many days it ought to abide with the Holy Spirit : and 
 ivhen this is done, who shall say how many sights of glory 
 may be seen, how many rich and refining experiences be 
 enjoyed ; how rapidly the soul may grow, and be trans- 
 figured, as it were, with the influences of divine truth, 
 while thus it is alone with God ; how it may he knit and 
 strengthened for all future toils and combats, and prepared to 
 go through the world almost as a seraph of light, prepared, 
 at any rate, like Paul, so to run not as uncertainly, so to 
 fight not as one that beateth the air. 
 
 The first sight which Christian saw w^as a brave pic- 
 ture,” an exquisite portrait of a grave and saintly man, who 
 had his eyes lifted up to Heaven, the best of books in his 
 hand, the Law of Truth was written upon his lips, the 
 world was behind his back ; it stood as if it pleaded with 
 men, and a crown of gold did hang over its head. And 
 whose portTait is Bunyan describing here ? Again, we 
 think he had holy Mr Gifford in his eye as a faithful 
 minister of Christ ; but Bunyan too had been the pleader 
 with men, and over his own head the crown of gold was 
 shining, and while he Avrote these words, you may be sure 
 that his spirit thrilled within him as he said. And I too am 
 a minister of Jesus Christ ! This picture w^as shewn by 
 the Interpreter to Christian, in order that he might know 
 the true from the false guide in the way to the City of Im- 
 manuel. 
 
 The next scene which the Interpreter shewed Christian, 
 went, you may be sure, to his heart ; for it displayed the 
 inward corruptions of the soul, and the different effects, first 
 of the Law, and afterwards of the Gospel upon them ; and 
 Christian, it must he remembered, had not yet got rid of his 
 burden of sin, and had in his mind in great freshness the 
 
198 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 terrors of Sinai in the way to Mr Legality’s house, and his 
 distressing experience in the Slough of Despond, besides his 
 deep convictions of sin and wrath in the City of Destruction. 
 He had known most thoroughly what the Law could do 
 with a burdened conscience ; he had but begun to know 
 what grace could do to ease it. The Interpreter carried him 
 into a large parlour whereof the floor was thick with dust, 
 because it had never been swept. So the moment a man 
 began to sweep it, the dust flew about in such clouds that 
 Christian was wellnigh stifled ; but so soon as a damsel 
 was called to sprinkle the room with water, then it was 
 swept and cleansed easily. 
 
 The sweeper was the Law, stirring up the corruptions in 
 the parlour of the heart ; trying to sweep them, but only 
 stirring them up, and raising a suffocating cloud in the at- 
 mosphere. This is the work of the Law in the conscience, 
 to reveal sin, to make the sinner sensible of it ; and this is 
 all that the Law can do ; it can only convince and condemn, 
 for we have broken every one of its precepts, and the more 
 its light shines in upon the soul, the more manifest our ini- 
 quities become. If we strive to keep it, and so to gain peace, 
 we may keep it in some points outwardly, but inwardly we 
 break it ; we are defiled in every part, and our very morality 
 condemns us, as not springing from the love of God. The 
 voice of the law is. The soul that sinneth it shall die, and 
 he that offendeth in one point is guilty of all ; and what a 
 broom this is to introduce into the heart to sweep it of its 
 sins, you may well judge ; every movement of it is as the 
 besom of destruction ; it is indeed condemnation and death 
 perpetually. The law is holy, and just, and good ; but its 
 very holiness and goodness, laid alongside with our depra- 
 vity, make the revelation within us appear like the uncover- 
 ing of hell ; it fills us with anguish and terror in the sight 
 of what we are, and what- we deserve. 
 
 Christian well knew this in his own deep experience ; for 
 the burden of sin was on him still, and sorely did he feel it 
 while the Interpreter was making this explanation ; and 
 had it not been for his remembrance of the warning of the 
 Man at the Gate, he would certainly have besought the In- 
 
CHllISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 199 
 
 terpreter to take off his burden. The law could not take it 
 off ; he had tried that ; and grace had not yet removed it ; 
 so he was forced to be quiet, and to wait patiently. But 
 when the Damsel came and sprinkled the floor, and laid 
 the dust, and then the parlour was swept so easily — there 
 were the sweet influences of the gospel imaged, there was 
 divine grace distilling as the dew ; there was the gentle 
 voice of Christ hushing the storm ; there were the corrup- 
 tions of the heart, which the law had hut roused into action, 
 yielding under the power of Christ ; and there was the soul 
 made clean, and fit for the King of Glory to inhabit. In- 
 deed, this was a most instructive emblem. Oh that my 
 heart might be thus cleansed, thought Christian, and then 
 I verily believe I could bear my burden with great ease to 
 the end of my pilgrimage ; but I have had enough of that 
 fierce sweeper, the Law. The Lord deliver me from his 
 besom ! 
 
 The next emblem was Passion and Patience, two little 
 children, the very reverse in their characters, one of whom 
 would have every thing now, the other would quietly wait. 
 So Passion had his desire ; and Christian looked and saw him 
 with a bag of treasure exulting over Patience and laughing 
 him to scorn ; but Patience sat still, and answered nothing. 
 So Christian looked again, and behold Passion had lavished 
 all his treasure in a moment, and now had nothing but rags. 
 This was a vivid and striking emblem, and one which in 
 its general meaning a child could understand. Passion 
 stands for the men of this world. Patience of that which is 
 to come ; Passion for those who will have all their good 
 things now. Patience for those who are willing, with self- 
 denial, to wait for something better ; Passion for those who 
 are absorbed in temporal trifles. Patience for those whose 
 hearts are fixed upon eternal realities ; Passion the things 
 which are seen, and the impatient eagerness with which 
 they are followed. Patience the things which are unseen, 
 and the faith, humility, and deadness to the world exercised 
 in order to enjoy them. Besides, Passion shews the scorn 
 cf Patience by prosperous men of this world in their bravery, 
 Patience shews the gentle forbearance and endurance which 
 
200 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 the love of Christ, and the promise of eternal glory, do, h^ 
 divine grace, enable the soul even of a persecuted Christian 
 to exercise. 
 
 This beautiful passr^ge is a good commentary on the 
 seventy- third Psalm ; it is good for those to read and medi- 
 tate upon, who are at any time envious at the foolish, when 
 they see the prosperity of the wicked ; and there are times 
 when the best of men fall into such a vein of murmuring 
 and repining ; they become foolish and ignorant, and as a 
 beast before God, losing all sight and sense of eternal realities 
 for a season, w^hen they get to admiring the ungodly, who 
 prosper in the w^orld, who increase in riches. Ah, let them 
 remember how as a dream when one awaketh, so the trea- 
 sures and enjoyments of Passion are gone, and there is left 
 nothing hut rags and wretchedness ! And let them remem- 
 ber those three sweet verses, which contain the very mate- 
 rial out of which so gentle, yet noble a creature as Patience 
 was made, and the very fire that as a flame of blessedness 
 beforehand was burning in his heart, and making him care 
 nothing at all for the braveries of Passion : Thou shalt 
 
 guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to 
 glory. Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none 
 upon earth that I desire besides thee. My flesh and my 
 heart faileth : but God is the strength of my heart, and my 
 portion for ever.” 
 
 It were well also to read along with this the account oi 
 Dives and Lazarus, of which again this emblem of Passion 
 and Patience is a perfect representation. Dives was Passion, 
 who would have all his good things in this life, and even 
 doubted whether there was any life to come at all ; at any 
 rate, he would not be such a melancholy fool as to wait for 
 it. Lazarus was Patience, who could not only wait, saying 
 within himself. By and by it will be all right, and the crown 
 of gold will keep its brightness for ever, but he could w'art 
 at the gate of the rich man full of sores, and yet singing 
 and making melody in his heart unto the Lord, and think' 
 ing of the angels and of Abraham’s bosom. And then the 
 end, the eternal separation, the gulf of flame and the abode 
 of glory ! Son,” said Abraham, “ remember that thou in 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 201 
 
 tliy lifetime receivedst tliy good things, and likewise La- 
 zarus evil things ; and now he is comforted, and thou art 
 tormented.” 
 
 So the world goes ! Passion says, A bird in the hand is 
 worth two in the bush ; give me good fortunes now, and you 
 may have all your fine texts of Scripture, and all your glory 
 in the world to come to yourself. Patience says. Wait a 
 little, all is not gold that glitters, and a little that a right- 
 eous man hath, is better than the riches of many wicked. 
 Passion says. Father, give me the portion of goods that be- 
 longeth to me ; he will have them now, and he claims them 
 as his right, and being indulged with them, away he goes 
 and spends them to his own ruin ; and then well for him it 
 is, if amidst his rags and wretchedness his heart turns again 
 to his father’s house, and hy the infinite mercy of divine 
 grace he comes back as a lamenting, penitent, heart-broken 
 Prodigal. Ah, thought Christian to himself, I was Passion 
 once. Passion in the City of Destruction ; and I should have 
 been Passion still. Passion in rags and wretchedness, had 
 not God had mercy on me. Now I will be Patience as long 
 as I live. 
 
 The next bright instructive vision that the Interpreter 
 shewed Christian, is one that sprung directly from Bun- 
 yan’s own course of painful and blessed experience, mingled 
 together. The Dreamer now is looking back and musing 
 on the wonderful discipline of Divine Grace in his heart, and 
 he says within himself. How marvellously, amidst all my 
 terrible temptations, did my Divine Saviour, when I saw him 
 not, and feared I never should see him, maintain his blessed, 
 precious work of mercy in my heart ! He has brought the 
 blind by a way that they knew not ; but now, blessed be 
 God, how sweetly do I see it ! When my spirit was over- 
 whelmed within me, then thou knewest my path. “ I saw 
 in my dream,” says Bunyan, that the Interpreter took 
 Christian by the hand, and led him into a place, where was 
 a fire burning against a wall, and one standing by it, always 
 casting much water upon it to quench it ; yet did the fire 
 burn higher and hotter.” You will remember the sarcastic 
 dialogue of the Tempter, the devil, with Bunyan’s soul, 
 14 
 
202 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 when he had him near the entrance to the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, and was torturing him with dreadful 
 doubts and apprehensions. I will cool you yet, said Satan, 
 though I take seven years to do it ; you are very hot after 
 mercy now, but you shall be cool enough by and by. And 
 with what malignant wonder and disappointment must 
 Satan have looked on to see all his efforts bootless, to see 
 that the flame of love in Bunyan’s heart was like the fire of 
 guilt and despair in Satan’s own conscience, unquenchable ; 
 to see, amidst all the torrents of rain and hail that he poured 
 upon the soul of his apparently helpless victim, the fire 
 of grace, to his utter desperation and astonishment, did only 
 burn higher, and clearer, and brighter 1 Ah, the blind and 
 guilty Fiend could not see the chariots and horsemen of 
 heaven round about Bunyan ; he could not see the Lord 
 Jesus Christ continually pouring the oil of divine grace into 
 Bunyan’s heart, of which the Interpreter shewed Christian 
 the emblem in the man on the other side secretly but con- 
 tinually pouring oil from a vessel into the fire. 
 
 So, said the Interpreter, by means of the oil of Christ’s 
 grace, notwithstanding what the devil can do, the souls of 
 his people prove gracious still. And in that thou sawest 
 that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the fire, 
 this is to teach thee that it is hard for the tempted to see 
 how this work of grace is maintained in the soul. My grace 
 is sufficient for thee, for my strength is made perfect in 
 weakness. Bunyan had had deep experience of the glory of 
 this promise, for it was the passage of grace which did long 
 strive with that of Esau, till at length the dreadful threatening 
 grew dim and vanished away, while the promise grew brighter 
 and brighter, till it filled his whole soul with its glory ; till 
 the Law had to give place to the Gospel, and Moses and Elias 
 to leave Christ and his saints alone. Bunyan has put this 
 sweet promise in a reference in the margin ; and here I may 
 remark, that as you pass along in the Pilgrim’s Progress, if 
 you will take the trouble to turn to your Bibles for references, 
 you may see the very sources of the wisdom and inspiration of 
 Bunyan’s genius, the very channels through which the River 
 of tlie Water of Life flowed in so many thousand deep beau- 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OP THE INTERPRETER. 203 
 
 tiful rills into these pages. The examination in such wise 
 proves far more instructive. 
 
 The next sight which the Interpreter shewed Christian, is 
 in many respects the most animating and ravishing passage 
 to be found in all the Pilgrim’s Progress. It set Christian’s 
 own heart on fire to run forward on his journey. Those 
 who have read this book in early childhood, can well remem- 
 ber the powerful effect which this picture had upon the 
 imagination. The Interpreter took Christian by the hand, 
 and led him into a pleasant place, where was built a stately 
 palace, beautiful to behold ; at the sight of which Christian 
 was greatly delighted : he saw also upon the top thereof cer- 
 tain persons walking, who were clothed all in gold. So the 
 Interpreter took Christian, 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 table- 
 side, with a book and an ink-horn before him, to take the 
 names of them that should enter therein ; he saw also that 
 in the door-way stood many men in armour to keep it, being 
 resolved to do to the men that would enter, what hurt and 
 mischief they could. Now was Christian somewhat in 
 amaze : at last, when every man started hack for fear of the 
 armed men, Christian saw a man of a very stout counte- 
 nance come up to the man that sat there to write, saying. 
 Set down my name, sir ; the which, when he had done, he 
 saw the man draw his sword, and put a helmet upon his 
 head, and rush towards the door upon the armed men, who 
 laid upon him with deadly force ; but the man, not at all 
 discouraged, fell to cutting and hacking most fiercely. So, 
 after he had received and given many wounds to those who 
 attempted to keep him out, he cut his way through them 
 all, and pressed forward into the palace ; at which there was 
 a pleasant voice heard from those that were within, even 
 of those that walked upon the top of the palace, saying. 
 
 Come in, come in, 
 
 Eternal glory thou slialt win! 
 
 So he went in. and was clothed in such garments as they. 
 
204 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 Then Christian smiled and said, I think verily I know the 
 meaning of this. 
 
 Verily thou didst, noble Christian ! And who is there 
 that does not know the meaning of it, and what heart sc 
 cold as not to be ravished by it ! Yea, we should think 
 that this passage alone might set any man out on this pil- 
 grimage, might bring many a careless traveller up to the 
 gate of this glorious palace to say. Set down my name, sir ! 
 flow full of instruction is this passage ! What mingled en- 
 couragement and warning did it convey to Christian’s mind 
 to prepare him for the many trials before him. It was 
 necessary that the Holy Spirit should shew him in some 
 measure what he would have to encounter, should make 
 him feel that if he gained heaven, it must be by a great 
 conflict, and a great victory. Mr Worldly- Wiseman had 
 predicted some of the dangers he was to meet with ; but Mr 
 Worldly- Wiseman could have no conception of the exceed- 
 ing weight of glory that was to follow ; but here the vision 
 of the glory follows so close upon the sight of the conflict, 
 that the conflict even adds to its charms, and makes it a 
 thousand times the more exciting. Here is the sentence, 
 
 Through much tribulation,” but here is also “ the King- 
 dom of Heaven and who so pitiful as not to be willing to 
 undergo the tribulation, to encounter the hazard, to run the 
 gauntlet of these armed men against him, for the glory of 
 that kingdom ? 
 
 Yea, saith Christian, verily I think I can understand this. 
 But here you will remark how great a multitude stood round 
 the gate of this palace, fearing, yet desiring — desiring, yet 
 fearing, to enter in. And you see that Christian found, 
 while he was there, only one among them of like spirit with 
 himself — only one who would come up and say. Set down 
 my name, sir. Ah ! what a multitude there are who have 
 some faint desires after heaven, and half a mind, a thousand 
 times, to set out in the wa}^ thither, but who never do it, who 
 always shrink back. These men around the gate were so 
 many Pliables, who were sure to go back to the City of 
 Destruction ; and we would say to those many persons in 
 just their situation, unless you come to a fixed resolution, 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 205 
 
 unless you step quickly and boldly to the gate, ^vitll your 
 heart on fire, and say. Set down my name, sir, in a tone that 
 shall make Christian rejoice, and the armed men tremble, 
 vou are not likely ever to fight your way into this palace, 
 or ever to be walking with those upon its top in glory. 
 
 As for Christian, his whole heart went with the man of 
 stout countenance, and went with every blow he gave ; and 
 he was so ravished with his courage, and with the pleasant 
 voice and the glory, that as soon as that sight was done with, 
 he was for starting at once upon his journey. Now, said Chris- 
 tian, let me go hence. How often does the young convert, 
 in his moments of triumph, think he has got instruction 
 enough, and grace enough, to last him all the way of his 
 pilgrimage ! But he needs, as I said, a great many sights, 
 and much more heavenly discipline, in the House of the 
 Interpreter, or his boasted courage will fail by the way. 
 Christian thought he had received an impulse, under which 
 his soul would shoot forward like an arrow, a gale of the 
 Spirit filling his sails, that would carry his bark swiftly 
 through all tempests to heaven. He felt, indeed, as if he 
 were in heaven beforehand, he did so long to be there. Under 
 this ravishing sight he scarcely felt the weight of his bur- 
 den, and not a word was said to the Interpreter about re- 
 moving it. But Christian needs more instruction still ; and 
 as these bright colours are apt to fade from the picture, or 
 grow unnoticed, unless they be set off and heightened, and 
 made more important by some dark shades beside them, the 
 Interpreter did now, with heavenly skill, direct Christian’s 
 attention to a vision terribly instructive, which would both 
 be fixed itself in his remembrance, and would make the 
 bright vision more precious to him. Stay, said the Inter- 
 preter, till I have shewn thee a little more, and after that 
 thou shalt go on thy way. When the Holy Spirit under- 
 takes to illuminate and sanctify the soul, he will do it tho- 
 roughly ; he will not dismiss a soldier to his work without 
 his armour. Nor must the Christian be impatient of in- 
 struction, or of the time during which he seems to be detained 
 in learning ; for it is very precious to be thus in the House 
 of the Interpreter, under the teachings of the Holy Spirit; 
 
206 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTn. 
 
 and he may be sure that all he can gain he will need. Warn- 
 ings he needs, and solemn ones. 
 
 So the Interpreter took Christian by the hand again, and 
 led him into a very dark room, where there sat a man in an 
 iron cage. Now the man to look on seemed very sad ; he 
 sat with his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands 
 folded together, and he sighed as if he would break his heart. 
 Then said Christian, What means this ? At which the In- 
 terpreter hid him talk with the man. Then said Christian 
 to the man, What art thou ? Christian’s heart trembled as 
 he put this question, and he said within himself, Alas ! if I 
 should ever be in this condition ! The man answered, I am 
 what I was not once. What wast thou once ? said Chris- 
 tian. The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing pro- 
 fessor, both in mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of others. 
 I was also, as I thought, fair for the Celestial City, and had 
 even joy at the thoughts that I should get thither. Well, 
 said Christian, but what art thou now ] I am now a Man 
 of Despair, and am shut up in it, as in this iron cage. I 
 cannot get out ; 0, now I cannot. But how earnest thou 
 into this condition ? said Christian. I left off to watch and 
 be sober ; I laid the reins upon the neck of my lusts ; I 
 sinned against the light of the Word, and the goodness of 
 God ; I have grieved the Spirit, 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 are there no 
 hopes for such a man as this ? It was a dreadful sight to 
 Christian, as it must be to us all ; for what happened to this 
 man may happen to any man who leaves off to be sober, 
 and to watch unto prayer. It made Christian weep and 
 tremble to see the deep misery of this man. But you will 
 mark that the Interpreter does not give any answer to Chris- 
 tian, does not tell him whether there is yet hope or not, but 
 refers him to the man himself for answer. Bunyan evi- 
 dently did not mean to set it down as the judgment of the 
 Holy Spirit, that such an one as this was past hope ; and 
 doubtless, men have conceived themselves in this condition 
 
CHEISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTEEPIIETER. 207 
 
 for whom there was hope, and the door of whose cage has 
 afterwards been opened, and they have come out. There 
 may be a spiritual gloom, amounting, as it seems to the soul 
 under it, to actual despair, from which there is at length a 
 blessed deliverance. David was sometimes in prison in this 
 way, and on account of his sins. Bring my soul out of 
 prison, he cries ; and in the eighty-eighth Psalm you have 
 the statement of a case almost as bad as this of the Man in 
 the Cage of Despair. The poet Cowper was thus in prison 
 much of his time ; but in his case it was a mind of exquisite 
 sensibility thrown from its balance, and really insane in the 
 belief of his being a lost soul. There are doubtless other 
 causes of spiritual gloom besides sin, but unbelief and sin 
 are the ordinary causes. Bunyan himself was sometimes in 
 this gloomy state, without a ray of comfort, but never in 
 such a state that he could not pray for mercy. Christian, 
 when he fell into the dungeon of Giant Despair’s Castle, was 
 in this condition ; and he must then have remembered this 
 picture of the man in the iron cage with fearful vividness 
 and keenness. The full sight and sense of any man’s sins, 
 without the sight and sense of a Saviour’s mercy at the same 
 time, would be sufficient to cast the soul at any time into 
 utter despair ; and we are inclined to think that Bunyan 
 had in his memory, at the time of writing this description, 
 that book which had so powerful an effect once upon his 
 own mind, the despairing death of Francis Spira, the apos- 
 tate, and especially that sentence, Man knows the beginning 
 of sin, but who can bound the issues thereof ? And Bunyan 
 intended not to represent this man as actually beyond the 
 reach of mercy, but to shew the dreadful consequences of 
 departing from God, and of being abandoned of him to the 
 misery of unbelief and despair. 
 
 So Christian, as the Interpreter bade him, accosted the 
 man. Is there no hope, said he, but you must be kept in 
 the Iron Cage of Despair ? No, none at all, said the man. 
 Why, said Christian, the Son of the Blessed is very merciful. 
 Then said the man, I have crucified him to myself afresh ; 
 I have despised his person ; I have despised his righteous- 
 ness ; I have counted his blood an unholy thing ; I have 
 
208 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 done despite to the Spirit of grace ; therefore I shut myself 
 out of all the promises ; and there now remains to me 
 nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings, faithful 
 threatenings, of certain judgments and fiery indignation, 
 which shall devour me as an adversary. 
 
 For what did you bring yourself into this condition ? 
 asked Christian. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this 
 world, in the enjoyment of which I did then promise myself 
 much delight ; but now every one of those things also bite 
 me, and gnaw me like a burning worm. 
 
 But canst thou not now repent and turn ? asked Christian. 
 The man persevered in his gloomy awful answer. It is in- 
 deed a picture to the life, of a soul in incurable despair. 
 God hath denied me repentance. His Word gives me no en- 
 couragement to believe. Yea, himself hath shut me up in 
 this iron cage, nor can all the men in the world let me out. 
 0 Eternity ! Eternity ! How shall I grapple with the 
 misery that I must meet with in eternity ! 
 
 Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man’s mi- 
 sery be remembered by thee, and be an everlasting caution 
 to thee. Well, said Christian, this is fearful ! God help me 
 to watch and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the 
 cause of this man’s misery. This was indeed a fearful lesson. 
 The sight of this man in the iron cage was likely to remain 
 with Christian at least as long as the preceding sight of the 
 venturous man cutting his way to eternal glory. And the 
 one sight is judged as important by the Holy Spirit as the 
 other. This, after all, is nothing more than the reality must 
 be, supposing a soul in the case described by Paul, For it 
 is impossible for those once enlightened, &c., if they shall fall 
 away, to renew them again unto repentance.” Woe unto 
 them, says God, when I depart from them. There is no 
 stoicism or philosophy can stand against God’s departure. 
 There is no harm can happen to a man, who has God for his 
 friend ; but there is no good can happen to a man abandoned 
 of God. Whenhegiveth quietness, who then can make trouble ] 
 and when he hideth his face, who then can behold him ? 
 whether it be done against a nation or against a man only. 
 
 Sir, said Christian, is it not time for me to be on my way 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 209 
 
 now ? The Interpreter would have him tarry to see one 
 thing more. So he took him by the hand, and led him into 
 a chamber, where there was one rising out of bed ; and as he 
 put on his raiment he shook and trembled. This night, said 
 he, as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold the heavens 
 grew exceeding 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 ; upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, and 
 saw also a man sitting upon a cloud, attended with ten 
 thousands of heaven. They were all in flaming fire ; also, 
 the heavens were on a burning flame. I heard then a great 
 voice, saying, Arise, ye dead, and come to judgment !” 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 upward, and some sought to hide themselves 
 under the mountains. Then I saw the man that sat upon 
 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 before him, a convenient distance betwixt him and 
 fliem, as betwixt the judge and the prisoners at the bar. I 
 heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on the Man 
 that sat on the cloud, “ Gather together the tares, the chaff, 
 and stubble, and cast them into the burning lake and with 
 that the bottomless pit opened just whereabout I stood ; out 
 of the mouth of which there came, in an abundant manner, 
 smoke and coals of fire, with hideous noises. It was also 
 said to the same persons, “ Gather my wheat into the gar- 
 ner.” And with that I saw many catched up and carried 
 away into the clouds ; but I was left behind. I also sought 
 to hide myself, but I could not ; for the Man that 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. 
 
 In this terrific dream, what terrified the Dreamer was the 
 thought that the Day of Judgment had come, and that he 
 was not ready for it ; and also that the angels gathered up 
 some for glory close by his side, but left him ! and also that 
 the pit of hell there opened where he stood ; while con- 
 science roused up and tormented him, and the Judge, with 
 
210 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 indignation in his countenance, always had his eye upon 
 him. 
 
 This dream, so sublimely told, with such severe faithful- 
 ness to Scripture, there being no image in it but such as you 
 may find in the Bible, was the recurrence of Bunyan’s own 
 early experience, chastened by Divine Truth. One of Bun- 
 yan’s biographers has given us the record of some of his 
 actual early dreams in such language as carries the stamp 
 of Bunyan’s own imagination upon it, and shev/s that the 
 imagery in the Pilgrim’s Progress was the combination 
 anew, with a ripened art and wisdom, of realities which his 
 own soul had experienced. Once he dreamed he saw the 
 face of the heavens as it were all on fire, the firmament 
 crackling and shivering as it were with the noise of mighty 
 thunders, and an archangel flew in the midst of heaven, 
 sounding a trumpet, and a glorious throne was seated on the 
 east, whereon sat one in brightness like the morning star, 
 upon which he, thinking it was the end of the world, fell 
 upon his knees, and with uplifted hands towards heaven, 
 cried, 0 Lord God, have mercy upon me ! What shall I 
 do ? the day of judgment is come, and I am not prepared ! 
 Then he immediately heard a voice behind him, exceeding 
 loud, saying. Repent. Whereupon he awoke, and found it 
 was a dream. Another time he dreamed that he was in a 
 pleasant place, jovial and rioting, banqueting and feasting 
 his senses, when immediately a mighty earthquake rent the 
 earth, and made a wide gap, out of which came bloody 
 flames, and the figures of men tossed up in globes of fire, 
 and falling down again with horrible cries, shrieks, and exe- 
 crations, while some devils that were mingled with them 
 laughed aloud at their torments ; and whilst he stood trembling 
 at this sight, he thought the earth sank under him, and a 
 circle of flame enclosed him ; but when he fancied he was 
 just at the point to perish, one in white shining raiment des- 
 cended, and plucked him out of that dreadful place, while the 
 devils cried after him to be left with them, to take the just 
 punishment his sins had deserved ; yet he escaped the dan- 
 ger, and leaped for joy, when he awoke and found it was a 
 dream . 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 211 
 
 Now in these dreams of Bunyan’s own soul you may see 
 clearly the materials, afterwards put more visibly into the 
 symmetrical mould of Scripture imagery, of that grand and 
 awful Dream of the Judgment, which the man related to 
 Christian in the House of the Interpreter. Almost all men 
 have at times passed through something of the same expe- 
 rience ; for conscience is often busy in the night-time, when 
 the external business of the day prevented her work and 
 claims from being attended to. We go about the world in 
 the day-time, we see pleasant companions, we are absorbed 
 in earthly schemes, the things of sense are around us, the 
 world is as bright as a rainbow, and it hears for us no marks 
 or predictions of the judgment, or of our sins, and it holds no 
 conversation with us on those subjects, and conscience is re- 
 tired, as it were, within a far inner circle of the soul. But 
 when it comes ni^ht, and the streets are empty, and the 
 lights are out, and the business and dancing and gaiety are 
 over, and the pall of sleep is drawn over the senses, and 
 reason and the will are no longer on the watch, then con- 
 science comes out solemnly, and walks about in the silent 
 chambers of the soul, and makes her survey and her com- 
 ments, and sometimes sits down and sternly reads the record 
 of a life that the waking man would never look into, and 
 the catalogue of crimes that are gathering for the judgment 
 And as conscience reads, and reads aloud, and soliloquizes, 
 you may hear the still deep echo of her voice reverberated 
 through the soul’s most secret unveiled recesses. Imagina- 
 tion walks tremblingly behind her, and now they two alone 
 pass through the open gate of the Scriptures into the future 
 and eternal world ; for thither all things in man’s being na- 
 turally and irresistibly tend ; and there, as conscience is still 
 dwelling upon sin, imagination draws the judgment, and the 
 soul is presented at the bar of God, and the eye of the Judge 
 is on it, and a hand of fire writes, as on the wall of the 
 universe. Thou art weighed in the balances, and found want- 
 ing ! Then, whatever sinful thoughts or passions, words or 
 deeds, the conscience enumerates and dwells upon, the ima- 
 gination with prophetic truth fills eternity with correspond- 
 
212 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 ilig shapes of evil. Our dreams sometimes reveal our cha- 
 racter, our sins, our destinies, far more clearly than out 
 waking thoughts ; for whereas by day the energies of our 
 being are turned into artificial channels, by night our thoughts 
 follow the bent that is most natural to them ; and as man is 
 both an immortal and a sinful being, the consequences both 
 of his immortality and his sinfulness will sometimes be made 
 to stand out in overpowering light, when the busy pursuits 
 of day and of the world are not able to turn the soul from 
 wandering towards eternity. 
 
 A morning is coming, when we shall all awake out of the 
 sleep of this world, but the Dream of the Judgment will then 
 be no longer a dream. The friendly warning of the dream 
 will have passed for ever, to give place to the reality. The 
 thrones will be set, the dead will be raised, and we shall be 
 judged ; the Great White Throne, and him that sitteth there- 
 on, and all nations gathered before him ! 
 
 Oh to he ready, ready for that day, 
 
 Who would not give earth’s fairest toys away ? 
 
 So thought Christian, when, in mingled hope and fear on 
 account of what he had seen, he began to gird up his loins, 
 and to address himself to his journey. The Comforter be 
 always with thee, said the Interpreter, to guide thee in the 
 way that leads to the city ! So he went musing on his way, 
 grateful to the good Interpreter, meditating on what he had 
 seen, drawing out the lessons, and soliloquizing over them, 
 and praying for Divine grace to make them profitable. In 
 truth, the things which he had seen were some of the most 
 precious fruits of Bunyan’s sanctified genius and deep reli- 
 gious experience. Whoever has read Bunyan’s Divine Em- 
 blems for Youth, will see at once the same hand that placed 
 these varieties for his Pilgrim’s instruction in the House of 
 the Interpreter. Bunyan might have added to them in verses 
 wrought with the art of a true poet, had it pleased him so to 
 exercise his skill. 
 
 It is difficult to overstate the importance for the mind in 
 childhood of a book that contains such pictures at once so 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 213 
 
 alluring, so solemn, and instructive. We speak from expe- 
 rience, and from what we have heard others describe of its 
 effect upon their minds in early youth, when we suggest the 
 importance of children early reading the Pilgrim’s Progress. 
 It never seems so beautiful, so fascinating a book, to those 
 who read it first in later life, as to those who, having read 
 it in childhood, when its power over the imagination is 
 unbounded, read it afterwards with a grave perception and 
 understanding of its meaning. It becomes a series of holy 
 pictures engraven on the soul in its early, simple, childlike 
 state ; and though these pictures may be afterwards covered 
 with sin, yet some time or other their covering may he 
 swept off, and then outshine the pictures, in all their fresh- 
 ness and beauty. And what is true of the Pilgrim’s Progress 
 is much more true of the Bible. Where such early impres- 
 sions are made upon the mind, it would seem as if Satan 
 works hard to destroy them ; he takes the tablet, and rubs 
 out the inscription, just as the monks of old used to erase 
 the classics, and write over them on the same parchment 
 their own absurd legends ; but God can restore the original 
 inscriptions, and can utterly efface the writing of the Wicked 
 One. And sometimes the original Builder of the mind is 
 pleased to write his own name so deep there, that though it 
 may be covered with depravity, in which Satan afterwards 
 engraves his, and thinks it is written in the solid rock, yet 
 God has a previous writing, and the Holy Spirit, in a season 
 of trouble and conviction upon the sinner, can break away 
 that covering of depravity, and Satan’s name along with it, 
 and there shall be God’s name shining, and the whole temple 
 of the mind shall be God’s living temple. See that you write 
 God’s name upon your children’s minds ; and in order to do 
 this, you must use the graving tools which God himself has 
 given you, the diamond pen of the Word of God, sharper to 
 write with, and to cut with, than any two-edged sword, and 
 always successful, when used with faith and prayer. 
 
 Refreshed and instructed in the House of the Interpreter, 
 Christian sets forward on his journey. His burden is still 
 wearisome, and some of the sights which he has seen tend 
 
214 
 
 LECTURE SEVENTH. 
 
 to make him feel it more sensibly, and to long for deliver- 
 ance. Though the highway was fenced in on either side with 
 the wall of Salvation, yet, as the way was ascending, Chris- 
 tian ran with great difficulty, because of the load on his 
 back. But now he was near his deliverance, which indeed 
 the instructions of the Holy Spirit had prepared him to 
 experience and receive as a reality, a lasting, commanding 
 reality, and not a mistaken, transitory, superficial joy. 
 There is not a more important lesson taught in this book, 
 than that growth in grace is not to be measured by sensible 
 comfort, that joy is not to be sought as a test or proof of 
 grace, and that a person may be in Christ, and yet a deep 
 sense of the burden of sin may long remain upon the soul. 
 The teachings of the Holy Spirit are needed, and new dis- 
 coveries of the plan of salvation through Christ ; and only 
 in proportion as the soul sees clearly Christ and his Cross, 
 and is filled and absorbed with the Saviour, does the burden 
 of sin disappear, and the happiness of the soul become deep 
 and lasting. All the direct efforts of Christian to get rid of 
 his burden were of no avail, nor was it till he had the full- 
 est view of the Cross, not till that salvation completely filled 
 his soul, that the burden fell from him. He was not seeking 
 to be rid of it when he lost sight of it ; no, he was coming 
 up to the cross and the sepulchre, his attention was occupied 
 with Christ, his sufferings, his death, his atoning sacrifice 
 for sinners ; and as he ran and gazed, and saw these things 
 more clearly, and came at length quite to the foot of the 
 cross, then his burden fell from him while he was gazing, 
 admiring, and loving, and rolled quite into the mouth of the 
 sepulchre, so that he saw it no more. And very much sur- 
 prised was he that the sight of the cross should thus ease 
 him of his burden. It made him glad and lightsome, and 
 he exclaimed with a merry heart. He hath given me rest by 
 his sorrow, and life by his death. And so, as he stood and 
 wondered, he wept, and wept again for gratitude, sorrow, 
 and joy. And now came to him the Three Shining Ones, as 
 he stood looking and weeping, and they all together saluted 
 him, Peace be to thee. The first said to him, Th}^ sins be 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER. 215 
 
 forgiven thee. The second stripped him of his rags, and 
 clothed him v^ith change of raiment. The third also set a 
 mark on his forehead, and gave him a roll with a seal upon 
 it, which he bid him look to as he ran, and that he should 
 give it in at the Celestial Gate ; so they went their way. 
 Then Christian gave three leaps for and went on sing- 
 ing. 
 
LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 CJrfjSttan on tfie DtfBraltp. 
 
 Happiness of Christian with his roll.— His efforts to save others.— Simple, 
 Sloth, and Presumption. — Christian’s knowledge of Character. — Formalist 
 and Hypocrisy. — Christian climbing the Hill. — The sleep in the arbour, and 
 the loss of his roll.— Christian weeping and searching for it. — His thankful- 
 ness at finding it. 
 
 We left Christian light of heart, and singing for joy of his 
 deliverance from his burden. How lightly did he now step for- 
 ward, with what pleasant thoughts in his soul, with what 
 precious views of the cross and of the way of salvation ! Now 
 it seemed to him that he should never tire. He thought of 
 that sweet Psalm, When the Lord turned again the captivity 
 of Zion, we were like them that dream. Sometimes he could 
 scarcely persuade himself that it was a reality ; he was 
 almost afraid it was a dream. But then, there was his roll 
 that had been given him, and the new dress in which the 
 Shining Ones had arrayed him, and his heart was full of 
 gratitude and love. He thought “ he could have spoken to 
 the very crows that sat upon the ploughed land by the way- 
 side,” to have told them of his joy, and of the preciousness 
 of his Saviour, if they could have understood it. His heart 
 was like the blind man’s restored to sight, and just as simple 
 and unaffected. 
 
 Now methinks I hear him praising, 
 
 Publishing to all around. 
 
 Friends, is not my case amazing? 
 
 What a Saviour I have found ! 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 2l7 
 
 Yes, and now Christian desires to save others. The joy 
 in his soul was no transitory sympathy or selfish hope, that 
 would subside into indolence. It led him to set himself to 
 work at once to win others to Christ. This is very striking. 
 Now he would neglect no opportunity of doing good, and he 
 did not say, when he saw some ready to perish, I am but a 
 young Christian, but just now converted, and must wait till 
 I have more experience, before I try to persuade others. Not 
 at all. But the very first opportunity Christian had after 
 his release from his burden, he faithfully employed it. As 
 he went on, singing and making melody in his heart unto 
 the Lord, he came to a wide level place, where he saw, a little 
 out of the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters on their 
 heels. Their names were Simple, Sloth, and Presumption. 
 The first thing Christian did was to go to them and endeavour 
 to awake them, which he thought certainly he might easily 
 do, for their danger was clear to him, though they them- 
 selves did not seem to see it. So he cried out to them to 
 awake, telling them that they might as well sleep on the top 
 of a mast, for that the Dead Sea was under them, a gulf 
 without a bottom. Awake, said he, and come away, or you 
 will perish for ever. He furthermore told them, that if they 
 were but willing, he would help them off with their irons, 
 but they manifested no anxiety. He told them that if he 
 that goeth about as a roaring lion came by, they would cer- 
 tainly become a prey to his teeth. In fine, he used all proper 
 and likely means to wake them up ; and they were at length 
 so far roused as to listen to him, and answer him. 
 
 Simple said, I see no danger. That was the voice of one- 
 third part of the world in their sins. Tell them they are 
 sleeping on the brink of perdition, and they say. We see no 
 danger. Sloth said, yet a little more sleep. That was the 
 voice of another third part of the world. A little longer in- 
 dulgence in sin is pleaded for, a little more quiet, ease, and 
 indifference ; wait till we have a more convenient season ; a 
 little more folding of the hands to sleep ! Presumption said. 
 Every tub must stand on its own bottom. There outspoke 
 at least another third part of the world in their sins. Take 
 care of your interests, and I will take care of mine. You 
 15 
 
218 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 need not trouble yourself about my salvation, I am not at all 
 concerned but that all will go well, and I am ready to take 
 my chance. All these classes of men Christians have to en- 
 counter in their efforts to awaken the sinner and bring him 
 to repentance ; so Christian was earnest and faithful, but all 
 his efforts were of no avail. These persons laid themselves 
 down to sleep again, and Christian went sorrowfully on his 
 way, being sad to think of the danger they were in, and their 
 insensibility to it, and their utter indifference as to the help 
 proffered them to get them out of it. 
 
 But now there met him persons of a different sort ; for 
 behold two men came tumbling 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. It looked very suspicious to see them 
 tumbling over the wall ; so Christian asked at once where 
 they came from, and whither they were going. Their 
 answer was very curious. We were born in the land of 
 Vainglory, and are going for praise to Mount Zion. Chris- 
 tian asked them why they did not come in at the gate, 
 for that they who came not in by the door, but did climb 
 up some other way, were thieves and robbers. They told 
 him, that in their country of Vainglory, that gate was consi- 
 dered too far round about, so that it was their custom to 
 make a short cut, and get over the wall. How you will re- 
 mark that Bunyan had met these characters himself, ana 
 was well acquainted with them. He is here painting from 
 real life ; indeed in every part of the Pilgrim’s Progress he 
 had but to look back through the perspective of the way 
 he had himself been travelling, and its characters started 
 into life, thronging the path with such number and vivid- 
 ness, that the difficulty was not to find portraits, but to make 
 choice of his materials. He had also only to look into his 
 own soul, with the wonderful clearness and accuracy with 
 which he remembered every part of his experience, and there 
 lie found within his own past self, before he became a Chris- 
 tian, the portraiture of many a character introduced in his 
 pages ; the portraitures of just such characters as he would 
 himself have become, had he stopped where they did ; had 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 219 
 
 he stopped at the points where he sketched and painted these 
 developments of classes. 
 
 This is, in truth, an illustration of the meaning of that 
 passage, Evil men understand not judgment, but they that 
 seek the Lord understand all things.” And also of that in 
 1 Cor. ii. 15. We see plainly that, as a clear-sighted Chris- 
 tian looks back upon his own experience, he sees himself in 
 many aspects, and through the prism of his own nature he 
 sees a thousand others ; he sees, through and through, the 
 motives, thoughts, feelings, veils, and hiding-places of every 
 possible variety of the children of this world, because he has 
 been one of them. He sees some stopping with their cha- 
 racters in perfection at one stage of his own experience, and 
 some at other stages ; some more advanced towards the point 
 where he himself really set out to be a Christian, and some 
 less ; but many he sees, through the perfect knowledge he 
 has of his own past refuges of lies, evidently trusting in the 
 same refuges ; refuges where he himself would have stopped 
 and died as a pretended Christian, had not God had mercy 
 on him. 
 
 On the other hand, a man of the world, a wicked man, an un- 
 converted man, cannot see beyond the line of his own expe- 
 rience ; the things of the Christian are hidden from him, for 
 he has never gone into them ; it ig a world unknown, a world 
 hidden by a veil that he has never lifted, a region of blessed- 
 ness, kno wedge, and glory, where his feet have never wandered ; 
 a region of sv/eet fields, and living streams, and vast prospects, 
 of which he knows nothing, and can conceive nothing. It 
 is all like the unseen future to him. But the Christian, you 
 will perceive, is looking back ; experience illumines the 
 path that has been passed over, and the Christian sees that 
 path clearly, and that path embraces all the world in it, just 
 so far as it is the broad way, in which all characters in the 
 world are travelling. So he which is spiritual judgeth all 
 things, but he him.self is judged of no man. So, in looking 
 back, as Bunyan did, he says. Do you see such and such an 
 one, travelling at such a pace, with such professions and 
 conversations ] A few years ago, I was just such a person ; 
 I know him perfectly. Do you see that thief going to 
 
220 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 prison, that murderer going to execution ? Now but for the 
 grace of God I was travelling the same way. But for the 
 grace of God there goes John Bradford. So Bunyan said of 
 himself, in describing these two fellows. Formalist and Hy- 
 pocrisy, But for the grace of God there gofes John Bunyan. 
 Nay, in describing these characters, Bunyan was just cutting 
 out two of the pictures of his own unconverted state, to in- 
 sert them into this heavenly Mosaic of his Pilgrim’s Pro- 
 gress. 
 
 For, in point of fact, he had been himself both Formalist 
 and Hypocrisy ; he had acted both these parts in his uncon- 
 verted state ; and, if he had stopped there, he had lived and 
 died a formalist and a hypocrite. I do not mean that Bun- 
 yan ever had in his character the elements of such meanness, 
 as would take to itself deliberately the cloak of religion to 
 cover, conceal, and practise its wickedness ; that is the 
 extreme of hypocrisy, and marks the most abandoned of 
 all villains. But formalism itself is hypocrisy, and where 
 a man does only deceive himself, by the concealment from 
 himself of his own true character as a sinner, and by trust- 
 ing in some other refuge than Christ, that man is a hypo- 
 crite, for he pretends to he a great deal better than he is ; 
 nay, he pretends to have goodness enough for his salvation, 
 without coming in by the door, when God knows it is all 
 rottenness and a lie. 
 
 Now you will remember there was a time when Bunyan 
 was a thorough-going Churchman, without one particle of 
 religion in his soul. He would go to Church in the morn- 
 ing, and worship the minister’s robes, and the altar, and in 
 the afternoon he would make the air ring with his merri- 
 ment at the game of Cat. At this time, you will remember, 
 he neither cared nor knew whether there were any Saviour 
 or not ; the complete sum of his religion was Form ; nor did 
 he even attempt to go any farther. So, certainly, here was 
 the Formalist in perfection. At another time, he was going 
 to heaven by an external reformation, and thought he pleased 
 God as well as any man in England. But he declared that 
 every thing he either did or said, was done solely out of 
 regard to human applausti j for he was filled with delight to 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 22] 
 
 hear his neighbours speak so well of him. Here again, cer- 
 tainly, was the hypocrite in perfection. So that that answer, 
 which Formalist and Hypocrite made to Christian, Bunyan 
 wrote down out of his old, unconverted, vainglorious heart : 
 We come from the land of Vainglory, and are going for 
 praise to Mount Zion. 
 
 The right way by the gate, the way by Christ and his 
 righteousness, was deemed too far. But, said Christian, will 
 it not be counted a trespass against the Lord of the City 
 whither we are bound, thus to violate his revealed will ? 
 Christian is always for Scripture. But they told him that 
 they had plenty of examples for the way they came in, and 
 testimony for more than a thousand years ; yea, the anti- 
 quity of the custom was such that every impartial judge 
 would admit it as a thing legal. The fathers would doubt- 
 less be brought to justify it, and all antiquity was in its 
 favour ; and when such multitudes had been justified by 
 works for more than a thousand years, they would have 
 been fools indeed, seeing that in the land of Vainglory there 
 was plenty of that commodity, works done to be seen of 
 men, if they should trouble themselves about faith and the 
 gate. Besides, if we are in, we are in, said they. Thou art 
 only in, who didst come by the gate ; and we are also in. 
 who came over the wall ; so there is no difference. 
 
 Now here is depicted to the life that pretended liberality 
 which you so often hear in men’s conversation. All persua- 
 sions, it says, are right, and we are all travelling one way ; 
 they that reject eternal punishment, and they that believe 
 in it ; they that deny the atonement, and they that receive 
 it ; they will all get to heaven at last. Ah, but, said Chris- 
 tian, there is a Rule, and I walk by it, the Rule of my 
 Master ; but you walk by the rude working of your own 
 fancies. You are thieves and robbers, by the Lord’s own 
 description ; and as you come in by yourselves, without the 
 Lord’s direction, you will also go out by yourselves, with- 
 out the Lord’s mercy. 
 
