Works of John Bunyan: THE HOLY WAR, THE LOSING AND TAKING AGAIN OF THE TOWN OF MANSOUL. 1051

 

ABOUT THE EDITOR Part 2

'I have used similitudes.'—Hosea 12:10.

A remarkable verse describes his state before conversion—

'When Mansoul trampled upon things divine,
And wallowed in filth as doth a swine;
When she betook herself unto her arms,
Fought her Emmanuel, despis'd his charms,
Then I was there, and did rejoice to see
Diabolus and Mansoul so agree.'

Some editor, imagining that Bunyan could never have so rejoiced, forgetting his own words in the fourth section of his 'Grace Abounding'—' It was my delight to be taken captive by the devil, at his will'—altered these words to—

'Then I was there, and grieved to see
Diabolus and Mansoul so agree.'

This alteration, which perverts the author's meaning, appears in a London edition of 1752 and has been copied into many modern editions, including those by Mason and Burder.

The author, having in the above lines described his unconverted state, goes on to delineate his convictions in these words:—

'What is here in view,
Of mine own knowledge, I dare say it is true.
I saw the Prince's armed men come down,
I saw the captains, heard the trumpets sound;
Yeah, how they set themselves in battle-ray,
I shall remember to my dying day.'

The whole of this address is descriptive of what the author saw, felt, or heard—

'What shall I say? I heard the people's cries,
And saw the Prince wipe tears from Mansoul's eyes;
I heard the groans and saw the joy of many,
Tell you of all, I neither will, nor can I;
But by what I say here, you well may see
That Mansoul's matchless wars no fables be.'

The narrative of this eventful war is authenticated by his personal feelings while under the chastising, correcting hand of his heavenly Father; in his new birth and subsequent experience; in bringing his soul from darkness to marvelous light, and from the wretched bondage of sin to the glorious liberty of the gospel. This address is closed with a very important notice, which all our readers should keep constantly in mind—it is to attend to the author's key to the allegory, and that is his marginal notes—

'Nor do thou go to work without my key,
(In mysteries men soon do lose their way),
And also turn it right, if thou would'st know
My riddle, and would'st with my heifer plow,
It lies there in the window, fare thee well,
My next may be to ring thy passing-bell.'

The last line strongly reminds us of the author's difficulty in quitting the gin and beer-drinking practice of bell-ringing, to which in his youth he was so much addicted. It is recorded in his 'Grace Abounding,' Nos. 33 and 34.

The form and order of the narrative is exceedingly beautiful, and deeply interesting to those who have been engaged in a similar warfare. Passing over the short and vivid narration of the fall of man, our personal feelings are excited by witnessing the methods of grace, adapted by a covenant-keeping God and Father, to rescue his people from their natural state of Diabolonian slavery. Many of the incidents will bring to the enlightened reader's recollection the solemn and powerful impressions under which he struggled when opposing the invitations of Emmanuel. His holy joy, when a sense of pardoning love and mercy came over his soul; and his anxieties, when in conflict with doubts, fears, and bloodmen.

Our young readers must be cautioned not to give way to doubts and fears for their souls' safety, because they have never passed through the same feelings that fitted Bunyan for a sphere of extraordinary usefulness. God brings his lambs and sheep into the fold by such means as are agreeable to his infinite wisdom and grace. Some surrender at the first summons; others hold out during a long and distressing siege. 'God's ways are not our ways.' All our anxious inquiries should be, Is Emmanuel in Heart-castle? Has he formed in me the hope of glory? Do I live and believe in him who has immutably decreed that 'whosoever'—be he rich or poor, learned or unlearned—if he 'liveth and believeth in me, shall never die?' It matters not, as to my salvation, whether the siege was long or short. The vital question is, has my heart been conquered? Do I love Emmanuel?

If I do, it is because he first loved me, and he changeth not. In proportion to the trouble that I gave to my Conqueror, so should be my zealous, holy, happy obedience to his commands. Much is expected from those to whom much has been forgiven. The Conqueror, by his victory, fits us for those peculiar duties to which he intends to devote us in extending his kingdom. In the history of this war, the reader's attention will be naturally arrested by the fact that Mansoul, having voluntarily surrendered to the dominion of Satan, made no effort to relieve herself. No spiritual feelings lurked in the walls to disturb the reign of Diabolus; not even a prayer or a sigh breaks forth from her heart for deliverance; she felt not her degradation nor her danger; she was dead while she yet lived—dead in sin; and from this state would have sunk, as thousands have, from spiritual and temporal death into eternal and irretrievable ruin. The first conception of a scheme for her deliverance from such awful danger arises in the celestial court of her Creator; grace lays the foundation and raises the top-stone. All the redeemed of God will unite in one song, 'Not unto us, O Lord; not unto us, but unto thy name give glory.'