 This was a plainness, honest^q and simplicity, character- 
 istic of Christian. But the men told him to take care of 
 himself, and they would take care of themselves ; and an 
 
222 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 to laws and ordinances, they should keep them as conscien- 
 tiously as he ; and as to all his pretence of inward experience, 
 the new birth, repentance, and faith, and all that, it might 
 do for such a ragged creature as he had been. All the neigh- 
 bours knew that he had been a worthless wretch, and it was 
 well indeed that he had got such a coat to cover his naked- 
 ness ; hut they had always gone well dressed, and having 
 never been so had as he was, needed not so great a change ; 
 their laws and ordinances would save them. So Christian 
 told them that this inward experience, this regeneration by 
 the Holy Spirit, this faith in Christ alone as an atoning 
 Saviour, and this evidence of that Saviour’s mercy in a re- 
 newed heart and life, were as absolutely necessary for them 
 as for him, and that if they had come in at the gate, they 
 would certainly have had these things also ; and that when 
 they came to the Celestial Gate, they would be shut out with- 
 out them. He told them, moreover, that the Lord of the place 
 had given him that coat which was on his back, and not any 
 of his neighbours ; and that he did indeed give it to him to 
 hide his nakedness, for that before he had indeed been a poor, 
 miserable, ragged, guilty sinner ; hut now the Lord Jesus 
 had given him for his garment his own wisdom, righteous- 
 ness, sanctification, and redemption, and had thus sealed him 
 by his grace in such a manner, that he would know him well 
 when he came to give in his roll at the Celestial Gate. For 
 all this, the men cared nothing at all, but looked at each 
 other and laughed ; it was so ridiculous to them to hear Chris- 
 tian talking of a new birth, and of grace and faith, and the 
 love of the Saviour. All that cant may do very well for a 
 conventicle, said they, but we abide by respectable antiquity 
 and the forms of our church. So they all went on, and 
 Christian communed with himself, seeing that they both 
 lauglied at him, and could not understand him. They thought 
 he was a harmless mystic, probably weak in his mind, and 
 very illiterate. So he went sometimes sighingly and some- 
 times comfortably, but much refreshed by reading in his 
 roll. 
 
 Together therefore they went on, till they came at the foot 
 of the Hill Difficulty ; and this is about as far as Formalist 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 223 
 
 and Hypocrisy will ever go in religion. You will always 
 find them stopping at the foot of Hill Difficulty. Formalism 
 and Hypocrisy may always he a ridiculing and persecuting 
 religion, but never a suffering one. At the bottom of this 
 hill there were two other paths beside the strait one, turning 
 off one to the left, the other to the right ; and there always 
 will be such paths where there are difficulties ; there always 
 will be ways, by which persons so disposed may avoid diffi- 
 culties, and indulge themselves ; but when people turn aside 
 to go in them, it were well to note distinctly that they are 
 not the strait and narrow way, and do not lead to heaven. 
 Over this Hill Difficulty must Christian go. But Formalist 
 and Hypocrisy, seeing how high and steep it was, concluded 
 between themselves that these two convenient paths, winding 
 off so opportunely and invitingly at the bottom, must of 
 course meet again in the strait and narrow way on the other 
 side of the hill, and so determined to try them. 
 
 Mark you they did not intend to quit the strait way en- 
 tirely, into which they came at first by tumbling over the 
 wall, but to come into it again, after avoiding the Hill 
 Difficulty. And so a great many persons intend to conform 
 to the world, or to indulge in sinful things only in certain 
 points, only for the present distress, and then come up again, 
 just as a boat may strike her sails in being under a bridge, 
 and then raise them again. And a great many persons in- 
 tend to come at heaven without its costing them any thing. 
 I will not undertake to say that if Formalist and Hypocrisy 
 had known that these by-paths would never come again into 
 the right way, they would not have gone over the hill ; 
 perhaps they might, and not have turned aside till they came 
 to a more fearful evil. But Christian saw them no more. 
 The names of these paths were Danger and Destruction, and 
 they each took one, and wandered on till they came to dreary 
 woods and dark mountains, where they stumbled and fell, 
 and rose no more. And herein was fulfilled that in the one 
 hundred and twenty-fifth Psalm, As for such as turn aside 
 into crooked ways, the Lord shall lead them forth with the 
 workers of iniquity.” 
 
 There was a cool delicious spring at the bottom of this 
 
224 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 Hill Difficulty, as there generally is where the Lord’s people 
 have peculiar hardships to encounter, according to the pro- 
 mise, As thy day is, so shall thy strength he.” There are 
 angels for Hagar in the wilderness, quails for Elijah pursued 
 by his enemies, springs of water in the desert, where, when 
 God pleases, the rain shall fill the pools to give drink to his 
 beloved ones. Unto whatever conflict or labour God calls his 
 people, he always gives the necessary preparation thereunto. 
 So Christian went and drank of this precious spring at the 
 bottom of the Hill Difficulty. From the eyes of Formality 
 and Hypocrisy it seems to have been kept sealed, or, as it 
 was pure cold water for a thirsty soul, they, having no spi- 
 ritual thirst, cared not for it ; but Christian drank thereof, 
 and was sweetly refreshed ; for God hath said, “ He that 
 hath mercy on them shall lead them, even by the springs of 
 water shall he guide them.” So with this draught of the 
 water of life, Christian, animated and invigorated, addressed 
 himself to the hill. 
 
 At first he ran, then he had to content himself with walk- 
 ing, and that very wearily and slowly ; but at length it be- 
 came so steep, that he was fain to clamber up on his hands 
 and knees. Sometimes it is with the greatest labour and 
 trial, that in our Christian course we make any progress 
 whatever. We have to clamber from duty to duty, from 
 prayer to prayer, from chapter to chapter in God’s word. 
 It is like an invalid climbing the pyramids, and with all the 
 assistance we can get, it is slow work. Every thing within 
 and without seems to be against us. We wait upon the Lord, 
 but the heart is still heavy, the air seems heavy, and we do 
 not mount up on wings as eagles, and though we walk we 
 are weary, and we faint if we run. Many a Christian is 
 climbing the Hill Difficulty when you cannot see his 
 troubles. 
 
 But the Lord does not forget to be gracious. About mid- 
 way of the Hill there was a pleasant arbour, for the refresh- 
 ment of weary travellers, where Christian with thankfulness 
 sat down to rest him. And now he began to look over his 
 evidences, and to regard with great comfort and delight the 
 garment that the Shining Ones had given him, so that he 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 225 
 
 almost forgot that he was to go any farther, or that there was 
 any more work for him to do. He forgot the exhortation to 
 grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, 
 and to press forward towards the mark for the prize of the 
 high calling of God in Christ Jesus; and he was so well 
 satisfied with himself, his roll, his robe, his acceptance with 
 God, that while he was resting, the spirit of slumber came 
 over him, and what at first he intended should only be a 
 moment’s nap, like a man asleep during sermon time in 
 church, became a thorough deep sleep, whieh endured even 
 till the twilight ; and in this sleep, Christian’s roll fell out 
 of his hand. Ah, if the great adversary had been there, ill 
 would it have fared then with poor Christian. He is fast 
 asleep, and his roll has fallen, and the night is coming, and 
 he is only half-way up the hill, and still he sleeps on. He 
 that sleeps is a loser, says Bunyan in the margin ; that arbour 
 was never designed to sleep in, but to rest in. But there is 
 One who watches over him, who will not leave him, who 
 helpeth our infirmities. This gracious Being whispered in 
 his ear, Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider her ways 
 and be wise ! ” Ay, that was a timely awakening and warn- 
 ing — so great is the Holy Spirit’s faithfulness and mercy 
 even when we lose ourselves in slumber. 
 
 Christian could now say, in that very striking verse of 
 Watts, which those who have such a passion for altering 
 our familiar h^unns to make them correspond to their self- 
 constituted musical judgment, have dephlogisticated in the 
 hymn-book : 
 
 The little ants, for one poor grain, 
 
 Labour, and tug, and strive ; 
 
 But we, who have a heaven to obtain. 
 
 How negligent we live ! 
 
 Awakened thus by the Spirit of God, Christian started up, 
 and ran as fast as he could, not yet knowing that he had 
 lost his roll, till he came to the top of the hill. We some- 
 times fall into a state through our own heedlessness, in which 
 assurance is gone, and the way is prepared for great gloom 
 and anguish, if circumstances of trial come on. And yet we 
 may run well, even without our roll, so long as there is no- 
 thing special to alarm us. Poor Christian had to endure a 
 
226 
 
 LECTUllE EIGHTH. 
 
 great deal of sorrow by that indulgence in sleep. As he was 
 running on, Timorous and Mistrust met him, running full of 
 terror the other way. What is the matter, said Christian, 
 you run the wrong way ? Why, said Timorous and Mis- 
 trust, the farther we go, the more danger we meet ; we had 
 but just conquered the Hill Difficulty, when just before us 
 we discovered two lions in the way ; so we turned, and are 
 hurrying back as fast as possible. With that they ran down 
 the hill. 
 
 How w^as Christian himself greatly afraid, for there is no- 
 thing so takes away the courage as the consciousness of 
 guilt ; and Christian, on feeling for his roll, that he might 
 have that to comfort and sustain him amidst these dangers, 
 found that he had lost it. And now what should he do ? 
 What had become of it ? Examining himself on this point, 
 he remembered that he had slept in the arbour, and then at 
 once falling on his knees, he asked of God forgiveness for that 
 foolish sleep, and then with great heaviness and sorrow of 
 heart went back to look for his roll. Thus, when the Holy 
 Spirit brings to mind the sins of the Christian, as he is asking 
 himself why he has so little heavenly evidence, there is no 
 way for him to do but to seek forgiveness, confessing his 
 guilt. But it is a fearful thing, when the night comes on, 
 when danger and perhaps death are drawing near, and you 
 need all the comfort, consolation, and support that you can 
 possibly derive from a good hope in Christ, to find that that 
 liope is gone from the soul, to find darkness where there 
 ought to be light. 
 
 It is not to be doubted that Bunyan was writing this ex- 
 perience of Christian out of his own heart ; it is almost the 
 counterpart of his own inward trials about the time of his com- 
 mitment to prison, when you will remember there was great 
 gloom upon his soul, and the things of God were hidden 
 from him, and neither sun nor stars appeared for many days. 
 Then there were dreadful lions in the way, nor could he see 
 that they w^ere chained ; then he felt afraid to die, because 
 lie had no spiritual comfort. Bunyan resolved to die for 
 Christ, whether comfort came or not, whether he found his 
 roll or did not find it. But Christian could not go on with- 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 227 
 
 out his roll. Oh how did he chide himself for being so 
 foolish as to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only 
 for a little refreshment of his weariness ! When he came to 
 the arbour, the very sight of it renewed his sorrow and shame 
 for that foolish sleep in the day-time and in the midst of 
 difficulty ; that he should have used that arbour of rest for 
 ease to the flesh, which the Lord of the hill had erected only 
 for the relief of the spirits of the Pilgrims. Alas, cried he, 
 that I should have to tread those steps with sorrow, and 
 thrice over, which I might have trodden hut once, and with 
 delight ! This is Avhat Christians are often doing, and this 
 evil is certainly a great one, of using for indulgence and ease 
 to the flesh what God has given us to minister to the ad- 
 vancement of our spirits. We are not anxious enough to he 
 making progress towards heaven ; we are too fond of com- 
 fort, and too averse from labour. 
 
 Oh, said Christian, that I had not slept ! Oh that God 
 (\'Ould have mercy on me ! And now the fifty -first Psalm 
 tame into his mind, and he cried out with David, Cast me not 
 away from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from 
 me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation, and uphold 
 me with thy free Spirit ; then will I teach transgressors thy 
 ways, and sinners shall be converted unto thee.” But oh, 
 thought Christian, without my roll I can never h^ve the 
 heart to speak to another person as long as I live. What 
 shall I do ? what shall I do ] He knew now that it was 
 an evil and hitter thing to depart from the living God ; yea, 
 this experience was as dreadful to him as that under Mount 
 Sinai. Yea, says Doddridge, in his Rise and Progress of 
 Religion in the Soul, the anguish of broken bones is not to 
 be compared with the wretchedness of a soul that has de- 
 parted from God, when it comes to be filled with its own 
 way. Oh that God would have mercy upon me ! said Chris- 
 tian. “ Make me to hear joy and gladness, that the bones 
 which thou hast broken may rejoice. Hide thy face from 
 my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a 
 clean heart, 0 God, and renew a right spirit wdthin me.” 
 
 Oh that I knew where I might find him ! said Christian, 
 
 “ Behold I go forward, but he is not there ; and backward. 
 
228 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 but I cannot perceive him.” This must always be the case, 
 when the child of God departs from God ; and if it be not so, 
 then there is great reason to believe that the person so wan- 
 dering, and yet not troubled on account of it, is not a child 
 of God. If Christian had said within himself, when he 
 found his roll was missing. Well, it is not essential, or I 
 shall find it again by and by ; and so had gone on, indifferent 
 and easy, it had been enough to shew that either he was not 
 Christian, or that much sorer evil awaited him, and sharper 
 discipline to bring him to repentance. But he could not go 
 on in this manner, his conscience was too tender, and his 
 sense of divine things too vivid ; and so the sorrows of death 
 compassed him, and the pains of hell gat hold upon him ; 
 he found trouble and sorrow ; and back did he go, weeping 
 and looking for his roll, and crying, 0 Lord, I beseech thee, 
 deliver my soul. 
 
 Now God sees all this in his children, and permits them to 
 endure this distress that they may gain a lesson from it, 
 which will last them as long as they live. But he knows 
 what he does unto them, and just what they need. “ When 
 my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest 
 my way.” And just so, when Christian had wellnigh 
 given up in despair, and was setting himself down to weep, 
 disconsolate and broken-hearted, as kind Providence would 
 have it, looking through his tears beneath the settle, there 
 he espied the roll, and with what trembling, eager haste did 
 he catch it up and secure it again in his bosom ! Oh, who 
 can tell how joyful he was when he had gotten his roll 
 again ! And now returning thanks to God for directing his 
 eye to the place where it lay (and ever should the Christian 
 who has been wandering from God, and so has gotten into 
 darkness, be thankful for the least ray of returning light ; 
 and ever will he, for no deliverance is so grateful to the soul 
 as that), Christian did with joy and tears betake himself 
 again to his journey. But he had lost a great deal of time, 
 and it was now growing dark, and now he began again to 
 think of what Mistrust and Timorous had told him about 
 the lions, a thing which his misery in the loss of his roll 
 had driven at first from his mind, just as great griefs medi- 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 229 
 
 cine the less. Now, said Christian to himself, these beasts 
 range abroad in the night for their prey, and if I should meet 
 them in the dark, how should I escape being torn in pieces i 
 
 So he went on, troubling himself greatly with these 
 thoughts, when suddenly there rose before him like a dream 
 a very stately palace, close by the highway side, which 
 being within the walls of salvation, and directly where he 
 must pass by, he knew to belong to the Lord of the way, 
 and therefore to the Pilgrims ; or at any rate, that the Pil- 
 grims would there be welcome. Now, if he might get to 
 that palace, and be lodged there, he would care little for the 
 lions. But as he went forward towards the narrow passage 
 which led up to the gate, being very closely on the watch 
 to see the lions of Mistrust and Timorous’ description, there 
 they were, sure enough, grim and terrible. And now he 
 thouglit of going back, but the porter cried out to him, re- 
 proving him for his want of strength and faith, and telling 
 him that the lions were chained, and were suffered to be 
 there to try the faith of Pilgrims, if they had it, and to dis- 
 cover if they had none. With this was Christian greatly 
 encouraged ; but with all this he went trembling and afraid, 
 and keeping to tlie middle of the path ; and though he heard 
 the lions roar on him, yet they did him no harm ; and when 
 he got past them he clapped his hands, and made haste up 
 to the porter at the entrance to the Palace Beautiful. May 
 I lodge here to night ? said he. So he was told that the 
 Lord of the Hill himself had built this house for the relief 
 and security of pilgrims. The porter asked Christian seve- 
 ral questions, as who he was, and where from, and what 
 was his name, and whither he was going, and why he came 
 so late ; all which interrogatories Christian ingenuously an- 
 swered, especially the last, confessing his sinful, sorrowful 
 sleep. 
 
 There are some important lessons to be learned from this 
 Hill Difficulty ; as, first, the folly of thinking to gain hea- 
 ven without trouble and self-denial. In nothing else in this 
 world do men ever act on this principle. If there be any 
 great thing to be gained in this life, all men are sure that 
 it is going to cost great effort, and they are ready to make 
 
230 
 
 LECTURE EIGHTH. 
 
 such effort ; nor is it a light thing that will turn them aside, 
 They will go up a Hill Difficulty, without drinking at any 
 spring but that of their sanguine expectation, and without 
 deigning to rest in any arbour by the way, much more without 
 losing time by sleeping in it. And if there be lions in the 
 way, they will go at them at once ; yea, if a loaded cannon 
 stood in their path, and a bag of gold beyond it, or the cup 
 of sinful pleasure, they would go on. If there be mountains 
 which they cannot overtop, they will dig through them ; 
 and they will suffer days of weariness and nights of pain ; 
 they will make long pilgrimages, will expatriate themselves 
 for years, and suffer banishment from families, friends, fire- 
 sides, into strange lands, will cross oceans, and encounter 
 perils of every name and shape, to accomplish and realize 
 the object of their earthly ambition. And after all, what is 
 it ? A dream, a straw, a bauble, a hake of foam on the 
 surface of a river. They pluck it, it is gone, and they are 
 gone with it. While they snatch at it they pass into eter- 
 nity, and death finishes their plans for ever. 
 
 But even the poor things they seek for in this life, they 
 do not expect to gain without labour. And shall we expect 
 to gain heaven without labour ] Is not heaven worth la- 
 bouring after ? And is it not the part of wisdom so to run, 
 not as uncertainly ; so to fight, not as one that beateth the 
 air ? How, we ought soberly to say, I expect difficulties, 
 and I mean, by God’s grace, not to be discouraged when I 
 meet with them. They are, in truth, the very means which 
 God must use for my discipline. It is only by meeting and 
 overcoming them that I can be fitted for heaven. And as 
 to the dangers in the way, the best way of safety from them 
 is to come up boldly to them. If we stand afar off and 
 tremble, they seem much greater than they are. If we 
 march straight on, confiding in Christ, we always find that 
 the lions are chained, and can only roar at us and do no 
 harm. At all events, it is better to go forward than back- 
 ward. Be not like Mistrust and Timorous. It is more 
 dangerous to run down the Hill Difficulty than to clamber 
 up. And he that puttetli liis hand to the plough and look- 
 eth back, is not fit for tlie l;ingdom of heaven. 
 
CHRISTIAN ON THE HILL DIFFICULTY. 
 
 23i 
 
 We see here, likewise, the repetition of that lesson that 
 nothing is so hard to hear as a wounded conscience, a mind 
 not at peace with Grod. There is nothing so hard for the 
 Christian to bear as that. And when the light of God’s 
 countenance is hidden from him by reason of sin, be you 
 sure that there is not a creature in the world so miserable 
 as he. But if sin and conscience can make him so miser- 
 able, who has only fallen for a season into its power, as 
 Christian did in the arbour, and who has a Saviour to go to, 
 and will go to him, and stay at the foot of the cross even 
 amidst the darkness, what work must it make in that man’s 
 soul who never asked forgiveness, never went to Christ — 
 what work will it make when sin and conscience, long 
 hidden, concealed, sleeping, are developed, roused up, and 
 busy in the soul ? Oh ! if the fire that is thus kindled 
 begins to be noticed first not until the soul enters on tlie 
 eternal world, then it will never go out ! So beware ho^^ 
 you have conscience for an enemy. 
 
 O Conscience ! who can stand before tliy power ? 
 
 Endure thy gripes and agonies one hour ? 
 
 Stone, gout, strappado, racks, whatever is 
 Dreadful to sense, are only toys to this. 
 
 No pleasures, riches, honours, friends, can tell 
 How to give ease in this ’tis like to hell. 
 
 Call for the pleasant timbrel, lute, and harp ; 
 
 Alas ! the music howls ! The pain ’s too sharp 
 For these to charm, divert, or lull asleep : 
 
 These cannot reach it ; as the wound ’s too deep. 
 
 Let all the promises before it stand. 
 
 And set a Barnabas at its right hand ; 
 
 These in themselves no comfort can afford ; 
 
 ’Tis Christ, and none but Christ, can speak the word. 
 
 There goes a power with his majestic voice. 
 
 To hush the raging storm, and charm its noise. 
 
 Who but would fear, and love, and do his will. 
 
 Who bids such tempests of the soul be still ? 
 
 Flavel. 
 
LEG TORE NINTH. 
 
 Cfin'jfttatt’iS toitji a^alT'ijon 
 
 IN THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION, 
 
 Conversation with Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity.— Blessedness ol 
 Christian Communion. — Too much sometimes anticipated. — Danger of 
 making Church-Membership salvation.— Preparation for the Christian 
 Conflict.— Apollyon’s Assault upon Christian.— The fiery darts of the Wick- 
 ed One. — Entering into temptation. — Christian’s passage through this valley 
 compared with the experience of Christiana, Mercy, and the children. — 
 Pleasantness and grace of the Valley of Humiliation to a contented and 
 submissive mind. 
 
 We left Christian, delivered from his dangers, and relieved 
 from his distresses for a season, at the gate of the House 
 Beautiful. But you will observe that the porter does not 
 admit him at once, nor without inquiry. According to the 
 rules of the house. Watchful, the porter, rings the hell, and 
 commends Christian to the interrogatories of a grave and 
 beautiful damsel, called Discretion. A number of questions 
 were put to him, and sincerely answered ; and so much 
 affectionate kindness and sympathy were manifested on the 
 part of Discretion, that Christian had nothing to fear as to 
 his reception. Then Discretion called for Prudence, Piety, 
 and Charity, and after this conversation, they welcomed 
 him into the household of Faith. There, during his delight- 
 ful abode with its happy inmates, he was entertained, as the 
 Lord of the way had provided that all pilgrims should be 
 
Christian’s fight with afollyon. 233 
 
 in his house, with the most cordial hospitality and love. 
 He was instructed with much godly conversation, and with 
 many edifying sights ; and he was clad in a complete suit 
 of armour, to prepare him against the dangers of the future 
 way. On his part, he entertained the household as much 
 as they did him, by the account he gave of his own expe- 
 rience thus far. Piety made him tell all that had happened 
 in his pilgrimage, from his first setting out to his arrival at 
 the House Beautiful. Prudence asked him about his feel- 
 ings now in reference to the land of his nativity, and the 
 habits he used to be in at the City of Destruction. 
 
 And here Bunyan has left us in no doubt as to his own 
 views in the exposition of the controverted passage in the 
 seventh of Romans. lie shews clearly that he regards the 
 experience there recorded as a description of the conflict be- 
 tween good and evil still going forward in the Christian’s 
 soul. Do you not,” asked Piety, still bear with you 
 some of those things that you w^ere conversant withal in 
 the City of Destruction ?” Might I but choose mine own 
 things,” answered Christian, I would choose never to think 
 of those things more ; but when I Avould do good, evil is 
 present wdth me.” Bunyan was too deeply experienced in 
 the evils of the human heart, too severely had been disci- 
 plined with the fiery darts of the Wicked one, to suffer his 
 Christian to make any pretence whatever to perfection. Too 
 sadly did Christian find within himself the struggle between 
 nature and grace, to suffer him to fall into any such dream 
 or delusion. He made no pretence to have conquered all 
 sin, or got superior to it ; but his trust was in Christ, and 
 his supreme desire was after holiness. But do you not 
 find sometimes,” said Prudence, “ as if those things were 
 vanquished, which at other times are your perplexity ?” 
 Yes,” said Christian, but that is but seldom ; but they 
 are to me golden hours, in which such things happen to 
 me.” Prudence then asked him how it was, by what means 
 he ever succeeded in vanquishing his enemies, and getting 
 free from the disturbers of his peace ? 
 
 Christian’s answer is very beautiful. “ When I think 
 wliat I saw at the cross, that will do it ; and when I look 
 16 
 
234 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 upon my broidered coat, that will do it ; and when I look at 
 my roll that I carry in my bosom, that will do it ; and 
 when my thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, 
 that will do it.” Ah, yes ! it is the cross by which we con- 
 quer sin ; it is the remembrance of Him who hung upon it. 
 And he that hath this hope in him, purifieth himself as he 
 is pure. And having these evidences and these promises, 
 faith gets the better of inward corruptions, and overcomes 
 also the world. Nor, lastly, is there anything more power- 
 ful to give us the victory over sin than a clear view of hea- 
 venly realities, warm thoughts about the heaven to which 
 we are going, visions of Mount Zion above, and the innu- 
 merable company of angels, and Jesus the Mediator, the 
 assurance that we shall be like him, for we shall see him 
 as he is. There is no death there, nor sin, nor weariness, 
 nor disorder ; and the Christian is weary of his inward sick- 
 ness, and would fain be where he shall sin no more, and 
 with the company that shall continually cry. Holy, Holy, 
 Holy ! 
 
 After this. Charity in like manner conversed with Chris- 
 tian, and all the while they were at table their talk was 
 only of the Lord of the hill, and all his grace and glory, 
 and what he had done and suffered for them, and all his 
 amazing endless love to poor pilgrims, and his tender care 
 in building that house for them ; and so they discoursed 
 even till late at night, for how could they ever be wearied 
 with such a theme ! And how did Christian’s heart burn 
 within him as they spake of his Saviour’s love, and suffer- 
 ing, and glory ! It may remind us of the poet Cowper’s 
 exquisitely beautiful description of the conversation in the 
 walk to Emmaus : — 
 
 Ah ! theirs was converse such as it behooves 
 Man to maintain, and such as God approves, 
 
 Christ and his character their only scope, 
 
 Their subject and their object, and their hope. 
 
 The recollection, like a vein of ore. 
 
 The farther traced, enriched them still the more. 
 
 O days of heaven, and nights of equal praise 
 Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days 
 When souls drawn upwards in communion su eet, 
 
 Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat. 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 
 
 235 
 
 Discourse, as if released and safe at home. 
 
 Of dangers past, and wonders }^et to come. 
 
 And spread the sacred treasures of tlie breast 
 Upon the lap of covenanted rest ! 
 
 This was a heavenly evening for Christian, a season of 
 blessedness long to he remembered, and to walk in the 
 strength of it. They closed their hours of sacred converse 
 with the sweetness of family prayer, and then betook them- 
 selves to rest ; the Pilgrim they laid in a large upper cham- 
 ber, whose window opened towards the sunrising ; the name 
 of the chamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, 
 and then he awoke and sang. 
 
 Now, after all this, can any be at a loss to understand the 
 meaning of the House Beautiful, or that era in the life of 
 the Pilgrim at which Christian had arrived ] We think 
 every one will see drawn in these symbols, with great 
 beauty and delightfulness of colouring, the institution and 
 ordinances of the visible church of Christ on earth ; the 
 fellowship and divinely blest communion, the mutual in- 
 struction and edification, the happiness, hopes, promises, 
 foretastes, enjoyments, growth in grace, and preparation for 
 usefulness, peculiar to this sacred heavenly kingdom, be- 
 longing to the body of Christ, and growing out of a right 
 use of its precious privileges. 
 
 *Tis a sweet tie that binds 
 Our hearts in Christian love, 
 
 The fellowship of kindred minds 
 Is like to that above. 
 
 This was indeed to Christian something like the Mount 
 of Transfiguration ; it was good to be there. It was like 
 the day after those six days when Jesus took Peter, and 
 James, and John, and went up into a mountain alone, and 
 was transfigured before them. Bunyan himself had found 
 such a season, about the time when he united with the 
 church of Christ in Bedford, and this glory and refresh- 
 ing comfort continued with him many weeks ; and his own 
 feelings were like those of Peter : — “ And Peter answered 
 and said to Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here ; ana 
 let us make three tabernacles, one for thee, and one for 
 
236 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 Moses, and one for Elias. For lie wist not what to say, for 
 he was sore afraid. And there was a cloud overshadowed 
 them, and a voice came out of the cloud, saying, This is my 
 beloved Son, hear him.” Then I saw,” says Bunyan, 
 that Moses and Elias must both vanish, and leave Christ 
 and his saints alone.” Mount Zion also was set before Bun- 
 yan, and his heart wandered up and down as in a labyrinth 
 of glory, through the shining mazes of that passage, ‘‘Ye 
 are come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, to the 
 heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of 
 angels, to the general assembly and church of the first-horn, 
 which are written in heaven ; to God, the Judge of all, and 
 to the spirits of just men made perfect ; and to Jesus, the 
 Mediator of the New Testament, and to the blood of sprink- 
 ling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.” “ Through 
 this sentence,” says Bunyan, “ The Lord led me over and 
 over again ; first, to this word, and then to that ; and shewed 
 me wonderful glory in every one of them. These words also 
 have oft since that time been a great refreshment to my 
 spirit.” It was in the memory of such experience that 
 Bunyan composed his description of Christian’s entertain- 
 ment in the House Beautiful. 
 
 It is not, indeed, always the case that pilgrims find their 
 anticipations realized in entering that house. Sometimes, it 
 may be, because they expected miracles from it, because 
 they relied more upon it than upon Christ, because they ex- 
 pected from an ordinance what is only to be got from grace, 
 or because they came to it without that discipline of spirit 
 in prayer, and that previous lowly walk with God, and that 
 dwelling at the foot of the cross, which is requisite. But 
 you will observe that this house is put quite far on the way ; 
 it is obvious that Bunyan would not have his pilgrims enter 
 tlie House Beautiful so soon as they get within the Wicket 
 Gate ; between the Wicket Gate and the House Beautiful, 
 between the cross of Christ and the visible communion of 
 saints, there was much experience, much instruction, much 
 discipline, much difficulty, much grace. Infinitely less 
 would Bunyan have put the visible church, the House Beauti- 
 ful, before the Wicket Gate, making church-membership the 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 237 
 
 door of heaven, as some would do, to the destruction of mul- 
 titudes of souls. Baptismal regeneration, and salvation by 
 the Lord’s supper, are two of the most unscriptural, ungodly, 
 and pernicious figments, with which Satan ever succeeded in 
 lulling men to security in their sins. Bunyan was so cau- 
 tious of every thing like this, he had so much experience 
 in his own heart of the dangerous, damning nature of a re- 
 ligion of forms, and he knew so well the wiles of Satan in 
 chat way, and the tendency of men, however warned and 
 instructed, to rest in forms, that he almost went to the con- 
 trary extreme. He made one of his best pilgrims, as we 
 shall see, go past the House Beautiful without stopping at it. 
 You may be sure this was because in Bunyan’s time there 
 was such a hue and cry after the church, with its glory, and 
 exclusive privileges and forms, its baptism, prayer-book, 
 bench of bishops, and no salvation beyond. So he made his 
 Martyr-Pilgrim belong to no visible church at all ; nor could 
 he more quietly and powerfully have rebuked and resisted 
 the fatal error that to enter the House Beautiful is to save 
 the soul, nor the wicked intolerance that would restrict sal- 
 vation to membership and obedience in the Church of Eng- 
 land. 
 
 It is well to remark here that the House Beautiful stands 
 beside the road ; it does not cross it, so as to make the strait 
 and narrow way run through it, so as that there is no 
 possibility of continuing in that way without passing 
 tlirough it. This would have been to make a union with 
 the visible church necessary to salvation ; and the next 
 step after this, and a very natural consequence of it, is 
 that of making salvation an essential property of church - 
 membership, that of making every member of the church 
 a saved man ; and the next step, and quiH:e as natural, is 
 that of making a particular church the only church, the 
 church, to the exclusion of all others ; and the next step, 
 and also very natural, is the excommunication of all dissen- 
 ters, and the application of such penalties and persecutions 
 as may benevolently operate to keep men from wandering, 
 to the ruin of their souls, into conventicles ; such penalties 
 and persecutions as may, with loving force, and out of pure 
 
^38 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 regard to the salvation of souls, and pure compassion to those 
 who are wandering from their Holy Mother Church, com- 
 pel them to come in, that there may be one visible fold and 
 one Shepherd. 
 
 Now, had this been the case with the House Beautiful, 
 there would have been guards posted, and prisons erected, all 
 along the way, to arrest self-willed dissenters, and bring them 
 back into the house, saying to them. You are not permitted 
 to be on the way to heaven, unless you go through the House 
 Beautiful. There you must pay tithes, for it costs the ser- 
 vants of the Lord of the way a great deal to keep up this 
 Establishment, and you, under pretence of being a dissenter 
 and yet a Christian, are not to be suffered to pass without 
 paying toll at this Establishment. This would be the House 
 Shameful, and not the House Beautiful. It would be the 
 house of pride, ambition, arrogance, and persecution ; and 
 not the house of love. But, blessed be God, there is no such 
 house on the way of our pilgrimage. They arrested John 
 Bunyan and threw him into prison, because he chose not to 
 enter that house, but to worship with God’s people among 
 the Baptists. 
 
 The communion of saints was never more sweetly depicted, 
 than in Christian’s sojourning in the House Beautiful. But 
 he staid not there for pleasure ; that was not the end of his 
 journey, nor the object of it ; nor did he there, as in the 
 Arbour, use for an indulgence to the flesh what was meant 
 for the encouragement and refreshment of the spirit. He 
 was up by day-break singing and praying, and then they 
 had him into the study, to shew him the rarities of the 
 place ; and the next day into the armoury, to shew him all 
 manner of warlike furniture, which the Lord of the way had 
 provided for pilgrims, where also he was made to see ancient 
 things, which, if Bunyan could be here to interpret, he would 
 doubtless tell us were intended to symbolize that divine grace 
 by which the servants of the Lord have done so many won- 
 derful things, — ^^that grace which, though to the world and 
 the Goliahs in it, it looks as foolish as David’s sling and 
 pebble stones against a giant in full armour, is yet stronger 
 than death, and shall overcome every thing ; for the 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 239 
 
 foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of 
 God is stronger than men.” And the next day they shewed 
 him from the top of the house a far-off view of the Delec- 
 table Mountains, Immanuel’s land, woods, vineyards, fruits, 
 flowers, springs, and fountains, where from the mountain 
 summits they told him he should see the gate of the Celestial 
 City. Faith, said they to Christian, is the substance of 
 things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen ; and the 
 afflictions you meet with by the way will be but light things 
 to you, if you keep the glories of heaven in your mind’s 
 eye, and the thoughts of what you are to meet with there 
 w^arm in your heart. 
 
 I love, by faith, to take a view 
 Of brighter things in heaven ; 
 
 Such prospects oft my strength renew 
 When here by tempests driven. 
 
 This view Christian could enjoy with increasing clearness, 
 and found more and more the blessedness of it, the nearer ho 
 came to the Celestial City. For God, he could say, 
 
 For God has breathed upon a worm. 
 And given me from above. 
 
 Wings such as clothe an angel’s form. 
 The wings of joy and love. 
 
 With these to Pisgah’s top I fly, 
 
 And there delighted stand. 
 
 To view beneath a shining sky. 
 
 The spacious promised land. 
 
 The Lord of all the vast domain 
 Has promised it to me. 
 
 The length and breadth of all the plain, 
 As far as faith can see. 
 
 So when they had had much pleasant and profitable discourse 
 with him, as Christian was eager to go on, they would detain 
 him no longer, but had him again into the armoury, w'here 
 they clothed him from head to foot in the armour of right- 
 eousness on the right hand and on the left, sword, shield, 
 helmet, breast-plate, all prayer ^ and shoes that would not 
 wear out, according to faithful Paul’s directions : — “ Put 
 on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to 
 stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not 
 
240 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against 
 powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, 
 against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take 
 unto you the whole armour of Grod, that ye may be able to 
 withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. 
 Stand, therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, 
 and having on the breastplate of righteousness, and your 
 feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace ; above 
 all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to 
 quench the fiery darts of the Wicked One ; and take the 
 helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the 
 word of God ; praying always and watching with all prayer 
 and supplication in the Spirit.” 
 
 So, in accordance with these directions, they harnessed 
 Christian, and sent him away armed. But, indeed, he needed 
 all his armour, for the hour of danger was near. Great helps 
 from the Lord, great and sweet experiences of grace, are 
 ordinarily granted when God has some great trial for his 
 people to pass through ; so, when the Christian has been 
 enjoying much sacred communion with Christ, and had 
 much of the glory of God shining into his heart in the face 
 of Jesus, he should say to himself, Now must I be watchful ; 
 this is not merely for my comfort, but to prepare me for 
 what is to come, for labours and for conflicts ; and if I be 
 not wary, my very spiritual enjoyments will put me off my 
 guard and make me proud or self-indulgent. Now must I 
 keep in my hand the weapon of all prayer. So was Chris- 
 tian in need, for Apollyon was near. 
 
 And first, he had to go down into the Valley of Humilia- 
 tion, and this itself was hard and dangerous work, for the 
 House Beautiful stood on a mount, as it were, even above 
 the Hill Difficulty, and the humbling of the soul before God 
 is as hard a work as climbing that hill. So Discretion, Piety, 
 Prudence, and Charity, all must needs accompany Christian 
 down into that Valley ; he had need of them all, and of their 
 sweet discourses by the way ; and by their help, going warily, 
 he got down to the bottom of the hill. Here, therefore, kindly 
 giving him refreshments for the way, they bade him God 
 speed, and he went on. 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 
 
 241 
 
 On very many accounts, this going down into the Valley 
 of Humiliation is extremely difficult ; and few indeed there 
 be, who do not, like Christian, get some slips by the way. 
 Satan here also hath an advantage in representing that, in 
 going down so low, we are going out of the way of influence 
 and usefulness. He tells us that great designs for God can- 
 not he accomplished in the Valley, and he makes it appear 
 as if we were going into darkness, or out of the world. He 
 tells us that such a light as ours ought to he set on a very 
 tall candlestick ; and he sets that hold fellow Shame to work 
 upon us, as upon Faithful, and sometimes to go with us quite 
 through the Valley. And if he succeeds in creating an in- 
 ward discontent and repining in Christian, then, a little fur- 
 ther on, he is very likely to bestride the path as Apollyon, 
 brandishing his flaming darts. So, in going down into this 
 valley, a man must say within himself. What have I to do 
 with dictating ? It is God who knows what is best, and not 
 I. He knows what is best for me, and what is most for his 
 own glory. If I be submissive to him, he will make what 
 use of me he can ; and though I may miss my purpose, he 
 will be sure not to miss his ; and what more can I ask or 
 wish for ? My business now is submission. 
 
 But that thou art my wisdom, Lord, 
 
 And both mine eyes are thine, 
 
 My mind would be extremely stirred 
 For missing my design. 
 
 Were it not better to bestow 
 Some place and power on me ? 
 
 Then should thy praises with me grow. 
 
 And share in my degree. 
 
 But when I thus dispute and grieve, 
 
 I do resume my sight. 
 
 And pilfering what I once did give. 
 
 Disseize thee of thy right. 
 
 How know I, if thou shouldst me raise. 
 
 That I should then raise thee ? 
 
 Perhaps great plaees and thy praise 
 Do not so well agree. 
 
 Wherefore unto my gift I stand ; 
 
 I will no more advise : 
 
 Only do thou lend me a hand. 
 
 Since thou hast both mine eyes. 
 
 Georoe Herbert. 
 
242 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 This is all we need, — the Lord’s guidance ; then like little 
 children to follow him, whether it be up the Hill Difficulty, 
 or through the Valley of Humiliation. If it ]>e he who raises 
 us high, he also will keep us from falling ; if it be he who 
 lays us low, then we have no business to murmur, but simply 
 to say to ourselves, 
 
 How know I, if thou shouldst me raise, 
 
 That I should then raise thee? 
 
 How, good Christian, thou art no longer on the mount, 
 and here, in the depth of this Valley, thou art to meet thine 
 enemy, and try thine armour. Bunyan knew this from 
 experience ; and here, for the much better understanding of 
 this conflict of Christian with Apollyon, the reader of the 
 Pilgrim’s Progress ought to turn to the history of Bunyan’s 
 own temptations in the Grace Abounding ; for this passage, 
 and that which follows it, of the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, are written, as it were, out of Bunyan’s own heart, 
 and describe things which some Christians know not how to 
 understand, but by the experience of others. You will find, 
 from the perusal of Bunyan’s own sniritual life, that he has 
 here brought together, in the assault oi Apollyon upon Chris- 
 tian, many of the most grievous temptations with which his 
 own soul was beset, as also in Christian’s answers against 
 them, the very method of defence which he himself was 
 taught by divine grace in the midst of the conflict. It is 
 here condensed into a narrow and vivid scene, but it extended 
 over years of Bunyan’s life ; and the wisdom that is in it, 
 and the points of experience illustrated, were the fruit of 
 many months of painfulness, danger, and desperate struggle 
 with the adversary, which he had to go through. 
 
 This foul fiend, Apollyon, came across the field to meet 
 Christian, just after he had had sweet evidence of his salva- 
 tion from heaven, with many golden seals thereon, all hang- 
 ing in his sight. God,” says Bunyan, “ can tell how to 
 abase us, and to hide pride from man. For after the Lord 
 liad in this manner thus graciously delivered me, and had 
 set me down so sweetly in the faith of his holy gospel, and 
 had given me such strong consolation and blessed evidence 
 from heaven, touching my interest in his love through Christ, 
 
Christian’s fight with apollton. 243 
 
 the Tempter came upon me again, and that with a more 
 grievous and dreadful temptation than before.” Now then, 
 the question with Christian was, whether to go hack or to 
 stand his ground ; hut he considered, what it were well every 
 Christian should remember, especially in times of danger, 
 that though he was well armed in front, he had no armour 
 for his back. God has given us a shield and a breastplate, 
 and the command to stand ; but no provision for flight, no 
 defence in running, nor any safety even in looking back. 
 So thought Christian, if it were only to save my life, I had 
 better face my enemy ; for if I run he is sure to follow, and 
 so to pierce me. So forward he went, and Apollyon met him 
 with his dragon wings and a disdainful smile, and a rough 
 question where he came from, and whither he was going. 
 Christian told him plainly that he came from the City of 
 Destruction, which was the place of all evil, and that he 
 was going to Mount Zion above. Apollyon told him he was 
 a reprobate, and one of his subjects, and that he would cer- 
 tainly have him in his service. 
 
 Christian told him that his wages were such as a man 
 could not live on, for that the wages of sin is death, and 
 therefore he would not serve him. Apollyon told him that 
 lie would give him better wages, if he would go back and 
 serve him. “ Sometimes,” says Bunyan of his own meeting 
 with the Adversary, he would cast in such wicked thoughts 
 as these, that I must pray to him, or for him ; I have thought 
 sometimes of that. Fall down, or if thou wilt fall down and 
 worship me.” Christian told him that whereas he once 
 walked according to the god of this world, he now, by divine 
 grace, had become the servant of Christ, the Lord’s freeman. 
 Apollyon told him a great many had professed to do so, but 
 had turned back, and if he would, then it should go well with 
 him. Bunyan was, at one time, tempted to content himself 
 with false opinions, as that there should be no day of judg- 
 ment, that sin was no such grievous thing, and that present 
 ease was all he need seek after. But then the thoughts of 
 death and the judgment would come upon him. Christian 
 told Apollyon that he could not go back from Christ’s service 
 and be forgiven ; but that Christ would forgive all his sins 
 
244 
 
 LECTUEE NINTH, 
 
 in Satan’s service ; and in fine, said Christian, I am his ser- 
 vant, and I love him, and will follow him. Then did Apol- 
 Ijon plead the hard lot and grievous ends of Christians in 
 this life ; but Christian told him they had their glory in the 
 life to come. Then did Apollyon accuse Christian of all the 
 sins he had committed since setting out to be a Pilgrim ; and 
 this distressed Christian greatly, but still he had faith to say 
 that he had heartily repented of those sins, and that they 
 would certainly be forgiven by the Prince of glory. 
 
 Then did Apollyon, with dreadful rage and blasphemies, 
 set upon Christian, and launched a flaming dart at his breast ; 
 but Christian caught it on his shield. And now the fiery 
 darts of the Wicked One fell as thick as hail, and poor Chris- 
 tian, wounded in many places, grew weaker and weaker, and 
 
 as almost spent, his Enemy still pressing upon him, but 
 still kept at bay by the Sword of the Spirit in Christian’s 
 hand. Among the flaming darts which Apollyon cast in, 
 were whole floods of blasphemies against God, Christ, and 
 the Holy Scriptures ; and many accursed suggestions, with 
 such a fast seizure upon Christian’s spirit, and so over weigh- 
 ing his heart with their number, continuance, and fiery force, 
 that he felt as if there were nothing else but these from hour 
 to hour within him, and as though there could be no room 
 for any thing else ; and they made him conclude that God 
 had, in very wrath to his soul, given him up to them, to be 
 carried away with them, as with a mighty whirlwind. The 
 only thing that prevented utter desperation was, that Chris- 
 tian could still perceive, by the hatefulness of these sugges- 
 tions to his soul, that there was something in him that re- 
 fused to embrace them. But this consideration he then only 
 had, when Apollyon relaxed a little, for otherwise the noise, 
 strength, and force of these temptations did drown, overflow, 
 and, as it were, bury all such thoughts, or the remembrance 
 of any such thing. 
 
 What made the fight a thousand times worse for poor 
 Christian was, that many of these hellish darts were tipped 
 by Apollyon’s malignant ingenuity with sentences from 
 Scripture, made to flame just like the fiery darts of the 
 Wicked One, so that Christian could see no difference, and 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 245 
 
 thought that all the sentences of Scripture stood against 
 him. Yea, it seemed as if the air was full of wrathful 
 passages of God’s word, showering down as a fiery storm 
 into Christian’s soul. And now .Apollyon, following up his 
 advantage, threw a fiery dart, which made Christian think 
 that he had committed the unpardonable sin ; and the dart 
 w^as tipped with this passage, For you know how that 
 afterwards he found no place of repentance, though he sought 
 it carefully with tears.” Also another great and dreadful 
 dart with this, “ It is impossible for those once enlightened, 
 if they shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance.” 
 Also anotl'ier flaming dart with this, “ He that shall blas- 
 pheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, no, 
 never.” 
 
 Moreover, what weakened Christian more than any thing 
 else, was the entrance into his soul of those dreadful sugges- 
 tions against the Scriptures, so that by reason of unbelief 
 he could not use wdth much power the Sword of the Spirit 
 which was in his hand, notwithstanding that all this wdiile 
 these fearful sentences wdiich Apollyon did cast at him 
 burned in his soul like fire, so that Christian thought he 
 should be bereft of his wdts. 
 
 And now Apollyon, seeing his chance, gathered close to 
 him, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall, so 
 that his sw^ord flew out of his hand. And now he w^as 
 indeed gone ; and now, said Apollyon. I am sure of thee ; 
 and he so pressed upon him that Christian was in despair. 
 Darkness came over him, and he could see nothing but the 
 dreadful face of the Fiend. But, as God w^oiild have it ; 
 (mind this, as God would have it, for it was only God’s 
 sovereign interposing mercy that could help Christian now ;) 
 as God would have it, just as Apollyon, with his knee on 
 Christian’s breast, was raising his arm to strike a dart quite 
 through him, and make an end of him, Christian nimbly 
 reached out his hand for his Sw^ord, and caught it, saying, 
 “ Rejoice not against me, 0 mine Enemy ! When I fall, I 
 shall arise !” And w ith that he gave him so deadly and 
 pow^erful a thrust, even wdiile he w^as bending over him for 
 his destruction, that Apollyon fell hack, as one that had 
 
246 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 received his mortal wound. And then Christian sprang up, 
 as a new man, and made at him again with this flaming 
 promise, “ Nay, in all these things we are more than con- 
 querors, through him that loved us !” Then Apollyon, 
 with hideous yelling and roaring, spread his dragon wings, 
 and Christian saw him no more. 
 
 This was indeed a most terrific conflict. May God shield 
 us all from such encounters with the great Adversary ! 
 With the delineation of Christian’s own fight, I have mingled 
 the descriptions of Bunyan’s conflicts with the same Adver- 
 sary, as recorded in the Grace Abounding. Christian, as 
 well as Bunyan, was certainly brought to the very verge of 
 perdition, hut it was for the sake of after glory, and One 
 there was who would not suffer him to he tempted beyond 
 what he was able to hear, but stood by him, though invi- 
 sible, and delivered him out of the mouth of the lion. But 
 oh the sighs and groans that hurst from Christian’s heart in 
 the fierceness of the conflict I I never,” says the Dreamer, 
 
 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 he did smile and look upward ; 
 but ’twas the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.” Oh, with 
 what tears of gratitude did Christian thank God for his 
 deliverance ; and then there came to him a divine hand, 
 with leaves from the Tree of Life for his healing ; and then 
 having partaken of the refreshments given him in the House 
 Beautiful, he addressed himself to his journey, for this was 
 no place for delay, where such enemies were to he met with. 
 So on through the Valley he went, with his drawn sword 
 in his hand, the which, though he lost it once, had done 
 him such mighty and precious service in the battle with 
 Apollyon. It was best to he prepared, for who knows, 
 thought he, what other enemy may be at hand. And indeed 
 the place whence Apollyon came was very near, but Chris- 
 tian met with no other fiend or dragon quite through the 
 Valley of Humiliation. 
 
 Now, terrible as this conflict is, it will never do to regard 
 it in any other light than as an example of wliat every im- 
 mortal soul has to encounter, that resolutely sets out for 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 247 
 
 heaven. There is a conflict in this world between heaven 
 and hell, sin and holiness, life and death, Christ and Satan, 
 good angels and bad, good men, reprobates, and demons. 
 There is a conflict between the hosts of heaven and the hosts 
 of hell /or the soul, and a conflict between grace and nature, 
 good and evil, the Spirit of God and the spirit of worldliness 
 in the soul. Eternal life or eternal death depends upon the 
 issue. The soul’s great Adversary is one of inconceivable 
 power, skill, and malignity. There is but one other being 
 who is able to cope with him, and even that Almighty and 
 glorious Being, to accomplish his wondrous plan and pur- 
 pose, became like one of us, yet without sin, and in our 
 nature became obedient unto death, that he might destroy 
 him that had the power of death, even the devil. There is 
 therefore no way for Christ’s disciples to overcome this 
 Adversary but by the blood of the Lamb, and the word of 
 their testimony in regard to redemption. 
 
 To some men Satan reveals himself more clearly than to 
 others, assaults them more violently, and malces them feel 
 more of his power and malignity. But all men know what 
 it is to enter into temptation, and when that is done, Satan 
 is not far off. Apollyon is near. Therefore our blessed 
 Lord, in the prayer he has taught us, puts the two petitions 
 in company, Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us 
 from the Evil One.” And Satan is called the Tempter, and 
 the shield of faith is given to the Pilgrim for this very pur- 
 pose, that he may be able to quench all the fiery darts of 
 the Wicked One. Now, there is enough of sin in every 
 man’s own heart to tempt him, and every man is tempted 
 when he is led away of his own lust and enticed.” And 
 when a man thus goes after his sins, he rather tempts Satan 
 than Satan tempts him. There is no need for Apollyon to 
 advance towards such a man, for such an one is coming over 
 to Apollyon ; he rather enters into the devil, than the devil 
 into him. A man is waited for of Satan, when he enters 
 into temptation ; and there is much in that expression, enter 
 into. Our blessed Lord never said. Pray that ye be not 
 tempted, but, Watch and pray that ye enter not into tempta- 
 tion, — that ye enter not within it, as a cloud surrounding 
 
248 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 you and taking away your light, and leading you to deceive 
 you, — that ye enter not into temptation, into its power, into 
 its atmosphere, into its spirit, for when that is done, the soul 
 is weakened and easily conquered. 
 
 Men that are led away of their own lusts, that are under 
 the power of a besetting sin, or that are utterly careless and 
 insensible, do not need to he tempted of the devil ; he can 
 safely leave them to themselves, for he has a friend within 
 the citadel. He need look after such men only once in a 
 while ; for, going on as they do, they are sure of ruin. But 
 good men, and especially eminently good men, such as 
 Bunyan and Luther, he well knows cannot be safely left, 
 inasmuch as the grace of God in them overcomes ordinary 
 temptation, and therefore such ones are made to feel the 
 power of his fiery darts. Apollyon attacked Christian, when 
 Formalist and Hypocrisy, had they passed through that 
 Valley, would have passed without any molestation at all. 
 Moreover, Faithful passed through it without seeing or hear- 
 ing any thing of Apollyon ; and also all the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death beyond. Faithful passed in clear sunshine, 
 so that Bunyan does not mean to represent every Christian 
 as subject k) such fierce temptations of the devil as he him- 
 self was called to endure. 
 
 Besides, it is proper to compare this passage of Christian 
 through the Valley of Humiliation, and the dread conflict 
 with Apollyon in it, with the sweet and pleasant passage of 
 Mercy, Christiana, and her children, under the care of Mr 
 Greatheart, through the same place. Bunyan evidently 
 intends to represent that according to the degree of humility 
 and contentedness with God’s allotments in the heart of the 
 Christian, will be the degree of ease, security, or delightful- 
 ness with which this Valley of Humiliation will be passed 
 through. In going down into this Valley, Christian is 
 represented as having had some slips, though accompanied 
 by Discretion, Piety, Charity, and Prudence ; and these 
 slips are stated in the Second Part to have been the cause of 
 his meeting with Apollyon ; for they that get slips there, 
 must look for combats here ; and the Scripture saith. He 
 that exalteth himself shall be abased, but he that humbleth 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 249 
 
 himself shall be exalted.” If those slips were the fruit of 
 discontent and self-exaltation, then it is evident that Chris- 
 tian needed the sore buffets of the Adversary, or something 
 equivalent, to humble him ; just as unto Paul was given a 
 thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan, to preserve him 
 from being exalted by the abundance of the revelations 
 made unto him. But for w^hatever reason, the Pilgrims 
 under Mr Greatheart found this Valley of Humiliation to 
 be one of the most delightful places in all their pilgrimage. 
 
 There is also another character, exquisitely drawn by 
 Bunyan in his Second Part — that of good Mr Fearing, who 
 was so taken with the beauty, peacefulness, and security of 
 this pleasant valley, that he would fain have spent his whole 
 life there ; it suited his deadness to the world, and his timid, 
 retiring spirit, so aloof it was from all the cares and vanities 
 of life, and all the temptations of the devil. “ Yea, I think 
 there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him ; 
 for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than he 
 was in that valley. Here he w^ould lie down, embrace the 
 ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley. 
 He would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing 
 and walking to and fro in the valley. But when he was 
 come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
 I thought I should have lost my man : not for that he had 
 any inclination to go back ; that he always abhorred ; but 
 he was ready to die for fear. Oh, the hobgoblins will have 
 me ! the hobgoblins will have me ! cried he ; and I could 
 not beat him out on’t. He made such a noise and such an 
 outcry here, that had they but heard him, it was enough to 
 encourage them to come and fall upon us. But this I took 
 very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet when we 
 went through it as ever I knew it before or since. I sup- 
 pose those enemies here had now a special clieck from our 
 Lord, and a command not to meddle till Mr Fearing had 
 passed over it.” 
 
 Now it is manifest that however pleasant the Valley of 
 Humiliation may he in itself, yet if a man may bring dis- 
 content in his own heart, and a proud mind into it, it will 
 be filled, to him, with enemies, and Apollyon will be very 
 17 
 
250 
 
 LECTU71E NINTH. 
 
 Bure to assault him there. But the passage of Christiana, 
 Mercy, and the children, through this valley, was, as I have 
 said, most delightful. And in th,e description of it, as they 
 found it, Bunyan has, if possible, exceeded himself in beauty, 
 that description being one of the finest chapters in either 
 part of the pilgrimage, and sprinkled with snatches of true 
 poetry. “ Christiana thought she heard in a grove, a little 
 way off on the right hand, a most curious melodious note, 
 with words much like these : — 
 
 Through all my life thy favour is 
 So frankly shewn to me. 
 
 That in thy house for ever more 
 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 who it was that made those 
 curious notes. They are, said she, our country birds ; they 
 sing these notes hut seldom, except it he in the spring, when 
 the flowers appear, and the sun shines warm, and then you 
 may hear them all day long. I often, said she, go out to 
 liear them ; we also ofttimes keep them tame in our house. 
 They are very fine company for us when we are melan- 
 choly ; also, they make the woods and groves and solitary 
 places desirous to he in.” 
 
 “We need not he so afraid of this valley, said Mr Great- 
 heart, for here is nothing to hurt us, unless we procure it 
 for ourselves. The common people, when they hear that 
 some frightful thing has befallen such a one in such a place, 
 are of opinion that that place is haunted by some foul fiend 
 or evil spirit ; when, alas ! it is for the fruit of their own 
 doing that such things do befall them there. But this 
 Valley of Humiliation is the best and most fruitful piece of 
 ground in all these parts. It is meadow-ground, and in the 
 Bummer-time a man may feast his eyes with that which 
 will he delightful to him. Behold how green this valley isg 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 
 
 251 
 
 also how beautiful with lilies ! I have known many la- 
 bouring men that have got good estates in the Valley of 
 Humiliation ; for God resisteth the proud, hut giveth grace 
 to the humble ; for indeed it is a very fruitful soil, and doth 
 bring forth by handfuls. Some also have wished that the 
 next way to their Father’s house were here, that they might 
 be troubled no more with 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 spied 
 a boy feeding his father’s sheep. The boy w^as in very 
 mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favoured countenance ; 
 and as he sat by himself, he sang. Hark, said Mr Great- 
 heart, to what the Shepherd’s boy saith : So they hearkened, 
 and he said, — 
 
 He that is down needs fear no fall ; 
 
 He that is low no pride : 
 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide. 
 
 I am content with what I have, 
 
 Little be it or much ; 
 
 And, Lord, contentment still I crave. 
 
 Because thou savest such. 
 
 Fulness to such a burden is 
 WHio go on pilgrimage. 
 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
 
 Is best, from age to age. 
 
 Then said their guide. Do you hear him ? I will dare to say 
 this boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of that herb 
 called hearts-ease in his bosom, than he that is clad in silk 
 and velvet.” 
 
 In this valley, says Bunyan. 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 loves to walk in but 
 those that love a pilgrim’s life. And though Christian had 
 
252 
 
 LECTURE NINTH. 
 
 the hard hap to meet here with Ap oily on, and to enter with 
 him on 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. 
 
 Mercy thought herself as well in this valley as ever she 
 liad been in all their journey. “ The place, methinks, suits 
 with my spirit. I love to be in such places, where there is 
 no rattling with coaches, no rumbling with wheels ; me- 
 thinks here one may, without much molestation, he think- 
 ing what he is, whence he came, what he has done, and to 
 what the King has called him. Here one may think and 
 break the heart, and melt in one’s spirit. They that go 
 rightly through this Yalley of Baca, make it a w^ell ; the 
 rain, that God sends down from heaven upon them that are 
 there, also filleth the pools. To this man will I look, saith 
 the King, even to him that is humble, and of a contrite 
 spirit, and who trembleth at my word.” 
 
 Mercy was right in her preference of this sweet valley. 
 The few noises here heard were as the voices of heaven to 
 shepherds watching their flocks by moonlight. 
 
 Stillness, accompanied by sounds so soft, 
 
 Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
 May give a useful lesson to the head, 
 
 And Learning wiser grow without his books. 
 
 This retired and lowly vale was a scene for a spirit like 
 Cowper’s to linger in ; though his soul was long in the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death. Strange, that such a dis- 
 cipline should have been necessary for such a mind ! This 
 Valley of Humiliation, as Christiana and Mercy found it, 
 Cowper has described more beautifully than any other writer 
 that ever lived 
 
 Far from the world, O Lord, I flee. 
 
 From strife and tumult far ; 
 
 From scenes where Satan wages still 
 His most successful war. 
 
 The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 
 With prayer and praise agree ; 
 
 A nd seem by thy sweet bounty made 
 For those who follow thee. 
 
CUIUSTIAN’s FiaUT WITH APOLLYO^". 253 
 
 There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, 
 
 And grace her mean abode. 
 
 Oh with what peace and joy and love, 
 
 She communes with her God ! 
 
 Then, like the nightingale, she pours 
 Her solitary lays 
 Nor asks a witness of her song. 
 
 Nor thirsts for human praise. 
 
 Now if you wish for a commentary in plain prose on the 
 sweetness of Bunyan’s delineation of this Valley, you may 
 find it in the Dairyman’s Daughter, or in the Shepherd of 
 Salisbury Plain. But it is very important to remember that 
 those who would find a foretaste of heavenly rest in this 
 Valley, must bring into it, in their own hearts, the spirit of 
 Heaven ; then, and not otherwise, is it a Valley of Peace. 
 When God’s discipline discloses to a man “ the plague of his 
 own heart,” then lie is very apt to lay the evil to the score 
 of circumstances, instead of the inveterate diseased heart, 
 which needed so much, and perhaps such violent medicine 
 for its healing. Oh, cries one, if I were only in a different 
 situation, how easy it would be to live near to God ! Ah, 
 cries another, if I were in the place of this or that happ^ 
 individual, how easy it would be to adorn my profession ! 
 Every thing in my very circumstances would lead me to it ! 
 Oh, exclaims another, if I had the health of such an one, 
 how easy it would be to rise above my difficulties and walk 
 with God ! And I, complains another, if my occupation did 
 not so absorb me, could be as godly as I ought to be ! Oh, 
 if I were in the place of my minister, how holy I would be- 
 come ! 
 
 Ah ! I would, and I would, and I would, if it were so, 
 and if it were so, and if it were only so ! Here, dear friend, 
 is the very plague of your own heart revealing itself. You 
 are discontented with your situation. You are not submis- 
 sive to the trials God has laid upon you. And, instead of 
 seeking to be delivered from your heart-plague, you are only 
 casting about to find some position, if possible, where it will 
 not have occasion to vex you ; where you suppose, in fact, 
 that it will be easier, that it will cost less self-denial to serve 
 
254 
 
 LECTURE NIKTII. 
 
 Christ than it does now. But remember that you are not 
 called to he holy in another’s situation, but your own ; and if 
 you are not now faithful to God in the sphere in which he has 
 placed you, you would not, probably, be any more faithful, 
 let him place you where he might. For he that is faithful 
 in that which is least, is faithful also in much ; and he that 
 is neglectful in that wliich is least, is neglectful also in much. 
 And as to circumstances repressing the plague of your own 
 heart, they would only change its exhibition a little. The 
 plague is in your heart, and not in your circumstances. 
 Prosperous circumstances might, it is true, hide that plague ; 
 in a different situation it might have been concealed from 
 yourself, but would that be any gain ? Would you really 
 be any the better for that ? The revelation of the evil might 
 only be deferred till it should work your ruin. How much 
 better it is to know it in season, and be humbled before God, 
 though it be at the cost of ever so much suffering ! 
 
 And remember that those whose happy lot you, under the 
 influence of this envious plague in your own heart, deem so 
 desirable, if they are really living near to God where they 
 are, would also have been very holy in your situation. Take 
 Mr Wilberforce, for example, a Christian in a sphere of life 
 in society in all respects desirable and delightful in regard 
 to this world, and living in that sphere to the glory of his 
 Saviour. How you may perhaps tliink if you could only 
 change situations with such a man, 0 how easy it would be 
 to conquer the plague of your own heart ; how little should 
 you feel it, how easy it would be, in such a conspicuous 
 situation, with all your wishes gratified, to shine to the glory 
 of your Redeemer. You could do it, you think, and it would 
 cost you no self-denial at all. But in your present situation 
 it is a hard thing to be a living Christian. How remember 
 that if a man like Mr Wilberforce could change situations 
 with you, he would be a very holy and happy man where 
 you perhaps are vexed and discontented, and you, in his 
 place, might be a very worldly and ambitious man, where 
 he was humble and prayerful. Be assured, it is not place, 
 nor opportunities, nor circumstances, that make character or 
 
Christian’s fight with apollyon. 255 
 
 minister grace^ but it is rather character that makes cir- 
 cumstances, and grace that makes place. 
 
 So the next time you detect your heart, under the influence 
 of the plague that is in it, saying to you like a concealed 
 devil, 0 if I were in such or such a one’s place, how much 
 good I could do, or how holy a person I could become, just 
 think of some eminent saint, and say, If that person were in 
 my place, how much nearer he would live to God than I do, 
 how many opportunities that I waste he would use for his 
 Master’s glory, how he would fill my little sphere, that now 
 is so dark, with brightness and happiness 1 And you, if 
 you will, may do the same. 
 
LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 CJrtgttan in tfic iUalUg of ttz ©Sonoto of JDeatJ. 
 
 Sympathy with spiritual distresses.— The power of prayer. — Bunyan’s own ^ 
 temptations depicted in Christian’s distresses. — The similar experience of 
 Job, and that of David. — The breaking of the light. — Comparison of the ex- 
 perience of Christian with that of Christiana and Mercy in this Valley. — 
 
 The uses of trials. — Effect of the hiding of God’s countenance from the 
 soul.— Christian’s meeting with Faithful. 
 
 We are naturally less affected with sympathy for men’s 
 spiritual distresses, than we are for their temporal or bodily 
 evils. The reason is to be found in our want of spiritual 
 experience, and in the fact that we habitually look at, and 
 are moved by, the things which ai’e seen, and not the things 
 which are unseen. We are creatures of sense, and therefore 
 a great battle, when a kingdom is to be lost or won, affects 
 us more deeply than the far more sublime and awful con- 
 flict, where the soul and the kingdom of heaven are to be 
 lost or won for ever. 
 
 I have stood upon the sea-shore, in a dreadful storm, and 
 have watched the perils of a noble frigate, about to be cast 
 upon the rocks, holding by only her last anchor, plunging 
 and pitching amidst mountainous breakers, as if she would 
 shoot like a stone to the earth’s centre. One after another 
 I have watched her masts cut away, to see if that would not 
 save her. The shore was lined with spectators, trembling, 
 affrighted, weeping, unable to do any thing, yet full of 
 anxiety and sympathy. 
 
 Now, the sight of an immortal soul in peril of its eternal 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 257 
 
 interests, beset with enemies, engaged in a desperate conflict, 
 with hell opening her mouth before, and fiends and tempta- 
 tions pressing after, is a much more sublime and awful 
 spectacle. A spiritual bark in the tempest, on the ocean of 
 life, struggling at midnight through furious gales and waves, 
 that by the lightning flashes are seen every instant, ready to 
 swallow her up, has nothing to compare with it in solemn 
 interest. But of all those multitudes of intensely anxious 
 spectators watching the frigate, on a rock-bound shore, 
 ready to perish, there was scarcely here and there one, who 
 could have been persuaded to look with the spiritual vision 
 at spiritual realities, or to listen to the most vivid descrip- 
 tions of the danger of the soul, amidst its struggle with its 
 enemies : scarcely one, who would even understand the danger 
 of the costly spiritual vessel about to be wrecked for eter- 
 nity, and still less any who would sympathize with the dis- 
 tresses of such a soul. 
 
 And yet, for one spectator watching the ship in a storm on 
 the Mediterranean, there were thousands tracing the course 
 of such a soul as Bunyan’s, out amidst the storms of sin and 
 temptation, with fiends flying through the gloom, with fiery 
 darts hurtling the air, with sails rent, and the sea making 
 breach after breach over the vessel. Angels, that see from 
 heaven to earth, are busy, though we are blind. Clouds of 
 witnesses survey the course of the Pilgrim ; and when he 
 passes through a place like the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, there are, we have reason to believe, more good angels 
 than bad ones attending him, though he does not see them, 
 by reason of the darkness. If he has not earthly sympathy, 
 he has heavenly ; and all the earthly sympathy he does get 
 is heavenly, for it comes from God’s own Spirit in the soul. 
 They that have been new-born, understand his terrors : they 
 know that there is nothing to be compared with the peril of 
 the soul beset by its great Adversary on the way to heaven ; 
 nor any anguish to be mentioned along with that which is 
 occasioned in the soul by the hiding of God’s countenance. 
 “ When he giveth quietness, who then can make trouble , 
 and when he hideth his face, who then can behold him 1 
 Whether it be done against a nation, or against a man only I’ 
 
258 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 Herein/’ says an excellent old writer, discoursing on the 
 case of a child of light walking in darkness, believers 
 wrestle not alone with flesh and blood, and the darkness 
 thereof, but do farther conflict also with those spiritual 
 wickednesses, the Princes of Darkness, about their interest 
 in heavenly privileges, even wdth Satan and his angels, 
 whom the Apostle compares to a roaring lion, seeking 
 whom he may devour. And like as when God makes the 
 natural darkness, and it is night, then the young lions creep 
 forth, and roar after their prey, as the Psalmist says, so do 
 these roaring lions, now when God hath withdrawn the light 
 of his countenance, and night comes on, and these damps 
 and fogs of jealousies and guilt begin to arise out of a 
 man’s own heart, then come these forth and say, as David’s 
 enemies said in his distress, ‘ Come, let us now take him, 
 for God hath forsaken him, let us now devour him, and 
 swallow him up with darkness and despair.’ And as God 
 says of those enemies of his church, ^ I was but a little dis- 
 pleased, and they helj)ed forward the affliction ;’ so, when 
 God is angry with his child, and but a little doth hide his face 
 for a moment, yet Satan watcheth that hour of darkness, as 
 Christ calls it, and joins his power of darkness to this our 
 natural darkness, to cause, if possible, blackness of darkness, 
 even utter despair, in us.” 
 
 It is much such a picture as this, that Bunyan, our great 
 master of spiritual allegory, hath set forth in such glowing 
 colours, in the passage of his Christian through the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death. It is night ; night in Christian’s 
 soul, and therefore night in this Valley. He is walking in 
 the path of duty, and no forebodings of evil, though he had 
 them abundantly, can turn him back ; and yet, it is night in 
 him, and night around him. Gloomy dark mountains shut 
 in the horizon ; the chill air penetrates his soul with images 
 of the storm before it breaks on him ; the path is exceed- 
 ingly narrow, and on either side there are terrible pitfalls 
 and quagmires, which must needs prove fatal to any that 
 fall therein. What can Christian do ? He is plainly in the 
 case represented in the prophet Isaiah, being here, as I said, 
 in the way of duty, and in the path direct to the Celestial 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 259 
 
 City. Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that 
 walketh in darkness and hath no light ? Let him trust in 
 the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God.” There is hut 
 one thing for him to do, and that is, to grope his way for- 
 ward with fear and trembling, remembering that God can, 
 if he will, save him even here ; and that, even if he were in 
 kings’ palaces, and God would not save him, he would be no 
 better off than in the midst of that Valley. Besides, should 
 a man whom God had delivered from the hand of Apollyon, 
 be afraid of any of the fiends of darkness, or fear to trust 
 God’s mercy in the midst of them ? 
 
 There are Christians, who, as Bunyan says, are strangers to 
 much combat with the devil ; and such cannot minister help 
 to those who come, as Christian did, under his assaults. No 
 man is introduced to the aid of Christian in all these severe 
 conflicts ; all the help he finds is in God only ; direct to 
 Christ he must go, for there is no other helper. This was 
 Bunyan’s own experience. While himself under the assaults 
 of Satan, in the midst of this Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
 he did at one time venture to break his mind to an ancient 
 Christian. This was a good man, hut not one of deep expe- 
 rience, and evidently unable to enter into Bun^^an’s diffi- 
 culties or to understand his state of mind. Bunyan told 
 this man that one of his dreadful fears was that he had sin- 
 ned the sin against the Holy Ghost ; and the man answered 
 him that he thought so too ! This was indeed but cold com- 
 fort, and the man that could administer it must have had a 
 most narrow mind, as well as an insensible, unsympathizing 
 heart ; but you often meet with this want of tenderness 
 among certain spiritual comforters, who take severity and 
 want of feeling to be marks of faithfulness. 
 
 Poor Bunyan was forced again from man to God. “ Where- 
 fore I went to God again as well as I could, for mercy 
 still. Now also did the Tempter begin to mock me in my 
 misery and under this mockery, even the free, full, and 
 gracious promises of the Gospel were as a torment to Bun- 
 yan, for the Tempter suggested that they were not for him, 
 because he had sinned against and provoked the Mediator 
 through whom they were given, and also that his sins were 
 
260 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 not among the number of those foi which the Lord Jesus 
 died upon the cross. He was as if racked upon the wheel ; 
 he was tossed to and fro like the locust, and driven from 
 trouble to sorrow. Every part of the Word of God seemed 
 against him ; he was as one shut up in a house in flames, 
 and running first to one door then to another for egress, but 
 they are all fast barred against him. Nor could he, by rea- 
 son of his own unbelieving fears, succeed, by any use he 
 could make of the Scriptures, in driving the Tempter away 
 from him. It was even suggested that it was in vain for 
 him to pray ; nevertheless, he kept crying out for mercy, 
 and in answer to prayer, notwithstanding all that Satan 
 could do, deliverance came. It must be this experience 
 which Bunyan has in mind, when he makes Christian to 
 pass hard by the mouth of hell in the midst of the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death, beset with fears and distresses, which 
 he could put to flight by no use he could make of the Word 
 of God. Now, thought Christian, what shall I do ] And 
 ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such 
 abundance, with sparks and hideous noises (things that 
 cared not for Christian’s sword, as did Apollyon before), that 
 he was forced to put up his sword, and betake himself to 
 another weapon, called All-Prayer ; so he cried in my hear- 
 ing, 0 Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul.” 
 
 So did Bunyan cry unto God in the midst of his distresses. 
 
 Will the Lord cast off for ever ? and wull he be favourable 
 no more ? Is his mercy clean gone for ever ? doth his pro- 
 mise fail for evermore 1 Hath God forgotten to be gracious ? 
 hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies ?” And that 
 promise sustained Bunyan, ‘‘ My grace is sufficient for thee 
 though it w’as long indeed before he could take fast hold 
 upon it, or enjoy to the full its abundance of blessing. Long 
 was he in passing through the Valley of tlue Shadow of 
 Death ; much longer than it seems to take Christian to 
 grope his w^ay out of its darkness. And, as you wull observe, 
 that Christian’s conflict with Apollyon in the Valley of Hu- 
 miliation lies in the stage immediately before the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death, so that he has to pass fi-om the one 
 directly to the other without any interval, save in the pre» 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 261 
 
 cious season in which the hand came to him with leaves 
 from the tree of life for his healing ; so it was with Bunyan 
 himself : so it had been in his own experience. He had two 
 distinct, long, and dreadful seasons of temptation to pass 
 tlirough, each of them lasting for more than two years, — the 
 first more nearly resembling this dreadful conflict, hand to 
 hand, with Satan, with Apollyon, and the second more fully 
 depicted in Christian’s fearful journey through this Valley 
 of Death, after that conflict. There was but a short interval 
 of ease and peace between them. By the strange and un- 
 usual assaults of the Tempter,” says Bunyan, “ my soul 
 was like a broken vessel, driven as with the winds, and 
 tossed sometimes headlong into despair : sometimes upon the 
 covenant of works, and sometimes to wish that the new co- 
 venant and the conditions thereof might, so far as I thought 
 myself concerned, be turned another way and changed. But 
 in all these I was as those that jostle against the rocks — 
 more broken, scattered, and rent. Oh the unthought-of 
 imaginations, frights, fears, and terrors, that are effected by 
 a thorough application of guilt yielding to desperation ! 
 This is as the man that hath his dwelling among the tombs 
 with the dead, who is always crying out and cutting him- 
 self with stones.” “ Now was the word of the gospel forced 
 from my soul, so that no promise or encouragement was 
 found in the Bible for me. I had cut myself off by my 
 transgressions, and left myself neither foot-hold nor hand- 
 hold among all the stays and props in the precious word of 
 life. And truly I did now feel myself to sink into a gulf, 
 as a house whose foundation is destroyed. I did liken my- 
 self in this condition unto the case of a child that was fallen 
 into a mill-pit, who thought it could make some shift to 
 scramble and sprawl in the water : yea, because it could find 
 neither hand-hold nor foot-hold, therefore, at last, it must 
 die in that condition. So soon as this fresh assault had 
 fastened on my soul, that scripture came into my heart, 
 ‘ This for many days and, indeed, I found it was so ; for I 
 could not be delivered, nor brought to peace again, until 
 well-nigh two years and a half were completely finished.” 
 This was the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and so did 
 
262 
 
 LECTURE TENTH, 
 
 Christian go trembling and astonished, and sighing bitterly 
 by reason of his distress of spirit. The pathway was ex- 
 ceedingly narrow, with ditches on one side and quagmires 
 on the other ; also, for a time it was pitch dark, except the 
 lurid dreadful light of the flames that were reaching into the 
 path towards him ; no other light did there seem to be. 
 
 Save what the glimmering of those livid flames 
 
 Cast pale and dreadful. 
 
 Also, in the midst of the darkness, there were doleful voices 
 and rushings to and fro, as of mad companies, so that he 
 thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like 
 mire in the streets. But what distressed and terrified 
 Christian more than all other things that he met with in 
 his passage through this dreary valley, was the horrid blas- 
 phemies that were whispered into his ear by the fiends com- 
 ing up behind him, in such manner that he really thought 
 they proceeded from his ovm mind ; but he had not the dis- 
 cretion either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these 
 /jlasphemies came. 
 
 Here is a marked feature, drawn, as we have seen, directly 
 from Bunyan’s experience. This, with many other things, 
 
 did tear and rend” Bunyan himself in this Valley, out 
 of which none but God could have delivered him. “ These 
 things would so break and confound my spirit,” says Bun- 
 yan, that I could not tell what to do ; I thought at times 
 they would have broken my wits ; and still to aggravate 
 my misery, that would run in my mind. You know how 
 that afterwards, when he would have inherited the blessing, 
 lie was rejected. Oh, no one knows the terrors of those 
 days, but myself.” Yet others, doubtless, unknown to any 
 but God and the soul’s great Adversary, have passed througli 
 much the same conflicts. What battles are fought with 
 Apollyon, and what victories gained through the blood of 
 the Lamb, wdiat dreary passages are made in every genera- 
 tion through this Valley of the Shadow of Death, will never 
 be known till, amidst the disclosures of eternity, the saints 
 saved shall reveal to each other, for the glory of the Re- 
 deemer, the wonders of his grace in their individual experi- 
 ence. It is but here and there that the trials and triumphs 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OE THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 263 
 
 of faith come to view in this world in such instances as 
 those of Bunyan and Luther ; hut eternity will be full of 
 such spiritual epics. And in every man’s experience, how- 
 ever humble, there will be something of peculiar glory to 
 the Redeemer. Many are the pictures, unseen here, that 
 are to be set in array in the eternal world, with the light 
 of the Divine attributes in Christ shining in and through 
 them, to be studied and admired for ever and ever. 
 
 One of the earliest recorded instances of a passage through 
 this dark Valley is that of Job ; and one of the sublimest 
 instances of faith in the midst of it is his ; for in almost the 
 same breath in which he spake of the darkness in his paths, 
 and of his hope removed like a tree, he exclaimed, “ I know 
 that my Redeemer liveth !” While you listen to the expe- 
 rience of Job, it seems as if you heard Bunyan himself be- 
 moaning his spiritual distresses ; and indeed the book of 
 Job might, as well as the experience of Bunyan, be entitled 
 “ Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.” Who is this 
 that is speaking ? Is it not Christian in the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death ? “ He teareth me in his wrath who 
 
 bateth me ; he gnasheth upon me with his teeth ; mine 
 enemies sharpen their eyes upon me. They have gaped 
 upon me with their mouth ; they have smitten me upon the 
 cheek reproachfully ; they have gathered themselves together 
 against me. God hath delivered me over to the ungodly, and 
 turned me over into the hands of the wicked. I was at ease, 
 but he hath broken me asunder ; he hath also taken me l)y 
 my neck, and shaken me to pieces, and set me up for his 
 mark. His archers compass me round about ; he cleaveth 
 my reins asunder, and doth not spare ; he poureth out m\^ 
 gall upon the ground. He breaketh me with breach upon 
 breach ; he runneth upon me like a giant. My face is foul 
 with weeping, and on mine eyelids is the shadow of death. 
 My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are 
 ready for me !” But what is the end of all this ? “ I know 
 that my Redeemer liveth !” Fearful was the trial, glorious 
 the triumph of this eminent servant of God ! 
 
 There was another recorded instance of a journey through 
 this Valley which Bunyan followed, and that was King 
 
264 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 David’s. For the bars of death were round about him also, 
 laid in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps. . When ho 
 remembered God, he was troubled. “ Thy wrath lieth hard 
 upon me, and thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves. I 
 am shut up, I cannot come forth. I am afflicted and ready 
 to die. While I suffer thy terrors, I am distracted. Thy 
 fierce wrath goeth over me ; thy terrors have cut me off.” 
 But what was the end in the case of David ? Deliverance 
 and light, so signal and manifest in answer to prayer, that 
 his example should be for encouragement to all that ever 
 after him should have to pass through that Valley. “ Thou 
 forgavest the iniquity of my sin. For this shall every one 
 that is godly pray unto thee in a time when thou mayest be 
 found. I was brought low, and the Lord helped me. He 
 restore th my soul. Yea, though I walk through the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death I will fear no evil, for thou art 
 with me.” 
 
 This was a real Valley and no imaginary evil, but there 
 were also real deliverances. The men whom Christian met 
 making haste to go back did not at all exaggerate in their 
 descriptions of its terrors ; but they knew nothing of Him 
 who would walk with all his true pilgrims through the 
 midst of those terrors. They could see the fire of the fur- 
 nace, and dared not think of entering into it ; but they 
 could not see the form like unto the Son of God walking 
 with his people in the very flames. Wliy, what have you 
 seen, said Christian ? 
 
 “ Seen ! Why, the Valley itself, which is as dark as pitch : 
 we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the 
 pit : we heard also in that Valley a continued howling and 
 yelling, as of a people under unutterable misery, who there 
 sat bound in affliction and irons ; and over that Valley hang 
 tlie discouraging clouds of confusion : Death, also, doth 
 always spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every 
 wliit dreadful, being utterly without order.” 
 
 This is almost a description of hell. And how much more 
 afraid men are of the image of hell in this world, of the 
 evils which here are a t}"pe of it, than they are of its reality 
 in an eternal world ! If these men had been as much afraid 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 265 
 
 of losing tlie favour of God, and of being shut up in the 
 prison of his wrath for ever, as they were of the terrors of 
 this Valley, they would have gone through it, singing with 
 David, I will fear no evil.” For what are all the difficul- 
 ties that can be met with in this life, if in the end we may 
 have the light of God’s countenance ? A hearty desire after 
 God, and a right fear of hell, will put to flight every other 
 fear, will make every evil comparatively easy to be con- 
 quered, or light to be borne. 
 
 In this disconsolate situation, Christian was greatly en- 
 couraged, because he thought he heard the voice of another 
 pilgrim singing before him, which turned out afterwards to 
 be Faithful. He called out, but got no answer, for this other 
 pilgrim deemed himself also to have been alone, and knew 
 not what to make of it. In truth, when the soul is in this 
 experience, it seems as though never a living creature had 
 been in it before ; it seems to itself utterly alone, and deso- 
 late. Nevertheless, that sound of singing was a great com- 
 fort to Christian ; for he said within himself. Whoever this 
 be, it is clear that he fears God, and that God is with him, 
 for he could not otherwise go singing through this horrid 
 Valley ; and if God is with Am, why may he not be with 
 me, though it is now so deep dark that I cannot perceive 
 him ; yet, by the time I have gone a little further I may 
 find him. By and by the day broke ; then said Christian, 
 He hath turned the Shadow of Death into the morning. 
 
 Now, if you wish to trace Bunyan’s own experience in a 
 very striking manner in this sketch, you must turn to his 
 own account in the Grace Abounding, of the first breaking 
 of the dawn in his own soul after his dismal night in the 
 pit, the prison, and the Death Valley ; you must note the 
 manner in which he looked back upon the dangers through 
 which he had been passing, the manner in which he began 
 to approach and examine by the daylight, the fears and 
 temptations that had been so terrible to him, that had so 
 shaken and vrell-nigh distracted his soul. Just so did Chris- 
 tian look back upon the ditches and the quags, the hobgo- 
 blins, dragons, and satyrs of the pit, discoverable by the day- 
 light ; according to that scripture, “ He discovereth deep 
 
266 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 things out of darkness, and bringeth to light the Shadow of 
 Death.!’ 
 
 Now, as we have compared the experience of Christian in 
 the Valley of Humiliation with that of the pilgrims under 
 guidance of Mr Greatheart, so we ought to compare the two 
 passages through the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and 
 much instruction may he gained thereby. Christiana and 
 her company were at one time in great darkness. “ Their 
 conductor did go before them, till they came at a place, where 
 was cast up a pit the whole breadth of the way ; and before 
 they could be prepared to go over that, a great mist and 
 darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then 
 said the pilgrims, Alas ! what now shall we do ? But their 
 guide made answer. Fear not, stand still, and see what an 
 end will be put to this also. So they staid there, because 
 their path was marred. They then also thought that they 
 did hear more apparently the noise and rushing of the ene- 
 mies ; the fire also and 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, hut I never was here before now. Poor manj 
 he went here all alone in the night ; he had night almost 
 quite through the way ; also, these fiends were busy about 
 him, as if they would have torn him in pieces. Many have 
 spoken of it, but none can tell what the Valley of the Shadow 
 of Death should mean until they come in themselves. The 
 heart knoweth its own bitterness ; and a stranger intermed- 
 dleth not with its joy. To be here is a fearful thing.” 
 
 “ This, said Mr Greatheart, 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 dark- 
 ness, and have no light, trust in the name of the Lord, and 
 stay upon their God.’ For my part, as I have told you 
 already, I have gone often through this valley, and have been 
 much harder put to it than now I am ; and yet you see I 
 am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not my own 
 Saviour. But I trust we shall have a good deliverance. 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW OP DEATH. 267 
 
 Come, let us pray for light to Him that can lighten our 
 darkness, and that can rebuke, not these only, but all the 
 Satans in hell. So they cried and prayed, and God sent light 
 and deliverance.” 
 
 A remark pregnant with heavenly sense was dropped by 
 one of the hoys, which pilgrims beset with dangers and dif- 
 ficulties would do well to ponder. “ It is not so bad,” said 
 he, to go through here as it would be to abide here always ; 
 and for aught I know, one reason why we must go this way 
 to the house prepared for us, is that our home may be made 
 the sweeter to us.” In this remark is much Christian Avis- 
 dom and beauty. I am reminded of Wesley’s hymn, or 
 something like it : — 
 
 The rougher our way, the shorter our stay ; 
 
 Tlie ruder the blast, 
 
 The sweeter our quiet when storms are all past. 
 
 We may also be reminded of those sweet expressive lines by 
 Baxter, — 
 
 Christ leads me through no darker rooms 
 Than he went through before : 
 
 He that into God’s kingdom comes 
 Must enter by that door. 
 
 But the best of all commentaries on the intent and mean- 
 ing of this passage through the Valley of the Shadow of Death 
 is to be found in Bunyan’s thoughts and remarks upon other 
 good men who have had to go through it, uttered while he 
 himself was quite in darkness, and was looking to those 
 bright examples, and wishing from the bottom of his soul 
 that he also might thus be the favoured one of God. Poor 
 Bunyan ! this very darkness, these very desperate distresses, 
 proved, in the end, that he was him'self to be ranked among 
 those favoured ones ; for when his spirit was overwhelmed 
 within him, then God knew his path ; then was God leading 
 the blind by a way that he knew not. Oh, how my soul,” 
 says Bunyan, “ did at this time prize the preservation that 
 God did set about his people ! Ah, how safely did I see them 
 walk, whom God had hedged in ! Now did those blessed 
 
268 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 places, that spake of God’s keeping his people, shine like the 
 sun before me, though not to comfort me, yet to shew me 
 the blessed state and heritage of those whom the Lord had 
 blessed. Now I saw that as God had his hand in all the 
 providences and dispensations that overtake his elect, so he 
 had his hand in all the temptations that they had to sin 
 against him, not to animate them in wickedness, hut to 
 choose their temptations and troubles for them, and also to 
 leave them for a time to such things only, that might not 
 destroy, hut humble them ; as might not put them beyond, 
 but lay them in, the way of the renewing his mercy. But 
 oh ! what love, what care, what kindness and mercy did I 
 now see, mixing itself with the most severe and dreadful of 
 all God’s ways to his people ! He would let David, Heze- 
 kiah, Solomon, Peter, and others fall, but he would not let 
 them fall into the sin unpardonable, nor into hell for sin. 
 0 ! thought I, these he the men that God hath loved ; these 
 be the men that God, though he chastiseth them, keeps them 
 in safety by him, and them whom he makes to abide under 
 the shadow of the Almighty.” 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ! In God’s hand indeed 
 they are ; when he puts his children into the furnace of 
 affliction, it is that he may thoroughly purge away all their 
 dross. A great writer has spoken with great beauty of the 
 resources which God has placed within us for bringing good 
 out of evil, or, at least, for greatly alleviating our trials, in 
 the cases of sickness and misfortune. “ The cutting and irri- 
 tating grain of sand,” he says, “ which by accident or in- 
 caution has got within the shell, incites the living inmate 
 to secrete from its own resources the means of coating the in- 
 trusive substance. And is it not, or may it not be, even so 
 with the irregularities and unevenness of health and fortune 
 in our own case ? We too may turn diseases into pearls.” 
 But how much more wonderful are the wisdom and mercy 
 of God, in making the spiritual temptations and distresses of 
 his people their necessary discipline for their highest good, 
 the means for the greatest perfection and stability of their 
 characters. This indeed is a wonderful transmutation, 
 God,” says the holy Leighton, hath many sharp cutting 
 
OHllISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF TUE SHADOW OF DEATH. 269 
 
 instruments and rough files for the polishing of his jewels ; 
 and those he especially esteems, and means to make the most 
 resplendent, he hath oftenest his tools upon.” 
 
 Beautifully are the uses uf temptations and trials, external 
 and inward, illustrated in that old familiar hymn of Newton, 
 so like in its language and spirit to some hymns which 
 Cowper wrote from similar experience : — 
 
 These inward trials I employ 
 From self and pride to set thee free ; * 
 
 To break thy schemes of earthly joy, 
 
 And make thee find thine all in me. 
 
 It seems very strange that, with these truths so fully set 
 forth in the Word of God, and so illustrated in the examples 
 of many shining Christians, still generation after generation 
 all men, all pilgrims, should have to learn them for them- 
 selves, should never be satisfied of them, till made to believe 
 by their own experience. Every pilgrim expects of Christ 
 that by his love’s constraining power he will subdue the sins 
 and hidden evils of the heart, and give the soul rest and re- 
 lief from its coiTuptions all the way of its pilgrimage. Yet 
 every pilgrim in turn has to go through this Valley, has to 
 learn by himself both the dreadful evils of the heart, and the 
 power of temptation, and the greatness of deliverance by the 
 almighty power and love of the Saviour. He cannot learn 
 this by hearing others tell it to him ; God must teach him 
 by the precious costly way of personal discipline. He can 
 no more come to the stature of a perfect man in Christ Jesus 
 without this discipline, than a babe could grow up to man- 
 hood without learning at first to creep, then to walk, then 
 to speak, to read, to exercise all its faculties. The great dis- 
 cipline which we need as pilgrims is mostly the experience 
 of our own weakness, and the art of finding our strength in 
 Christ ; but it is astonishing what severe treatment is often- 
 times necessary to teach this, apparently the simplest and 
 most obvious of all lessons, but yet the deepest and most 
 difficult to be learned. 
 
 We are now to be introduced to a new Pilgrim, and Chris- 
 tian is no more to go on his way alone. The sweet Christian 
 communion depicted in this book forms one of the most 
 
270 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 delightful features in it, and Faithful and Hopeful are both 
 of them portraits that stand out in as firm relief rs that of 
 Christian himself. Faithful is the Martha’ Pilgrim, who 
 goes in a chariot of fire to heaven, and leaves Christian alone ; 
 Hopeful springs, as it were, out of Faithful’s ashes, and 
 supplies his place all along the remainder of the pilgrimage. 
 The communion between these loving Christians, their sym- 
 pathy and share in each other’s distresses, their mutual 
 counsels and encouragements, temptations and dangers, ex- 
 perience and discipline, their united joys and sorrows, and 
 their very passing of the river of death together, form the 
 sweetest of all examples of the true fellowship of saints, 
 united to the same Saviour, made to drink into the same 
 Spirit, baptized with the same sufferings, partakers of the 
 same consolations, crowned with the same crown of life, 
 entering together upon glory everlasting. 
 
 Here I cannot hut speak again of God’s tender love to his 
 people in their spiritual distresses. It is but a little while, 
 at the uttermost, that he lets any walk in darkness, and 
 always this darkness prepares for greater light ; and some- 
 times God darkens our room, that he may shew ns with 
 greater effect those visions of his own glory, on which he 
 will have our attention to be fixed, and which we either will 
 not or cannot see in the glare of the noonday of this world. 
 But always his thoughts towards his afflicted people are 
 thoughts of peace and mercy, and his language, even when 
 they seem to be deserted of God, is of great tenderness. “ For 
 a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mer- 
 cies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from 
 thee for a moment, but with everlasting kindness will I have 
 mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thy Redeemer.” 
 