A covenant is made, ordered in all things and sure, to save Mansoul; and from this emanates the vast, the costly design of her deliverance. To effect this great object, the Mosaic dispensation—the Law, with all its terrors, is sent, in fearful array, to conquer or destroy. This is allegorically represented under the similitude of an army of forty thousand warriors, 'stout, rough-hewn men, fit to break the ice, and make their way by dint of sword.' They are under the command of four captains, each with his ensign—Boanerges and Thunder, Conviction and Sorrow, Judgment and Terror, Execution and Justice.

To resist this force, Diabolus arms the town, hardens the conscience, and darkens the understanding. He places at Eargate a guard of DEAF MEN, under old Mr. Prejudice, and plants over that important gate two great guns, Highmind and Heady. He arms Mansoul with the whole armor of Satan, which is very graphically described. Summons after summons is unheeded. The death of friends, sickness, and troubles pass by apparently without any good result. They 'will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.' At length, the town is assaulted, conscience becomes alarmed, but the will remains stubborn. The beleaguering of the town—planting the ensigns—throwing up batteries—the slings casting, with irresistible force, portions of the Word into the mind—the battering-rams beating upon the gates, especially Eargate—exciting alarm under the fear of the just and awful punishment due to sin—all are described with an extraordinary knowledge of military terms and tactics.

The episode of the three volunteers who enlisted under Shaddai, into Captain Boanerges' company—Tradition, Human-wisdom, and Man 's-invention—is inimitably beautiful. When they were aught in the rear, and taken prisoners—' as they did not live so much by religion as by the fates of fortune'—they offer their services to Diabolus, and are joined to Captain Anything's company. After a few sharp assaults, convictions of sin alarm the conscience, and six of Diabolus' new Aldermen are slain with one shot. Their names are well worthy of an attentive consideration, showing what open vices are abandoned upon the soul being first terrified with the fear of retribution—Swearing, Whoring, Fury, Stand-to-lies, Drunkenness, and Cheating.

Alarms are continued by day and night, until it is said to Mansoul, 'Upon all her pleasant things there was a blast, and burning instead of beauty; with shows of the shadow of death.' Thus was it with David—'My soul is cast down within me: deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts; all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me' (Psa 42:6,7).

All the assaults of Moses and the Law are ineffectual; the gates remain closed against her King and God. The thunders of Sinai and the voice of the prophets may alarm, but cannot conquer Mansoul. The thundering, terrifying captains appeal to the celestial court, and Emmanuel—God with us—condescends to fight the battle and secure the victory. The angelic hosts desire to look into these things—they are the peers of the heavenly realm—the news flew like lightning round about the court—and the greatest peers did covet to have commissions under Emmanuel. The captains that accompany him in this grand expedition are Faith, Hope, Charity, Innocence, and Patience. Mansoul is to be won by persuasion to receive her Savior. The cost of the enterprise is vast indeed; the army is numerous as our thoughts, and who can number 'the multitude of his thoughts?' The battering rams and slings, we are told by the margin, mean the books of Sacred Scripture, sent to us by the influence of the Holy Ghost. Emmanuel is irresistible—Mansoul is taken—Diabolus is dragged out, stripped of his armor, and sent to the parched places in a salt land, 'seeking rest, but finding none.'

Works of John Bunyan: THE HOLY WAR, THE LOSING AND TAKING AGAIN OF THE TOWN OF MANSOUL. 1050

 

ABOUT THE EDITOR Part 1

'I have used similitudes.'—Hosea 12:10.

London: Printed for Dorman Newman, at the King's Arms in the Poultry; and Benjamin Alsop, at the Angel and Bible in the Poultry, 1682.

Bunyan's account of the Holy War is indeed an extraordinary book, manifesting a degree of genius, research, and spiritual knowledge, exceeding even that displayed in the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' To use the words of Mr. J. Montgomery, 'It is a work of that master intelligence, which was privileged to arouse kindred spirits from torpor and inactivity, to zeal, diligence, and success.'

It was first published in 1682 in a small octavo volume, and, like the first edition of the Pilgrim, it was printed in a manner far superior to all subsequent editions up to a recent period. The portrait of the author, by White, which faced the title-page, is without doubt the best likeness that has ever appeared of our great allegorist. In addition to this is a full-length figure of the author, with a representation of Heart-castle on his left breast; the town of Mansoul behind, partly seen through him; Emmanuel and his army on the heart side, and Diabolus with his dragons on his right. Since the publication of this popular book in 1682, it has been kept in print constantly, so that it is impossible to calculate the number that has been circulated. As time rolls on, the 'Holy War,' allegorized by John Bunyan, becomes more and more popular; nor can there be a doubt but that so long as the internal conflict and spiritual warfare between the renewed soul and its deadly enemies are maintained, this book will become increasingly popular.