 There are many things which may constitute a Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death to the believer. There may be such 
 an array of external evils as to do this. Sickness, poverty, 
 want like an armed man, desertion and loss of friends, the 
 disappointment and failure of all natural hopes and sources 
 of enjoyment, the utter destruction of all schemes of use- 
 fulness and plans of life, the triumphing of the wicked, and 
 the apparent prostration of the cause of God ; all these things, 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 271 
 
 or any of them, may almost overwhelm the soul, and he to 
 it as a death-darkness. Elijah, Jeremiah, Job, David, were 
 stricken down beneath such evils, sometimes accumulated 
 together, so that they were ready to cry out for Death as a 
 friend. But these things are not the real Valley; this is not 
 the hiding of God’s countenance ; there may be all these 
 things, and yet heaven’s sunshine in the soul. But when 
 Godjepa^ ^, or when the soul loses si ght of him^then be- 
 gins the VSIey of the Shadow^FDSth. For, who can stand 
 against such abandonment ? Who can endure a sense of the 
 wrath of God abiding on the soul ? 
 
 ’Tis Paradise if Thou art here ; 
 
 If Thou depart, ’tis hell ! 
 
 This is the language of the believer’s heart, and this too is 
 the representation of the Word of God, and this is the reality 
 of things. And men only need to see things as they are, and 
 to feel things as they are, and they will see and feel that 
 they cannot live without God ; that without God, though 
 every thing might he heaven in appearance, yet, in reality, 
 it must be hell. I say, men only need to see and feel the 
 truth, in order to realize this ; for God is the only life of the 
 soul, and if he he not in it, and it he not alive in him, then 
 is its existence inevitable misery. The heart without God is 
 at enmity against him, and the conscience without God is at 
 enmity against the heart, and the thoughts Avithout God are 
 self-accusing, fiery, tormenting ; and the imagination with- 
 out God becomes a prophetic power in the soul, not only to 
 start into fresher, fiercer life its present distress and sense of 
 sin and desolation, but to image to it all fearful forebodings 
 of future wrath, of interminable desolation and misery, to 
 fill its horizon with upbraiding faces, sometimes Avith fiend- 
 like forms waiting to receive it, and brandishing a whip of 
 the twisted scorpions of remembered, known, unforgiven sins. 
 The gate of the future, through which the soul must pass, 
 is in such a case. 
 
 With dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms ! 
 
 The sins of the soul, Avithout God, Avithout Christ, are tlie 
 prophets of its coming Avoes ; and its life, Avhen surrounded 
 
272 
 
 LECTUHE TENTH. 
 
 by them, when under a sense of them, when conscience calls 
 them up, and there is no sense of forgiveness, is the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death. This is the reality of things, even 
 in this world, when the soul has a sense of its own true 
 nature and accountability. And yet, in this world, it is but 
 the prefiguring type of that Eternal Vale, where their worm 
 dieth not and the fire is not quenched. Here, it is but the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death ; once entered in eternity, 
 once experienced there, it is Death itself. Death without God, 
 say rather, Life without God, with all those revenging 
 miseries as realities, which here at the uttermost were but 
 predictions and merciful warnings to flee from the wrath to 
 come ! 
 
 Ah, many a man, who is not a Christian Pilgrim, enters 
 this Valley in this world, has experience of its horrors, who 
 never tells what he felt, never lets it be known that he was 
 so far awakened as to see and feel what dreadful elements 
 and faces were round about him, pressing upon his soul. 
 Sometimes the souls of impenitent and hardened men are 
 shaken with the terrors of God in this Valley, and wrapped 
 in its gloom ! 
 
 A very graphic writer (Mr Borrow, in his instructive 
 book. The Bible in Spain) describes an interview with an 
 imprisoned murderer, who, at the close of the conversation, 
 
 folded his arms, leaned back against the wall, and appeared 
 to sink gradually into one of his reveries. I looked him in 
 the face, and spoke to him ; but he did not seem either to 
 hear or see me. His mind was perhaps wandering in that 
 dreadful Valley of the Shadow of Death, into which the 
 children of earth, while living, occasionally find their way ; 
 file dreadful region where there is no water, where hope 
 dwelleth not, where nothing lives but the undying worm. 
 This Valley is the facsimile of hell, and he who has entered 
 it has experienced here on earth for a time, what the spirits 
 of the condemned are doomed to suffer through ages without 
 end.” 
 
 Yes ! there is much foretaste of this suffering, even in this 
 world ; and often, even amidst their guilty pleasures, the 
 wicked are made to feel that they are themselves like the 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 273 
 
 troubled sea, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. When 
 Conscienee takes a man in hand, and leads him up and down 
 through the gallery of his own remembered sins, and stops 
 at this picture and that, and points out shades and colour- 
 ings that he never saw before, and sometimes darkens the 
 room, and takes down a vivid transparency of guilt, and 
 holds it before the fire to his vision, so that his past life seems 
 to burn before him, it does not take long in such employ- 
 ment to make the room seem walled with retributive flames, 
 and peopled with condemning fiends. Without the sense of 
 God’s forgiving mercy in Christ, such employment makes a 
 man enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and there, 
 though he may always have thrown ridicule upon these 
 things among his boon companions, yet these, alone, with 
 liimself, the sights which he sees, and the sounds which he 
 hears, are intolerable. 
 
 When the child of God, from whatever cause, wanders 
 into this Valley, and has the face of God hidden from him, 
 then the universe to him is covered with gloom ; then the 
 dead weight of anxiety, as the shadow of sepulchral moun- 
 tains, is on his spirit ; he enters into darkness, and is wan- 
 dering on the borders of despair. God hides his face, and we 
 are troubled. The gloomy, awful solemnity and coldness, 
 that like a twilight pall enshroud the earth in a deep eclipse 
 of the sun at noonday, making all nature to shudder, and 
 the animals to cry out with terror, do faintly image forth 
 the spiritual coldness and gloom of the soul, when the face 
 of God is hidden from it. That eclipse forebodes to the soul 
 the blackness of darkness for ever. Hence the earnest cry 
 of David, “ Hide not thy face from me, lest I become like 
 them that go down to the pit.” 
 
 At such times Satan may have much business with a 
 child of God. For although,” as Mr Goodwin observes, 
 
 Satan cannot immediately wound the conscience, and make 
 impressions of God’s wrath upon it, (for as no creature can 
 shed abroad God’s love, and cause the creature to taste the 
 sweetness of it, so neither the bitterness of his wrath, but 
 God is equally the reporter of both), yet, when the Holy 
 Ghost hath lashed and whipt the conscience, and made it 
 
274 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 tender once, and fetched off the skin, Satan then, by renew- 
 ing the experimental remembrance of those lashes, which 
 the soul hath had from the Spirit, may amaze the soul with 
 fears of an infinitely sorer vengeance yet to come, and flash 
 representations of hell-fire in their consciences, from those 
 real glimpses they have already felt, in such a manner as to 
 wilder the soul into vast and unthought-of horrors.” 
 
 In the eternal world, there is no living without God, but 
 a dying ^ an eternal dying. It is death in life, and life in 
 death, for the soul to be without God ; and the discovery 
 and sense of these things in the eternal world, amidst the 
 convictions of despair, will be to the soul as if a man, who 
 has been long time dead and buried, should suddenly come 
 to life amidst enfolding slimy worms, a corrupt decaying 
 carcass, in mould, gangrene, and putrefaction. What need of 
 flames, if the sinner be left to the full sense and working of 
 his own corruptions ? What man of sin is there, who, if 
 he will judge candidly, can do otherwise than acknowledge 
 that he finds within himself elements of evil, which, if left 
 to work undisturbed, unimpeded, unmingled, will work 
 absolute misery and ruin. Man of sin ! wilt thou stay in 
 these corruptions, and die in them ; or wilt thou go for 
 deliverance to Christ Jesus, to him who alone can put out 
 these fires, can kill this undying worm, can drive the fiends 
 from thy soul, can throw death itself into hell, and make 
 the fountain of love, life, and blessedness to spring up with- 
 in thee ! 
 
 Just as Christian gets out of the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, he passed by a place of bones, sculls, images, and 
 crosses, the abode of Pope and Pagan, whom Bunyan most 
 appropriately puts into the same cave together, though 
 Pagan had been dead long time, and Pope now occupied his 
 place alone. Popery and Paganism are two incarnations of 
 depravity wonderfully similar, almost the same ; but Popery 
 has, by far, the greatest dominion of the blood, bones, 
 ashes, and mangled bodies of Pilgrims.” Christian passed 
 l)y without harm, for now the living giant could do no more 
 than grin and bite his nails, and growl at the passing pil- 
 grims. You will never mend till more of you be burned.” 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 27o 
 
 Possibly another burning is yet to come, for Giant Pope 
 seems in some respects to be renewing his age, and he has 
 now so many helpers, that it would not be surprising, if he 
 should come out of his Cave, and once more, before the final 
 fall of Antichrist, be seen arrayed in all the power and 
 terrors of persecution. The proximity of this black Golgo- 
 tha of Popery to the Valley of the Shadow of Death is very 
 natural, considering the one as the emblem of the greatest 
 external evils that can be met on the way of this pilgrimage, 
 and the other as marking the opposite extreme of the horrors 
 of inward desolation and spiritual misery in the soul. 
 
 After encountering all those dangers, there was a mount 
 of vision, up which Christian with alacrity ascended, whence 
 he could see far off over the prospect before him. The air 
 was clear and bright, its reflection of all images distinct and 
 certain, the mists of the Valle3^of the Shadow of Death were 
 far below him, and came not to this border, the air was 
 healthful and bracing, he seemed nearer to Heaven than he 
 bad been in all his pilgrimage, and so light and elastic for 
 his journey, that it seemed as if he could have flown. Here 
 was an earnest of the Spirit,” a refreshment after toil and 
 danger. Here, as he looked onward, he saw Faithful before 
 him, and shouted out to him to stay, for he would be his 
 companion. But how should Faithful know that it was 
 not the voice of some treacherous spirit from the Pit ? 
 Faithful’s answer shews the spirit of the future martyr. I 
 am upon my life, said he, and the Avenger of blood is behind 
 me ; I may not stay. This nettled Christian ; and now 
 comes a beautiful and most instructive incident, for Chris- 
 tian, summoning all his strength, ran so earnestly, that he 
 soon got up with Faithful ; but not content with this, and 
 being a little moved by spiritual pride at his own attainments, 
 he did run on before him ; so the last was first. Then did 
 Christian vain-gloriously smile ! Ah what a smile was 
 that ! how much sin, not humble spiritual gratitude and 
 joy, was there in it ! But now see how he that exalteth 
 himself shall be abased, and how surely along with spiritual 
 pride comes carelessness, false security, and a grievous fall. 
 Not taking good heed to his feet, Christian suddenly stumbled 
 
276 
 
 LECTUllE TENTH. 
 
 and fell, and the fall was such, that he could not rise again, 
 till Faithful, whom he had vain* gloriously outrun, came up 
 to help him. 
 
 This is one of the most instructive incidents of the pilgrim- 
 age, and it might be applied to many things. Let the 
 Christian, in pursuing the work of Christ, take care of his 
 motives. Earthly ambition is a heinous sin, carried into 
 spiritual things. Be not wise in your own conceits. Let 
 us not be desirous of vain-glory, provoking one another, 
 envying one another. See that you look not with self-com- 
 placency upon your own attainments. A man may vain- 
 gioriously smile within himself, at his own labours, at the 
 applause of others, or in the comparison of others with him- 
 self, and when he does this, then he is in danger. When 
 Christian did vain-gloriously smile, then did Christian meet 
 a most mortifying fall. Peter’s boasting of himself before 
 the other disciples was not far off from Peter’s fall. Let 
 nothing be done through strife or vain-glory, but in lowli- 
 ness of mind let each esteem others better than himself 
 Yet, there is a right way of coming behind in no gift, enriched 
 by Jesus Christ. Whoso seeketh this enriching for himself, 
 seeketh it also for others. Let this lesson not be forgotten, 
 Then did Christian vain-gloriously smile ^ and when he 
 smiled, then he stumbled. 
 
 Now what happiness it was for these Christians to meet 
 each other ! What delightful comparison of each other’s 
 experience, what strengthening of each other’s faith and joy ! 
 Each had not a little to tell peculiar to himself, for they 
 had met with various dangers, temptations, enemies. They 
 were both from the same City of Destruction ; they were 
 now dear friends going to the City of Immanuel ; delightful 
 indeed it was to call to mind former things, and trace the 
 ^oving-kindness of the Lord thus far on their pilgrimage. 
 Faithful had escaped the Slough of Despond, but he had 
 fallen into worse dangers. The Old Man with his deeds had 
 beset him. Then Discontent beset him in the Valley of 
 Humiliation, and told him how he was offending all his 
 worldly friends hy making such a fool of himself. But of 
 all his bold enemies, Shame, in that Valley, was the worst 
 
CHRISTIAN IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOVT OF DEATH. 277 
 
 to (leal with, the most distressing to Faithful’s spirit, whom 
 indeed he could scarce shake out of his company. The 
 delineation of this character by Bunyan, is a masterly group- 
 ing together of the arguments used by men of this world 
 against religion, in ridicule and contempt of it, and of their 
 feelings and habits of opinion in regard to it. Faithful’s 
 account of him and of his arguments is a piece of vigorous 
 satire, full of truth and life. Faithful was hard put to it to 
 get rid of this fellow, but he met with no other difficulty 
 quite through the Valley, and as to the Shadow of Death, to 
 him it was sunlight. 
 
 The next character brought into view is that of Talkative, 
 a professor of religion by the tongue, but not in the life, a 
 hearer of the word, but not a doer, a great disgrace to reli- 
 gion, and in the description of the common people, a saint 
 abroad, and a devil at home. But he was a great talker. 
 He could 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 profit.” Faithful was much 
 taken with this man. What a brave companion have we 
 got ! said he to Christian ; surely this man will make a very 
 excellent pilgrim. Christian, who knew him well, related 
 his parentage and character, and afterwards Faithful pro- 
 ceeded, according to Christian’s directions, to converse with 
 Talkative in such a way upon the subject of religion, as very 
 soon proved what he was in reality, and delivered them of 
 his company. Then went they on, talking of all that they 
 had seen by the way, with such deep interest as made the 
 wilderness, through which they were passing, appear well 
 nigh like a fruitful field. And now they rejoice(i again to 
 meet Evangelist, and listen to his encouraging and animat- 
 ing exhortations, of which, as they were now near the great 
 town of Vanity Fair, they would stand in special need. 
 Indeed, it was partly for the purpose of forewarning them 
 of what they were to meet with there, and to exhort them, 
 amidst all persecutions, to quit themselves like men, that 
 Evangelist now came to them. His voice, so solemn and 
 
278 
 
 LECTURE TENTH. 
 
 deep, yet so inspiring and animating, sounded like the tones 
 of a trumpet on the eve of battle. 
 
 The subject of the trials and temptations of the Christian 
 in this part of the Pilgrim’s Progress finds a beautiful com- 
 mentary in the hymn to w^hich I have referred, by Newton. 
 
 I ask’d the Lord that I might grow 
 In faith, and love, and every grace, 
 Might more of his salvation know, 
 
 And seek more earnestly his face. 
 
 ’Twas he who taught me thus to pray 
 And he, I trust, has answer’d prayer ; 
 But answer came in such a way. 
 
 As almost drove me to despair. 
 
 I hoped that, in some favour’d hour, 
 
 At once he’d grant me my request. 
 
 And, by his love’s constraining power. 
 Subdue my sins and give me rest. 
 
 Instead of this, he made me feel 
 The hidden evils of my heart. 
 
 And let the angry powers of hell 
 Assault my soul in every part. 
 
 Yea more, with his own hand he seem’d 
 Intent to aggravate my woe; 
 
 Cross’d all the fair designs I schemed, 
 Blasted my gourds, and laid me low. 
 
 “ Lord, why is this ?” I trembling cried, 
 
 “ Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death 
 “ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied, 
 
 “ I answer prayer for grace and faith : 
 
 “ These inward trials I employ, 
 
 “ From self and pride to set thee free ; 
 
 “ And break thy schemes of earthly joy, 
 
 “ That thou may’st seek tblno all in me.’* 
 
LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 C6ttsit(an anO iFattSful in tnanitj JFafr. 
 
 TUe Vnaity Fair of this world. — Temptations to worldliness, — The deportment 
 of the Pilgrims. — Their strange appearance to the men of Vanity Fair. — 
 Their trial in the Fair. — The martyrdom of Faithful. — How this pilgrimage 
 is regarded in our day. — Sketch of Vanity Fair in our time. — Visit to Giant 
 Pope’s Cave. — Characters of By-ends, Money-love, Hold- the- world, and 
 Save-all. — Logic of Mr Money-love, — Temptations to filthy lucre.— JDemas 
 and the mines.— Danger of the love of money, and of conformity to the 
 world. 
 
 Vanity Fair is the City of Destruction in its gala dress, 
 in its most seductive sensual allurements. It is this world 
 in miniature, with its various temptations. Hitherto we 
 have observed the Pilgrims by themselves, in lolieliness, in 
 obscurity, in the hidden life and experience of the people of 
 God. The allegory thus far has been that of the soul, 
 amidst its spiritual enemies, toiling towards heaven ; now 
 there comes a scene more open, tangible, external ; the 
 allurements of the world are to be presented, with the man- 
 ner in which the true Pilgrim conducts himself amidst them. 
 It was necessary that Bunyan should shew his pilgrimage 
 in its external as well as its secret spiritual conflicts ; it 
 was necessary that he should draw the contrast between the 
 pursuits and deportment of the children of this world, and 
 the children of light, that he should shew how a true Pilgrim 
 appears, and is likely to be regarded, who, amidst the 
 world’s, vanities lives above the world, is dead to it, and 
 walks through it as a stranger and a pilgrim towards heaven. 
 
280 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 The temptations to worldliness are the strongest and most 
 common in the Christian race ; they are so represented in 
 Scripture ; we are told of the cares of this world, the deceit- 
 fulness of riches, and the lusts of other things choking the 
 word, that hecometh unfruitful ; and in many passages we 
 are warned against the love of the world, the imitation of 
 its manners, and the indulgence of its feelings : especially in 
 that striking passage in John, and the corresponding one in 
 James. Love not the world, neither the things that are 
 in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the 
 Father is not in him. For all that is of the world, the lust 
 of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is 
 not of the Father, but is of the world.” James is yet more 
 severe. “ Ye adulterers and adulteresses ! know ye not that 
 the friendship of the world is enmity with Grod ? Wlioso* 
 ever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemv of 
 God.” 
 
 Certainly, it was to illustrate these passages that Bunyan 
 composed this portion of the Pilgrim’s Progress. It was 
 also to shew the truth of that saying, which the apostles 
 and primitive Christians seem to have kept among the choice 
 jewels of truth nearest their hearts, among their amulets of 
 apples of gold in pictures of silver, that through much 
 tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of heaven. In 
 the world ye shall have tribulation,” said our blessed Lord 
 to his disciples, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the 
 world. If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me 
 before it hated you. I have chosen you out of the world, 
 and ye are not of the world, even as I am not of the world, 
 therefore the world hateth you.” Bunyan would shew, by 
 the treatment of the pilgrims in Vanity Fair, that this hatred 
 is not gone out of existence. He would shew that the 
 Christian life is not a pilgrimage merely of inward experi- 
 ences, but that they who will live godly in Christ J esus are 
 a peculiar people, and must, in some sort or other, suffer 
 persecution. They are strangers in a strange country. The 
 world, its spirit and pursuits, are foreign from and hostile to 
 their habits, inclinations, and duties, as children of the 
 Saviour. To be conformed to the world is to depart from 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 281 
 
 the way of life ; the whole race of genuine pilgrims must 
 therefore be a strange and singular people, a people of non- 
 conformists, whose deportment rebukes and reproves the 
 world, and convinces it of sin. It does this just so far as 
 they live up to the rules of their pilgrimage. 
 
 It is not always the case, however, that simple-hearted 
 godliness, travelling through the world, meets with such 
 persecution as Christian and Faithful did in passing through 
 Vanity Fair. This sketch of Bunyan borrows some shades 
 from the severe aspect of his own times ; yet the general 
 picture is a picture of all times, the general lessons are les- 
 sons for the instruction of all pilgrims. The spirit of Foxe’s 
 old Book of Martyrs is here ; the spirit of the Reformation, 
 and the constancy and endurance of those who rode in the 
 chariot of fire to heaven. Bunyan himself was almost a 
 Martyr-Pilgrim, and he himself had passed througli Vanity 
 Fair with much the same treatment as Christian and Faith- 
 ful experienced ; this passage is a copy of his own life, not 
 less than the passage through the terrors of the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death. Moreover, the picture of the Fair 
 itself is drawn from scenes with which Bunyan was fami- 
 liar in England ; from those motley assemblages of booths, 
 people, and sins, still to be witnessed in that country under 
 the names of Greenwich Fair, Bartholomew Fair, and others ; 
 scenes where may be witnessed the world of sin in minia- 
 ture. These places served Bunyan for the setting of his 
 allegory, which is conducted with the utmost beauty, ful- 
 ness of meaning, and truth to nature. 
 
 The merchandise of this Fair, comprising all conceivable 
 commodities that can come under the categories of the 
 Apostle John, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and 
 the pride of life, is described with great power of satire. The 
 most abundant commodity was the merchandise of Rome, a 
 sort of ware at present in greater demand in Vanity Fair 
 than of long time, since Bunyan’s day, it hath been. 
 Through this place of Vanity Fair, once passed the Lord of 
 life and glory, when the Prince and Owner of the Fair 
 tempted him with the offer of all the kingdoms of the world, 
 and the glory of them 
 
 19 
 
282 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 In this Fair the garments of the Pilgrims were so strange^ 
 so different from the raiment of the men of the Fair ; also 
 their language, being that of Canaan,” was so unknown 
 that they passed for barbarians, and were treated as such. 
 Also, their utter indifference as to all the merchandise of 
 the Fair, and their refusal to buy thereof, or to partake in 
 the vain and sinful amusements of the place, made them to 
 be considered as persons out of their senses. So there was 
 a great hubbub in the Fair about them, and they were taken 
 and confined in the Cage, and made a spectacle, and after- 
 wards they were grievously beaten, as being the authors of 
 such a disturbance. These men, that have turned the 
 world upside down, are come hither also.” But their pa- 
 tience, forbearance, and gentleness of deportment did win 
 them some friends even among the men of the Fair, which 
 they of the contrary party' being very much enraged at, it 
 was at length resolved that these men should be put to 
 death. 
 
 Now came on the trial ; and here again, as in every part 
 of the allegory, Bunyan’s own experience served him in 
 good stead ; here again he draws his picture from real life, 
 from his own life. Little could he have thought, when a 
 few years ago amidst the taunts of his enemies, he himself 
 stood at the bar to be examined for the crime of preaching 
 the gospel, that the providence of God was then laying up 
 in store materials of human life and character to be used 
 with such powerful effect in his then unconceived imagined 
 allegory. These phases of a world at enmity against God 
 were indelibly impressed on Bunyan’s mind, and now, in all 
 the freshness of their colouring, he transferred^ them to the 
 tablets of the Pilgrim’s Progress. 
 
 Nothing can be more masterly than the satire contained 
 in this trial. The Judge, the Witnesses, and the Jury, ai*e 
 portraits sketched to the life, and finished, every one of them, 
 in quick, concise, and graphic touches. The ready testi- 
 mony of Envy is especially characteristic. Rather than 
 anything should be wanting that might be necessary to de- 
 spatch the prisoner, he would enlarge his testimony against 
 him to any requisite degree. The language of the Judge, 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 283 
 
 and his whole deportment on the bench, are a copy to the 
 life of some of the infamous judges under King Charles, 
 especially the wretch Jeffries. You may find in the trial 
 of the noble patriot Algernon Sidney the abusive language 
 of the Judge against Faithful almost word for word. The 
 Judge’s charge to the Jury, with the acts and laws on 
 which the condemnation of the prisoner was founded, are 
 full of ingenuity and meaning. 
 
 But the best part of the trial is the heroic courageous de- 
 portment of Faithful. His answer to the charges and the 
 witnesses against him, reminds us of Bunyan’s answers to 
 the arguments of his accusers. “ As to the charge of Mr 
 Superstition against me, I said only this, that in the wor- 
 ship 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 pro- 
 fitable to eternal life. 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 
 liis attendants, by this gentleman named, are more fit for 
 being in hell than in this town or country ; and so the 
 Lord have mercy upon me.” 
 
 Well done, noble, resolute, fearless Faithful ! No doubt 
 of death after such truth shot into the hearts of thine ene- 
 mies ! Then was Faithful, after dreadful torments inflicted 
 on him, burned to ashes at the stake, in the midst of the 
 multitude. But behind the multitude there was a ravish- 
 ing sight for any man whose eyes could have been opened 
 to behold it, and which might have made any man willing 
 to take Faithful’s place at the stake for the sake of Faith- 
 ful’s place in glory afterwards. For there was a band of 
 bright shining angels waiting for Faithful with a chariot 
 and horses, in which, while the flames were yet cracking in 
 the fagots which consumed his flesh to ashes, he was con- 
 veyed with the sound of trumpets up through the clouds to 
 the Celestial City. This sight was enough to make Chris- 
 
284 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 tian wish that, instead of taking him back to prison, they 
 had burned him also on the spot, 
 
 Now this is a most exquisitely beautiful sketch ; it is 
 drawn to the life from many an era of pilgrimage in this 
 world ; there are in it the materials of glory that consti- 
 tuted spirits of such noble greatness as are catalogued in the 
 eleventh chapter of the epistle to the Hebrews ; trials of 
 cruel mockings and scourgings, bonds and imprisonments, 
 such as tortured and hardened the frames of men of whom 
 the world was not worthy. Such was the stuff and disci- 
 pline out of which the race of primitive Christians were 
 moulded ; and very much such was also the era of pilgrim- 
 age on which Bunyan himself had fallen. But is it an 
 equally true sketch of the pilgrimage in our day ? Is the 
 world now regarded so much a wilderness and a world of 
 enmity against God as it was ? Certainly the pilgrims are 
 now regarded with more favour. Is this because the world 
 has grown kinder, better, more disposed towards godliness ? 
 or is it because the pilgrims have grown less strict in their 
 manners, less peculiar in their language, and more accommo- 
 dating and complying with the usages of Vanity Fair ? 
 Or is it from both these causes together, that the path of 
 the pilgrimage seems so much easier now than it was 
 fonnerly ? 
 
 It is true that the more Christians there are in the world, 
 the more delightful will this pilgrimage become, the fewer 
 external enemies and difficulties will there be to be fought 
 and conquered. There might be such a revival of religion 
 in Vanity Fair itself, as should convert all its inhabitants, 
 so that even my Lord Hategood would have to lay aside his 
 name with his nature, and Malice and Envy would be 
 changed into Love. Then would the lion lie down with the 
 lamb, and the leopard would eat straw like the ox, and a 
 little child might pass in white robes through Vanity Fair 
 imhurt, unsoiled. Then would the merchandise of the Fair 
 be changed, and no longer would the answer of the pilgrims. 
 
 We buy the truth,” be deemed such a strange and barbar- 
 ous answer j but godliness would be considered as gain, and 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 285 
 
 not gain as godliness. That the world is coming into such 
 a grand climacteric of innocence, happiness, and glory, there 
 is no doubt, just in proportion as the gospel prevails, and 
 the number of real believers is multiplied. 
 
 There is, however^ an era of nominal Christianity. 
 Vanity Fair itself may be full of profound pilgrims, and 
 the pilgrimage itself may be held in high esteem, and yet 
 the practice of the pilgrimage, as Christian and Faithful 
 followed it, may almost have gone out of existence. With 
 the increase of nominal Christians there is always an in- 
 crease of conformity to the world ; and the world appears 
 better than it did to Christians, not so much because it 
 has changed, as because they have changed ; the wild beasts 
 and the tame ones dwell together, not so much because the 
 leopards eat straw like the ox, as because the ox eats flesh 
 like the leopard. Ephraim, he hath mixed himself among 
 the people ; the people have not come over to Ephraim, but 
 Ephraim has gone over to them ; the people hath not 
 learned the ways of Ephraim, but Ephraim hath learned 
 the manners of the people. This is too much the case in 
 the Vanity Fair of the world at the present time ; there is 
 not such a marked and manifest distinction between the 
 church and the world as there should be ; their habits^ 
 maxims, opinions, pursuits, amusements, whole manner of 
 life, are too much the same ; so that the pilgrims in our 
 day have lost the character of a peculiar people, not so 
 much because they have become vastly more numerous 
 than formerly, as because they have become conformed to 
 the world, not like strangers, but natives in Vanity Fair. 
 The great temptation of tlie church in our day is that of 
 entire, almost iinmingled worldliness; formalism and world- 
 liness are too sadly the types of our piety ; we are in im- 
 minent danger of forgetting that our life is a pilgrimage, 
 and that this is not our rest. 
 
 This being the case, what shall we say of this sketch of 
 Vanity Fair, and of the treatment of the pilgrims in it-, as 
 applied to ourselves, to the Vanity Fair of our own era in 
 the world, and of the society around us % Do the pilgrims 
 of our day go as resolutely through Vanity Fair as Chris- 
 
286 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 tian and Faitliful did ? Is it true that in simplicity and 
 godly sincerity, not with fleshly lusts, we, as they did, have 
 our conversation in the world 1 Is our merchandise the 
 truth ? or do we, as they did not, stop to trade in Vanity 
 Pair, cheapening its commodities ? And how many among 
 us mfl, ho A cuity Pair the end of our pilgrimag e ? 
 
 LeFtIieI>reamer lie down, and dream again in the wil- 
 derness of the world, and surely a great change would come 
 over the spu’it of his dream, and the colouring also. Or let 
 a man stand by the Dreamer, and recount to him what has 
 liappened since he passed this way before, what changes in 
 the progress of two hundred years. Listen to him, if you 
 please, as he speaks of Vanity Fair in your day. His ac- 
 count is somewhat as follows : — 
 
 The town was much altered since Christian and Faithful 
 passed through it, and principally for the reason that a 
 great multitude of Pilgrims who had set out on the pil- 
 grimage had concluded, finding the air of the city much 
 improved, and that by reason of the increase of refinement 
 and knowledge among the inhabitants, the city itself was 
 very profitable and pleasant to dwell in, to remain there for 
 an indefinite season, and many of them for the residue of 
 their lives. This began by some of them being allured to 
 take part in the purchase and sale of the merchandise of 
 the place, till at length a great part of the business came to 
 be transacted by those who at first came to the place in the 
 character of strangers and travellers to the Celestial City. 
 They formed partnership with the natives and original 
 owijers of Vanity Fair, so that now no small part of the 
 French Row, the German Row, and especially the English 
 Row, was carried on under the profession of those who had 
 thus settled in the place as pilgrims. 
 
 In process of time they had also appointed, as Lord Mayor 
 of the place, a professor of the religion of the pilgrims. My 
 Lord Know-the- World, whose grand entertainments and 
 dinners, together with his courtly and affable manners, did 
 much to render the name of the pilgrims respectable, and 
 to put the whole place on good terms with them. Hay, it 
 was a pleasant thing to the citizens that they could have so 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 287 
 
 many of the pilgrims to stay with them, still preserving 
 the profession of their pilgrimage ; insomuch that at length 
 it became fashionable among many of the native inhabi- 
 tants of the city to take the same name and profession, with- 
 out having ever once set out on their travels toward the 
 Celestial City. And I observed that what aided this greatly 
 was a certain thing that had got in vogue, which I was told 
 was considered by many as involving the whole essence of 
 the pilgrimage, and securing all its benefits, without the 
 necessity of encountering its perils or labours, and which 
 they called Baptismal Regeneration. There was also in the 
 court end of the town a very large cathedral, builded of 
 hewn stone, on which they had sculptured the image of the 
 twelve apostles, and over the gate of it had engraven in 
 large capitals these words, No church without a bishop.” 
 I was told that it was in this building chiefly that the cere- 
 mony which they called Baptismal Regeneration was per- 
 formed ; and it was observable that most of those who en- 
 tered this building and underwent the ceremonies there 
 enacted, considered themselves safe for the Celestial City, 
 although they had not Christian’s roll, and never went a 
 step beyond Vanity Fair. 
 
 There was also no small part of the court end of the city 
 where the houses had crosses upon them ; which I was told 
 would prevent the growth of any such burden on the shoul- 
 ders as Christian had borne with so much difficulty. There 
 were also in various parts of the city places of worship 
 erected, called Chapels of Ease, where the music was so fine, 
 and the seats were so softly and beautifully prepared, and 
 all the ceremonies were so pleasant, that most of the inha- 
 bitants became church-going people. In some of these places 
 I was told that great care was taken to smooth down the 
 rough places in the gospel, and that no alarms were ever 
 suffered to be given to the consciences of the people who 
 came there, and also that all those fiends, by which Chris- 
 tian had been so much vexed and alarmed, were considered 
 as only imaginary beings, even Apollyon himself, and that 
 the hell which had frightened so many pilgrims was re« 
 garded as a mere creation of the fancy. 
 
288 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 Moreover, Mr Legality, from the town of Carnal Policy, 
 had established a colony in this place, and by the aid of Mi 
 Worldly- Wiseman, had gained no small number of the pil- 
 grims, who had concluded to settle in Vanity Fair. I also 
 observed that the pilgrims had thrived greatly in their busi- 
 ness, and that their houses were among ^he most tasteful 
 and costly buildings in the better parts of the city. When 
 they first began to stop in Vanity Fair, they were of very 
 small means, and of an humble exterior ; but by degrees 
 they acquired property, and moved up into the more airy 
 and fashionable parts of the place, where they thought it 
 important to make the name and profession of Pilgrim re- 
 spectable in the eyes of the inhabitants. Some of them had 
 great share in the various stocks in Vanity Fair, and were 
 appointed directors and presidents of its banks, and had built 
 themselves fine houses, and kept up large establishments, such 
 as formerly none but the native men of Vanity Fair could 
 build or reside in. 
 
 There was one Mr Genteel, who at first came into the 
 place very dusty and poor from his pilgrimage (his name 
 then being Rustic), and had resolved only to remain long 
 enough in Vanity Fair to better his circumstances a little, 
 and then to set out again, but who had such a tide of worldly 
 prosperity upon him, that he became very rich, put up 
 one of the finest houses in the place, changed his name, and 
 concluded to remain there indefinitely. There was another 
 man, Mr Worldly-Conformity, who followed this rich pil- 
 grim’s example ; and they two, together with some others 
 in the same neighbourhood, as Mr Luke- Warm, Mr Yield- 
 ing, Mr Indifferent, Mr Expedient, and their families, con- 
 stituted some of the most fashionable society in the region. 
 They were not outdone by any of the merchants, or pro- 
 fessional gentlemen, or nobility of Vanity Fair, in the cost- 
 liness of their entertainments, and the richness of their style 
 of living. 
 
 It is true that in some cases these professed pilgrims were 
 found to have gone beyond their means, and to have built 
 houses and supported this expensive mode of life at the ex- 
 pense of other people ; but this did not prevent others from 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 289 
 
 similar extravagance ; and at length the world’s people, as 
 the original inhabitants at Vanity Fair were called, and the 
 population of the pilgrims, could not at all be distinguished, 
 the pilgrims having ceased to be a peculiar people, and en- 
 gaging in the same amusements and pursuits as were gene- 
 rally deemed reputable. The pilgrims being so prosperous 
 and well- esteemed, you may readily suppose there were very 
 few new-comers but were persuaded to settle down in the 
 same way, very few indeed, who, like Christian and Faith- 
 ful of old, went strait through Vanity Fair, and would not 
 be turned aside from their pilgrimage. Some who staid in 
 the town retained the recollection of their pilgrim life a 
 longer, and some a shorter time than others, and some would 
 be ever and anon preparing to set out again ; but there were 
 certain persons of influence in the place, as Mr Self-Indul- 
 gence, Mr Love-of-Ease, Mr Creature- Comfort, Mr Indolence, 
 My Lord Procrastinate, and My Lord Time-Serving, who, 
 with fair speeches, did generally contrive to detain them, 
 even to the day of their death. So that it was rare that 
 any of those who stopped and became entangled in the cares 
 and pleasures of life and business in Vanity Fair, ever again 
 set out on pilgrimage. I have heard, however, that many 
 of them, when they came to die, were found in great gloom 
 and distress, and could get no peace whatever, crying out 
 continually, 0 that I had never ceased to be a pilgrim !” 
 There were some that had very grand country-seats, and 
 spent their time in farming and gardening in the summer 
 and were very busy at the Fair in large business operations 
 in the winter. Some of these men were accustomed to give 
 considerable sums to certain benevolent societies that were 
 in the place, and also they would, as occasion offered, pre- 
 side at their meetings, and give them countenance by their 
 names. Nor was there any want of such societies now in 
 Vanity Fair, for many persons seemed to think that the 
 patronising of such societies rendered it unnecessary for 
 themselves to go on pilgrimage. There were also many 
 good books published in the place, and what seemed not a 
 little surprising, the lives of some of the most noted pilgrims 
 who had passed through Vanity Fair were put forth, and 
 
290 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 were greatly admired even by some of those who had settled 
 in Vanity Fair because of its merchandise. There were also 
 persons who might be heard to speak much of the necessity 
 of living as strangers and pilgrims in the world, who, never- 
 theless, kept immense warehouses in English Row and French 
 Row, and were very busy in increasing their estates and 
 beautifying their establishments. 
 
 From all these things you may conclude, that whereas in 
 Christian and Faithful’s time the very name of a Pilgrim 
 was enough to bring odium and disgrace, if not persecution, 
 upon the men who entered the town in that character, it 
 was now considered a very reputable thing, some of the 
 very best society in Vanity Fair holding it in such esteem, 
 that the persecution of Faithful was now thought to be the 
 greatest disgrace that had ever befallen the inhabitants. The 
 Cage in which the pilgrims were once confined as madmen 
 was now never used, and some said that it had been broken 
 in pieces, but others said that it had been consecrated fot 
 church purposes, and put under the Cathedral, in a deep cell, 
 from which it might again be brought forth, if occasion 
 required it. The old Lord of the Fair also, seeing how 
 things were going on, now very seldom came thither in 
 person, and was well content, it is said, to have the people 
 appoint for their mayors and judges persons who had either 
 been pilgrims themselves, or greatly favoured that part of 
 the population. 
 
 There was another very singular thing that had happened 
 in process of time ; for a part of the pilgrims who remained 
 in Vanity Fair began to visit the Cave of Giant Pope, which, 
 you remember, lay at no great distance from the town ; so, 
 instead of going farther towards the Celestial City, there be- 
 came a fashionable sort of pilgrimage to that Cave. They 
 brushed up the Giant, and gave him medicines to alleviate 
 the hurts from those bruises which he had received in his 
 youth ; and to make the place pleasanter, they carefully 
 cleared away the remains of the bones and skulls of burned 
 pilgrims, and planted a large enclosure with flowers and 
 evergreens. 
 
 When this was done, they even denied that there had ever 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 291 
 
 been any such cruelties practised, as were demonstrated by 
 the bones, when Christian and Faithful passed by. The Cave 
 also they adorned, and let in just so much light upon it as 
 made it appear romantic and sacred, so that some pilgrims, 
 who came at first only to see the ceremonies, were so much 
 attracted by them as to join in them. 
 
 What greatly aided to render this pilgrimage fashionable, 
 was a large saloon erected about half-way between Yanity 
 Fair and the Cave, where much good society from Vanity 
 Fair were accustomed to stop for refreshment and social 
 converse, where also they had little hermitages and altars, 
 and a certain intoxicating refreshment, called Tracts for the 
 Times, the effect of which was to make them feel, while 
 pursuing their way to the Cave, as if they were stepping 
 towards heaven. It was said also that there was an under- 
 ground passage all the way between this Cave and the 
 Cathedral, of which I have spoken, in Vanity Fair, where 
 the twelve apostles were sculptured in stone, and the Cage 
 was secreted ; but this passage I never examined. 
 
 Is this a true or false report of some among many things 
 that might be named in the state of society, and the reputa- 
 tion of the Christian pilgrimage now, in Yanity Fair 1 We 
 will leave Conscience to answer this question, and pass on 
 to the ver}^ instructive and exquisitely satirical sketches of 
 character introduced by Bunyan, after Hopeful, rising out 
 of Faithful’s ashes, had joined Christian in the way. The 
 martyrdom of Faithful had kindled a light in Yanity Fair 
 that would not easily be put out, and many there were that 
 by his example would themselves, as Hopeful did, become 
 pilgrims. So, by the death of one to bear testimony to the 
 truth, many were affected by that testimony, whose hearts 
 might otherwise have remained hardened to the end of life. 
 Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, with the story of Latimer and 
 Ridley, it must be remembered, w^as one of three books that 
 constituted Bunyan’s Prison Library. 
 
 There now pass before us in the Pilgrim’s Progress a 
 series of characters sketched with inimitable power and 
 beauty, of whom Mr By-ends is the most remarkable, stand- 
 ing for a class of men of no small number and influence. 
 
292 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 He got his estate by looking one way and rowing another, 
 and he and his family, friends and relations, differed from 
 the stricter sort in religion only in two small points ; first, 
 never striving against wind and water, and second, being 
 always for Religion in his silver slippers, loving much to 
 walk with him in the streets, of a sunshiny day, when the 
 people applauded. It is very clear that there could be little 
 or no communion between this man and Christian and 
 Hopeful ; for By-ends would hold to his own principles, 
 they being, as he said, harmless and profitable, whereas the 
 principles of Christian and Hopeful were in his view unne- 
 cessarily strict and rigid, compelling them to walk with 
 Religion in rags and contempt, as well as in sunshine and 
 silver slippers. When therefore they had met and conversed 
 a little, they soon separated, and speedily after Christian had 
 asked Mr By-ends what was his name. 
 
 But now By-ends meets a trio of more congenial compa- 
 nions, Mr Hold-the-World, Mr Money-Love, and Mr Save- 
 all, the whole of them having formerly been schoolmates 
 under Mr Gripe -man, in the town of Love -Gain. Their 
 schoolmaster had taught them, among other things, the art 
 of gaining by putting on the guise of Religion ; and Bunyan 
 seems to have designated in these men the characters of base, 
 arrant cheats, and hypocrites. Their conversation with one 
 another is a most amusing piece of satire, developing the 
 sheer worldliness and selfishness of their principles, and the 
 arguments by which such men justify the service of God 
 and Mammon. The speech of Mr Hold-the-World is ad- 
 mirably characteristic, and for its string of earthly proverbs, 
 with the selfish sagacity of which they are all the exponent, 
 it rivals all the delineations of Sancho Panza, by Cervantes. 
 Hold-the-World is indeed the very essence and personification 
 of low worldly wisdom, and what is worse, he carries it all 
 under the guise of piety ; in this, it is to be feared, consti- 
 tuting an example of the real character of many who would 
 not be willing to acknowledge such principles, either to 
 themselves or others. 
 
 For my own part,” said he, I can count him but a 
 fool, who, having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be 
 
OHllISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 293 
 
 SO unwise as to lose it. Let ns be wise as serpents ; it is best 
 to make hay while the sun shines : you see how the bee lieth 
 still in 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 take fair weather along with us. For 
 my part, I like that religion best that will stand with the 
 security of God’s good blessings unto us ; for who can imagine 
 that is ruled, by his reason, since God has bestowed upon us 
 the good things of this life, but that he would have us keep 
 them for his sake ? Abraham and 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 Christian and Hope- 
 ful, added Hold- the- World, if they be such rigid simpletons 
 as you have described them.” 
 
 Then By-ends proposed this question : Suppose a n>an, a 
 minister or a tradesman, &c., should have an advantage lie 
 before him to get the good blessings of this life, yet so as 
 that he can by no means come by them, except, in appear- 
 ance at least, he becomes extraordinarily zealous in some 
 points of religion that he meddled not with before ; may he 
 not use these means to obtain this end, and yet be a right 
 honest man ? 
 
 Mr Money-Love undertook to answer this question, and 
 the crooked policy of his conclusions jumped well, you may 
 be sure, with the minds of his companions, first concerning 
 ministers, second concerning tradesmen. Hr Paley would 
 have done well to have read over this chapter in Bunyan 
 before composing some of the chapte-rs in his Moral Philo- 
 sophy, and his sermon on the Utility of Distinctions in the 
 Ministry. The philosophy of Money-Love and By-ends is 
 that which the god of this world teaches all his votaries ; 
 and, alas, when motives come to be scrutinized, as they will 
 be, at the bar of God, how much of our apparent good will 
 be found to be evil, because in the root that nourished botli 
 the branches and the fruit, there was found to be nothing 
 but self-interest carefully concealed ! You seek me, not be- 
 cause of the miracles to be witnessed, or the grace to be 
 gained, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled. 
 
294 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 “ Suppose a minister,” said Mr Money -Love, “ a very 
 worthy man, possessed but of a very small benefice, and has 
 in his eye a greater, more plump and fat by far : he has 
 also now an opportunity of getting it, yet, so as by being 
 more studious, by preaching more frequent and zealously, 
 and, because the temper of the people requires it, by altering 
 of some of his principles : for my part, I see no reason why 
 a man may not do this, provided he has a call, yea, 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 contradicted, since it is set before him by Providence ; so 
 then he may get it if he can, making no question for con- 
 science’ sake. 
 
 2. Because his desire after that benefice makes him more 
 studious, a more zealous preacher, &c., and so makes him a 
 better man, yea, makes him better improve his parts ; which 
 is according to the mind of Grod. 
 
 3. How, as to his complying with the temper of his peo- 
 ple, 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 (3.) so more fit for the 
 ministerial function. 
 
 I conclude, then, that a minister who changes a small for 
 a great ^ should not, for so doing, be judged as covetous ; but 
 rather, since he is improved in his parts and industry there- 
 by, be counted as one that pursues his call, and the oppor- 
 tunity put into his hands to do good. 
 
 And now to the second part of the question, which con- 
 cerns the tradesman you mentioned ; suppose such an one to 
 have but a poor employ in the world, but by becoming 
 religious he may mend his market, perhaps get a rich wife, 
 or more and far better customers to his shop ; for my part, 
 I see no reason but this may be 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 better customers 
 to my shop. 
 
 1. Besides, the man tliat gets these by becoming religious. 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 295 
 
 ^ets that which is good, of them that are good, by becoming 
 good himself ; so then, here is a good wife, and good cus- 
 tomers, and good gain, and all this by becoming religious, 
 which is good ; therefore, to become religious, to get all 
 these, is a good and profitable design.” 
 
 Now is not this logic of Money-Love very barefaced 1 And 
 yet these men considered it perfectly triumphant, and an argu- 
 ment that Christian and Hopeful could not possibly contra- 
 dict. Whereupon they resolved to propound the same question 
 to them, and so puzzle and defeat them. But to their astonish- 
 ment, Christian declared at once that none others than 
 heathens, hypocrites, devils, and witches could be of their 
 opinion, and then he went on to prove this so clearly and 
 powerfully out of Scripture, with instances in point, that 
 the men were completely staggered, and stood staring one 
 upon another, unable to answer a word. What, said Chris- 
 tian to Hopeful, will these men do with the sentence of God, 
 if they cannot stand before the sentence of men ? 
 
 This passage in the pilgrimage is full of instruction, and 
 we might dwell long upon it, and upon the danger of evil 
 motives under the guise of a good cause, or of unholy motives 
 in a holy cause. The motive is every thing ; it makes the 
 man. An eye single makes a single-minded man : an eye 
 double makes a double-minded man. An eye single is good 
 in whatever a man undertakes, considered even merely in 
 reference to the things of this life, and as requisite to decision 
 of character. In this view the children of this world are 
 wiser in their generation than the children of light ; what 
 they do for this world they do with energy and whole- 
 heartedness, which is just what, as pilgrims, we want for 
 Christ. We want, in all things, an eye single for God, 
 for his approbation, for his glory, and this is the pre- 
 cious motive that excludes every other, or keeps every other 
 subordinate, and turns every thing to gold. Whatsoever 
 ye do, do it heartily^ as to the Lord, and not unto men.” The 
 very drudgery and toilsomeness of our pilgrimage is turned 
 into a divine and holy service, by this precious singleness of 
 heart for Christ ! Oh how desirable is this in every thing ! 
 This is the body of that beautiful composition by Herbert, 
 
296 
 
 LECTUKE ELEVENTH. 
 
 which is perhaps the best series of stanzas he ever wrote, 
 entitled The Elixir. It is good to drink this on our pil- 
 grimage, especially after such a conversation with By-ends 
 and Money-Love. By-ends are almost always had ends, hut 
 love to Christ, singleness of heart for Christ, sets them at a 
 distance, and shows them at once in their native hypocrisy 
 and deformity. 
 
 Teach me, my God and King, 
 
 In all things Thee to see, 
 
 And what I do in any thing, 
 
 To do it as for Thee. 
 
 Not rudely, as a beast. 
 
 To run into an action ; 
 
 But still to make Thee prepossest, 
 
 And give it thy perfection. 
 
 A man that looks on glass 
 On it may stay his eye ; 
 
 And if it pleaseth, through it pass, 
 
 And then the heaven espy. 
 
 All may of Thee partake ; 
 
 Nothing can be so mean. 
 
 Which with this tincture for thy sake 
 Will not grow bright and clean. 
 
 A servant with this clause. 
 
 Makes drudgery divine : 
 
 Who sweeps a room as for thy laws. 
 
 Makes that and the action fine. 
 
 This is the famous stone. 
 
 That turneth all to gold ; 
 
 For that which God doth touch and own 
 Cannot for less be told. 
 
 Now we must go on with our Pilgrims. They had now 
 a short interval of pleasant going, over a plain called Ease, 
 but it was soon passed, and again they entered into danger. 
 Bunyan has put in the margin, The ease that Pilgrims 
 have in this life is short.” The temptation which they now 
 encountered was that of filthy lucre, for they came to a 
 silver mine in the side of a hill, and were invited by a veiy 
 gentlemanly man, Demas, to turn aside for a little, and exa- 
 mine this mine, and perhaps undertake a small speculation 
 for themselves. Hopeful was for going, hut Christian held 
 him back, while he examined Demas, who declared that the 
 working in this mine was not very dangerous except to those 
 
CimiSTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 297 
 
 who were careless. Tliere are many pilgrims who reason 
 thus, or are ensnared by such reasoning. They think that 
 if other men have perished by the love of money, it was be- 
 cause they went too far ; but for themselves, tney mean just 
 to enter the mine, dig a little, and then come out again, 
 satisfied to have neither poverty nor riches. But this is a 
 temptation, where one step draws on another, so that no 
 man can tell how far he is going ; and the damps in this 
 mine are such, that the further men go in, the greater danger 
 they encounter, and the more incapacitated they are for 
 turning back. For they that will be rich, fall into tempta- 
 tion, and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, 
 which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the 
 love of money is the root of all evil ; whicli, Avhile some 
 coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced 
 themselves through with many sorrows.” 
 
 In our day there are many such hills Lucre, and such men 
 Demas, to be encountered in our pilgrimage. But the air of 
 the mines, it is observable, is in all those regions, and the 
 pilgrims who turn aside, generally get so infected with it 
 that they are ever after either greatly hindered and weakened 
 in their course, or entirely disabled from pursuing their pil- 
 grimage. There are also certain wild lands stretching off 
 behind the hill Lucre, where some pilgrims wandering in 
 search of treasure have lost their way, and never been heard 
 of more. By divine grace the vigilance of Christian carried 
 him and Hopeful past this danger, though By-ends and all 
 his company went into the mine at the first invitation from 
 Demas, and these men were never more seen on their pil- 
 grimage. 
 
 The habits of conformity to the world in Christians, and 
 the love of money in the Church of Christ, are the two forms 
 of sin and danger especially brought to view in this portion 
 of the Pilgrim’s Progress. There are certain passages of 
 Scripture, certain declarations of our blessed Lord, which 
 are sharp arrows in the hearts of the King’s enemies” on 
 these subjects. What shall it profit a man, if he gain the 
 whole world, and lose his own soul ? ” This is a sum in 
 20 
 
298 
 
 LECTURE ELEVENTH. 
 
 profit and loss, which it will take eternity to cipher out. 
 Therefore let no man try it ; leave it to the Saviour. Turn 
 you to him and say, Lord thou knowest ; thou knowest per- 
 fectly what the soul is, and what eternity is, and I do not 
 know either ; and what it is to lose the soul, Grod grant I may 
 never know. Lord, keep me from making this experiment. 
 And yet, there are multitudes who are making it, multitudes 
 who are playing at this game, working at this sum in arith- 
 metic, What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole 
 world, and lose his own soul 1 
 
 This is the arithmetic of a great part of the world in 
 Vanity Fair. Now you may gain the world if you seek it. 
 Its comforts, luxuries, sinful pleasures, may be yours, if you 
 be willing to barter your soul for them ; they almost always 
 come at that price ; so you may gain the world, you may 
 know what that part of the sum is ; but what it is to lose 
 the soul, that computation you are to make, that column 
 you are to add up, in eternity ; and that is an experiment 
 which you cannot make but by making it for ever. 
 
 Then there is that other passage, Ye cannot serve God 
 and Mammon ! ” Cannot ! Yea, cannot ; it is an absolute 
 impossibility. Then the life of a great many persons is a 
 perpetual strife after what is impossible, for many are striv- 
 ing to serve God and Mammon. Hard-working people they 
 are ; there are no greater drudges in the world than those 
 By-ends and Money-Loves, and Demases, who, in the Chris- 
 tian church, are working away at this problem, to serve 
 God and Mammon. That also is a tremendous sentence. 
 
 It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, 
 than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” 
 Often as the motley reflexes of my experience move in 
 long processions of manifold groups before me,” says a great 
 writer, and certainly not a cynical man, Mr Coleridge, 
 the distinguished and world- honoured company of Christian 
 Mammonists appear to the eye of my imagination as a drove 
 of camels heavily laden, yet all at full speed, and each in the 
 confident expectation of passing through the eye of the 
 needle, without stop or halt, both beasts and baggage ! ” 
 
CHRISTIAN AND FAITHFUL IN VANITY FAIR. 299 
 
 From such sad and fearful madness may the grace of our 
 GjJ deliver us ! 
 
 Fulness to such a burden is 
 Who go on pilgrimage ; 
 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
 
 Is best from ago to ago. 
 
LECTUEE TWELFTH. 
 
 SDouBttng Caistle anD cPtant J)cs!pafr, 
 
 Beauty and wisdom of this delineation.— Many ways of getting into this Castle. 
 — Only one way to get out. — By-Path Meadow, and its Allurements. — En- 
 joyment of Christian and Hopeful before they went into it. — Their discon- 
 tent with the roughness of the King’s highway.— Their four errors. — Their 
 sleep amidst the storm, and the discovery of them by Giant Despair. — Their 
 treatment and behaviour in the Castle. — A Sabbath-morning in prayer. — 
 Discovery of the Key of Promise. — Their escape. — The mercy and faithful, 
 ness of God in Christ — Consequences of the hiding of God’s countenance.— 
 Misery of being without God in eternity. — Solemn realities of this Allegory 
 
 ^YE are coming now upon a scene in this pilgrimage, which 
 is drawn from the experience of all travellers towards the 
 Celestial City, and is in a greater or less degree familiar to 
 them all. What pilgrim does not know Doubting Castle, 
 kept by Giant Despair ] Its huge keeps and moss-grown 
 frowning battlements rise before us almost as familiar as the 
 Wicket Gate ; and what pilgrims are there, that have not, 
 at some time or another, seen the inside of the Castle They 
 may not all have seen Giant Despair in person, but his wife 
 Diffidence they have met with, and the underkeepers of his 
 prison. They may not all have been thrown into the same 
 horrible dungeon where Christian and Hopeful were con- 
 fined, nor visited by the Giant with temptations to make 
 away with themselves in their misery ; hut in some cell or 
 another they have had to bewail their sins, and to groan and 
 suffer by reason of unbelieving doubts and fears. So, though 
 the Dreamer, in the second part of his Pilgrim’s Progress, 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 
 
 301 
 
 gives an account of the destruction of the Castle, and tlie 
 death of the Giant, yet no man believes that he is dead, and 
 still from day to day the pilgrims are straying into his 
 grounds, and finding to their cost the depth and terror of his 
 prisons. Giant Despair will never die, so long as unpardoned 
 sin remains, or a sense of it burdens the conscience ; nor is 
 there any security against falling into his hands, hut in the 
 care and mercy of One who is mightier than he, even Christ 
 J esus. 
 
 The personification of Despair is one of the most instruc- 
 tive and beautiful portions of Bunyan’s Allegory. It ap- 
 peals either to every man’s experience, or to eveiy man’s 
 prophetic sense of what may come upon him on account of 
 sin. It is at once in some respects the very gloomiest and 
 very brightest part of the Pilgrim’s Progress ; for it sliews 
 at once to what a depth of misery sin may plunge the Chris- 
 tian, and also to what a depth the mercy of God in Christ 
 may reach. The colouring of the picture is extremely vivid, 
 the remembrance of it can never pass from the mind ; and 
 as in a gallery of beautiful paintings, there may often be 
 one that so strongly reminds you of your own experience, 
 and carries you back into past life with such power, or that 
 in itself is so remarkably beautiful, as to chain you before it 
 in admiration, and keep you dwelling upon it with una- 
 bated interest, so it is with this delineation of Giant Des- 
 pair, among the many admirable sketches of Bunyan’s piety 
 and genius. It is so full of deep life and meaning that you 
 cannot exhaust it, and it is of such exquisite propriety and 
 beauty that you are never tired with examining it. 
 
 It is easy for fallen beings to get into Doubting Castle ; 
 conviction of sin, unaccompanied by a sense of the mercy of 
 Christ, will take any man there at once ; and the. last pos- 
 session and abode of the soul hardened in sin and abandoned 
 of God must be Despair. There are many ways in which 
 even a Christian may come there. Some men enter by un- 
 belief, and whatever state of mind or habit of sin shuts out 
 the Saviour, is sure to bring a man there at once. Some 
 men enter by pride and self-righteousness ; if a man trust 
 in his own merits, instead of the blood and righteousness of 
 
302 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 Christ; for justification, he may seem for a time to be at 
 large ; but when he comes to know his own state, the bars 
 of the prison will he round about him, and Giant Despair 
 will be his keeper. 
 
 Some men enter this Castle by habits of self-indulgence , 
 some by particular cherished sins, some by dallying with 
 temptations, some by sudden falling into deep sins, some hj' 
 neglect of watchfulness and prayer, some by a gradual 
 creeping coldness and stupor in the things of religion, the 
 dangerous spirit of slumber not being guarded against and 
 resisted. Some get into this prison by natural gloom and 
 despondency of mind, of which Satan takes an advantage ; 
 others by brooding over the threatenings, and neglecting the 
 promises ; others by going to penances and duties for the 
 relief of conscience, and not to Christ, ^tfeglect of duty takes 
 most men to prison, but duties themselves may bring us 
 there if we trust in duties for acceptance, and not in Christ. 
 Keglect of God’s Word will take men to this prison, and 
 leaning to one’s own understanding. Distorted views of 
 Divine truth, speculative error, and the habit of speculation 
 rather than of faith and life in divine things may shut up 
 the soul in darkness. Some get into this prison by spiritual 
 sins, others by sensual ; some by the lusts of the flesh, some 
 by the lust of the eyes, some by the pride of life ; some by 
 conformity to the world, and obedience to fashion ; some by 
 the pressure of business, others by the cares of life and the 
 deceitfulness of riches ; they that will he rich are alw^ays on 
 the way to this Castle, if not in it. 
 
 There is a w^ay to this Castle from the Arbour on the Hill 
 Difficulty, and also from the Enchanted Ground, if a man 
 sleeps there and loses his roll, and then, instead of going to 
 Christ, pursues his journey without it. And if a Christian, 
 when he has sinned against God, stays away from him, and 
 keeps silence towards him, then he will be so shut up and 
 beaten in this prison, that his bones will wax old through 
 his roaring all the day long. This was once the case with 
 David. David fell into this Castle by gross sin, and fear- 
 fully was he handled by Giant Despair. Asaph fell into this 
 Castle by doubting and complaining of God’s unequal deal- 
 
DOCBTTNa CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 303 
 
 ings with the righteous and the wicked, so that he was as a 
 beast before God. Job fell into this Castle by taking a wrong 
 view of God’s chastisements, and he only got out by this say- 
 ing : I know that my Redeemer liveth.” 
 
 A child of God may fall into this Castle by making a 
 wrong use, or rather by not making a right use, of trials, by 
 not receiving them as a child should receive the corrections 
 of a father. A repining disposition will very quickly bring 
 the soul into this prison. Jonah fell into this prison by 
 running away from known duty, and preferring his own 
 will to God’s will. He went down to the bottoms of the 
 mountains, so that he had to cry out of the belly of hell ; 
 and God heard his voice. Thomas fell into the Castle by 
 obstinate unbelief, so that all the prayers and tears of his 
 fellow-disciples could not bring him out, and he came out 
 only by that gracious voice of the Saviour, Be not faith- 
 less, but believing !” Peter fell into this Castle, about the 
 same time, and wept bitterly, and it was nothing but the 
 mercy of the same Saviour that brought him out. Satan 
 would have kept him there, had it not been for that won- 
 derful prayer of the Saviour beforehand, I have prayed for 
 thee, that thy faith fail not.” 
 
 Alas ! alas ! how many ways there are of getting into this 
 gloomy prison ! Oh, if Christ be not always with the soul, 
 or if at any time it go astray from him, or if its reliance be 
 on any thing whatever but his mercy, his blood, his grace, 
 then is it near the gloom of this Dungeon ; then may Giant 
 Despair be heard walking in his grounds, and verily the echo 
 of his footsteps oftentimes falls upon the soul before the grim 
 form rises on the vision. And some who have once entered 
 the Castle have staid there a great while, because they have 
 tried many other means of escape, than by the blood of 
 Christ ; because they have used picklocks, and penances, and 
 stratagems, and the help of friends outside the Castle, but 
 not the Key of Promise, or not aright, not throwing them- 
 selves on the Saviour alone for pardon, peace, and justifica- 
 tion. A man who gets into difficulty through sin, will never 
 get out by self-righteousness ; nor are past sins, nor the 
 burden of them, to be ever removed by present morality ; 
 
304 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 nothing but faith, nothing hut the precious blood of Christ, 
 can take away sin, can remove the stain of it, can deliver 
 the soul from its condemnation. 
 
 Perhaps, notwithstanding there are so many examples of 
 great sins bringing men into his power, yet, with the majo- 
 rity of Christians, it is little sins neglected, and sins of omis- 
 sion, and duties undone, that shut them up in Doubting 
 Castle, kept by Giant Despair. Duties undone are in reality 
 great sins, but they do not strike the conscience with such 
 immediate terror as open sins, and therefore perhaps they 
 are the more dangerous. The soul gets sadly accustomed to 
 such neglects, and there is always some plausible excuse in 
 the first instance, in the beginnings, a man being always 
 determined to repair the neglect immediately ; but it soon 
 grows into a habit, and then the conscience ceases to be so 
 tender on that point, and at length there comes to be such an 
 accumulation of neglects and omissions that there is no com- 
 puting them. 
 
 Now, when this is the case, and yet a man attempts to 
 keep on in his Christian course, beneath the burden of such 
 neglect of duty, he is much like a man who has failed in 
 business under a heavy load of debt, and attempts to set up 
 again before his creditors have released him, so that if at 
 any time they come upon him, all his new earnings are 
 gone at once, and he is penniless. So a Christian, without 
 coming to a reckoning with himself and Christ concerning 
 such neglects of duty, and such habits of neglect, may think 
 he is going on well, but the moment a sense of these sins 
 comes to him, he finds himself in the grounds of Giant 
 Despair, and is taken away to his Castle, and there lie has 
 to bewail his guilt and misery, sometimes many days before 
 mercy comes to him. And never can he find mercy, but by 
 casting himself, with all his accumulation and burden of 
 sins upon Christ. And oh what mercy it is to be reclaimed 
 from such habits of neglect to a habit of watchfulness, even 
 at the expense of ever so many days and nights in this 
 Castle ! Better by far to be seized by Giant Despair while 
 mercy may be sought, while Christ is, as it were, yet within 
 hearing, than to be left to go on at ease amidst neglects of 
 
DOUBTi:^ia CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIB. 305 
 
 diit}", and to become hardened in sin without meeting the 
 Giant, without being wakened to a sense of guilt by his 
 black countenance and his heavy club. Men sometimes 
 neglect secret prayer for present business or pleasure this 
 is getting over the stile, and taking a few steps in By-Path 
 Meadow ; then a few steps farther are taken, and thus gradu- 
 ally the soul gets farther and farther from God, from Christ, 
 from grace, from duty, and duty becomes more difficult, and 
 the allurements of By-Path Meadow more dangerous, per- 
 haps openly sinful ; and then the night and storm come on, 
 and in the morning. Giant Despair, prowling about his 
 grounds, takes the trespassers, and shuts them under lock 
 and key in his dungeon. 
 
 The pursuit of duty, though it be the way of self-denial, 
 is without doubt the only way of peace and safety. But 
 some pilgrims get into Doubting Castle by neglecting one 
 set of duties while they perform others. In all our callings 
 there are some duties more difficult than others, and some 
 that are more pleasing to our natural inclinations. A mer- 
 chant or tradesman loves to be diligent in his business, and 
 all the active duties and even great fatigue in the course of 
 it, are yet pleasing to him ; but the word of God and prayer 
 are not so naturally pleasing to him, and spiritual fatigue is 
 not so readily encountered by him. A farmer loves the 
 external occupations of his farm, and he must make hay 
 while the sun shines, and he is not likely to get into By- 
 Path Meadow by neglecting the making of his hay ; but it 
 is not so natural for him to pray, and he may possibly get 
 into Doubting Castle by neglecting his prayers in August, 
 that he may get in his hay in its season during the fair 
 weather. A minister, who loves more to study, or to visit, 
 than to pray, finds it very easy to study but very hard to 
 j)ray ; sometimes his very sermons may so occupy him, that 
 he too may think he has not present time for prayer ; never- 
 theless, by neglects and omissions in any way, he may fall 
 into Doubting Castle, kept by Giant Despair. A prudent, 
 busy housewife may love much better to be like Martha, 
 anxious and troubled about many things, bustling and busy 
 from morning till night, than to be like Mary, sitting at the 
 
306 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 feet of Jesus. Domestic avocations often constitute a By- 
 Path Meadow, where spiritual duties are neglected, and so 
 the soul wanders into the regions of Giant Despair. 
 
 The delineation of By-Path Meadow, with the experience 
 of the pilgrims in it, is very affecting and very beautifuL 
 Every man knows wdiat By-Path Meadow means, as well 
 as what Doubting Castle signifies. In general, some habit 
 or mode of self indulgence, some shrinking back from the 
 hardness of the pilgrimage, and some departure from its 
 duties, for indulgence to the flesh, is here shadowed forth. 
 But it is observable that just before the pilgrims wandered 
 from the right way into this Meadow, they had a season of 
 great delight in the Word of God, great enjoyment in their 
 Christian pilgrimage. After by divine grace they had been 
 delivered from the temptations of Demas, they had sweet 
 communion with God, reviving communications of the Holy 
 Spirit, rich draughts from the Water of Life, delightful views 
 of the preciousness of Christ, and such green pastures, such 
 quiet meadows, with lilies and still waters, that it seemed 
 as if all their conflicts were over, and they had nothing to 
 do but to enjoy these abundant consolations. The passage 
 in which Bunyan has described these earnests of the Spirit, 
 these sweet foretastes of the heavenly rest, comprehends one 
 of the most ravishing intervals in the experience of Christian 
 and Hopeful. 
 
 I saw then,” says Bunyan, that they went on their 
 way to a pleasant river, which David the King called the 
 River of God, but John, the River of the Water of Life. 
 Kow 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 pleasant and enlivening to their weary spirits. Besides, 
 on the banks of the river, on either side, were green trees 
 with all manner of fruit ; and the leaves they ate to prevent 
 surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to those that 
 heat their blood by travels. On either side of the river was 
 also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies ; and it was 
 green all the year long. In this meadow they lay down 
 and slept, for here they might lie down safely. When they 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR 
 
 307 
 
 awoke, they gathered again of the fruit of the trees, and 
 drank again of the water of the river, and they lay down 
 again to sleep. Thus they did several days and nights.” 
 
 Here was a season of deep and exquisite enjoyment in 
 the Word of God, and the exercises of the divine life. How 
 could the pilgrims turn aside from it so soon ? Perhaps it 
 was by forgetting the Saviour’s purpose in granting these 
 enjoyments, taking that for their rest which was only meant 
 to add to their holiness, and prepare them for labour. The 
 truth is, that the active duties of the Christian pilgrimage 
 are never in themselves so delightful as the River of the 
 Water of Life flowing through the soul ; that is, they require 
 self-denial, and are attended with difficulty. When the 
 affections are drawn out after Christ, and are warm towards 
 God and heaven, and all external things go pleasantly, how 
 easy and how sweet it is to wander up and down along the 
 banks of the river, treading the soft grass, eating the whole- 
 some and delicious fruits, and breathing the fragrance of the 
 flowers. Do we not sometimes have such seasons 1 But 
 they are given to us, as the Arbour was in the midst of the 
 Hill Difficulty, not for indulgence to the flesh, but to invigo- 
 rate and prepare us for active duty ; not to constitute a rest, 
 which we may quietly enjoy, but to fit us for remaining 
 toil, for increasing activity and usefulness. 
 
 How, then, if the pilgrims think too much of these com- 
 forts, if they are rather seeking after spiritual enjoyment, 
 than for usefulness and growth in grace by active discipline 
 and duty, it is possible that spiritual enjoyments themselves 
 may become a snare, making the pilgrim unwilling to 
 separate from such a blessed quietness of life, when the 
 pilgrimage leads to a rougher road, where the river and the 
 road part for a season. To read the Bible and to pray are 
 easy duties, even for weak Christians, when the heart is full 
 of love, and God’s countenance is shining ; but to go out 
 into the highways and hedges, to visit the poor and afflicted, 
 to do missionary work, to bear trials, to seek to win sinful 
 men to Christ, as you have opportunity, this always requires 
 self-denial ; so that By-Path Meadow may be very attractive, 
 and those very persons may be tempted to pursue it, Avho 
 
308 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 have been enjoying much in the Word of God and in prayer, 
 but who, when trying times come on, and painful labours 
 are necessary, listen to the voice of self-indulgence. This 
 we are always apt to do, and nothing but divine grace can 
 make us submit to divine discipline. 
 
 A spirit of discontent and repining amidst trials, a spirit 
 of rebellion because God takes away our mercies, is likely 
 at any time, if indulged, to bring the soul into the Castle of 
 Giant Despair. If we have been enjoying much of God’s 
 goodness, both inward and external, and, then, because the 
 path of duty leads through suffering, or because God sends 
 us on errands humiliating to our pride, we shrink back 
 from duty, and take some compromising course, we may 
 seem to be travelling in a meadow, but the end thereof is 
 danger and gloom. When a man refuses to undergo such 
 labour and suffering for Christ as lie in the way of his duty, 
 he will have to suffer far more inwardly than he ever could 
 have done outwardly. The sufferings of Cliristian and 
 Hopeful in the grounds and castle of Giant Despair were 
 incomparably greater than all the fatigue they could have 
 endured while travelling the rough road of their pilgrimage. 
 Yet we often forget, when hardness comes, that our business 
 is to endure hardness, as good soldiers of Jesus Christ.” 
 
 Our simple lieavenly-minded pilgrims seem to have for- 
 gotten this for a season, and to have expected nothing but 
 enjoyment all the rest of the way. But now the river and 
 the way for a time parted, and the way was rough ; so ctill 
 as they went they wished for a better. Here were the first 
 beginnings of discontent, and they ought to have repressed 
 them. They should have said. It is true this way is not so 
 pleasant as the Meadow, but it is the Lord’s way, and the 
 best, doubtless, for us to travel in ; these trials are of God’s 
 making for us, and they come in the way of our duty ; so 
 we must still go on and be thankful. But they said. How 
 very rough is the way, how painful, how fatiguing ! 1 
 
 wish there were a better way ; can we not find an easier 
 way ? When Christians thus allow themselves to wish for 
 a better way than the way of God’s appointment, Satan is 
 generally at hand to point out some way that seems easier 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 309 
 
 and better, and to tempt the soul to wander in it. A man 
 speedily enters into temptation when he becomes discon- 
 tented with God’s allotments ; then Satan presents allure- 
 ments, and from wishing for a better way the soul goes into 
 a worse. The discontented wish is father to a sinful will ; 
 I ivish for a better is followed by I will have a better ; and 
 so the soul goes astray. 
 
 The pilgrims had no sooner wished for a better, than By- 
 Path Meadow presented itself, with a convenient, tempting 
 stile. This is very opportune, said they, just what we were 
 wishing for ; we’ll not walk in the dust, when we can tread 
 upon grass and flowers, especially if the meadow lies along 
 tlie wayside. So they went to the stile to see. This was en- 
 tering into temptation, this was looking on the wine when 
 it was red, this was a wandering, sinful desire, not checked 
 but dallied with. It is the same thing, said they, the mea- 
 dow and the road go on together. But it is a dangerous 
 thing to be trying the experiment how far we may sin 
 safely. These pilgrims, contrary to their usual wont, were 
 now trying the experiment with how little self-denial they 
 could get along in their pilgrimage, and of course with lio\v 
 much self-indulgence it might consist. But this, I say, is 
 very dangerous. It is like venturesome schoolboys trying 
 how far they may make thin ice bend under them over a 
 deep place without breaking through. This going as far 
 as you can on debateable ground is a great injury to the 
 tenderness of the conscience. A man who will go as far 
 as he may, is sure to go farther than he ought ; and 
 then a tempestuous night and Giant Despair’s Castle are 
 not far off. 
 
 So deceitful are the ways of sin, that the first steps of 
 travel in them seemed to these pilgrims but as an indul- 
 gence to wearied, sore-footed Virtue. True, there is no want 
 of company in such a case. There as those who travel in 
 By-Path Meadow without any scruple at all ; so the pil- 
 grims speedily espied a man going before them at a great 
 rate, whose name was Vain-confidence, of whom (silly men) 
 they asked if this were the way to the Celestial City ; and 
 he told them, Most certainly, he was straight in it himself ! 
 
310 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 So sometimes the real pilgrims take counsel and example 
 of strangers, of worldly men, and of presumptuous, careless 
 persons, who have little or no conscience. Vain-con fidence 
 is a sad guide anywhere, hut especially when one has wan- 
 dered out of the way. 
 
 Now, there were four capital errors which the pilgrims 
 had already committed : — (1.) They had discontentedly 
 wished for a better way ; (2.) They had gone up to the stile 
 to look over it ; (3.) They had climbed over the stile ; (4.) 
 They had taken encouragement by a wrong example, and 
 followed Vain-contidence ; and what was strange, the older 
 and stronger Christian had led the younger and weaker one 
 out of the way. Now, when the night came on, and the 
 storm, they began to find how evil and hitter a thing it is 
 to wander from God. They heard the fall of Vain-conh- 
 dence into a deep, dreadful pit, and they heard him groan, 
 but could see nothing. And now they bemoan their folly, 
 and though they are both in a sad case, yet Christian’s is 
 certainly the worse, for having led Hopeful out of the 
 way ; and most humbly and ingenuously does he beg his 
 brother’s pardon. 
 
 But why, in that tempestuous night, when the waters 
 were rising around them, did they not obey the voice which 
 they heard, and persevere, amidst all dangers, till they had 
 gotten again into the King’s highway ? Sometimes the 
 pilgrims, who have thus wandered into darkness, seek relief 
 by duties, and not by Christ ; and so conscience gets a tem- 
 porary quiet, hut a false one. There is no place of safety 
 short of Christ. Some such relief these pilgrims seem to 
 have gotten, in that they reached a rising ground, above 
 the waters, and there being thoroughly tired, and not being 
 able, or thinking they were not, to reach the King’s high- 
 w^ay that night, they there lay down and slept. But, ah, 
 what sleep can there be until the soul has come hack to 
 Christ ? What sleep can there be amidst unforgiven sin ? 
 They had better not have slept at all, but kept struggling 
 amidst the storm all night long, for these grounds were the 
 grounds of Giant Despair, and Giant Despair found them, 
 not striving to get back, but fast asleep for sorrow and 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 311 
 
 weariness. Ah, what safety can there be for sleepers away 
 fi-om Christ ? This sleep was worse for Christian and Hope- 
 ful than that in the Arbour. So do Christians sometimes 
 make an imperfect return to duty in their own strength ; 
 and conscience thus being imperfectly quieted, lulled by a 
 sleep, and not sprinkled by the blood of Christ, Giant De- 
 spair after all finds them in his grounds, and carries them 
 away to his castle. 
 
 Now were Christian and Hopeful in a dreadful case ; deep 
 down in darkness, the bars of the earth and of death around 
 them, no food, nor drink, nor light, nor comfort, the weeds 
 were wrapped about their head, and in this dungeon they 
 cried as out of the belly of hell, bemoaning themselves to 
 one another with groans and lamentations. The description 
 which Bunyan has given of their treatment by the giant 
 is exquisitely beautiful and affecting ; no part of the Pil- 
 grim’s Progress makes a deeper impression than this ; and 
 the different manner in which the two pilgrims endure these 
 trials, forms a development of character which in no other 
 portion of the work is more profound and instructive. Hope- 
 ful continues hopeful, even in despair ; Christian at one time 
 abandons all hope, and listens seriously to the giant’s in- 
 fernal temptations to self-destruction. Hopeful had not fallen 
 so far as Christian, for Christian had been the more eminent 
 and experienced pilgrim of the two, and had also led his 
 fellow astray. But this did not make all the difference. 
 Hopeful’s frame of mind was naturally more elastic than 
 Christian’s ; he was of a more joyous temperament, and 
 more apt to look on the bright side ; not so deep, grave, and 
 far-sighted as Christian, and not capable, in any case, of 
 quite such deep trials of feeling. Hopeful’s spirit soon rose 
 again, but Christian, when he is down on account of sin, is 
 brought even to the gates of hell. How affectingly instruc- 
 tive are Hopeful’s arguments with Christian to dissuade him 
 from suicide. Doubtless, good men have been tempted in 
 this way, but strange enough, it seems that a sense of God’s 
 wrath and desertion on account of sin should tempt a man 
 to plunge deeper into such wrath, nay, to incur it past re- 
 demption. 
 
312 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 Christian never dreamed of destroying himself when he 
 was fighting with Apollyon, in passing through the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death ; hut a sense of sin, and of God’s 
 wrath on account of it, quite unmans the soul. None can 
 stand against God’s terrors. A thousand fiends may easier 
 be met with than the remembrance of one sin. Besides, in 
 the conflict w ith Apollyon, and the passage of the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death, Christian was in the course of his 
 duty ; both these dangers lay directly in the path to the 
 Celestial City, so that, though hard beset, and pressed out 
 of measure, Christian was not despairing, for he knew he 
 met those evils in the right way ; but here he was out of 
 the way. Giant Despair’s Castle could not even be seen 
 from the King’s highway ; it was so far off that he wan- 
 dered a long distance before he came in sight of it, and here 
 the pilgrims were far from the road, they knew not how far. 
 They were in such desperation, that for a long time they 
 could do nothing but brood over their gloomy thoughts, and 
 they hardly dared to pray. 
 
 All this is related as a story, with such natural incidents, 
 with such power of character and such vivid colouring, that 
 no story of a life could be more graphic ; and yet it is alle- 
 gory, it is the experience of the mind alone ; but allegory 
 so perfect, the experience so touched into life, that each be 
 comes either, and may be perfect story or allegory, as yon 
 please. The temptations to suicide, presented by Giant De- 
 spair, constitute a description so wonderfully similar to a 
 passage in Spenser on the same subject, that it would seem 
 as if Bunyan must have read the Fairy Queen. The effect 
 of the vile arguments of Despair upon the knight in Spenser 
 is very similar to that of the arguments used by the Giant 
 upon Christian. The poor pilgrim was almost beside him- 
 self in his misery. 
 
 And yet, this is the man who overcame the Hill Diffi- 
 culty, and passed through the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, and passed so nobly through Vanity Fair. This is 
 the hero of that dread conflict with Apollyon. And now 
 he, whom the world could not overcome, nor fiends destroy, 
 thinks of destroying himself ! Oh, the intolerable misery 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 313 
 
 of an accusing conscience ! The sense of the guilt of our 
 departure from God is far worse to bear than the mere 
 hiding of God’s countenance ; it makes cowards and slaves 
 of the bravest. 
 
 In this state did Christian and Hopeful remain day after 
 day, night after night, though it was all night with them, 
 and no light but to discover sights of wo. Yet, after all, 
 they would not give way to the suggestions of Giant De- 
 spair. It is a curious picture which Bunyan has drawn 
 of the intercourse between the Giant and his wife Diffidence. 
 They form a very loving couple in their way, and the Giant 
 takes no new step in the treatment of the pilgrims without 
 consulting Mrs Diffidence over night ; so that the curtain 
 lectures to which we listen are very curious. But Mrs 
 Diffidence ought rather to have been called Dame Despera- 
 tion, or Desperate Resolution : for she seems, if anything, 
 the more stubborn genius of the two ; and when the Giant, 
 very much astonished that the sturdy rogues” hold out 
 so long against his temptations and his beatings, brings the 
 case to her at night for advice, she proposes his taking the 
 pilgrims into the castle-yard to shew them the fearful heap 
 of the sculls and bones of pilgrims who have been by him 
 destroyed. 
 
 Nevertheless, all would not avail utterly to subdue the 
 pilgrims ; though in deep misery they waited still, and 
 Hopeful would still be encouraging his brother, though it 
 seemed to be hoping against hope. Like as in the Slough of 
 Despond, at first setting out on the pilgrimage, they were 
 unable to see the promises, or in dreadful, sullen unbelief, 
 refused to take hold upon them, as being beyond their case 
 And this was partly because as yet, though bemoaning their 
 sin and misery, they had not returned to prayer ; a dreadful 
 case, whenever it happens to the Christian ; for when, from 
 any cause, he is driven from the throne of grace, or yielding 
 to temptation, stays away from that sure refuge, he is in- 
 deed in terrible danger, he is wellnigh lost. And this cannot 
 remain, for he must either pray or he lost, and it is in prayer 
 that he generally finds the first light after darkness. So 
 Bunyan, with exquisite beauty and truth, makes his pilgrims 
 ' 1 \ 
 
314 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 resume this weapon of All-Prayer, compelled unto it by their 
 very depth of guilt and misery. 
 
 It is Saturday night, and all night long they wrestle in 
 prayer till the very break of day ; all night long before they 
 see the promise. The Sabbath, as it breaks, finds them in 
 prayer ; and now, as the dawn begins to make silvery gray 
 the sky and the mountains outside the Castle, so the un- 
 wonted light is breaking on the soul in the pilgrim’s Dun- 
 geon. All at once, as if it were a new revelation, Christian 
 finds and applies the Promises : and indeed it is a new reve- 
 lation, which none but the merciful Saviour could make ; 
 he it is, who has been watching over his erring disciples ; he 
 it is, who has known their path, when their soul was over- 
 whelmed within them ; he it is, who has kept back the hand 
 of Despair from destroying them. They have gone astray 
 like lost sheep ; he it is, who leaveth the ninety and nine 
 upon the mountains, and seeketh the hundredth one, until 
 he findeth it ; he it is, who binds up the broken in heart, 
 and healeth all their wounds. 
 
 They were praying, Restore unto me the joy of thy sal- 
 vation, and uphold me by thy free Spirit ; cast me not away 
 from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from me — 
 and now as the Sabbath dawns, when Jesus himself arose 
 from the tomb, the star of Hope rises on the hearts of these 
 prisoned ones, and they suddenly cried out, as a glimpse of 
 the Saviour’s long-hidden countenance broke through their 
 gloom. There is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be 
 feared, with thee there is plenteous redemption ! What a 
 fool am I, said Christian, to lie in this filthy dungeon, when 
 I have a key in my bosom, that I am persuaded will open 
 every lock in Doubting Castle ! Yes, it was in his bosom ; 
 and it had been there ever since he entered the Wicket Gate. 
 But who made him now feel it 1 Who made him remember 
 it now, after so long forgetfulness, and who gave him skill 
 and strength to use his golden key aright ? It was God, 
 against whom he had sinned ; the Saviour, whom he had 
 wounded ; the merciful Spirit, whom he had grieved. But 
 now, the key ! the key ! put it into the lock and try it ! 
 They trembled with fear and eagerness ; the creaking of the 
 
DOrBTIXG CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 315 
 
 rusty hinges made them tremble ; they felt as if they could 
 iiear the breathing of the Giant after them, as if his grasp 
 was upon their shoulders, and it was not till they had passed 
 the outer gate of the Castle, and got into the clear open air, 
 that they dared believe they were really escaping. 
 
 It was Sabbath morning. The sun was breaking over the 
 hills, and fell upon their pale, haggard countenances. It was 
 to them a new creation ; they breathed the fresh, reviving 
 air, and brushed, with hasty steps, the dew from the un- 
 trodden grass, and fled the nearest way to the stile, over 
 which they had wandered. How much they had suffered ! 
 But they had learned a lesson by that suffering, which no- 
 thing else could have taught them, and which would remain 
 with them to the day of their death. They had learned, from 
 bitter experience, that any thing and all things had better 
 be endured, than to depart from God and duty ; and that 
 whereas ease sought in the way of their pilgrimage might 
 seem as a sweet meadow for a time, it would prove in the 
 end a more intolerable evil than all the roughness and hard- 
 ness of the King’s highway. 
 
 They had learned also to value the light of God’s counte- 
 nance as they never did before, to watch as they never did 
 before, against every thing that might interrupt that light, 
 or shut out the Saviour from their souls. They had learned 
 to distrust themselves more thoroughly, and to cast them- 
 selves on Christ more entirely ; and these are the two great 
 lessons which Ave need to learn from experience ; our own 
 weakness and Christ’s strength. They had gained new proofs 
 of the efficacy of a Saviour’s blood, as Avell as neAv views, 
 and a deeper sense, of the dreadful evil of sin, and in every 
 way they were wiser, though perhaps sadder men than be- 
 fore. It was almost worth those fearful days and nights in 
 Giant Despair’s Castle, to learn so much more both of them- 
 selves and of Christ ; but this bringing good out of evil was 
 God’s doing, and not theirs ; they had perished in their sins, 
 had not God had mercy on them. 
 
 And now they use, as all pilgrims should do, their own 
 bitter experience for good to others. They mean to keep 
 others, if possible, from falling into the same snare \A'ith 
 
316 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 themselves ; and so, as soon as they are got safe into the 
 Lord’s blessed highway, and out of their enemies’ jurisdic- 
 tion, they proceed to nail up that famous inscription, “ Over 
 tiiis stile lies the way to Doubting Castle, kept by Giant 
 Despair.” They thought, forsooth, that no pilgrim after 
 them, reading this inscription, would dare go out of the way. 
 But by a strange blindness, which happens to the pilgrims 
 whenever they are bent on self-indulgence, they are so taken 
 with the Meadow, that they do not read the inscription, and 
 so they pass over the same stile, just as if no person had 
 ever tried it before, and just as if there were no Giant 
 Despair’s Castle. Before Christian and Hopeful passed by, 
 there had been just such inscriptions, but the pilgrims did 
 not heed them. King David himself, who spent so long time 
 in the Castle, put up just such an inscription, near three 
 thousand years ago, and Solomon, from bitter experience, 
 renewed it after him ; but Christian and Hopeful themselves 
 did not read it. Kor do any read it, except the Lord enlighten 
 their darkness, and make them vigilant at the very moment 
 temptation comes upon them. For the time when they enter 
 into temptation is the time when this inscription disappears, 
 and when they are once entered in as in a cloud, they can 
 hear nothing, see nothing, but the temptation itself, and so 
 they fall, and are afterwards made wretched. May the Lord 
 keep us from such dreadful experience ! Oh what dread 
 meaning there is in those warnings of Christ, Pray that ye 
 enter not into temptation I Watch and pray, lest ye enter 
 into temptation 1 Entering into temptation is a very differ- 
 ent thing from being assailed hy temptation ; but in neither 
 case can we conquer or be delivered except by Christ. 
 
 There is nothing which God does, that he does not do freely, 
 and like a God. When he pardons our sins, it is to remem- 
 ber them no more for ever ; when he restores to us the joy 
 of his salvation, his face shines upon us with a beautifying 
 love, as if we had never offended him. Only return unto 
 me, and I will return unto you, saith the Lord.” So we no 
 sooner find the pilgrims got out of the Castle of Giant 
 Despair, and their inscription over the stile finished, but we 
 meet them in sweet instructive company on the top of the 
 
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR. 317 
 
 Delectable Mountains. So great, so free, so abundant is God’s 
 goodness in Christ in the pardon of the penitent. Yet these 
 mountains were not attained without climbing ; none arrive 
 at them but by much holy diligence in the pilgrimage ; and 
 Christian and Hopeful never walked more warily and prayer- 
 fully than now after their wonderful escape from the Castle 
 of Giant Despair. 
 
 Here were gardens, orchards, vineyards, and fountains of 
 living water, to reward their diligence and refresh their 
 spirits. Here were Shepherds of Christ, appointed to feed 
 and keep his flock on these mountains, — precious, holy men, 
 named Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, who 
 took the pilgrims by the hand, instructed them by their 
 conversation, and led them about to shew them the wonders 
 of these mountains, just as the good Interpreter had shewn 
 them the rarities in his house. They were shewn where 
 many men were dashed in pieces by carelessly climbing the 
 Hill of Error, and falling in the midst of its speculations. 
 They were shewn from the top of another mountain, called 
 Caution, a number of blind men wandering and stumbling 
 across tombs ; and the Shepherds, little knowing or ima- 
 gining the late fearful experience of the pilgrims in Doubt- 
 ing Castle, informed them that these were men who had had 
 their eyes put out by Giant Despair, and were there by him 
 thrown among these dark tombs ; according to the saying 
 of Scripture, He that wandereth out of the way of under- 
 standing, shall remain in the congregation of the dead.” 
 
 Oh, thought Christian and Hopeful, why were not we also 
 left to such a dreadful fate I Who hath made us to differ ? 
 What mercy of God that he did not leave us also to be 
 blinded and destroyed ! They said not a word to the Shep- 
 herds, but looked on one another with a look that spoke 
 volumes, and the tears gushed out. So, how many hair- 
 breadth escapes have we all had amidst our sins, where othe-rs 
 have stumbled and fallen to rise no more ! What thankful- 
 ness should the remembrance of these mercies excite in us ! 
 
 The good Shepherds also took the pilgrims to the top of the 
 Hill Clear, from whence they could, in a fine day, see the 
 Celestial City, through the telescope which the Shepherds 
 
318 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 kept by them. This perspective glass is Faith, but the pil- 
 grims have not always equal skill in using it. However 
 they managed to see something of the glory of the City ; 
 and that vision, imperfect though it was, was very ravishing 
 to their spirits. 
 
 We journey in a vale of tears ; 
 
 But often from on high 
 The glorious bow of God appears, 
 
 And lights up all our sky. 
 
 Then through the breaking clouds of heaven 
 Far distant visions come, 
 
 And sweetest words of grace are given, 
 
 To cheer the pilgrim home. 
 
 Then doubt and darkness flee away, 
 
 And shadows all are gone : — 
 
 Oh ! if such moments would but stay. 
 
 This earth and heaven were one. 
 
 Too soon the vision is withdrawn ; 
 
 There’s only left, “ He saith 
 And I, a lonely pilgrim, turn, 
 
 To live and walk by faith. 
 
 Yet e’en for glimpses such as these 
 My soul would cheerful bear 
 All that in darkest days it sees. 
 
 The toil, the pain, the care. 
 
 For through the conflict and the race, 
 
 Whatever grief my lot. 
 
 If Jesus shews his lovely face. 
 
 All troubles are forgot. 
 
 My quickened soul, in faith and love, 
 
 Mounts up on eagles’ wings. 
 
 And at the City Gates above 
 Exulting sits and sings ! 
 
 ’Tis through thy sufferings, O my Lord, 
 
 I hope that world to see, 
 
 And through those gates, at thy sweet word. 
 
 To enter into Thee ! 
 
 After going through the conflict with Apollyon, the Val- 
 ley of the Shadow of Death, the scenes in Vanity Fair, and 
 the dread experience of the pilgrims in Giant Despair’s 
 Castle, it is well to note what a Gallery of solemn realities 
 is here, what a system of Divine Truth, commending itself 
 to all men’s consciences. It is not so much the richness of 
 imagination, nor the tenderness of feeling here exhibited, 
 
DOUBTING OASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIB. 319 
 
 nor the sweetness and beauty of the imagery, with winch this 
 book is filled, as it is the presence of these realities, that 
 constitutes the secret of its unbounded power over the soul. 
 
 Walk up and down in this rich and solemn Gallery. How 
 simple are its ornaments ! How grave, yet beautiful, its 
 architecture ! Amidst all this deep, serene beauty to the 
 imagination, by how much deeper a tone do these pictures 
 speak to the inner spiritual being of the soul ! When you 
 liave admired the visible beauty of the paintings, turn again 
 to seek their meaning in that light from eternity by which 
 the Artist painted them, and by which he would have all 
 men examine their lessons, and receive and feel the full power 
 of their colouring. In this light the walls of this Gallery 
 seem moving with celestial figures speaking to the soul. 
 They are acting the Drama of a Life which by most men 
 is only dreamed of ; but the Drama is the reality, and it is 
 the spectators only who are walking in a vain show. 
 
 The Pilgrim’s Progress shews an immortal being journey- 
 ing in the light and under the transforming power of these 
 realities. They are such ever-present truths, that you cannot 
 read this work, without discovering them, any more than you 
 could read aloud the pages of a book, without pronouncing 
 its words ; any more than one could travel through a magni- 
 ficent city, and not behold its streets and palaces ; any more 
 than one could look at the rainbow without seeing its co- 
 lours, or at the sun without beholding its light. It is by 
 the power of these truths that the Pilgrim’s Progress, like 
 the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, proves 
 itself a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. 
 
 The whole foundation on which the author of this work, 
 which of all other books stands the nearest after the Bible to 
 the overpowering light of eternity, has built the structure of 
 its realities, is his view (taken from the Bible and the Spirit 
 of God) of sin, of God, of Christ, of the eternal world, and of 
 the relations of man, as a fallen being, to that world and to 
 his Maker. The gloom in this book, if gloom it can be 
 called, where the light of the Cross so irradiates it, arises 
 from the immutable dread nature of sin, and not from any 
 dark views of the Gospel. It is not a gloomy book ; no man 
 
320 
 
 LECTURE TWELFTH. 
 
 ever lliouglit of bringing against it such an accusation ; it is 
 one of the most cheerful books in the language. And yet it 
 is a solemn array of the realities of spiritual truth. The way 
 of our pilgrimage is from gloom to grace and glory ; gloom 
 at first, but afterwards glory everlasting ; but they who will 
 reject the element of gloom from their theology in this world 
 are not likely to have the element of glory spring from it 
 hereafter. 
 
LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Delectable ^ountamje: anu ^ncjanteu (B'rounD, touj 
 tbe Cbaractergf of Jgnorance ann Hittle^^JFaitb. 
 
 View of the Celestial City. — The importance of such visions on our pilgri- 
 mage. — Character of Ignorance. — False views of Justification. — Denial of 
 the doctrine of Justification by Faith. — Salvation by our own merits in any 
 way impossible.— Christ, a wliole Saviour or none at all. — To say that a 
 man is saved by his works is just the same as to say that he is saved by 
 his sins. — Character of Little-Faith. — The Enchanted Ground and the Flat- 
 terer. — The delusions of self-righteousness. — The religious experience of 
 Hopeful. — The renewed heart a mirror of Divine Truth. 
 
 On the Delectable Mountains, the pilgrims had a sight of the 
 Celestial City. No matter if it was but a glimpse, still they 
 saw it, they really saw it, and the remembrance of that sight 
 never left them. There it was in glory ! Their hands 
 trembled, their eyes were dim with tears, but still that vision 
 was not to be mistaken. There, through the rifted clouds 
 for a moment, the gates of pearl were shining, the jasper 
 walls, the endless domes, the jewelled battlements ! The 
 splendour of the city seemed to pour, like a river of light, 
 down upon the spot where they were standing. We may 
 adopt the imagery of the poet Wordsworth, attempting to 
 convey the idea of a material vision which he beheld in the 
 clouds after a storm, in order to shadow forth something of 
 that glory which might have been seen from the summit of 
 the Delectable Mountains. 
 
322 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEEJVTH. 
 
 Glory beyond all glory ever seen 
 By waking sense, or by the dreaming soul ’ 
 
 The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, 
 
 Was of a Mighty City, — boldly say 
 A wilderness of building, sinking far. 
 
 And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth, 
 
 Far sinking into splendour without end ! 
 
 Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, 
 
 W ith alabaster domes and silver spires, 
 
 And blazing terrace upon terrace, high 
 U plifted : here, serene pavilions bright. 
 
 In avenues disposed ; there, towers begirt 
 With battlements, that on their restless fronts 
 Bore stars, — illumination of all gems ! 
 
 Now this sight did ravish the hearts of the pilgrims, though 
 they could not look steadily through the glass. Sometimes 
 this vision is revealed to pilgrims much more clearly than at 
 other times ; hut no language can describe the glory of the 
 vision, whenever and however it is manifested to the soul ; 
 for eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered 
 into the heart of man to conceive the things which God hath 
 prepared for them that love him. But God reveals them by 
 his Spirit, and sometimes doubtless with such a revelation as 
 language cannot compass. 
 
 Much depends upon the weather in our soul’s horizon. 
 Sometimes, even when ascending the Delectable Mountains, 
 the pilgrims are enveloped in joy all the way up. They climb 
 and turn to see the prospect, but can see nothing ; it is like 
 ascending the Alps on a misty day. But still they climb. And 
 now, all unexpectedly and suddenly, they rise out of the cloud 
 and beyond it ; — the sun is shining, the mountains are flashing 
 like pure alabaster ; — they seem to have angels’ wings, they 
 come to the Hill Clear, the Celestial City breaks upon them. 
 Ah, how glorious, how merciful is such a vision ! Worth all 
 the climbing, all the fatigue, all the mist, rain, and dark- 
 ness. Now the soul can go on its way rejoicing ; now it can 
 say to Athiest, What 1 No Celestial City ? Did I not see it 
 from the Delectable Mountains ? Shall not my soul remem- 
 ber thee, 0 God, and the sweet glimpses of thy glory which 
 thou hast caused to pass before me ? Yea, my soul followeth 
 hard after Thee, and thy right hand upholdeth me ; and as 
 long as I live will I praise the Lord for his goodness, and 
 pant for his abode. 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF lONORAKCE AKD LITTLE-FAITII. 323 
 
 Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 
 
 Name ever dear to me • 
 
 Such glimpses of Heaven, though they be but glimpses, 
 are inexpressibly blessed and sustaining in our pilgrimage. 
 They help to wean the affections from earth, they strengthen 
 us against temptations, they make us see in the most striking 
 light, the emptiness and vanity of the things of the world, 
 and the folly and sinfulness of the love of the world ; they 
 make us feel, while confined to the world, what shadows we 
 are, and what shadows we pursue ; they make trials also 
 seem very small and transitory, and easy to be borne. More- 
 over, they quicken the heart after God ; for the renewed 
 heart well knows that God is the glory of that City, for 
 the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it ; 
 and it has no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine 
 in it ; for the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is 
 the light thereof.” When the heart is filled and purified 
 with such desires after heaven, as in Paul’s case, then it doth 
 desire to depart and to be with Christ ; it would lay by these 
 garments of mortality, that it may put on Christ, and be 
 clothed upon with our house which is from heaven. Some- 
 times, when God, by his grace, puts the heart in such a holy 
 frame, discloses so much of himself in Christ to it, every 
 day is counted, as it passes, for joy, as a step nearer heaven ; 
 so that Death seems no longer the King of Terrors, but the 
 Angel of a Father’s love ; and the day when he comes is the 
 Christian’s Birth-Day of Eternity. So Time itself, the 
 most fleeting of all things, seems sometimes long, because it 
 separates the soul from the Saviour ! 
 
 For this it is makes life so long 
 'While it detains us from our God : 
 
 E’en pleasures here increase the wrong, 
 
 And length of days lengthens the road. 
 
 ■Who wants the place where God doth dwell. 
 
 Partakes already half of hell. 
 
 Herbeht. 
 
 0 how desirable is such a frame ! But the pilgrims are 
 not always in it ; so Christian and Hopeful must go down 
 from the Delectable Mountains, and be on the common way 
 
324 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 of tlieir pilgrimage ; for these happy experiences and visions 
 of heaven are given, as I said, not to constitute our rest, but 
 to make us long after it, to make us willing to endure hard- 
 ships as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. The Crown of Life is 
 after Death, and no man can be crowned, till, through Christ, 
 he has gained the victory. The Lord, in mercy, grant us 
 that grace, that we, through him, may gain that victory, 
 being made faithful unto death ! 
 
 The pilgrims must go on, and though they have been 
 where they could see the Celestial City, yet there are dangers 
 and labours still to go through, and no chariot, nor bright 
 cloud, nor way through the air, to convey them insensibly, 
 or without fatigue to heaven. So they bade the kind Shep- 
 herds a loving farewell. Methinks, after all their past ex- 
 periences and visions, they breathed, as they went, the very 
 spirit of those sweet verses of Baxter, in which he poured 
 forth, with such simplicity, the breathings of his soul after 
 heaven, and the quiet spirit of resignation to God’s will. 
 
 Lord, it belongs not to my care, 
 
 Whether I die or live ; 
 
 To love and serve thee is 'my share, 
 
 And this thy grace must give. 
 
 If life be long, I will be glad, 
 
 That I may long obey : 
 
 If short, j^et why should I be sad. 
 
 That shall have the same pay ? 
 
 Christ leads me through no darker rooms 
 Than he went through before ; 
 
 He that into God’s kingdom comes, 
 
 Must enter by this door. 
 
 Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet 
 Thy blessed face to see ; 
 
 For if thy work on earth be sweet. 
 
 What will thy glory be ! 
 
 Then I shall end my sad complaints, 
 
 And weary sinful days ; 
 
 And join with the triumphant saints. 
 
 That sing Jehovah’s praise. 
 
 My knowledge of that life is small. 
 
 The eye of faith is dim ; 
 
 But ’tis enough that Christ knovs all, 
 
 And 1 shall be with him ! 
 
 After the pilgrims are set out from the Delectable Moun- 
 tains, there pass before us a succession of scenes of great 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITJI. 325 
 
 beauty, and characters of great interest, mingled with so mucli 
 instructive and delightful conversation by the way, that it 
 is a good type of that growth in grace and that heavenly 
 wisdom, which should more and more mark the pilgrims, 
 the nearer they come to the Celestial City. The first cha- 
 racter we meet is that of Ignorance, from the town of Con- 
 ceit ; then Little-Faith passes before us with his story ; then 
 the character of Great-Grace. Next comes the Flatterer, then 
 the Atheist, then the Enchanted Ground, and Hopeful’s in- 
 structive relation of his religious experience, then the farther 
 development of the character of Ignorance, then the course 
 of an apostate. Next comes the picture of the land Beulah, 
 and last of all, the river of Death and the Celestial City. 
 
 Ignorance was a very brisk lad, that came out of the 
 country and was going to enter heaven as other good people 
 do,” by his goodness and not by Christ. He was a man of 
 morality, a payer of his debts, a faster, a tithe-pa}^er, an 
 alms-giver ; and to this catalogue of his worthy qualities, 
 by which he was to be received in at the Gate, he also added, 
 that he had left his own country for whither he v^as going. 
 Here, then, was a professor of religion, who meant to be saved 
 by his own merits, and yet deemed himself to have forsaken 
 all for Christ, at least to have left his native country of Con- 
 ceit. But he had still, unknown to himself, all the manners 
 and feelings of his native land, and though he seemed to 
 himself to be travelling towards the Celestial City, yet lie 
 was a stranger both to himself and to Christ, and of course 
 had never entered by the Wicket Gate, and was destitute of 
 Christian’s roll of assurance. How many professed followers 
 of Christ there may be, who are entirely ignorant of their 
 own depraved nature, and of their need of a Saviour’s right- 
 eousness, we cannot tell, but we are all natives of this coun- 
 try of Conceit ; and if we expect to attain salvation by our 
 own works, prayers, fastings, merits in any way, and not by 
 the all-sufficing merits, the all-atoning sacrifice, and the all- 
 renewing grace of Christ, we are utterly ignorant of what be 
 the very first principles of the Cross of Christ. Where there 
 is this ignorance of the Cross, there is very likely to be eii- 
 
326 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 mity against it, or a light esteem of it. So Mr Ignorance 
 did not think that there were “any men in all our parts 
 who knew the way to the Wicket Gate,^’ and for his part, he 
 did not think there were any need of knowing it, since there 
 was a much nearer way. 
 
 So Ignorance and the pilgrims parted for a season, but 
 afterwards they renewed their conversation, and Ignorance 
 gave the pilgrims to know more particularly what were some 
 of the grounds of his own assurance in regard to his good 
 estate. The main thing seemed to be his comfortable hopes 
 of heaven, and the good things that his own heart was tell- 
 ing him about himself. He seems never to have known the 
 desperate wickedness of his own heart, nor to have thought 
 of distrusting it ; and when good Christian explained to him 
 that by the judgment of the word of God the heart is natu- 
 rally altogether sinful, then did Ignorance break out witli 
 this speech, saying, I will never believe that my heart is thu? 
 bad. Therefore, said Christian, thou never hadst one good 
 thought concerning thyself in thy life. 
 
 This good opinion of Ignorance concerning himself was a 
 radical, blinding evil, a great delusion, as it is with many 
 professed pilgrims ; for, not seeing his own desperate sinful- 
 ness, of course he saw not his need of Christ as a Saviour, 
 and had never fled to him, nor known what it was to rely 
 upon him for mercy. Yet, he spake of Christ, and expected 
 to be saved only by him, but it was in such a way as if 
 Christ died to give to the sinner’s own works a saving ef- 
 ficacy. 
 
 The case of Ignorance shews that there must be deep con- 
 viction, knowledge, and hatred of one’s own guilt, to make 
 one fully see, feel, and know the preciousness of Christ, and 
 then indeed the soul rests upon him ; but it cannot rest upon 
 him and upon its own works or merits together. Christ will 
 be an only Saviour, or none at all. But there are many, 
 who, like Ignorance, profess to rest upon Christ, but make 
 him only half their Saviour, relying on their own holiness 
 also for acceptance before God. This is a very dangerous 
 error, as in the instance of Ignorance, for it proceeds from 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 327 
 
 self-conceit, and even while under its influence men still 
 think that they hold to the fundamental doctrine of Justi- 
 fication by Faith. 
 
 This was the case with Ignorance, yet his description of 
 Faith would sound very plausible to many minds. I be- 
 lieve, said he, that Christ died for sinners, and that I shall 
 be justified before God from the curse, through his gracious 
 acceptance of my obedience to the law. Or thus, Christ 
 makes my duties, that are religious, acceptable to his Father, 
 by virtue of his merits, and so I shall be justified. Now 
 this faith was truly, as Christian said, a fantastical, false, 
 deceitful faith, nowhere described in the word of God, al- 
 though, having a great shew of scriptural truth, it was won- 
 derfully adapted to mislead and delude the simple and igno- 
 rant. 
 
 But who does not see that such a faith as this makes 
 Christ not a Saviour of ourselves, but of our duties ] it makes 
 Christ die in order to constitute for us a self-righteousness, 
 in order to make what we do the ground of our salvation. 
 But Christ himself is our salvation, or we have none at all. 
 He himself, and not our duties for his sake, is our wisdom, 
 righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. He died to 
 save our souls, and not to save our righteousness, nor to make 
 our obedience fit for us to rest upon for salvation, for it never 
 can be fit, but always needs to be forgiven. But this faith 
 of Ignorance would make Christ a justifier not of the be- 
 liever, but of his actions, and a justifier and Saviour of the 
 believer for the sake of his actions ! That is, it makes Christ 
 die for the justification of the believer’s duties, which thus, 
 it is pretended, become merits, and may be presented, through 
 Christ, to God, as the purchase of salvation ! 
 
 Now, when Christian explained the real nature of justify- 
 ing faith in Christ, as relying solely upon him and his merits, 
 the self-righteousness of Ignorance cried out against it. What, 
 said he, would you have us trust to what Christ in his own 
 person hath done without us ? This conceit would loosen 
 the reins of our lusts, 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 sin, when we believe it ? 
 
328 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 This was the common outcry and reproach of Antinomianism 
 thrown against the doctrine of justification by faith, on the 
 part of those who reject it. Ignorance was equally preju- 
 diced against the declaration of Christian from the Bible, that 
 no man can know Jesus Christ but by revelation from the 
 Father ; and this was simply the common unwillingness of 
 our proud hearts to admit such truth as throws us entirely 
 on the sovereignty and mere good pleasure of God. 
 
 The idea of justification by works, in any way, when we 
 look at our own depravity, must appear to every sound mind 
 as irrational as it is unscriptural. The best works, per- 
 formed by the best man, are imperfect and mingled with sin, 
 and therefore need to be forgiven ; so that to say that a man 
 is justified by his works is no better than saying that a man 
 is justified by his sins ; and how great an absurdity this is, 
 there is no man who will not acknowledge. Every true 
 Christian deeply feels that the best duties he ever performed, 
 the best services he ever offered to God, the most unmingled 
 spiritual sacrifices he ever laid upon the altar of a Saviour’s 
 love, need to be sprinkled with a Saviour’s blood, and cannot 
 otherwise be accepted of God. How then can he, in any 
 sense whatever, be justified by his works, seeing that his 
 works themselves need to be forgiven ? The utmost that his 
 best works can do is to prove the existence, in manifesting 
 the fruits of that saving faith, through which the soul is 
 united to Christ, and by his blood justified ; but if our works 
 all partake of sin, then, so far from being in any sense justi- 
 fied by works, we are condemned by them, and without other 
 justification must perish everlastingly. 
 
 In this view what can be more offensive to a believer in 
 Christ than that spurious mixture of faith and works as a 
 reliance for justification, which in our day is so common, 
 but which robs the Saviour of his glory, and the atonement 
 of its efficacy, and which, so far from excluding boasting, 
 produces pride, and sustains the most subtle and destructive 
 form of self-righteousness. Justification by faith is a pre- 
 cious doctrine, because it exalts the Saviour and cuts up 
 human pride. Justification by works is an abominable 
 Popish perversion of the Gospel, which, whether in the form 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 329 
 
 of penances or prayers, ministers to human pride, lays an- 
 other foundation than that which Christ hath laid, intro- 
 duces another Saviour, and so provides for the ruin and not 
 the redemption of the soul. A church may have justifica- 
 tion by faith among its articles, and yet may go over upon 
 Popish ground in justification by forms and works, and so 
 may desert and betray this fundamental living truth of 
 Christ. And many a man, like Ignorance, unacquainted 
 with his own heart, and with Christ as his Physician, may 
 be taken unawares by a show of scriptural truth, and in- 
 stead of really building on the Rock Christ Jesus, may be led 
 to build his house upon the sand. One of the most subtle 
 poisons of the age is the doctrine of human merit, which, like 
 a cloud from the bottomless pit, or thick vapour from the 
 caves of Antichrist, darkens the gospel, and sends the soul 
 wandering in the mazes of pride and error. Christ is our 
 Saviour, and not our works ; Christ alone, and not works 
 in any sense ; Christ must be all, and in all, or we have 
 no Saviour ; wherefore, let us he sure that we rest on him, 
 for no righteousness can save us but his, nor is there any 
 thing but his blood that can cleanse the soul from sin. 
 
 Since the dear hour that brought me to Thy foot. 
 
 And cut up all my follies by the root, 
 
 I never trusted in an arm but Thine, 
 
 Nor hoped, but in Thy righteousness divine. 
 
 My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, 
 
 Were but the feeble efforts of a child. 
 
 Howe'er performed, it was their brightest part 
 That they proceeded from a grateful heart, 
 
 Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood, 
 
 Forgive their evil, and accept their good. 
 
 I cast them at Thy feet — my only plea 
 Is what it was, dependence upon thee ! 
 
 COWPEH. 
 
 The character of Ignorance is a type of many, who, hav- 
 ing never been truly convinced of sin, remain unconscious 
 of the desperate wickedness of their own hearts, and of their 
 utter helplessness in themselves as to salvation. As Hope- 
 ful said of him, there are abundance of such as he in our 
 town, whole families, yea, whole streets, and that of pil- 
 grims too ; and if there he so many in our parts, how many, 
 22 
 
330 
 
 LECTUllE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 think you, must there be in the place where he was born ! 
 Something like his was the character of Temporary, who 
 Avas awakened once, and resolved to go on a pilgrimage, but 
 suddenly becoming acquainted with one Save-self, he gave 
 up the labour of it. This is what a great many persons 
 do ; instead of despairing in themselves, and going to Christ 
 alone to save them, they go to duties and pretended merits 
 of their own, and when they do this, then farewell to Christ 
 and his righteousness, and so, in reality, farewell to the hope 
 of heaven. 
 
 This spirit of self-righteousness is a fearful delusion and 
 snare to man}^ on first setting out in this pilgrimage. It 
 seems to be the most difficult thing in the world for the 
 heart to come to Christ just as it is, wholly bankrupt, and 
 to receive Christ, and to understand him, and to rest upon 
 him, just as he is, our only, all-sufficient Saviour. It is the 
 most difficult thing to come and buy the wine and milk of 
 the gospel without price ; the sinner thinks he must bring 
 Bomething in his hand to purchase with, some duties, some 
 merits, prayers at least, if nothing else, to buy forgiveness. 
 And, in truth, the act of resting on Christ is taught only of 
 God ; a right appreciation and reception of Christ comes 
 only from God’s Spirit. So it is made for us the greatest, 
 most important of all prayers, that the God of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, the Father of glory, would give unto us the spirit 
 of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of With- 
 out this revelation of Jesus to the soul as a Saviour, a man 
 may talk ever so devoutly of the cross of Christ, and yet be 
 a mere Save-self after all. Redemption made easy, or every 
 man his own saviour ^ was a label which Mr Coleridge, with 
 great justness and severity of satire, once wrote over a col- 
 lection of Socinian Tracts ; but in our day, the doctrine of 
 justification by faith seems to be abandoned not only by 
 those wlio deny the atonement and divinity of Christ, but 
 by many who make a boast of those doctrines. Their theo- 
 logy is such a mixture of self-righteous morality, with 
 something like the gospel plan of salvation, as effectually 
 destroys the saving efficacy of the gospel, and yet satisfies 
 the soul with tlie pretence and form of it. They make 
 
THE CHARACTERS OP IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-PAITH. 331 
 
 Christ a mere endorser, on the ground of his own death, of 
 the bill of merits which the sinner presents on the ground 
 of his own morality ; they make Christ merely a helper, and 
 not a Saviour. But the gospel must be every thing or no- 
 thing, and he that comes to Christ thinking that he only 
 needs him to make up his own deficiencies, does not believe 
 in him as a Saviour at all, does not come to him as such. 
 
 Nevertheless, it is not merely Ignorance who is pleased 
 with the delusions of self-righteousness ; but real disciples 
 sometimes, who think themselves rooted and grounded in 
 faith and love, are led away by the same temptations. This 
 the pilgrims found to their cost, when they encountered the 
 Flatterer, by whom there can be little doubt that Bunyan 
 intended to represent another enemy of justification by faith, 
 under the guise of spiritual pride, a good opinion of them- 
 selves, and a reliance for salvation upon their own duties 
 and degree of advancement in the spiritual life. This Flat- 
 terer led them in a way so like the right way at first, that 
 they thought it was the right way ; but so adroitly and 
 insensibly did he deceive them, that at length their faces 
 were turned from instead of towards the Celestial City, and 
 then the white robe fell from his back, and disclosed his 
 native blackness and deformity. Then also he threw a strong 
 net over them, and left them to struggle in it, unable to get 
 out. By such difficulties do men always become entangled, 
 who leave the way of simple reliance on Christ and his 
 righteousness. 
 
 There is also in our day a flattering delusion, by which 
 this black man in white may he represented, which is the 
 doctrine of perfection attained by saints in this world, 
 which doctrine, by its fostering of pride and self-righteous- 
 ness, has set many a man with his face from instead of 
 towards the Celestial City. A man eager after spiritual 
 attainments does certainly seem to be in the high road to 
 heaven ; but if he makes those attainments, instead of Christ, 
 his Saviour, then certainly his face is turned, and his feet 
 are tending the other way. So we need to be upon our 
 watch against any thing and every thing, though it should 
 come to us in the shape of an angel of light, which would 
 
332 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 turn US from a sole reliance upon Christ, or tempt us to a 
 high opinion of ourselves. A broken heart and a contrite 
 spirit are in the sight of God of great price ; but if any man 
 thinks himself to have attained perfection, he is not very 
 likely to be in the exercise of a broken heart or of a con- 
 trite spirit, nor indeed in the exercise of true faith in Christ 
 for justification. 
 
 You will observe that this flatterer, robed in white, pre- 
 tending to great strictness, spirituality, and holiness, carried 
 the pilgrims seemingly onwards towards the Celestial City, 
 but left them with their faces direct from Zion, instead of 
 heavenward. ITow this has been the case with so many 
 persons who have at first professed to have attained perfec- 
 tion, and believed that they sought it, that it would seem 
 as if Bunyan must have had in his eye the very error we 
 are contemplating. From the belief in one’s own perfection, 
 it is often but a single step to the monstrous conclusion that 
 the soul cannot sin ; that whatever the body does, the soul 
 cannot be defiled thereby, or made guilty ; that the law of 
 God is no more a rule of conduct, and that its commands 
 may be broken at pleasure without sin. This is doubtless 
 one tendency of a self-righteous spirit. They who trust 
 simply and solely in Christ and his righteousness for salva- 
 tion have often been accused by self-righteous moralists of 
 “ making void the law but, in point of fact, it is they 
 only who establish the law ; it is nothing but the love of 
 Christ, and faith in his merits, in his blood, that ever pro- 
 duces any morality required by the law. On the other 
 hand, they who trust in their own merits, and they wdio 
 pretend to a perfection of their own, are always perverting, 
 and so making void, both the law and the gospel, and some- 
 times they do openly and plainly trample all its requisi- 
 tions under their feet. So true it is, that “ pride goeth be- 
 fore destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” 
 
 Our entire reliance upon Christ as himself our Saviour, 
 our only Saviour, is beautifully expressed in one of Herbert's 
 sweet though quaint pieces, entitled. The Hold-Fast. Christ 
 is the Hold-Fast ; he is the fast and firm holder of what is 
 ours ; but wliat is ours is his, and ours only as it comes 
 
the characters of IGA’ORANCE and little-faith. 333 
 
 from him, so that we have nothing in ourselves, even to 
 trust in him being his. What is ours in ourselves is weak- 
 ness and sin ; what is ours in him is strength and righteous- 
 ness ; so he is our Hold-Fast. 
 
 I threatened to observe the strict decree 
 Of my dear God with all my power and might ; 
 
 But I was told by one it could not be ; 
 
 Yet I might trust in God to be my light. 
 
 Then will I trust, said I, in him alone, 
 
 Nay, e’en to trust in him was also his : 
 
 We must confess that nothing is our o^^'n. 
 
 Then I confess that he my succour is. 
 
 But to have nought is ours, not to confess 
 That we have nought. I stood amazed at this, 
 
 Much troubled, till I heard a friend express, 
 
 That all things were ours by being his. 
 
 What Adam had, and forfeited for all, 
 
 Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall. 
 
 While Christian and Hopeful were struggling in this net, 
 there came a bright Shining One, with a whip of small cord 
 in his hand, who questioned them as to how they came 
 there, and what they were doing. When they had told all, 
 and had been reminded that if they had diligently perused the 
 note of the way given them by the Shepherds, they would 
 not have fallen into this snare ; this Shining One made them 
 lie down, and submit to a sore, though loving chastisement. 
 By this is figured the discipline of the good Spirit of the 
 Lord with his children, when they in any manner go astray, 
 and also the loving-kindness of the Lord, even in the chastise- 
 ment of his people. As many as I love, I rebuke and 
 chasten.” He restoreth my soul,” saith David, “ and 
 
 leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” 
 So were these two erring disciples, who had now insensibly 
 been beguiled away from Christ and his righteousness into 
 flattering, delusive opinions of their own attainments, 
 whipped back by the Shining One into the path of humility 
 faith, truth, and duty. So great is “ the love of the Spirit,” 
 so sweet and long-suffering the patience and the mercy of 
 the Lord. 
 
 Few passages are more instructive than that which in 
 
334 
 
 LECTUllE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 this stage of the pilgrimage contains the character of Little- 
 Faith, and the story of the robbery he suffered. This man 
 fell asleep in Dead-Man’s Lane, not far from Broadway Gate. 
 He had certainly no business in that place, where so many 
 murders were committed, and to sleep there was above all 
 unsafe. So three desperate villains, Faint-Heart, Mistrust, 
 and Guilt, set upon him, and robbed him of all his ready 
 money, and left him half-dead. There are a great many 
 Little-Faiths in our pilgrimage, and though they do not all 
 sleep in Dead-Man’s Lane, yet they go doubting and tremb- 
 ling through life. Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt clog 
 their footsteps, and their faith in Christ is not strong enough 
 to triumph over these enemies and make them flee. So they 
 go burdened with sin, and literally mourning after Christ, 
 rather than believing in him. Yet this mourning after 
 Christ is something precious ; it is infinitely better than 
 hardness and indifference of heart, or false security, and 
 infinitely better, also, than a dangerous, false confidence, or 
 a joy that has not a scriptural foundation. 
 
 Little- Faith had a tender conscience, which made him 
 bewail his sinful sleep, and all his failings by the way. 
 Little-Faith’s spending money, that is, almost all the present 
 comfort of a hope in Christ, with those foretastes of heaven, 
 which are the earnest of the Spirit, was taken from him by 
 those desperate robbers ; but his costly jewels they did not 
 find, or else did not value them, as they were good only at- 
 the Celestial City ; that is, these robbers, Faint-heart, Mis- 
 trust, and Guilt, did not take away those graces of the 
 Spirit, by which Little-Faith’s soul was really united to 
 Christ, though they did steal from him his own present 
 evidences, so that he went on distressed and troubled in his 
 pilgrimage, and a beggar to the day of his death. 
 
 There was one good thing about Little-Faith, and that 
 was his sincerity ; he had indeed little faith, but what he 
 had was real faith, and no trust in his own merits. How, 
 if from our faith as Christians, all foreign ingredients were 
 abstracted, all mixture of self-righteousness and vain-con- 
 fi deuce, it is to be feared very few of us would be found with 
 much to boast above Little-Faith ; if every thing were taken 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 335 
 
 from the grace which we hope is in our hearts, but only 
 what is “ believing, true, and clean,” what is sincere, without 
 offence, and pure before God, the residue might be found a 
 very small modicum.. Should all the wood, hay, and stubble 
 be burned up, which we have builded on the foundation that 
 is laid for us, how much gold, silver, and precious stones 
 would be found remaining, we might fear to know. If 
 Guilt, Mistrust, and Faint-Heart were to set upon us as they 
 did upon Little-Faith, would they take merely our spending 
 money, and leave us our jewels, or would they take jewels 
 and all ? 
 
 Hopeful seemed to think if he had been in Little-Faith’s 
 place, he would not have given up so easily ; but Christian 
 bade him beware of self-confidence, for it was a very different 
 thing to hear of these villains who attacked Little-Faith, 
 and to be attacked by them one’s self. Ho man could tell 
 the wonderful fearfulness of that combat, but he who has 
 been in it. Great-Grace himself, by whose coming up the 
 desperate rogues were frightened away from Little-Faith, 
 though excellent good at his weapons, would very likely 
 get a fall, if Guilt, Faint-Heart, and Mistrust got within 
 him, not being kept at his sword’s point ; and when a man 
 is down, and three such wretches upon him, what can he 
 do ? Peter once thought he would never give up ; he was 
 ready to try what he could do, even to go to prison and to 
 death, but when these grim robbers came upon him, though 
 some do say that he is the Prince of the Apostles, they 
 handled him so, that they made him at last afraid of a sorry 
 girl.” So there is no help, trust, strength, or safety for us 
 but in Christ, in his great grace in us, upon us, and for us. 
 Great-Grace must be our champion, as he was Little-Faith’s, 
 or it is all over with us. 
 
 Little-Faith dwelt in the town of Sincere, and his sincerity 
 was a very precious thing in him, for the Lord looketh on 
 the heart, and on the man who tremble th at his word. 
 Moreover, our blessed Lord hath said, that he will not break 
 the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax ; and where 
 there is smoke, as with Little-Faith, there was but little 
 else, so that he was under a cloud all the while, stifled as i1 
 
336 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 were with the smoke of his evidences, and seeking in vain 
 to find liis own fire, yet there is hope of a blaze ; it will 
 break out at last, and burn brightly. So if a man can but 
 say, ‘‘ Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief,” if he says 
 this sincerely, he need never be discouraged ; let him hope 
 in the Lord. Little- Grace can trust in Christ, and Great- 
 Grace can do no more ; and if “ one promise doth belong to 
 thee,” says an excellent old writer, “ then all do ; for every 
 one conveys a whole Christ ; and Christ will acknowledge 
 hee to be his, if he sees but one mark of his child upon thee 
 in truth and sincerity. For God brings not a pair of scales 
 to weigh your graces, and if they be too light refuseth them ; 
 but he brings a touchstone to try them ; and if they be pure 
 gold, though never so little of it, it will pass current with 
 him ; though it be but smoke, not flame, though it be but 
 as a wick in the socket, (as the original hath it,) likelier to 
 die and go out, than continue, which we used to throw away ; 
 yet he will not quench it, but accept it.’^ This is a sweet 
 comforting truth, but let it not be turned to indolence or 
 licentiousness ; for if a man would have God to work out 
 his salvation for him, he must also he willing and industri- 
 ous to work it out himself with fear and trembling. 
 
 The next character which the pilgrims met with in their 
 way to the City, after, by the help of the Shining One, they 
 had escaped the net of the Flatterer, was an open, broad, 
 blaspheming Atheist. He pretended to have been twenty 
 years seeking the Celestial City, and had not found it, and 
 now he knew there was no such thing in existence, and 
 was determined to take his full swing of the pleasures of 
 this life, to make amends for all the labour he had undergone. 
 There is no doubt that Bunyan had met with such charac- 
 ters ; they are to be found sometimes now ; and dangerous 
 indeed they are to the young and inexperienced. This man 
 Atheist reminds me of a professed preacher of the Gospel, 
 but a denier of our Lord’s Divinity and Atonement, to whom 
 I referred as having been settled over one of Mr Legality’s 
 parishes, who had been in early life the subject of many and 
 strong religious impressions, but had denied the faith, and 
 become worse than an infidel. This man used to say, just 
 
TUE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 337 
 
 as Atheist to Christian and Hopeful, though not that there 
 was no Celestial City, yet that there was no need of such a 
 laborious pilgrimage to come at it, for that he had been 
 through all this pretended religious experience, and knew it 
 to be all nonsense, a perfectly needless and foolish trouble. 
 “ The lips of a fool will swallow up himself. The beginning 
 of the words of his mouth is foolishness, and the end of his 
 talk mischievous madness. He knoweth not how to go to 
 the City.” This fool Atheist lost his labour with Christian 
 and Hopeful, for they had seen the Gate of the Celestial 
 City from the top of the Delectable Mountains. So when 
 temptations to unbelief and Atheism beset the Christian, he 
 may very properly throw himself back upon his past experi- 
 ence of God’s loving-kindness, when the candle of the Lord 
 shined upon him, and he could see afar off. So David, in 
 trouble and darkness remembered God from such and such 
 a place, when he had commanded deliverance, and he knew 
 he would command it again. 
 
 But now the pilgrims enter on the Enchanted Ground. 
 The air of that region tends to such drowsiness, that it 
 disposed the pilgrims to lie down at once and sleep ; and 
 Hopeful would have done so, had it not been for the warn- 
 ings of Christian, who bade his brother remember what the 
 good Shepherds had told them. Hopeful was inclined to say 
 with Paul, I only and Barnabas, have not we power to 
 forbear working May I not lie down and take a short 
 nap ? said Hopeful. Sleep is refreshing to the labouring 
 man, and I can scarcely hold my eyes open. Ah, these 
 short naps for pilgrims ! The sleep of death, in the En- 
 chanted Air of this world, usually begins with one of these 
 short naps. 
 
 Sleeping here, there is no safety ; for if you give way tc 
 your almost irresistible inclination, it becomes more irre« 
 sistible, you are in imminent danger of the lethai;gy of spi- 
 ritual death. Wherefore, beware of spiritual indolence ; it 
 is a gradual, but fearful and powerful temptation. Where- 
 fore, let us not sleep, as do others ; but let us watch and be 
 sober.” 0 beware of a lukewarm formality in your spiritual 
 exercises, especially in prayer, in family prayer, in secret 
 
338 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 prayer. And rest not in the form, but pray earnestly to 
 God to infuse more life and earnestness in your devotions, to 
 give you a more vivid view and sense of eternal realities, to 
 wake you up, and to shake from you this sloth, and to make 
 you vigorous and fervent in spirit. This is what is needed, 
 for in this Enchanted Ground of indolence and spiritual 
 slumber you must, though it crucify your own flesh, resist 
 this dangerous inclination to sleep. 
 
 This desire to slumber is sometimes an indication of spi- 
 ritual coldness, rather than of spiritual fatigue, for those who 
 have been exercising themselves vigorously are not apt to 
 feel it : so that it indicates a state in the soul, like that which 
 takes place in the body, when a person is near perishing in 
 the snow. There is an account in the voyages of some of 
 our early circumnavigators about the globe, of a danger of 
 this kind that came upon them when travelling in a certain 
 frozen region, which I always think of when I come to this 
 place in the Pilgrim’s Progress. The surgeon of the com- 
 pany, a man of great skill and firmness, warned his com- 
 panions that they would feel a great inclination to sleep, but 
 that so sure as they gave way to it, they would die in it, for 
 no power on earth could wake them. But if I remember 
 right, this very surgeon. Dr Solander, was one of the first to 
 be overcome with this irresistible desire to sleep ; and had 
 they not, by main force, kept him from it, he would have 
 lain down in the cold, and slept, and died. Now, when this 
 inclination to spiritual slumber is the result of spiritual cold- 
 ness, a man is in danger indeed. It is time to bestir your- 
 self, for if you yield to this propensity, it is most likely that 
 death will overtake you in it. Wherefore, rouse up, and 
 walk on, and beat yourself, if need be, and call earnestly 
 upon God to save you, and Christ will be your guide. 
 
 The way Christian and Hopeful took to avoid this danger 
 was excellent and very instructive. They sang and conversed 
 together, and Hopeful related to Christian the deeply in- 
 teresting account of his own Christian experience. While 
 they were thus amusing, singing, and talking, the fire burned, 
 and the danger grew less and less, the more they became 
 interested. So sweet is heavenly conversation between Chris- 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 339 
 
 tians, so good to warm and enliven the heart. No wonder, 
 where there is so little of it, and so much and constant vain 
 and trifling talk on the vanities of this world, that there 
 should be so much spiritual coldness. Some men are all ear 
 and tongue in earthly things, conversable and social in the 
 highest degree on the business, arts, and manners of this 
 world, but when it comes to things of spiritual experience, 
 when it comes to that exhortation, “ Let your speech he al- 
 ways with grace, seasoned with salt,” ah, how little salt is 
 there ! Attic salt, as the world calls it, there may be plenty 
 of it ; wit and learning, and common gossip in abundance ; 
 but of the salt of grace, hardly enough to keep the talk from 
 the dunghill. This is sad, and yet true. But Christian con- 
 versation, warm from the heart, is a precious means of life, 
 and the means, sometimes, of opening the prison doors, and 
 bringing out a sleeper. Bunyan’rt lines are as true as they 
 arc pithy : 
 
 Saints’ fellowship, if it be managed well, 
 
 Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell. 
 
 Such conversation as that of Christian and Hopeful is full 
 of awakening and edifying power. 
 
 Hopeful gave Christian an account of his own conversion, 
 and seldom indeed has there ever been a description of the 
 workings of conscience, and the leadings and discipline of 
 Divine Providence and Grace with an individual soul bring- 
 ing it to repentance, in which the points and main course of 
 conviction, conversion, and Christian experience, have been 
 brought out with such beautiful distinctness and power. It 
 is very instructive to trace them in Hopeful’s relation. He 
 was first awakened by the life and death of Faithful in 
 Vanity Fair. Many a conscience can answer to the truth of 
 his enumeration of the occasions and times in which, even in 
 his unconverted state, he used to remember God, and be 
 troubled. Heart-frightening hours of conviction he had upon 
 him, and many things would bring his sins to mind ; as, if 
 he did but meet a good man in the streets, or if he heard any 
 one read in the Bible ; or if his head did begin to ache ; or 
 if he were told that some of his neighbours were sick ; or if 
 
340 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 he heard the bell toll for some that were dead ; or if he thought 
 of dying himself ; or if he heard that sudden death happened 
 to others ; but especially when he thought of himself, that he 
 must come to judgment. So there was continually, as with 
 all wicked men, a dreadful sound in Hopeful’s ears. The 
 truth is, the Ocean of Eternity will make itself heard. And 
 there is a low wailing sound, as of spirits in torment, always 
 wafted across it to the inhabitants of this world, as well as 
 the voice of the spirits in bliss, saying, Come up hither ! ” 
 
 These things set Hopeful upon an effort to amend his life, 
 for otherwise, thought he, I am sure to be damned. So he 
 betook himself to praying, reading, weeping for sin, speak- 
 ing the truth to his neighbours, and many other things, and 
 thus, for a little season, succeeded in lulling and satisfying 
 conscience. But again his difficulties were renewed, and his 
 trouble came tumbling upon him, and that over the neck of 
 all his reformation. Such sentences as these sounded in his 
 ears : By the works of the law shall no man be justified 
 
 and “ He that offendeth in one point is guilty of all.” More- 
 over, Hopeful found that no present reformation would wipe 
 off the score of past sins, and indeed he could get no relief 
 but in Christ. By Faithful’s directions, he went to the 
 mercy-seat, and pleaded with God to reveal Christ unto him ; 
 and though he was tempted to give up praying, an hundred 
 times twice told, yet he persevered, till in that saying, Be- 
 lieve in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou Shalt be saved,” he 
 found peace ; he found that coming to Christ and believing 
 on him are all one. He found then to whom he must look 
 for righteousness, and what it was to trust in the merits of 
 Christ, and what was meant when it was said that Christ 
 is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that be- 
 lieveth.” 
 
 Hopeful’s experience stands in a fine instructive contrast 
 with that of Ignorance ; the first shews the relish of the 
 renewed heart for pure divine truth, and the secret of it ; 
 the second shews the secret of the opposition of the unrenewed 
 heart against that same divine truth in its purity. The pride 
 of our nature is one of the last evils revealed to ourselves, 
 and whatever goes against it, we do naturally count as our 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 341 
 
 enemy. But Humility, learning of Christ, makes a different 
 estimate, and counts as precious, beyond price, all that truth 
 and virtue in the Gospel which abases self. 
 
 The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews, 
 
 Takes the resemblance of the good she views. 
 
 As diamonds, stripped of their opaque disguise. 
 
 Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. 
 
 She speaks of Him, her Author, Guardian, Friend, 
 
 Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end. 
 
 In language warm, as all that love inspires. 
 
 And in the glow of her intense desires, 
 
 Pants to communicate her noble fires. Cowper. 
 
 On the other hand, those who do not love God cannot ex- 
 pect to find in his word a system of truth that will please 
 their own hearts. A sinful heart can have no right views 
 of God, and of course will have defective views of his word ; 
 for sin distorts the judgment, and overturns the balance of 
 the mind on all moral subjects far more than even the best 
 of men are aware of. There is, there can he, no true re- 
 flection of God or of his word from the bosom darkened with 
 guilt, from the heart at enmity with him. That man will 
 always look at God through the medium of his own selfish- 
 ness, and at God’s word through the colouring of his own 
 wishes, prejudices, and fears. 
 
 A heart that loves the Saviour, and rejoices in God as his 
 Sovereign, reflects hack in calmness the perfect view of his 
 character, which it finds in his word. Behold on the borders 
 of a mountain lake, the reflection of the scene above received 
 into the bosom of the lake below ! See that crag projecting, 
 the wild flowers that hang out from it, and bend as if to 
 gaze at their own forms in the water beneath. Observe that 
 plot of green grass above that tree springing from the cleft, 
 and over all, the quiet sky reflecting in all its softness and 
 depth from the lake’s steady surface. Does it not seem as if 
 there were two heavens 1 How perfect the reflection ! And 
 just as perfect and clear and free from confusion and per- 
 plexity is the reflection of God’s character, and of the truths 
 of his word from the quietness of the heart that loves the 
 Saviour and rejoices in his supreme and sovereign glory. 
 
 Now look again. The wind is on the lake, and drives for- 
 
342 
 
 LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 ward its waters in crested and impetuous waves, angry and 
 turbulent. Where is that sweet image ] There is no change 
 above : the sky is clear, the crag projects as boldly, the 
 flowers look just as sweet in their unconscious simplicity ; 
 but below, banks, trees, and skies are all mingled in con- 
 fusion. There is just as much confusion in every unholy 
 mind’s idea of God and his blessed word. God and his truth 
 are always clear, always the same ; but the passions of men 
 fill their own hearts with obscurity and turbulence ; their 
 depravity is itself obscurity, and through all this perplexity 
 and wilful ignorance they contend that God is just such a 
 Being as they behold him, and that they are very good beings 
 in his sight. We have heard of a defect in the bodily vision, 
 that represents all objects upside down : that man would 
 certainly be called insane, who, under the influence of this 
 misfortune, should so blind his understanding, as to believe 
 and assert that men walked on their heads, and that the trees 
 grew downwards. Now, it is not a much greater insanity 
 for men who in their hearts do not love God, and in their 
 lives perhaps insult and disobey him, to give credit to theif 
 own perverted misrepresentations of him and of his word. As 
 long as men will continue to look at God’s truth through the 
 medium of their own pride and prejudice, so long they will 
 have mistaken views of God and eternity, so long will their 
 own self-righteousness look better to them for a resting-place 
 than the glorious righteousness of Him, who of God is made 
 unto us our Wisdom, Righteousness, Sanctification, and 
 Redemption. 
 
 Such an one is the mere “ natural man (who) receiveth 
 not the things of the Spirit of God : for they are foolishness 
 unto him ; neither can he know them, for they are spirit- 
 ually discerned.” He has not the proper discipline and pre- 
 paration of heart — the pure and fitting tastes for these higher 
 and better things. He has dwelt in a low earthly region 
 until his whole being has become conformed to low and 
 earthly objects; and his dimmed and distorted vision cannot 
 see the bright heaven above him. As well might the un- 
 tutored eye of him who hath always been labouring in tlie 
 dark and dusty mines under ground, attempt to judge of the 
 
THE CHARACTERS OF IGNORANCE AND LITTLE-FAITH. 343 
 
 beauty of colours and to determine the rules of art. Such 
 an one is justly called Ignorance, and his self-confidence only 
 serves the more to set off the barrenness and grovelling tastes 
 of his soul. The more confident and dogmatical he is, the 
 more an object of pity does he become to good angels and 
 spiritual men, and of contempt and mockery to lost spirits. 
 His boastfulness is only the strong symptom of his insanity, 
 and the sure token of his perdition. 
 
 On the other hand, he who hath renounced his self-right- 
 eousness, and, with a broken and contrite heart, hath fled 
 for refuge to the righteousness of Christ, he hath found a 
 clear vision and noble and rational tastes. Now he despises 
 and loathes the objects which he before admired and loved, 
 and lifts up his rejoicing eye to behold the beautiful scenery 
 of the green and smiling earth, and the quiet lake reflecting 
 the happy heavens, and he sees the happy heavens them- 
 selves, from whence the reflection comes. Justly is this one 
 called Hopeful. The things whicli he hath chosen are not 
 in the present, but they open to him the blessed future. He 
 liopes for them, and he hopes not in painful doubtfulness, 
 but in the sweet assurance of the faith which hath brought 
 him to Christ. 
 
 Abba, Father ! send forth the spirit of thy dear Son into 
 our hearts, that we, being made humble, believing, and holy, 
 may ever give back a serene, unsullied reflection of thy Truth 
 and Love ! Blessed is that Spirit of adoption ! Grant that 
 we all, in its possession, may be made the children of God 
 by faith in Christ Jesus. May we, through the Spirit, wait 
 for the hope of righteousness by faith : remembering that 
 in Jesus Christ neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor 
 uncircumcision, but Faith, which worketh by Love. For 
 we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold the beginning 
 of our confidence steadfast unto the end. 
 
 Oft as I look upon the road, 
 
 That leads to yonder blest abode, 
 
 I feel distressed and fearful ; 
 
 So many foes the passage throng, 
 
 I am so weak and they so strong, 
 
 How can my soul be cheerful I 
 
LECTURE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 But when I think of Him, whose power 
 Can save me in a trying hour. 
 
 And place on Him reliance. 
 
 My soul is then ashamed of fear ; 
 
 And though ten thousand foes appear. 
 ITl bid them all defiance. 
 
 The dangerous road I then pursue. 
 
 And keep the glorious prize in view, 
 With joyful hope elated ; 
 
 Strong in the Lord, in Him alone. 
 Where he conducts, I follow on. 
 
 With ardour animated. 
 
 O Lord, each day renew my strength, 
 And let me see thy face at length. 
 
 With all thy people yonder ; 
 
 With them in heaven thy love declare. 
 And sing thy praise for ever there, 
 
 With gratitude and wonder. 
 
LECTURE FOURTEENTH, 
 
 6 e L a n® OB cu l a f) anotje H tfi e r o f 25 ea t fi . 
 
 Gradual progress of the Pilgrims from strength to strength.— Their enjoyment 
 in the Land Beulah.— Similar experience of Dr Payson. — Beauty and glory 
 of the close of the Pilgrim’s Progress. — Fear of Death by the Pilgrims. — 
 Bunyan’s own experience.— Why Death is the King of Terrors.— Dying is 
 but going home for the Christian.— Death-beds of believers and unbelievers 
 contrasted.— Christian instances in Fuller, Pearse, Janeway, Payson, and 
 others. — Blessedness of such a death. — Necessity of a preparation for it in 
 life.— What constitutes the Land Beulah. — Sweetness and preciousness of a 
 close walk with God. — Solemn lesson from the fate of Ignorance. — No safety 
 but in Christ. 
 
 We are come now, in onr pilgrimage, as far as to the 
 Land Beulah. Would that we were all there in reality, and 
 could abide there while we stay this side of the River of 
 Death ! But the Land Beulah, lovely as it is, is only one 
 stage in our pilgrimage, and that a very advanced stage. 
 And it is observable how Bunyan makes his pilgrims go 
 from strength to strength, by a gradual progress, from one 
 degree of grace, discipline, and glory to another, in accord- 
 ance with that sweet scripture image, “ The path of the just 
 is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto 
 the perfect day.” So the pilgrims go from strength to 
 strength, every one of them in Zion appearing before God. 
 They first, from the House Beautiful, had a view of the 
 Delectable Mountains ; then from the Delectable Mountains, 
 they had a view of the Celestial City ; then in the Land 
 Beulah, they even meet with the inhabitants of that City. 
 In this land they also hear voices coming out of the City, 
 23 
 
346 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH, 
 
 and they draw so near to it that tlie view of its glory is al- 
 most overpowering. Would to God that we all did better 
 know the meaning of these images by our own blissful ex- 
 perience ; for certainly the imagination alone cannot inter- 
 pret them to us. A very near, deep, blissful communion 
 with God is here portrayed, and that beholding as in a glass 
 the glory of the Lord, by which daily the soul is changed 
 more and more into the same image. Here the ministering 
 spirits that do wait upon us are more frequent and full in 
 their companies. Here the Spirit of adoption is breathed 
 over the soul, and it walks and talks with Christ, almost as 
 Moses and Elias in the mount of transfiguration. 
 
 No other language than that of Bunyan himself, perused 
 in the pages of his own sweet book, could be successful in 
 portraying this beauty and glory ; for now he seems to feel 
 that all the dangers of the pilgrimage are almost over, and 
 he gives up himself without restraint so entirely to the sea 
 of bliss that surrounds him, and to the gales of heaven that 
 are wafting him on, and to the sounds of melody that float 
 in the whole air around him, that nothing in the English 
 language can be compared with this whole closing part of 
 the Pilgrim’s Progress, for its entrancing splendour, yet 
 serene and simple loveliness. The colouring is that of 
 heaven in the soul, and Bunyan has poured his own heaven- 
 entranced soul into it. With all its depth and power, there 
 is nothing exaggerated, and it is made up of the simplest 
 and most scriptural materials and images. We seem to 
 stand in a flood of light poured on us from the open gates of 
 Paradise. It falls on every leaf and shrub by the way-side ; 
 it is reflected from the crystal streams, that between grassy 
 banks wind amidst groves of fruit-trees into vineyards and 
 flower-gardens. These fields of Beulah are just below the 
 gate of heaven ; and with the light of heaven there come 
 floating down the melodies of heaven, so that here there is 
 almost an open revelation of the things which God hath 
 prepared for them that love him. 
 
 During the last days of that eminent man of God, Dr 
 Payson, he once said, “ When I formerly read Bunyan’s 
 description of the Land of Beulah, where the sun shines 
 
THE LANE BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 347 
 
 and the birds sing day and night, I used to doubt whether 
 there was such a place ; but now my own experience has 
 convinced me of it, and it infinitely transcends all my pre- 
 vious conceptions.” The best possible commentary on the 
 glowing descriptions in Bunyan is to be found in that very 
 remarkable letter dictated by Dr Payson to his sister a few 
 weeks before his death : — “ Were I to adopt the figurative 
 language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the Land 
 Beulah, of which I have been for some weeks a happy 
 inhabitant. The Celestial City is full in my view. Its 
 glories have been upon me, its breezes fan me, its odours are 
 wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ears, and its spirit 
 is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it 
 but the River of Death, which now appears but as an insigni- 
 ficant rill, that may be crossed at a single step, whenever 
 God shall give permission. The Sun of Righteousness has 
 been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger 
 and brighter as he approached, and now he fills the whole 
 hemisphere ; pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem 
 to float like an insect in the beams of the sun ; exulting, yet 
 almost trembling, while I gaze on this excessive brightness, 
 and wondering with unutterable wonder, why God should 
 deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm.” 
 
 There is perhaps, in all our language, no record of a 
 Christian’s happiness before death, so striking as this. What 
 is it not worth to enjoy such consolations as these in our 
 pilgrimage, and especially to experience such foretastes of 
 heaven as we draw near to the River of Death ; such revela- 
 tions of God in Christ as can swallow up the fears and pains 
 of dying, and make the soul exult in the vision of a Saviour’s 
 loveliness, the assurance of a Saviour’s mercy. There is no 
 self-denial, no toil, no suffering in this life which is worthy 
 to be compared for a moment with such blessedness. 
 
 It is very remarkable that Bunyan has, as it were, at- 
 tempted to lift the veil from the grave, from eternity, in the 
 beatific closing part of the Pilgrim’s Progress, and to depict 
 what passes, or may be supposed to pass, with the souls of 
 the righteous, immediately after death. There is a very 
 familiar verse of Watts, founded on the unsuccessful effort 
 
348 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 of the mind to conceive definitely the manner of that exist- 
 ence into which the immortal spirit is to he iisliered. 
 
 In vain the fancy strives to paint 
 The moment after death, 
 
 The glories that surround the saint 
 In yielding up his breath. 
 
 The old poet, Henry Vaughan, in his fragment on heaven 
 in prospect, refers to the same uncertainty, in stanzas that, 
 though somewhat quaint, are very striking. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just. 
 
 Shining no where but in the dark. 
 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
 
 Could man outlook that mark ! 
 
 He that hath found some fledg’d bird’s nest may know 
 At first sight if the bird be flown. 
 
 But v/hat fair field or grove he sings in now 
 That is to him unknown. 
 
 And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams • 
 
 Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
 
 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, 
 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 Indeed, our most definite view of that glory is but a 
 glimpse, a guess, a look as through a dim glass darkly, and 
 what we know of the intermediate or immediate state of 
 untabernacled souls is but little and in part. Perhaps the 
 most general conception is that of an immediate, instanta- 
 neous transition into the vision and presence of God and the 
 Lamb. But Bunyan has with great beauty and probability 
 brought in the ministry of angels, and regions of the air, to 
 be passed through in their company, rising, and still rising, 
 higher and higher, before they come to that mighty mount, 
 on which he has placed the gates of the Celestial City. The 
 angels receive his Pilgrims as they come up from the River 
 of Death, and form for them a bright, glittering, seraphic, 
 loving convoy, whose conversation prepares them gradually 
 for that exceeding and eternal weight of glory, which is to 
 be theirs as they enter in at the Gate. Bunyan has thus, in 
 this blissful passage from the River to the Gate, done what 
 no other devout writer, or dreamer, or speculator, that we 
 are aware of, has ever done ; he has filled what perhaps in 
 
THE LAKE BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 349 
 
 most minds is a mere blank, a vacancy, or at most a bewilder- 
 ment and mist of glory, with definite and beatific images, 
 with natural thoughts, and with the sympathizing com- 
 munion of gentle spirits, who form, as it were, an outer 
 porch and perspective of glory, through which the soul 
 passes into uncreated light. Bunyan has thrown a bridge, 
 as it were, for the imagination over the deep, sudden, open 
 space of an untried spiritual existence, where it finds ready 
 to receive the soul that leaves the body, ministering spirits, 
 sent forth to minister unto them who are to be heirs of 
 salvation. 
 
 These ministering spirits he can describe, with the beauty 
 and glory of their form and garments, and the ravishing 
 sweetness of their conversation ; he can also describe the 
 feelings of the pilgrims in such company, and their glorious 
 progress up through the regions of the air to their eternal 
 dwelling-place. lie can image to us their warm thoughts 
 about the reception they are to meet with in the City, and 
 the blessedness of beholding “ the King in his beauty,” and 
 of dwelling with such glorious company for ever and ever ; 
 but Bunyan goes no farther; he does not attempt to describe, 
 or even shadow forth their meeting with the Lord God 
 Almighty and the Lamb in that Celestial City. This would 
 have been presumption. He has gone as far as the purest 
 devotion and the sweetest poetry could go, as far as an 
 imagination kindled, informed, and sustained by the Holy 
 Scriptures, could carry us ; he has set us down amidst the 
 ministry and conversation of angels, at the Gate of the Cit}", 
 and as the Gate opens to let in the pilgrims, he lets us look 
 in ourselves ; but farther nor revelation nor imagination 
 traces the picture. 
 
 But in all the untrodden space which Bunyan has thus 
 filled up, he has authority as well as probability on his side. 
 For our blessed Lord said of the good man Lazarus, that 
 when he died he was carried by the angels into Abraham’s 
 bosom, that is, into the abode of the blessed. It is not said 
 that the instant Lazarus died he was with Christ in glory, 
 but the mind has an intermediate transaction, a passage, a 
 convoy, to rest upon ; “ he was carried hy angels there is 
 
350 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 time occupied, and a passage from this existence to the sight 
 of God and the eternal life of glory, which passage Bunyan 
 has filled up with the utmost probability, as well as with an 
 exquisite warmth and beauty of imagery, which finds no 
 rival in the language. The description comes from the heart, 
 and from an imagination fed, nourished, and disciplined by 
 the Scriptures ; and this is the secret of its power, the secret 
 of the depth and heavenly glow of its ravishing colours, and 
 of the emotions with which it stirs the soul even to tears. 
 For it is almost impossible, in a right frame of heart, to read 
 this description without weeping, especially that part of it 
 where Christian and Hopeful pass the River of Death to- 
 gether. 
 
 How full of sweet feeling and Christian wisdom is this 
 passage ! How gentle, and tenderly affectionate are Hope- 
 ful’s efforts to encourage his fainting brother ! And how 
 instructive the fact that here the older and more experienced 
 <]hristian of the two, and that soldier in the Christian con- 
 flict who had the most scars upon him for Christ, should be 
 the one to whom the passage of the River of Death was most 
 difficult — instructive as shewing us that safety does not 
 depend upon present comfort, but upon Christ, and that it 
 is wrong to measure one’s holiness and degree of preparation 
 for death by the degree in which the fear of death may have 
 departed. The pilgrims, especially Christian, began to despond 
 in their mind when they came to the River. Notwithstand- 
 ing that the angels were with them, and though they had 
 been for many days abiding in the Land Beulah, and though 
 they were now in full view of the Celestial City, and though 
 they heard the bells ringing, and the melodious music of the 
 City ravishing their hearts, yet were their hearts cast down 
 as they came to the borders of this river, and found no means 
 of being carried across it. 
 
 For timorous mortals start and shrink, 
 
 To cross that narrow sea, 
 
 And linger, shivering on the brink, 
 
 And fear to launch away. 
 
 They looked about them on this side and on that, and in- 
 quired of their shining seraphic companions if there were no 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE llIVER OF DEATH. 351 
 
 other way of getting over the river, and they must go into 
 it : and when told there was none, they were at a stand 
 With all the glory before them, it was death's cold flood still. 
 The fear of death is not always taken away, even from ex- 
 perienced and faithful Christians, nor is the passage without 
 terrors. Christian had much darkness and horror, while to 
 Hopeful there was good ground all the way. Christian was 
 wrong when he said, If I were right, He would now arise to 
 help me ; for he had, as Hopeful told him, forgotten that it 
 was of the wicked that God saith, ‘‘ There are no bands in 
 their death.” However, it is observable that Christian’s 
 darkness did not last quite over the River. The Saviour was 
 at length revealed to him, the clouds and darkness fled away, 
 the evil spirits, and the shades of unbelief that had invited 
 and strengthened their temptations, were subdued and put 
 to flight for ever, and the Enemy after that was as still as a 
 stone, and the rest of the River was but shallow. 
 
 Brother, I see the gate,” Hopeful would say, while Chris- 
 tian was sinking, and men standing by to receive us.” But 
 Christian would answer, It is you, it is you, that they wait 
 for ; you have been hopeful ever since I knew you.” And 
 so have you,” said he to Christian. What affecting simplicity, 
 and faith and love in this last, stern, dark scene and conflict 
 of their pilgrimage ! The great Tempter and accuser of the 
 saints was busy now with Christian, as he had been under 
 the form of Apollyon, and in the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death. But this was his last opportunity for ever, and his 
 last desperate assault. 
 
 If Bunyan, throughout this work, had been unconsciously 
 throwing into his delineation of Christian’s character the 
 features of his own religious experience, we may suppose 
 that he drew this death-scene also with a foreboding that his 
 own soul would have to experience in the last mortal hour, 
 another fearful conflict with the Adversary. But could he 
 have returned into life, to paint the conclusion of his own 
 passage of the River of Death, there would have been little 
 or no gloom in the colouring, for his own death was full of 
 peace and glory ; his forebodings, if he had them, were never 
 realized. We may suppose that in general the children of 
 
352 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 God find this passage much easier in reality than they had 
 anticipated ; but it is only because Christ is with them : he 
 is with them in death, by a manifestation not granted in 
 life, because not necessary. Yet, if there were as great con- 
 flicts to pass through in life, there would be as great and 
 sustaining manifestations of the Saviour. In life and in 
 death he knoweth how to succour them that are tempted. 
 To those who live by the grace of Christ during life, dying 
 grace will be vouchsafed in a dying hour ; for he hath said, 
 “ My grace is sufficient for thee.” 
 
 It is appointed unto all men once to die, and after that 
 the judgment.” It is this judgment which sinful men dread ; 
 it is this which makes Death the King of Terrors. The 
 future is indeed an unknown region, but the judgment is 
 as certain as the present life, and even beyond the judg- 
 ment the sinner’s conscience and the Word of God com- 
 bined, fill the unknown future with definite scenes and 
 images. The elements of retribution are there, and also the 
 subjects of retribution, living, moving, acting, speaking, 
 suffering. Our blessed Lord, in that mighty spiritual drama 
 of the rich man and Lazarus, has raised before us, as it 
 were, a vast, graphic, living transparency, where the glories 
 of heaven and the terrors of hell flash upon the soul. Death 
 stands between the sinner and the eternal world ; death 
 hands him over to the elements of eternal retribution. The 
 agonized conscience, not sprinkled with the blood of Christ, 
 sees the fires of eternity glimmering through the grim mon- 
 arch’s shadowy skeleton form, as it rises and advances on 
 tlie soul’s horizon. Death, in such a case, is the King of 
 Terrors. He marshalls them at pleasure. He has but to 
 stand before the frame of the unprepared mortal, and he 
 curdles the blood and blanches the cheek, even of the atheist. 
 He has but to touch the frame of the boldest of God’s ene- 
 mies, and they are brought into desolation as in a moment ; 
 they are utterly consumed with terrors. The poet of Tlie 
 Grave has depicted, in a powerful and never-to-be-forgotten 
 passage, the terrors of the unprepared soul in such a moment. 
 
 How shocking must thy summons be, 0 Death! 
 
 To him that is at ease in his posscsssions ; 
 
THE LAKE BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 353 
 
 '.Vho. counting on long years of pleasure here, 
 Is quite unfurnished for that world to come ! 
 
 In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
 Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, 
 Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help. 
 
 But shrieks in vain ! How wishfully she looks 
 On all she’s leaving, now no longer hers ! 
 
 A little longer, yet a little longer, 
 
 O might she stay to wash away her stains. 
 
 And fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! 
 Her very eyes weep blood ; and every groan 
 She heaves is big with horror. But the Foe, 
 Like a stanch murderer, steady to his purpose. 
 Pursues her close through every lane of life, 
 Nor misses once the track, but presses on. 
 
 Till, forced at last to the tremendous verge, 
 
 At once she sinks to everlasting ruin ! 
 
 This is indeed dreadful. And yet, let Christ come in, let 
 Christ stand by the King of Terrors, and there comes a 
 death of which there is no fear, no terror connected with it. 
 There are souls on whose horizon, though Death’s skeleton 
 form comes striding, the light from eternity does but invest 
 the form with glory. It is rather like the light of a clear 
 sunset seen through the bars of a prison window, or through 
 the foliage of a tree in the horizon. It is no more Death 
 the Skeleton, but Death the Angel, a messenger of peace, 
 mercy, love, glory. There are souls that welcome him, for 
 he opens the prison door, out of which they are to pass into 
 a world of light ; out of a prison of flesh, sin, fear, doubt, 
 and bondage, into a celestial freedom in the perfection of 
 holiness ; into love, praise, and blissful adoration, without 
 any mixture of sin, any cloud or shadow of defilement, or 
 any thing, for ever and ever, to mar or change the perfect 
 peace and blessedness of the soul. To such souls. Death is 
 but the Messenger, to take them before the throne of God 
 in his likeness, to present them without spot, or wrinkle, 
 or any such thing.” Death is life to such ; it is the being 
 born out of a state of sinfulness, darkness, and wretchedness 
 in fallen humanity, into a condition of purity, light, and 
 happiness, in a City where the glory of God doth lighten it, 
 and the Lamb is the light thereof. There is no future ter- 
 ror, of which Death is King, in such a case. Dying is but 
 going home. It was such a death of which Paul spake, when 
 
3o4 
 
 LECTUKE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 he said that he desired “ to depart and to be with Christ.” 
 He was not then contemplating any images of ierror. The 
 future was to him filled with a glory, towards which his soul 
 was pressing, and into which death was to introduce him. 
 
 If you, 0 Man ! of Death are bound in dread. 
 
 Come to this chamber, sit beside this bed. 
 
 See how the name of Christ, breathed o’er the heart, 
 
 Makes the soul smile at Death’s uplifted dart. 
 
 The air to sense is close that fills the room, 
 
 But angel forms are waving through the gioom ; 
 
 The feeble pulse leaps up, as 'twould expire, 
 
 But Christ still watches the Refiner’s fire. 
 
 Life comes and goes,— the spirit lingers on ; 
 
 ’Tis over ! No ! the eonfliet’s not quite done ; 
 
 For Christ will work, till of life’s sinful stain 
 N 0 spot nor wrinkle on the soul remain. 
 
 He views his image now ! The victory’s won ! 
 
 The last dark shadow from his child is drawn. 
 
 The veil is rent away. Eternal Grace ! 
 
 The soul beholds its Saviour face to faee ! 
 
 Is this Death’s seal ? Th’ impression, 0 how fair I 
 Look, what a radiant smile is playing there ! 
 
 That was the soul’s farewell : the sacred dust 
 Awaits the resurreetion of the just. 
 
 Call not the mourners, when the Christian dies. 
 
 While angels shout him weleome to the skies. 
 
 Mourn rather for the living dead on earth, 
 
 Who nothing care for his Celestial Birth. 
 
 Death to the bedside came, his prey to hold, — 
 
 All he eould toueh was but the earthly mould : — 
 
 This to its native ashes men convey 
 The freed Soul rises to eternal day ! 
 
 And yet, in itself, death is the self-same thing to the 
 righteous as to the wicked. It is the same painful, con- 
 vulsive separation between soul and body, sometimes attend- 
 ed with greater suffering, sometimes with less, but always 
 constituting the supreme last strife of agony endurable in 
 this mortal tenement. But what an infinite difference, when 
 all the circumstances of death, all forms and processes of 
 disease, every kind and degree of pain and suffering, are 
 ordered by the Saviour for the good of the soul ; when he 
 Bits over this furnace into which his child is cast, removing 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE DIVER OF DEATH. 355 
 
 tlie dross, and watching for liis own image ! What an in- 
 finite difference, when disease and pain are but as graving 
 tools in his hand, with which he is giving svmmetry and a 
 perfect polish to the living stones which he is to set in his 
 temple, removing every imperfection, every wrinkle, every 
 stain ! Death, in such a case, is but the last act of a Sa- 
 viour’s loving discipline with his people, the perfection and 
 consummation of his mercy. 
 
 Some wicked men have suffered much less in dying than 
 some righteous men. One dieth in his full strength, being 
 wholly at ease and quiet ; another dieth in the bitterness of 
 liis soul. They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the 
 worms shall cover them.” It would be interesting to draw 
 a comparison between the deaths and the deathbeds Of a 
 number of the most remarkably wicked men, with an equal 
 number of the most remarkably righteous men. The cir- 
 cumstances of disease, of mere material evil, are much the 
 same, except that as material evils they are always aggra- 
 vated by spiritual distress ; the pangs of conscience giving 
 sharpness to the pangs of dissolving nature. Compare even 
 the deathbeds of Hume, Voltaire, and Paine, with those of 
 Edwards, Brainard, Henry Marty n, and Payson, and you will 
 find that there is not much to choose as to the physical pain 
 of dying. Take the deaths of Herod and of Paul, the one 
 eaten of worms, consumed inwardly, and the last in all pro- 
 bability crucified, and there was about as much physical 
 suffering and terror in the one death as in the other. Take 
 the deaths of Hero and of John ; the one is a suicide, the 
 last dying quietly at an hundred years of age ; the pangs of 
 dissolution in both cases were probably very nearly equal. 
 The death of the righteous is no more exempt from physical 
 distress and suffering than that of the wicked. 
 
 Hor is the physical distress of suffering that ingredient 
 in death which men particularly regard or fear. In reading 
 of the death of a Christian, how little are our feelings dis- 
 tressed as to the depth and intensity of his bodily suffer- 
 ings, so long as we have the conviction that God was with 
 him, that Jesus Christ was his support. But in reading 
 of the death-sufferings of a wicked man, or in witnessing 
 
356 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 sucli a deathbed, you are terribly affected by the spectacle 
 of such physical pain. It is because the misery of the soul 
 is there ; there is' nothing in this latter case to bear up the 
 body, to proclaim the blessedness of the immortal part, even 
 amidst the suffering of mortality ; on the contrary, morta- 
 lity borrows suffering from the soul ; the body is doubly 
 tortured in the hour of dissolution by the pangs of a wound- 
 ed conscience. 
 
 Hume would have died an easy death had his soul been 
 at peace with God, and resting on his Saviour, although the 
 disease and suffering of his body had remained the same. 
 As it was, there was that ingredient in the suffering of his 
 last hours which made his nurse ever after refuse attend- 
 ance at the sick-bed of a philosopher ! Voltaire would 
 have suffered little, even had his physical sufferings re- 
 mained the same, if in his last moments, instead of inward 
 wrath of conscience, and forebodings of wrath to come, 
 there had been the Christian’s faith and sense of pardoned 
 sin ; if instead of alternate blasphemies and prayers, there 
 had been love to that Saviour, whom the infidel, amidst 
 the admiration of his fellow-infidels, had dared to deride. 
 But the stings of a wounded conscience give a sharpness 
 to all mortal diseases, that nothing else can give, making 
 even the common sufferings of sickness an intolerable weight 
 of misery. 
 
 On the other hand, to a mind at peace with God, there 
 is very little terror in physical sufferings ; — I had almost 
 said there is very little pain. Sometimes, indeed, the dying 
 pains of a holy man will be so great as for a season to absorb 
 all his attention ; but even then, you feel that all this is no- 
 thing in comparison with the presence of Christ now, and the 
 glory which shall be revealed. When Andrew Fuller was 
 dying, he said to those around him, It seems as if all bodily 
 torture were concentrated in my frame.” That was but for 
 a moment, and it was outweighed by the faith of his soul, 
 even while so concentrated and intense that the powers of 
 his being could fix on nothing else intently. When Pay son 
 was dying, his bodily sufferings were what would have been 
 intense, had it not been for the flood of glory and happiness 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 357 
 
 vvitH which his soul was filled. Ills faith gave even to suf- 
 fering a glory. When Mr Pearce was dying/ he said, after 
 a restless night, I have so much weakness and pain that 1 
 have not had much enjoyment ; but I have a full persua- 
 sion that the Lord is doing all things well.” Now, here was 
 a case in which the pain of dying, the pain of the mortal 
 disease, was so great, as materially to interfere with the 
 positive enjoyment of the soul, but yet it added no terror ; 
 the pain was sensibly experienced, but with such trust in 
 God and such sweet resignation, that it gave Death, as the 
 King of Terrors, no advantage. But if this same degree of 
 pain had been experienced by a man without the consola- 
 tions of the gospel — a man dying unprepared for eternity — 
 tlie anguish of the bodily suffering would have been incal- 
 culably more intense. The terrors of death do not belong 
 necessarily to the pains of death ; they do to the wicked, but 
 not to the righteous. 
 
 Were the universe at the command of the soul, it would 
 not be worth a grain of sand to a man dying without the con- 
 solations of the Gospel. Friends can do nothing in such a 
 case ; the strongest affection, though it be stronger than 
 death, can he of no avail. But Christ can do every thing. 
 The presence of Christ can overcome the sense of pain, and 
 fill the soul with blessedness in the midst of it. Instances 
 are not wanting of this even amidst the unimaginable suf- 
 ferings of being burnt to death at the stake. 
 
 I have before me two instances of this glory and the power 
 of Christ’s presence in death ; the one in a very young Chris- 
 tian, the other in a saint of more advanced age and expe- 
 rience. When young Mr Jane way, in England, was dying, 
 his language was as follows : — 0 my friends, stand by and 
 wonder ; come, look upon a dying man. What manifesta- 
 tions of rich grace ! If I were never to enjoy more than this^ 
 it were well worth all the torments that men and devils could 
 invent, worth coming through even a hell to such transcendent 
 joys as these. If this he dying, dying is sweet. Let no true 
 Christian ever he afraid of d^dng. Christ’s smiles and visits, 
 sure they would turn hell into heaven. Oh that you did 
 but see and feel what I do I Come and behold a dying man 
 
358 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 more cheerful than ever you saw any healthful man in the 
 midst of his sweetest enjoyments.” Methinks I stand, as 
 it were, with one foot in heaven, and the other upon earth. 
 Methinks I hear the melody of heaven, and faith I see 
 the angels waiting to carry my soul to the bosom of Jesus, 
 and I shall be for ever with the Lord in glory. And who 
 can choose but rejoice in all this The pangs of death in 
 this man were strong, hut the exceeding and eternal weight 
 of glory was so much stronger, that it quite absorbed his 
 soul, and filled him with triumphant praises. 
 
 Now what can an unbeliever do with such a case ? Here 
 is no opportunity for enthusiasm or mistake from animal 
 sympathy or excitement, nor any external sources of support 
 or happiness whatever, nor any anodyne that can overcome 
 the present sense of pain, or give buoyancy to the spirits, 
 or provide material for the dreams of a youthful imagina- 
 tion, or set it in play in the presence of the King of Terrors. 
 To the blind eye and gloomy reasoning sense of unbelief, 
 here is nothing but pain, weakness, darkness, relinquish- 
 ment of all the blessings of life, and a blank, drear vacancy 
 in prospect. And yet, there is a mysterious, unseen, super- 
 natural presence and power, a power of life and joy so up^ 
 springing, deep, and inextinguishable, so certain, sensible, 
 and ecstatic, that this dying man, convulsed with pain, can 
 say, “ If I were never to enjoy more than this, it were well 
 worth all the torments that men and devils could invent, 
 worth coming through even a hell, to such transcendent 
 joys as these ! ” And this is Christ ! This it is to have a 
 Saviour ! This is that Saviour’s omnipotency and mercy ! 
 Gloomy, self-torturing, unhappy infidel, what hast thou to 
 say to this ? 
 
 Our second instance is the case of Dr Payson. He once 
 said, in his last illness : — I have suffered twenty times, — 
 yes, to speak within bounds, — twenty times as much as I 
 could in being burnt at the stake, while my joy in God so 
 abounded, as to render my sufferings not only tolerable, but 
 welcome. The sufferings of this present time are not worthy 
 to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed. God 
 is my all in all. While he is present with me, no event can 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 359 
 
 in the least diminish my happiness ; and were the whole 
 world at my feet, trying to minister to my comfort, they 
 could not add one drop to the cup.” On another occasion he 
 said, “ Death comes every night and stands at my bedside 
 in the form of terrible convulsions, every one of which 
 threatens to separate the soul from the body. These con- 
 tinue to grow w^orse and worse, until every bone is almost dis- 
 located with pain, leaving me with the certainty that I shall 
 have it all to endure again the next night. Yet, while my 
 body is thus tortured, the soul is perfectly happy, perfectly 
 happy and peaceful, more happy than I can possibly express 
 to you. I lie here, and feel these convulsions extending 
 higher and higher, but my soul is filled with joy unspeak- 
 able. I seem to sw’im in a flood of glory which God pours 
 down upon me.” 
 
 This is w'onderful. And so the dying Evarts exclaimed, 
 borne down, or rather I should say, borne up by such a 
 weight of glory. Wonderful ! wonderful ! ” But here 
 again there is nothing external, nothing visible, no earthly 
 thing conceivable, as a source of such joy amid suffering. 
 These are the consolations of Christ, and in the presence of 
 these infidelity stands stunned, aghast, and silent. They are 
 not always granted so abundantly in such triumphant, over- 
 powering measure even to the Lord’s most faithful servants ; 
 but if need be, they are. But even a little measure of them, 
 a glimpse of the Saviour’s countenance, and an assurance of 
 his mercy, is enough to deprive death of his sting, to take 
 away all his terrors, and to swallow him up in victory. 0 
 Death ! w^here is thy sting ? 0 Grave ! where is thy vic- 
 
 tory ] The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is 
 the law ; but thanks be to God who giveth us the victory, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ !” 
 
 It might, on some accounts, seem strange that so few, if 
 any, death-scenes of the apostles or primitive disciples are 
 left on record by divine inspiration. They must have been 
 eminently animating and instructive. But their whole life 
 was a living death ; they died daily, and when we see them 
 daily serving Christ, and daily desiring to depart and to be 
 with Christ, the death-scene could add little to this testimony. 
 
360 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 St Paul has given us, at the close of the fifteenth chapter of 
 the First Epistle to the Corinthians, and also throughout the 
 eighth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, a picture Ise* 
 forehand of the blessedness of Christ’s servants in death. 
 And the death-scene of the first martyr is given us in the 
 Acts of the Apostles, with heaven opened, and the glory of 
 God visible, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God ; 
 and in the view of this vision, the dying Stephen is praying 
 for his murderers. This was an example for all that should 
 come after, both of the divine consolations, of which they 
 might be sure in the hour of suffering and death, and of^that 
 divine spirit of forgiveness, in the exercise of which they 
 must glorify their Saviour. 
 
 That the divine glory in the death of Christians is the ob- 
 ject of our Lord’s particular regard, may be gathered from 
 what is said when J esus gave an intimation concerning the 
 death of Peter, in one of his last interviews with his dis- 
 ciples : — ‘‘ This spake he, signifying by what death he 
 should glorify God.” This too is partly the meaning of that 
 expression in the 116th Psalm, — Precious in the sight of 
 the Lord is the death of his saints.” Every peaceful, every 
 triumphant deathbed is a commentary on this passage ; for 
 the glory, the faithfulness, the mercy, and love of the 
 Saviour, and the love of his dear dis-ciples to him, stronger 
 than death, and the greatness of his atoning sacrifice, and the 
 power of his blood to cleanse from sin and give peace to the 
 conscience, are here exhibited, as they are nowhere else. 
 Here the cross shines in its saving power and glory. Every 
 precious thing in the character of Christ and the scheme of 
 redemption, all the lovely attributes of God, and the un- 
 speakable blessedness of those who have their portion in him, 
 are here manifested together. All the lessons of the law and 
 the gospel seem brought to a point ; but above all, the pre- 
 ciousness of Christ to the soul that rests on him is so illus- 
 trated, and the necessity of faith so demonstrated, that it 
 seems as if the sight of one such death-scene, if all men could 
 behold it, would draw all men to the Saviour. It does make 
 all men exclaim, Let me die the death of the righteous, and 
 let my last end be like his ! ” 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVER OF DEATH. 3G1 
 
 Let US now turn the light of Death upon our own life, for 
 Death is the great Enlightener, in whose presence we see 
 things as they really are, all delusions being withdrawn, all 
 dreams having vanished, and an overpowering flood of light 
 being thrown back upon the vanities through which we have 
 been treading. Let us flee to Christ, and, by his grace, live 
 the life of the righteous, and so our last end shall be like 
 his ! Of true peace in death there is no possibility but by 
 being in Christ ; but even the peace of a true Christian 
 may be greatly obscured and troubled if he has been 
 willing to live at a distance from his Saviour. But where 
 the soul is in Christ, relying on his precious blood and 
 righteousness, and the affections are habitually fixed upon 
 the things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the 
 right hand of God, then indeed dying is but going home ; and 
 such blessedness is worth all the daily watchfulness in life, 
 that can possibly be given for it. Such blessedness makes 
 the soul live on the borders of heaven, in the Land Beulah ; 
 for to be in the Land Beulah is to be spiritually -minded, and 
 that is the secret of all the blessed visions to be seen in that 
 land. To be spiritually-minded is life and peace ; and they 
 who are eminently so, are eminently happy. Nor is any 
 labour to be accounted painful, in comparison to the sweet- 
 ness of so resting upon God. The way to such blessedness 
 may be trying, the steps to be taken may cost much self- 
 denial, but the results are unspeakably glorious and delight- 
 ful. Nor is there any happiness to be compared with that 
 which is enjoyed by a growing Christian, a saint, whose life 
 is truly hid with Christ in God. The happiness of walking 
 with God daily is very great. It is blessed to breathe after 
 God, to hunger and thirst after righteousness, and to long 
 for the communication of his Spirit. It is blessed to feel 
 with the Psalmist that the soul thirsteth for God, thrice 
 blessed to cry out As the hart panteth after the water- 
 brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, 0 God ! ” 
 
 And if the experience of such desires is blessed, much more 
 is the fruition of them, when God reveals himself to the soul 
 that waiteth on him. Blessed are they that do hunger and 
 24 
 
362 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 thirst after righteousness, /or they shall befilled^ A watch- 
 ful, earnest attention to the increase of one’s personal piety 
 makes every part of Christian experience animated and de- 
 lightful. There is a divine relish in all the exercises of the 
 Christian life, a savour of heaven, a foretaste of the enjoy- 
 ment of the saints in glory. The word of God is precious, 
 the duty of prayer is precious, the vision of faith is clear 
 and strong, and heavenly realities come in with vivid power 
 upon the soul, and the peace of God, which passeth all 
 understanding, keeps the heart and mind through Christ 
 Jesus. 
 
 “ The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and 
 he will shew them his covenant.” He will hold it up to 
 their view, unfold its rich blessings in their sight, and shew 
 them that they have a part and a place in it. He will open 
 and expound its glories, its glories of wisdom and knowledge 
 in the revelation of Christ, its glories of spiritual things, into 
 which the angels desire to look, its glories in the purchased 
 possession of the saints and the riches of their heavenly in- 
 heritance, and the wonders of that infinite love, by which 
 such celestial, everlasting treasures were procured. All this, 
 and infinitely more than can be described, is the heritage of 
 them that fear the Lord, that rest upon the Saviour, and 
 who earnestly endeavour, renouncing every sin, to maintain 
 daily that close walk with him which he requires, and to 
 follow on after that perfection which he has exhibited as the 
 only right standard of the soul. 
 
 Is not this a life to be chosen, to be greatly desired, to be 
 laboured after with exceeding great diligence, perseverance, 
 and earnestness ? Is it not worth a great deal of self-denial 
 and fervent energy in prayer, and a great deal of time given 
 to the word of God, and to all the secret exercises of the 
 Christian life ? Is it not worth a great many sacrifices of 
 external ease and comfort, if that were necessary, and of 
 external business, if that presses too urgently ? Is it not 
 worth every thing, and are not all things else laid in the 
 balance with it empty and worthless ? Is it not the pearl 
 of great price which he that is wise will readily sell all that 
 
TUE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVER OP DEATH. 363 
 
 he hath to be master of ] the one thing needful, for the at- 
 tainment of which all other things may well be given up, 
 and forgotten as of no moment ? 
 
 Yea, it is the kingdom of God and his righteousness, with- 
 out which the universe cannot make you happy, but with 
 which all things else shall be added unto you. Give what 
 God will, without that you are poor, but with that rich, 
 take what he will away. For when he gives himself, he 
 gives all blessings. Who would not rather be the poorest 
 wanderer that walks the earth, the most down-trodden and 
 despised outcast of creation, and have his daily meals at God’s 
 spiritual table, his daily walks with his Redeemer, his daily 
 visits of refreshment at the full fountain of his love, than 
 without that refreshment to possess the riches of all king- 
 doms, or be the worshipped idol of the world ! Yea, who 
 would not rather be perishing for want of daily bread, or 
 begging from door to door, if that were necessary, and yet 
 daily faithful in prayer, growing in grace, and having liis 
 life hid with Christ in God, than surrounded with all af- 
 fluence and at ease amidst all luxuries, and yet living in that 
 worldly frame and at that distance from the Saviour, and in 
 that gloomy coldness of spirit, which worldly prosperity, 
 without great secret diligence in walking with God, so in- 
 variably produces ! 
 
 The close of the Pilgrim’s Progress is rendered exceedingly 
 instructive, solemn, and admonitory by the fate of Ignorance. 
 It is as if the writer had interposed a check to the gushing 
 fulness of our feelings excited by the heavenly splendours 
 of the preceding description, and had said to us, as we were 
 tliinking ourselves almost in heaven beforehand, Beware !” 
 
 “ While I was gazing at all these things,” says the Dreamer, 
 
 I turned my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come 
 up to the rivei side ; but he soon got over, and that without 
 half the difficulty wdiich the other two men met with. For 
 it happened that there was then in that place, one Vain-hope, 
 a ferry-man, that with his boat helped him over ; so he, as 
 the others I saw, did ascend the hill to come up to the gate ; 
 only he came alone, neither did meet with any the least en- 
 couragement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked 
 
364 
 
 LECTURE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 up to the writing that was above, and then began to knock, 
 supposing that entrance should have been quickly adminis- 
 tered to him ; but he was asked by tli-e men that looked over 
 the top of the gate, Whence come 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 shew 
 it to the King. So he fumbled in his bosom for one, and 
 found none. Then said they. 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 car- 
 ried him through the air, to the door that I saw in the side of 
 tlie hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there Avas 
 a way to hell even from the gates of heaven, as well as from 
 the City of Destruction.’* 
 
 Now, can any thing be more solemn than this ? You will 
 remember that this man Ignorance was ignorant both of 
 himself and of his Saviour, and yet he had been long a tra- 
 veller towards the Celestial City. His case is described by 
 the Saviour, with the addition that Many shall say unto 
 me in that day. Lord, Lord, open unto us ; to whom I will 
 say. Depart from me, I never knew you, ye that work ini- 
 quity.” Now may Cod in mercy keep us from such self- 
 deception ! Nevertheless, it would be nothing strange, should 
 it be found in the great day of trial, that this age was dis- 
 tinguished as an age of self-deception ; and if we take not 
 great head to ourselves, we shall glide on with the same 
 general current. And it is the saddest, most dreadful mis- 
 take that ever man fell into, to dream on of heaven, only to 
 awake and find himself in hell. We had better do any thing 
 most hard, be pressed with the greatest evils, encompassed 
 with the most painful difficulties, endure all labours, under- 
 go all suffering, practice every self-denial of the good soldier 
 of Jesus Christ, than remain in such danger. What is it not 
 worth to be unalterably safe in Christ, to have constant ex- 
 perience of his preciousness, to be making constant additions 
 
THE LAND BEULAH AND THE RIVEll OF DEATH. 365 
 
 to our knowledge of him, to be nourished daily by his grace, 
 and to be animated constantly by his love ? Oh if we had 
 any thing in this world of a value in the least to be compared 
 with the blessedness of a well-grounded hope in Christ, we 
 would not leave it for a single day in such risk as we do 
 our hope of heaven, by living at such a distance from our 
 Saviour ! 
 
 What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue ! ab- 
 sorbed with vanities ! a vision made for eternity, blinded by 
 the shadows of time ! A soul made for God, and the bound- 
 less realities of everlasting ages, absorbed with earth, and the 
 poor worthless trifles of transitory years ! Is this the man- 
 ner in which Christ would have his people live ! Or is the 
 prize of heaven’s eternal inheritance of so little value, that 
 we can run the hazard of losing it with so little concern ] 
 Ah, no ! The crown of righteousness is not of so little worth. 
 
 The kingdom of heaven sufFereth violence, and the violent 
 take it by force.” 
 
 Nor is there any safety but in Christ, and in a constant 
 effort after an increase of that holiness, with which alone 
 the soul can be fitted to overcome the dangers of its mortal 
 pilgrimage, or to enjoy the crown laid up in heaven. There 
 is safety where Christ is. There is safety where there is 
 watchfulness and growth in grace. There is safety where 
 there is much secret prayer. There is safety in giving all 
 diligence to make your calling and election sure. There is 
 safety in lying low at the feet of the Saviour. There is safety 
 and blessedness unspeakable, even here, in a world of dark- 
 ness and trial, amidst temptations and dangers. There is 
 safety and blessedness now, there is triumphant glory at the 
 close, in so walking with Christ, so resting on him, so pur- 
 suing his pilgrimage. 
 
 And then the usefulness 'which is the result of all this ! 
 For there is no picture more lovely, than of that external 
 activity which grows out of inward holiness. A zeal that is 
 the result of secret humility, gentleness, prayer, love to 
 Christ, sorrow for sin, is ever blessed and successful. The 
 world even of hardened opposers bow to so lovely a spirit as 
 that which Henry Martyn and Harlan Page exhibited. It 
 
3G6 
 
 LECTUKE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 is a spirit which grows out of secret faithfulness in the Chris- 
 tian life. Let any disciple dwell with Christ in secret, and 
 that disciple will assuredly he like unto Christ in public. 
 Let him prayerfully, anxiously, weepingly, attend to his own 
 private growth in grace, let him make the increase of his 
 personal holiness a steadfast object, and the fruits of ho- 
 liness will presently appear. While he is watching and 
 praying, and watering the plant in his own heart with 
 tears, the tree will be growing, with green leaves, and fair 
 perpetual blossoms, and ripe, rich fruit, to the admiration and 
 benefit of every beholder. 
 
 It is a blessed life, but a close how transcendently glorious, 
 which we have been tracing in this precious book. Looking 
 at its close, every man wishes to enter on just such a pil- 
 grimage. Let us then stand at the Gates of the Celestial City, 
 as they are flung wide open to admit the transfigured pil- 
 grims, and then, with the light shining on us, let us turn to 
 the prayerful, patient prosecution of our own earthly pil- 
 grimage, our own work for Christ. “ 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. There were also of them that had wings ; 
 and they answered one another without intermission, saying, 
 ‘ Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.’ And after that, they shut 
 up the Gates ; which, when I had seen, I wished myself 
 among them.” 
 
 Turn now, dear fellow-pilgrim, animated and encouraged 
 on thy way. Thou hast heard the songs of the redeemed ; 
 in the Apocalypse thou hast gone with John into the 
 Celestial City ; in the Pilgrim’s Progress thou hast wished 
 thyself with Bunyan among the crowned and shining ones, 
 that cry Holy ! Holy ! Holy ! Go then, and be faithful. 
 Live in and upon Christ. Knock and weep, and watch and 
 ]>ray ; but in all thy darkness (and darkness thou mayest 
 liave to encounter), never let the light of this Vision be 
 forgotten. 
 
THE LANE BEULAH ANE THE KIVER OF EEATH. 367 
 
 Hie thee on thy quiet way, 
 
 Patient watch the breaking dawn : 
 For the shadows flee away, 
 
 And the night will soon be gone. 
 
 Thy pilgrimage lies through the wilderness, — a wilderness 
 indeed ; but the dear path to Christ’s abode is there, and 
 His light is shining. No pilgrim’s rest is in this world, but 
 there is a rest that remaineth for the people of God. Here 
 we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come, a city 
 which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. 
 Go, then, on thy way, singing as thou goest, — 
 
 How happy is the Pilgrim’s lot, 
 
 How free from every anxious thought, 
 
 From worldly hope and fear ! 
 
 Confined to neither court nor cell, 
 
 His soul disdains on earth to dwell, 
 
 He only sojourns here. 
 
 This happiness in part is mine ; 
 
 Already saved from low design. 
 
 From every creature-love ! 
 
 Hlessed with the scorn of finite good. 
 
 My soul is lightened of its load. 
 
 And seeks the things above. 
 
 The things eternal I pursue, 
 
 A happines beyond the view 
 Of those that beastly pant 
 For things by nature felt and seen; 
 
 Their honours, wealth, and pleasures meau, 
 
 I neither have nor want. 
 
 No foot of land do I possess ; 
 
 No cottage in this wilderness ; 
 
 A poor wayfaring man ; 
 
 I lodge a while in tents below. 
 
 Or gladly wander to and fro, 
 
 Till I my Canaan gain. 
 
 Nothing on earth I call my own ; 
 
 A stranger to the world, unknown, 
 
 I all their goods despise : 
 
 I trample on their whole delight. 
 
 And seek a city out of sight, 
 
 A city in the skies. 
 
 ’There is my house and portion fair, 
 
 My treasure and my heart are there, 
 
 And my abiding home ; 
 
368 
 
 LECTtlKE POURTEENTll. 
 
 For me my elder brethren stay, 
 
 And angels beckon me away, 
 
 And Jesus bids me come. 
 
 Blessing, and noNouR, and glory, and power, be unto 
 
 HIM that SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE LaMB 
 FOR EVER AND EVER ‘ 
 
LECTUPiE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Cf) r is t i an a , c j, anti t^e Cfiiluren. 
 
 Comparison between the First and Second Parts of the Pilgrim’s Progress.— 
 Cheerfulness of the Second Part. — Beauty of its delineation of the female 
 character. — Its great variety. — Characters of Mr Great-heart and Standfast. 
 — Character of Mr Fearing. — Instructive lessons from the Enchanted 
 Ground.— Reigning traits of the Pilgrimage as delineated by Bunyan.— 
 Closing lesson. 
 
 If only the Second Part of the Pilgrim’s Progress had 
 been written, it may well he doubted whether it would not 
 have been regarded in a higher light than it is now. The 
 First Part is so superior to the Second, that this loses in the 
 comparison, and gains not so much admiration as it really 
 deserves. Just so, the Paradise Regained would have been 
 esteemed a nobler Poem, had it not stood after the Paradise 
 Lost, the splendour of Milton’s genius in the first effort quite 
 eclipsed its milder radiance in the second. Yet the Second 
 Part of the Pilgrim’s Progress is full of instruction and 
 beauty, and exhibits varieties of the Christian Life delineated 
 with such truth both to nature and grace, that though there 
 is less elevation both in thought and style, and more fami- 
 liarity and homeliness, we are still delighted with our 
 journeyings, and love to listen to the voice of our accustomed 
 teacher. There is not such purity and severity of taste, not 
 such glowing fire of sentiment and feeling, not such point 
 and condensation, not such unity and power, in the Second 
 Part as in the First. The con^versations do not possess the 
 
370 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 same richness and fulness of meaning, nor the same deep 
 solemn blissful tones of warning and of heayen ; there is 
 sometimes almost all the difference that is found between 
 the garrulity of men at ease, and the earnest, thoughtful talk 
 of men pondering great themes and set upon great enterprises. 
 Not that the journey ever ceases to be the Christian pilgrim- 
 age, but it becomes so very sociable, and at times so merry 
 and gossiping, that it almost passes into comedy. 
 
 Perhaps the Second Part of this pilgrimage comes nearer 
 to the ordinary experience of the great multitude of Chris- 
 tians than the First Part ; and this may have been Bunyan’s 
 intention. The First Part shews, as in Christian, Faithful, 
 and Hopeful, the great examples and strong lights of this 
 pilgrimage ; it is as if Paul and Luther were passing over 
 the scene. The Second Part shews a variety of pilgrims, 
 whose stature and experience are more on a level with our 
 own. The First Part is more severe, sublime, inspiring ; 
 the Second Part is more soothing and comforting. The 
 First Part has deep and awful shadows mingled with its 
 light, terribly instructive, and like warnings from hell and 
 the grave. The Second Part is more continually and unin- 
 terruptedly cheerful, full of good nature and pleasantry, 
 and shewing the pilgrimage in lights and shades that are 
 common to weaker Christians. 
 
 So there is a sweet tone and measure of gentleness and 
 tenderness, in accordance with that passage, ^^Lift up the 
 hands which hang down, and the feeble knees, and make 
 straight paths for your feet, lest that which is lame be turned 
 out of the way ; but rather let it be healed.” We have 
 before us a company of the maimed, the halt, the lame, the 
 blind, and a merry party it is, after all, through the magic 
 of faith and Christian sympathy. Here are Mr Ready-to- 
 halt, Mr Feeble-mind, Mr Despondency, and his daughter 
 Much-afraid, and others of like frame and mould, as well as 
 old father Honest, resolute Mr Standfast, discreet Christiana, 
 and the lovely Mercy. Here are canes, crutches, and decrepi- 
 tude, as well as young limbs, well-set sinews, and fresh, 
 elastic, tripping feet of childhood. The Canterbury Tales 
 themselves have scarcely a greater variety in their pilgrim- 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 371 
 
 age. And all these characters are touched with great 
 originality and power of colouring. They are separate^ 
 individual, graphic portraitures of classes. 
 
 Perhaps the most delightful portion of the Second Dream 
 of Bunyan, is its sweet representation of the female character. 
 There never were two more attractive beings drawn than 
 Christiana and Mercy ; as different from each other as 
 Christian and Hopeful, and yet equally pleasing in their 
 natural traits of character, and under the influence of divine 
 grace, each of them reflecting the light of heaven in an 
 original and lovely variety. His own conception of what 
 constitutes a bright example of beauty and consistency of 
 character in a Christian woman, Bunyan has here given us, 
 as well as in his first Dream, the model of steadfast excellence 
 in a Christian man. The delineation, in both Christiana 
 and Mercy, is eminently beautiful. We have, in these 
 characters, his own ideal of the domestic virtues, and his 
 own conception of a well-ordered Christian family’s domestic 
 Iiappiness. 
 
 I know not why we may not suppose this picture to have 
 been drawn from the experience of his own household, as 
 well as that the picture of Christian in the First Part was 
 taken from his own personal experience ; and if so, he 
 possessed a lovely wife and a lovely family. Wherever he 
 may have formed his own notions of female loveliness and 
 excellence, he has, in the combination of them in the Second 
 Part of the Pilgidm’s Progress, presented tw^o characters of 
 such winning modesty and grace, such confiding truth and 
 frankness, such simplicity and artlessness, such cheerfulness 
 and pleasantness, such native good sense and Christian 
 discretion, such sincerity, gentleness, and tenderness, that 
 nothing could be more delightful. 
 
 The matronly virtues of Christiana, and the maidenly 
 qualities of Mercy, are alike pleasing and appropriate. There 
 is a mixture of timidity and frankness in Mercy, which is 
 as sweet in itself as it is artlessly and unconsciously drawn ; 
 and in Christiana we discover the very characteristics that 
 can make the most lovely feminine counterpart, suitable to 
 the stern and lofty qualities of her husband. The characters 
 
372 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 of her boys, too, are beautifully delineated, with her own 
 watchfulness over them as a mother. The catechising of 
 the children is full of instruction, and every thing shew^s the 
 principles of a good Christian education. The boys them- 
 selves are children of good sense and affectionate dispositions ; 
 and on the whole, this domestic picture of a family travelling 
 towards heaven is one of the most beautiful and instructive 
 delineations drawn by Bunyan’s genius. 
 
 There are two traits that ought to be particularly noted, 
 wdiich are, first, the uninterrupted Christian cheerfulness of 
 the whole party, so that there is music in the heart, music 
 in the house, and music in heaven,” because of them ; and 
 second, the exquisite beauty of affectionate kindness and 
 care exercised towards them, the compassionate and joyful 
 tenderness with which they were received ; and the open- 
 hearted hospitality and love with which they are helped 
 forw^ard on their journey. The “meekness and gentleness 
 of Christ,” wdth the “ love of the Spirit,” and the lowly 
 sweetness of the Gospel, especially in its condescension to 
 the smoking flax and the bruised reed, were never more 
 beautifully and successfully depicted. Mr Feeble-Mind is 
 gently carried up the Hill Difficulty. At the House of the 
 Interpreter, w^hen Mr Fearing stands without in the cold, 
 long time trembling and afraid to knock, good father Honest 
 is sent forth by the Lord of the Way to entreat him to come 
 in. In the significant rooms of the House of the Interpreter, 
 there are discovered new varieties to please and instruct the 
 women and children, and beautiful indeed are some of them. 
 Also, the Lord of the Way is constantly sending refreshments 
 to his beloved ones, and he grants them a heavenly Conductor 
 to fight for them all along their pilgrimage. Sweet dreams 
 w^ait on them, the peace of God keeps them, and when the 
 boys go astray by eating of the fruit of “ Beelzebub’s orchard,” 
 the skill and efficacy of their physician are not greater than 
 his kindness and gentleness. 
 
 As to the notable cheerfulness of this part of the pilgrim- 
 age, it is to be remarked, that it springs from the prevalence 
 of Hope and Love. There is such constant Christian be- 
 nevolence, such mutual humility, such each esteeming other 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY^ AND THE CHILDREN. S73 
 
 better than themselves, such watchfulness for each other’s 
 good, such a Christian spirit to each other’s failings, such 
 sympathy in each other’s joys and sorrows, such unselfish, 
 unworldly hearts are mingled together, that there can hard- 
 ly be a sweeter example of that Christian conversation 
 which is always instructive, because always with grace, 
 seasoned with salt ; and always cheerful, because always 
 singing and making melody in the heart to the Lord. The 
 terrors of the law are not present in this second pilgrimage, 
 so much as the consolations of the Gospel ; there is constant, 
 serene enjoyment, and not by any means so many difficulties 
 in the way as there are pleasures. 
 
 And it is observable that all the pilgrimage wears an 
 aspect reflected from the gentle retiring character of the 
 pilgrims. The very dangers that were so frightful in the 
 First Part, have a gentler cast when Christiana and Mercy 
 pass through them ; the very fiends lose something of their 
 ugliness and terror ; in passing through Vanity Fair they 
 meet with some good men, and are entertained with Christian 
 hospitality in the house of a true pilgrim ; and when they 
 come to the close of their pilgrimage, the River of Death 
 itself, for them and for good Mr Fearing, becomes almost 
 dry. When they pass through the Valley of Humiliation, 
 it is to them a sweet and quiet place, because their own 
 spirit is so sweet and contented ; no sight or semblance of 
 Apollyon is there ; they could live there and be happy all 
 their life long. 
 
 When they pass through the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, Christ’s rod and his staff do so comfort them, and 
 they so cling together amidst their fears, and encourage each 
 other by their holy conversation, that it is no more the 
 dread valley which Christian passed through alone ; it is a 
 place where they are bid stand and see the Lord’s deliverance. 
 Their company is constantly increasing as they go, and they 
 are all so ready to bear one another’s burdens, they obey so 
 perfectly the Apostle’s injunction to put on, as the elect of 
 God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, humbleness of 
 mind, and the gentlest forbearance, that a more alluring 
 picture of the pilgrimage could scarcely be dravvn, and yet 
 
374 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEEKTH. 
 
 a most perfectly correct one, wherever the blessed Spirit of 
 Christ prevails. The pilgrims all act according to this 
 divine rule, Let every one of us please his neighbour for 
 his good to edification, for even Christ pleased not himself.” 
 
 All this is delightful. It suits the pilgrimage to the 
 walks of humble life, and holds up an example neither too 
 high for the common multitude of Christians, nor in any 
 way restricted to great stations or opportunities, nor at all 
 removed from the familiar occasions and occurrences of our 
 every-day existence. We have here a picture of the pilgrim 
 in society, and how entirely it stands contrasted with the 
 monkish and monastic piety once in fashion, and now again 
 in some quarters beginning to be revered, I hardly need say. 
 There is nothing severe, or stiff, or formal in it, nothing 
 ascetic or morose, but every thing good-natured and sociable, 
 joyful, charitable, and kind. As a picture of the pilgrim in 
 domestic life, of the pilgrim as the mother of a family, and 
 of the pilgrim, though in the world, yet living above the 
 world, the description is as pleasing and attractive as it is 
 true and valuable. It is what the humblest minds can 
 understand, while the most elevated may dwell upon it with 
 profit and delight. Perhaps to the minds of children, the 
 Second Part proves even more attractive than the First ; a 
 striking proof of its merits, since Bunyan wrote it for child- 
 like minds and for the common people. 
 
 One of its greatest beauties is its rich and vigorous delinea- 
 tion of character, and that not merely in the case of pilgrims, 
 but of opposers and evil-minded persons. The sinful women 
 who beset Christiana and Mercy at the outset to dissuade 
 them from becoming pilgrims, are portraits of the kind of 
 character which those generally bear who oppose and revile 
 any that may be fearing God and seeking the salvation of 
 their souls. Mrs Timorous, Mrs Bats-eyes, Mrs Light-mind, 
 Mrs Inconsiderate, Mrs Know-nothing, and others still 
 worse, make up the character of those, who either do not 
 themselves become pilgrims, or who endeavour to turn 
 friends or acquaintances from the ways of righteousness. 
 But Christiana and Mercy are too much in earnest, too 
 deeply convinced of sin, and too sincerely bent upon securing 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 375 
 
 their salvation to be turned aside in the least by such opposi- 
 tion. So it always is where there is sin in the conscience 
 and the motion of God’s Spirit on the heart. Not all that 
 men or devils can do, not all the power either of temptation, 
 or persuasion, or ridicule, can have the least effect where the 
 conscience is once thoroughly awakened and burdened with 
 a sense of guilt. To be in earnest on first setting out in this 
 pilgrimage is a great thing, and the explicit promise of God 
 is, Ye shall find me when ye shall search for me with all 
 the heart.” 
 
 Next to the characters of Christiana and Mercy stands 
 that of Mr Great-heart, their conductor, a man of great faith, 
 a man of the same spirit as Christian, Faithful, and Hopeful. 
 There is a combination of energy and gentleness in his 
 cliaracter, a union of the fearless warrior and the kind and 
 careful Shepherd. lie can fight with Giant Grim, can talk 
 with the children, can condescend to Mr Feeble mind, can 
 carry the Lambs in his bosom, and gently lead those that 
 are with young. His portrait is drawn with remarkable 
 freedom, as a frank, fearless, noble, open character, with 
 neither severity nor prejudice to mar those confiding and 
 attractive qualities. 
 
 Mr Honest, Mr Valiant-for- truth, and Mr Standfast, are 
 men of a kindred greatness of spirit. It is a beautiful inci- 
 dent, when they find Mr Standfast at prayer on the En- 
 chanted Ground, and the manner of his introduction to our 
 knowledge suits well the close of his life, which was very 
 triumphant. There was a great calm at that time in the 
 River of Death ; and ^when Mr Standfast was about half 
 way over, he stood firm, and spoke to those who had ac- 
 companied him to the bank of the river, in language of such 
 glowing love to Christ, and such unshaken faith, as was 
 enough to ravish the hearts of the survivors with joy for 
 the prospect of the glory before him. The deaths of the 
 pilgrims in this Second Part are all either quiet or triumph- 
 ant, and some, who had passed all their life under a cloud, 
 beheld it break, and the mist to disperse, and the sun to 
 shine brightly at the last hour. 
 
 The character of Mr Fearing is also an admirable por- 
 
37G 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 trait. In every country where pilgrims are sojourning, 
 there are just such men as he is to be met with on the pil- 
 grimage. If we all possessed Mr Fearing’s tenderness of 
 conscience, and his dread of sinning against God, it would 
 be well for us ; and yet, if all Christians were in all respects 
 like him, there would not he so much good done in the 
 world, though there might be less evil committed. Good 
 Mr Fearing needed confidence in God, and the spirit of adop- 
 tion and of freedom in his service. There was in him so 
 great a degree of humility and self-abasement, so great a 
 sense of his own unworthiness, that, being unaccompanied 
 by a corresponding sense of the free mercy of Christ to the 
 chief of sinners, it went over into unbelief and fear. He 
 feared to apply to himself the promises, feared that he was 
 too unworthy even to pray for an interest in them, feared 
 that he should not be accepted of Christ, feared to make a 
 profession of religion, hardly dared shew himself among 
 Christians, or permit himself to be considered as one of 
 them. These fears and despondencies went so far in his 
 mind, that they prevented a right view of his duties ; they 
 made what are the duties of the Christian appear to him 
 as such great privileges, of which he was altogether un- 
 worthy, that he hardly dared take upon himself to per- 
 form them. 
 
 Yet he was ready for difficulty and self-denial, and was 
 sometimes prompt and bold, where pilgrims that were 
 stronger than he found themselves drowsy and fearful. 
 The Hill Difficulty he did not seem to mind at all, and in 
 Vanity Fair his spirit was so stirred within him at the 
 sins and fooleries of the place, that father Honest had much 
 ado to keep him within the bounds of prudence, and feared 
 he would have brought the whole rabble of the Fair upon 
 them. Then on the Enchanted Ground, where many are 
 so sleepy, he was wakeful and vigilant ; so that he was al- 
 ways giving good evidence to others of being a true child 
 of God, even while he had very little hope for himself, and 
 many, very many fears, lest he should at last be refused 
 admittance at the gate of the Celestial City. 
 
 Tlie humility of Mr Fearing was good, and a precious, 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 377 
 
 rare grace it is ; but it is no part of humility to distrust the 
 mercy of the Saviour, or to shrink from active duty for 
 want of reliance on the strength of Christ, for want of rest- 
 ing on that sweet promise, “ My grace is sufficient for thee.” 
 Mr Fearing’s unbelief was a source of great distress to him, 
 and deprived him of much enjoyment all the way of his 
 pilgrimage. Persons like him, though truly fearing God, 
 often go under a cloud all their life long, and sometimes 
 even refuse to make a profession of religion, and to join 
 themselves with other Christians, because of their prevail- 
 ing gloom. Mr Fearing himself, though he had much com- 
 fort in the House Beautiful, was with difficulty persuaded 
 to enter. “ I got him in,” said father Honest, “ 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 after- 
 ward that he loved to be in those two houses from which 
 he came last, to wit, at the Gate, and that of the Interpreter, 
 hut that he durst not he so hold as to ash'' 
 
 He had much joy in the Valley of Humiliation, but he 
 was a man of few words, and had a habit of sighing aloud 
 in his dejection. He was very tender of sin, and so afraid 
 of doing injuries to others, that he would often deny him- 
 self that which is lawful, because he would not offend. 
 This is a very precious trait, but so extreme in him, that 
 by the lowness of his spirits his life was made burdensome 
 to himself, and not a little troublesome to others. They 
 had need of great patience with him, and tenderness towards 
 him. He carried a Slough of Despond in his mind, and 
 was always foreboding evil to himself, especially when he 
 saw the fall and ruin of others. When they came to where 
 the three fellows were hanged, he said he doubted that that 
 would be his end also ; and he was always fearing about 
 his acceptance at last. But it is very clear that he was a 
 person described in that passage where God says, To this 
 25 
 
378 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 man will I look, even to him that is poor, and of a contrite 
 spirit, and who trembleth at my word.’’ It is evident also 
 that he would come under the saying of the Saviour, “ Bless- 
 ed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of 
 heaven.” Wherefore, says Bunyan, the Lord of the Way 
 carried it wonderfully loving to him, for his encourage- 
 ment. “ For thus saith the high and lofty One, that in- 
 habiteth Eternity, whose name is Holy, I dwell in the high 
 and holy place, with him that is of a contrite and humble 
 spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the 
 heart of the contrite ones.” This character of good Mr 
 Fearing, in the Second Part of the Pilgrim’s Progress, stands 
 in a striking and instructive contrast with the characters of 
 Talkative and Ignorance in the First, as also with the cha- 
 racter of Self-will as described by father Honest. 
 
 In the pilgrimage of the Second Part, Bunyan has intro- 
 duced a most instructive variety and change in his treat- 
 ment of the same subjects that came under his notice with 
 Christian and Hopeful. The happiness of the Valley of 
 Humiliation to a quiet and contented mind is described 
 with great beauty. The timid pilgrims had daylight through 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and yet they saw enough 
 to convince them of the terrors of that place, and of the 
 reality of Christian’s fearful experience in passing through 
 it. The ugly shapes that they saw were indistinct, but the 
 rushing of the fiends, the roaring of flames, and the fire 
 and smoke of the pit, were easy enough to be discerned, so 
 that the place was a Vale of Horrors still. Among other 
 things, Mercy, looking behind her, saw, as she thought, 
 something almost 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 the Valley echo, and all 
 their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that was their 
 guide. So it came up ; and Mr Great-heart went behind, 
 and put the pilgrims all before him. The Lion also came 
 on apace, and Mr Great-heart addressed him to give him 
 battle. But when he saw that it was determined that re- 
 sistance should be made, he also drew back and came no 
 fartlier.” The pilgrims might have thought of what Peter 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN’. 379 
 
 Bays concerning this Roaring Lion, Whom resist stedfast 
 in the faith and also of that of James, “ Resist the devil, 
 and he will flee from you.” 
 
 There is also a very instructive variety in the delineation 
 of the Enchanted Ground, a region which wears a very dif- 
 ferent aspect according to the varying condition, circum- 
 stances, and habits of the pilgrims. Christiana and her 
 party did here encounter much mist and darkness, with 
 mire underfoot, and a forest of briers and thorns entangling 
 and painful. What made this the more dangerous was the 
 alluring and refreshing arbours, green, soft, and beautifully 
 wrought, where the very weariness of the pilgrims did urge 
 them to rest and sleep, though they might never again wake 
 in this world. It has been thought that here are delineated 
 the circumstances and temptations of those pilgrims who 
 are deeply engaged in business, and perhaps became wealthy, 
 and are ensnared hy advantageous offices, schemes, and 
 vrorldly connections, so that they are overwhelmed by the 
 cares of life, the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of 
 other things. The arbours that are prepayed for them by 
 worldly prosperity they are very apt to slumber in, to the 
 great detriment if not ruin of their souls. Amidst the thorns 
 and briers the word of God becomes unfruitful, and in the 
 Arbour it will not take root. If real Christians are in this 
 condition and view their situation aright, they will be as 
 much troubled as the pilgrims were on this Enchanted 
 Ground, and will find it full of mire, perplexity, and vexa- 
 tion of spirit. But if worldly prosperity be hailed by them 
 for enjoyment, as an arbour to sleep in, instead of being 
 watched against as a snare, and employed for usefulness, 
 then they are sleepers on the Enchanted Ground, nor can 
 any tell if ever they will aw^ake. 
 
 In the midst of their mist and darkness the pilgrims 
 came to a place where a man is apt to lose his way. So 
 Mr Great-heart struck a light and examined his map ; and 
 well was it for them that he did so, for just at that point, 
 a little before them, and that at the end of the cleanest way 
 too, there was a deep pit, none knows how deep, full of 
 mud and mire, made there on purpose to destroy the }>il- 
 
380 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 grims in. But Mr Great-heart, by narrowly consulting hia 
 map, with the light that was lighted, by taking heed to 
 God’s word, with earnest prayer for the teachings of the 
 Holy Spirit, discovered at once what was the right way, 
 and so they were saved from this danger. 
 
 So is the word of God a lamp unto our feet, and a light 
 unto our paths, if we will walk thereby. And it becomes us 
 diligently to pray with the Psalmist, “ Open thou mine eyes, 
 that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law.” The 
 word of God is a precious, heavenly map, in which we have 
 not only the right way, the way of salvation, clearly laid 
 down, as a path that shineth more and more unto the per- 
 fect day, but also the cross-paths and the by-paths, which 
 Satan and wicked men, and deceivers, have traced along 
 this pilgrimage, and which they have sometimes made to 
 look so much like the right way, that the pilgrims may 
 easily be deceived, if they do not closely study this map, 
 seeking at the same time the guidance of the Holy Spirit. 
 In a place of darkness especially, like this Enchanted Ground, 
 they must take heed to the word of God, as to a light that 
 shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn, and the day- 
 star arise in their hearts. The watchful pilgrims did thus 
 with Mr Great-heart, and besides, they cried unto him that 
 loveth pilgrims, that he would enlighten their darkness, and 
 so a wind speedily arose that drove away the fog, and the 
 air became more clear. 
 
 This was one of those blessed “ gales of the Spirit,” that 
 do breathe upon the pilgrims in answer to prayer ; and then, 
 in what a swxet, clear atmosphere they travel on, in a pure 
 air, in the light of heaven, with all the prospect distinct and 
 fresh around them ! Ah, it is not the word of God alone 
 that we need, but the Spirit of God to go with it ; and his 
 precious influences and teachings will surely be granted to 
 all who humbly seek for them. There is much meaning in 
 these incidents, especially in that point, that it was the way 
 which seemed to be the cleanest, that led in the end to a pit 
 of mud and mire. 
 
 This reminds us of the w^ay of the flatterer, whom the 
 pilgrims, in the First Part, met with, and by whom their 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 381 
 
 faces were turned away from the Celestial City, while they 
 seemed to themselves to be going directly towards it. Can 
 any thing he more plainly indicated by this than that pre- 
 tence to sinless perfection, by which so many have been 
 flattered and allured, and which in so many cases has led 
 directly, in the end, to the deepest pollution. What seems 
 the cleanest path leads to the pit ; it leads pilgrims thither 
 by pride, self-righteousness, and the pretence of a holiness 
 superior to God’s law, and releasing them from its obliga- 
 tions. It is not the way of Christ’s righteousness, nor of 
 reliance upon him ; and so, though it may seem at first to 
 be a morality and sanctification of the highest tone, it ends 
 in licentiousness. The men that devised this path, and that 
 lead unwary souls in it, are described by Peter. “ For when 
 they speak great swelling words of vanity, they allure through 
 the lusts of the flesh, through much wantonness, those that 
 were clean escaped from them who live in error. While they 
 ju’omise them liberty, they themselves are the servants of 
 corruption, for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is 
 he brought in bondage.” 
 
 It was amidst this Enchanted Ground that good Mr Stand- 
 fast, whom the pilgrims there found upon his knees, was so 
 hard beset and enticed by Madam Bubble ; and indeed it is 
 by her sorceries that the ground itself is enchanted. Madam 
 Bubble is the world with its allurements and vanities ; and 
 whosoever, as Mr Great-heart said, do lay their eyes upon 
 her beauty are counted the enemies of God ; for God hath 
 said that the friendship of the world is enmity against God ; 
 and he hath said furthermore, “ Love not the world, nor the 
 things of the world ; if any man love the world, the love of 
 the Father is not in him.” So Mr Standfast did well to be- 
 take him to his knees, praying to him that could help him. 
 So if all pilgrims, when worldly proposals and enticements 
 allure them, and they feel the love of the world tempting 
 them and gaining on them, would thus go to more earnest 
 prayer, and be made more vigilant against temptations. 
 Madam Bubble would not gain so many victories. 
 
 Set your affections on things above, and not on things 
 on the earth.” The spirit of the Pilgrim’s Progress is every 
 
382 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 where in admirable accordance with this divine injunction. 
 There is an incident recorded of Christiana’s boys, which 
 very beautifully inculcates an instructive lesson on this sub- 
 ject, and shews Bunyan’s opinion as to the manner in which 
 Christian parents should educate their children in regard to 
 the pleasures of the world. There was, on the other side of 
 the wall that fenced in the way of salvation, a garden, with 
 fruit trees that shot their branches over the wall ; and the 
 fruit, being very mellow and tempting, and hanging down 
 into the w^ay, w^ould often allure passengers to pluck and 
 eat. The boys did this, as boys are apt to do, and as older 
 boys had done before them ; and, though their careful mother 
 did chide them for so doing, still they went on. 
 
 Now this Avas Beelzebub’s orchard, and the fruit was his 
 fruit ; but Christiana at the time only knew that, being out 
 of the w^ay of salvation, it was none of theirs ; for had she 
 known to whom it belonged, she would have been ready to 
 die with fear. The fruit produced a serious illness in tlie 
 boys, a good while after, wdiich illness did not shew itself 
 indeed, till they had left the house of the Interpreter, and 
 gone over the Hill Difficulty, and dwelt some time in the 
 House Beautiful ; and then Matthew, the eldest boy, who 
 had eaten the fruit against the advice of his mother, fell 
 grievously sick. 
 
 Now when Christiana learned from the Physician that it 
 was Beelzebub’s fruit that Matthew had eaten, she w'as sore 
 afraid, and wept bitterly over her own carelessness, as well 
 as her boy’s naughtiness. And ever will the Christian 
 mother have to bewail in her children the mistakes into 
 which, through carelessness and want of prayer, she may 
 have fallen, in their education, and the improper indulgences 
 and amusements, in w hich, through a vain fondness to be 
 fashionable, or through the example of worldly families 
 and friends, she may have allow^ed her children. There are 
 pleasures, amusements, and gratifications, which are so tho- 
 roughly and solely worldly, so entirely on the other side of 
 the w^all of salvation, that they must be considered as be- 
 longing to Beelzebub’s orchard, and therefore the pilgrims 
 and their families should have nothing to do with them. 
 
CIIIIISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 383 
 
 Nevertheless, the fruit hangs over so temptingly into the 
 pilgrim’s way, and so many are in the habit of considering 
 Beelzebub’s mellow apples as innocent amusements, that 
 many pilgrim families do partake of them, to the injury ol 
 the cause of Christ, and to their own great spiritual harm. 
 There is decision as well as affectionate kindness needed in 
 every Christian parent, to keep his children from the fruit 
 of those trees that grow on Beelzebub’s side of the wall. 
 
 It is very instructive to see how long after the fruit was 
 taken, the evil broke out in Matthew’s system. Sin may be 
 carelessly or wilfully committed, and yet at the time the 
 conscience may be blinded or quiet in regard to it, even with 
 those who are true believers ; but such sin may be the cause 
 of great darkness, discouragement, and distress, when the 
 conscience, though late, is made to feel it ; and it may be the 
 cause of the withdrawal of the consolations of God’s Spirit, 
 and the cause of great gloom in the soul, even while the sin 
 is not remembered, and the believer does not know why God 
 is contending with him. In such a case the pilgrims must 
 say with Jeremiah, Let us search and try our ways, and 
 turn again to the Lord.” 
 
 The skilful Physician in this allegory proposed such ques- 
 tions to Matthew and his mother, that they soon discovered 
 the cause of his illness ; and when the cause was known, 
 then by the medicines of Christ, by the blood of Christ, with 
 the tears of faith and repentance, the cure was easy. But 
 concealed sin must sooner or later work distress in the con- 
 science, and so must every sinful habit, and every wrong 
 worldly indulgence, however it may have been pleaded for 
 and allowed under the* guise of an innocent gratification. 
 Forbidden fruit is dangerous fruit, and works ruin, whether 
 children take it, or grown people. The heart of persons who 
 live upon it becomes, in Bunyan’s expressive phrase, good 
 for nothing but to be tinder for the devil’s tinder-box. J ust 
 so combustible are the passions even of children, where sin 
 is not restrained. 
 
 There are two characteristics that reign both in the First 
 and Second Parts of the Pilgrim’s Progress ; the most im- 
 portant, and the one which is diffused through the whole 
 
884 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 work, constituting its spirit, and pervading it like a warm, 
 clear, sunny atmosphere, is the love of Christ and the Cross. 
 This was the grand trait in Bunyan’s Christian character, 
 and all his writings are deeply penetrated with it. The blood 
 of the slain Lamb is every where present ; this is the pre- 
 cious hue that suffuses the work, and gives to all its colours 
 such depth, such power and richness. The heart of the work 
 is Christ ; Christ’s love, Christ’s atoning sacrifice, Christ’s 
 righteousness, Christ’s precious intercession, Christ’s meek- 
 ness and gentleness, Christ’s ever-present grace, Christ’s pre- 
 vailing merits, Christ the victory over sin, Christ our wis- 
 dom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. This 
 secures to the hook the ever-present influences of the Holy 
 Spirit ; this makes it a stream of the Water of Life, clear as 
 crystal, flowing through the world ; this makes it a book 
 beloved by the heart of the pilgrim, just in proportion as 
 every thought and feeling are brought into captivity to the 
 love of Christ. 
 
 The second reigning trait of the whole work is its sober 
 practical, and affectionate wisdom. It is the wisdom that 
 cometh from above, pure and peaceable, gentle and easy to 
 be entreated, full of mercy and of good fruits, without par- 
 tiality and without hypocrisy. The views of the Christian 
 life here inculcated are judicious ; its trials and its dangers 
 not at all concealed, yet never overrated ; its enjoyments 
 tinged with a sober colouring, though rich ; the King’s high- 
 way often rough and beset with difficulties, yet passing 
 through scenes of inexpressible loveliness, and provided here 
 and there with deep springing wells of comfort. The prac- 
 tical spirit of this book is of indescribable value and impor- 
 tance. An allegory like this, one might suppose, would 
 make rather an imaginative than a working pilgrim ; and 
 in some hands it would have tended to produce a dreaming 
 mystic, instead of a sober, experienced Christian. But there 
 is hardly a book of greater practical wisdom in the world, 
 and certainly, with all its imagination, no more correct map 
 of the Christian Pilgrimage. Its wisdom is that of dearly 
 bought experience, heaven- taught and heaven-descended. 
 Along with this wisdom there mingles at the same time, a 
 
CmilSTIANA, MEECY, AND THE CHILDEEN. 385 
 
 vein of the purest, most genuine cheerfulness and humour. 
 It is as a part of that wisdom, that Bunyan has introduced 
 the domestic constitution so beautifully, so happily, so sa- 
 credly, in the course of the pilgrimage. It has made his 
 pilgrims marry and give in marriage, in accordance with the 
 inspired declaration that “ marriage is honourable in all, and 
 the bed undefiled,” and in opposition to that asceticism and 
 fanaticism of celibacy, which would proclaim a single state 
 as the holiest, and which in the Roman Church has wrought 
 such a frightful career of abominations. But Bunyan also 
 makes his pilgrims marry according to the Apostolic injunc- 
 tion, “ only in the Lord.” 
 
 In the course of this delineation in the Second Part there 
 occurs a passage, which, for exquisite humour, quiet satire, 
 and naturalness in the development of character, is scarcely 
 surpassed in the language. It is the account of the courtship 
 between Mercy and Mr Brisk, which took place at the House 
 Beautiful. 
 
 “ Now by that these pilgrims had been in 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 breed- 
 ing, 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 garments for others, and would bestow them upon 
 them that had need. And Mr Brisk, not knowing how or 
 where she disposed of what she made, seemed to be greatly 
 taken, for that he found her never idle. I will warrant her 
 a good housewife, quoth he to 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 that he was 
 a very busy young man, and one that pretended to religion ; 
 but was, as they feared, a stranger to the power of that which 
 is good. 
 
3S6 
 
 LECTUEE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Nay, then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him ; for 
 I propose never to have a clog to my soul. 
 
 Prudence then replied that there needed no great matter 
 of discouragement to be given to him ; for continuing so, as 
 she had begun, to do for the poor, would quickly cool his 
 courage. 
 
 So the next time he comes, he finds her at her old work, 
 a making of things for the poor. Then said he, What, al- 
 ways at it ? Yes, said she, either for myself or for others. 
 And what canst thou earn a-day ] quoth he. I do these 
 things, said she, that I may be rich in good works, laying a 
 good foundation against the time to come, that I may lay 
 liold of eternal life. Why, prithee, what dost thou do with 
 them ? said he. Clothe the naked, said she. With that his 
 countenance fell. So he forbore to come at her again. And 
 when he was asked the reason why, he said that Mercy was 
 a pretty lass, hut troubled with ill conditions.” Not a word 
 of comment is necessary on this exquisitely humorous pas- 
 sage. 
 
 The snatches of poetry in this Second Part are certainly 
 superior to those which are sprinkled in the pages of the 
 First. The song of Mr Valiant-for-truth is so much after 
 the manner of our old English Melodists, and so valuable in 
 itself, that it would make a gem, even in the pages of Shak- 
 speare. There is an old melody to which this poetry is set, 
 which has been said likewise to have been composed by 
 Bunyan ; how true this may be we know not ; hut the spirit 
 of the music is in excellent harmony with the stanzas, the 
 melody being such an one as any cheerful, resolute pilgrim, 
 fond of music, might hum to himself upon his journey, and 
 greatly solace himself thereby. 
 
 Who would true valour see, 
 
 Let him come hither ; 
 
 One here will constant be, 
 
 Come wind, come weather. 
 
 There’s no discouragement 
 Shall make him once relent 
 His first avowed intent 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 
CHllISTIANA, MEllCY, AND THE CniLDREN. 
 
 aa? 
 
 Who so beset him round 
 With dismal stories. 
 
 Do but themselves confound ; 
 
 His strength the more is. 
 
 No Lion can him fright, 
 
 He’ll with a Giant fight, 
 
 But he will have a right 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 
 Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
 Can daunt his spirit ; 
 
 He knows he at the end 
 Shall life inherit. 
 
 Then, fancies, fly away ; 
 
 He’ll not fear what men say. 
 He’ll labour night and day 
 To be a Pilgrim, 
 
 This song brings into view another reigning trait of the 
 pilgrimage as depicted by Bunyan, which is the passionate 
 intensity and steadfastness of purpose requisite for its suc- 
 cessful pursuit. In the experience of Bunyan’s pilgrims, 
 especially the most faithful among them, there is realized 
 that holy thirsting for God, and that earnest effort after him, 
 of which the Psalmist speaks in so many and such striking 
 passages, but especially in the 63d and 42d Psalms. My 
 soul followeth hard after thee ; thy right hand upholdeth 
 me. As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth 
 my soul after thee, 0 God !” 
 
 The work of finding God is justly represented in this pil- 
 grimage as being great and arduous ; and the pilgrims are 
 represented as pursuing it with a single eye, and a holy in- 
 tensity of purpose. If a Christian would be at all successful 
 in this great pursuit, there must be such a habit of intensity 
 and perseverance ; for God hath said, ‘‘Ye shall seek me, 
 and ye shall find me, when ye shall search for me with all the 
 hearth'* In this there is brought to view what ought to be 
 the passion of the mind, its daily, unceasing, unbroken effort, 
 the habitual bent of its energies, the struggle of its powers. 
 This is just as necessary to a Christian’s success in the Divine 
 Life, as enthusiasm in any path of science, or of acquisition, 
 is necessary to success in the pursuits of this life. 
 
 But it is not so common among Christians as it ought to 
 
388 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEEN TH. 
 
 be. In Bunyan’s own experience, and in that of his favourite 
 pilgrims, there was a holy fixedness of purpose, and a fervent 
 breathing of the soul after the accomplishment of that pur- 
 pose, and a perpetual return of the soul with undiminished 
 freshness to its work, which are rarely beheld in exercise, 
 and in the want of which it is to be feared that the piety of 
 our own age is greatly defective. As an earthly enthusiasm 
 it exists in men of the world ; in the pursuits of this world 
 you may find it ; and the existence or the absence of this 
 persevering intensity of effort is the great cause of the dif- 
 ferent success which men meet with in the pursuits of life. 
 
 The children of this world are wiser in their generation 
 than the children of light. And it is precisely this enthu- 
 siasm of soul, exhibited by men who have become great in 
 particular occupations in this world, that we speak of, as 
 essential to success in the search after God and eternal great- 
 ness. Look over the life, for example, of a man like Sii 
 Isaac Newton, or Sir Humphrey Davy, and what intense de- 
 votion do you find to their particular pursuits. Day and 
 night the thirst for knowledge occupies their souls. They 
 despise weariness, temptations, the seductive allurements of 
 the senses, even the natural calls of appetite. They under- 
 go what in the pursuits of religion would be accounted mar- 
 tyrdom ; but with their enthusiastic love of science, it is no- 
 tliing, it is pleasure. They encounter dangers, and subject 
 themselves to hazardous experiments and painful toils, all 
 submitted to with ease and even delight, in prosecution of 
 the ruling passion of the soul, the business to which the 
 whole energies of the being have been devoted with so much 
 enthusiasm, that it has become a second life and nature. 
 
 Now it is just this which is needed in the effort after God. 
 It is this turning of the whole passion and power of the 
 soul into the business of seeking God. It is this making 
 an acquaintance with God, and a greater love of him, and a 
 greater knowledge of him, the passion and the business of 
 existence. It is this passionate pursuit after holiness, never 
 intermitted, but returned to with the recurrence of each day, 
 and maintained with an habitual perseverance of feeling and 
 effort* that at length shall wear the channels of bJessedness 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDRExv,. 389 
 
 BO deep in the soul, that all its energies of sensibility and 
 activity shall pour into them ; that shall make the hunger- 
 ing and thirsting after righteousness as inseparable a move- 
 ment of the daily tide of life, as undying a passion of the 
 heart’s daily experience, as is any form whatever of this 
 world’s idolatry in the souls of its worshippers. 
 
 It is this which was David’s experience when his soul was 
 following hard after God. It is this to which he refers 
 when he breaks out, As the hart panteth after the water- 
 brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, 0 God 1 ” It is this 
 which has constituted the secret of the eminent attainments 
 of all eminent saints, in the Scriptures and in all history. 
 It is this which feeds the secret fire of men’s souls, who have 
 still sought God amidst terrors, sufferings, and deaths. It is 
 this which has constituted the secret power of assurance ; 
 not so much the consciousness or the belief of holiness already 
 attained, as the experience of this inextinguishable, un- 
 quenchable thirst, and daily intense effort of the soul after 
 it. It is this which in an eminent degree is its own reward, 
 and its own blessedness. It fulfils in its own exercise the 
 promises of God before hand. It is a well of water spring- 
 ing up to everlasting life. It brings God and heaven near 
 to the soul day by day, in the very intensity of the effort 
 after him. It is accompanied with a great promise, that the 
 soul, so seeking him, shall find him, — that he that thus 
 hungers and thirsts after righteousness, shall be filled. 
 
 And this promise is fulfilling with every increase in the 
 earnestness of the soul’s desires after God, with every addition 
 to the power of that passion, and the immutability of that 
 habit, which binds the soul to the business of seeking God. 
 The very intensity of this search after God is an element of 
 power. It puts every thing else at a distance, every inter- 
 ference aside, every earthly glory into darkness. Its keen 
 gaze sees God, and all things else are shadows. It gives great 
 superiority to the world and to temptation, great clearness of 
 view, great power to faith, great nearness to the unseen world, 
 a great victory over things seen and temporal. It touches 
 all experience with glory, converts all events into ministers 
 of grace and goodness, making even sore trials the means of 
 
390 
 
 LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 still greater nearness to God, and earthly disappointments 
 but so many steps in the ladder, up which the soul is mount- 
 ing to its Maker. 
 
 The positive happiness of such a life is greater than the 
 Christian in the ordinary frame of custom can conceive. 
 The very effort of thus seeking after God is itself positive 
 bless e dness. And we would ask any Christian, and espe^ 
 cially any one just setting out in the Christian life, whose 
 habits for life therefore are now forming. Had you not better 
 be employed in such an effort, even though you seem to fail, 
 even though your soul be much discouraged by the way, 
 and you seem to meet with enemies of which others are en- 
 tirely unconscious ? Would not that life be infinitely happier 
 which is so spent ? If you do not meet with those enemies, 
 it is not because they do not exist ; and if you be at peace 
 without this holy effort after God, it is not because these 
 enemies are overcome, or that sin is dead within you, or that 
 your vision is bright toward heaven. It is rather because 
 sin is alive, and you know it not, or care very little for it : 
 it is because sensibility is dead, and not sin ; it is not be- 
 cause you are really secure that enemies do not trouble you, 
 but because they are secure of you, and quietly waiting till 
 they shall have full possession of you. How again, in regard 
 to this pilgrimage, it is clear that there is great blessedness in 
 this search after God, and certainly no blessedness without 
 it, although in it the earnest pilgrim may see his sins and 
 his enemies with a clearness of which they that are at ease 
 can have no conception, and though he may have to pass 
 through conflicts which they that sleep know nothing of. 
 Better by far to have these conflicts now, and rest and 
 triumph at the end, than rest and peace now, and a conflict 
 with sin and its consequences for ever and ever. It were 
 better to be all one’s lifetime in the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, to emerge from it into light and life eternal, than to 
 be walking in a false light here, to be followed by the black- 
 ness of darkness for ever. 
 
 It cannot be denied that the way of this pilgrimage is a 
 straight and narrow way. The difficulties, and hardships, 
 and terrors, have not been magnified in the Allegory of Bun- 
 
CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN. 391 
 
 yan. It is a strictly scriptural representation. Nor can it 
 be denied that the world spreadeth in our way many alluring 
 baits, and that the sense hath for the time exquisite and in- 
 toxicating delights. So that, in becoming a pilgrim, one 
 seems to turn his back upon a present and positive enjoy- 
 ment, and to choose self-denial, painfulness, and sorrow. But 
 at the very outset we are met by the tremenduous question, 
 “ What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world and 
 lose his own soul ? ” 
 
 We cannot unmake our being or annihilate its conditions* 
 We must die, and die only to be immortal. If while we live 
 we live to the world, when we come to die and leave the 
 world, we shall die to all blessedness. But if while we live, 
 we die to the world, then when we come to die and leave the 
 world, we shall live to blessedness perfect and eternal. So 
 let the world be as pleasant as it may, and the pilgrimage 
 as toilsome and forbidding as it may, in choosing between 
 them we must remember we are choosing between heaven 
 and hell. If we would laugh now, we must do it at the 
 cost of weeping for ever ; if we would laugh and rejoice for 
 ever, we must consent to De weeping pilgrims now. Now 
 what will it profit you to gain the whole world at the cost 
 of your soul ? 
 
 But when the choice is once made under the strong prin- 
 ciple of duty, and the conviction of substantial and eternal 
 gain ; and the man with violent resistance shuts out the 
 alluring voices of the world, by putting his fingers in his 
 ears, and its alluring prospects by turning his back upon 
 them, and runs for the entrance into the narrow way, dy- 
 ing out Life ! Life I Eternal Life ! — then there springs up 
 the excitement, enthusiasm, and joy of a new and glorious 
 interest. What has he to do now ] To become holy, like 
 God ; to lead the life of Love, like God in Christ ; to win 
 Iieaven for ever and ever ? Having turned from the world, 
 its fascinations depart from his soul like a light vapour and 
 vanish into nothingness. And fixing now all the energies 
 and insight of his being upon the work and prospects before 
 him, the life of the pilgrim and the crowning rewards stand 
 out continually in increasing beauty and glory. And thus 
 
39? LECTURE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 is he more and more conformed to that which he seeketh 
 after ; and gaineth, even in the winning of heavenly blessed- 
 ness, a taste of it, which maketh the keenest delight of the 
 world appear utterly insipid. The pilgrim has a precious 
 reward as he goes along ; it meets him at the cross, at the 
 hill of difficulty, in the valley of humiliation, in the valley 
 of the shadow of death ; it meets him most abundantly when 
 to the world he appears most wretched ; it is an inward light 
 and love which enables him to see, and draws him towards 
 the gate of heaven — it is the promise and the earnest of th e 
 world to come. And when at last his flesh and heart 
 faileth, then God becomes the strength of his heart and his 
 portion for ever. 
 
 the enu.