The 'Holy War,' although so very extraordinary an allegory, has not been translated into so many languages, nor has it been so much read in English, as the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' This would naturally arise from the Pilgrimage's simpler narrative. It is a journey full of the most striking scenery and incidents, which is read with the deepest interest by all classes, from the children in a workhouse to the profoundest Christian philosopher. The facts which are intended to be impressed upon the mind by the force of the allegory are seen and appreciated by the Christian without requiring much investigation, while the 'Holy War' is carried on under an allegorical representation by no means so transparent. Man's soul is figured under the simile of a town, which, having surrendered to an insidious and mortal enemy, is besieged by its lawful Sovereign with all the 'pomp and circumstances' of war; the arch-enemy is driven out, the town retaken, new-modeled, and garrisoned by Emmanuel.

To the Christian, whose aim and end is peace, war presents a most forbidding aspect. He loves not to see the garments rolled in blood, nor to hear the dying groans of the wounded, nor the heart-rending cries of the bereaved, especially those of the widow and the orphan. Spoliation and robbery are not the pastimes of the child of God, nor is cruelty the element of his happiness or peace. To read of such scenes produces painfully interesting sensations; but even these are not so strong or intense as those delightful feelings which pervade the mind while watching the poor pilgrim in his struggles to get through the Slough of Despond, his terror under the flames of Mount Sinai, his passing unhurt the darts from Beelzebub's castle, and his finding refuge at the Wicket Gate. It is true, that the most delicate Christian must become a stern warrior—the most sensitive ear must be alarmed with the sound of Diabolus' drum, and at times feel those inward groanings which cannot be uttered—pass through 'the fiery trial,' and 'endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ'; while at other periods of his experience, flushed with victory, he will cry out, 'Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?' 

We must fight the good fight of faith, or we can never lay hold on eternal life. We must be engaged in this holy war, and FIGHT or PERISH. There is no neutrality, no excuse that can be awaiting at the day of judgment. The servant of Christ is therefore found trusting in the Captain of salvation, furnished with the whole armor of God, with which his soul is clothed by the Holy Spirit—having the shield of faith, the helmet, the breastplate, the two-edged sword. It was being thus mysteriously, invulnerably armed that gave the delicate, learned, pious Lady Anne Askew strength to triumph over her agonies when the Papists disjointed every bone and sinew of her body on the rack. Her spiritual armor enabled her with patience to bless God at the stake, when, for refusing to worship Antichrist, she was burned in Smithfield, and her soul ascended to heaven in a flaming fiery chariot. It is the same spiritual armor, the same Captain to guide, the same Spirit to sanctify, the same Father to bless us, by which alone we can become more than conquerors over our vigilant and powerful enemies. The Holy War is presented to us in this volume by an old, experienced, faithful warrior; it is an allegorical narrative, written by a master hand, guided by deeply penetrating, searching powers of mind. 

It is his own severe brunts with the great enemy, who is aided by his army of pomps, vanities, lusts, and allurements, many lurking within, disguised to appear like angels, while under their masquerade dress they are very devils. It is written by one who possessed almost boundless resources of imagination. It is more profound, more deeply spiritual than the pilgrimage from Destruction to the Celestial City, and understanding its hidden meaning requires the close, mature application of the renewed mind. There are, alas! comparatively few that are blessed with spiritual discernment, and even of these, there are but few inclined to mental investigation and research. These are reasons why it has not been so popular a book as the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' To aid those whose time for reading is limited, notes are given, by which obsolete words and customs are explained, and the reader is assisted to appreciate the beauties and to understand the meaning of this allegory. It is earnestly hoped that many will richly enjoy the comforts, instructions, consolations, and strength which the author ardently wished to convey to Zion's warriors, by the study of this important subject.

I have already, in my long Introduction to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' noticed the peculiar genius and originality which are conspicuous in all Bunyan's works, and which most resplendently appear in his allegorical writings. That genius became hallowed and sanctified by prison discipline, by an intense study of the Sacred Scriptures, and by his controversies with great men of various sects and parties. In the 'Holy War, ' Bunyan's peculiar genius shines forth in its most beauteous luster; the whole is new, genuine, flowing forth from his own deep and rich experience. It is, in fact, the same narrative that he had published under the title of 'Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, or a brief and faithful relation of the exceeding mercy of God, in Christ, to his poor servant John Bunyan.' 

This simple, heart-affecting narrative is here related under the allegorical representation of the 'Holy War.' In this, all the circumstances of his conviction of sin, and his conversion to God, are narrated with startling interest from the first alarm—his being roused from a state of death-like lethargy, his opposition to the grace of God, his refusals of the invitations of Emmanuel, and his being at length conquered to become a monument of divine mercy—a temple of the Holy Ghost. Then came his declension by carnal security, and his misery in that state, until he was finally reconquered; and his heart is permanently occupied by Emmanuel. The 'Grace Abounding,' aided by the marginal notes of the author to the 'Holy War,' forms a very valuable key to the mysteries of this allegory; without their aid, some passages would be found deeply mysterious and hard to be understood. Nor can this be considered extraordinary, when it is recollected that the whole of the allegory is a revelation of scenes, feelings, hopes, fears, and enjoyments, which are unknown, unfelt, and invisible to all except to those whose minds are enlightened by Divine truth; and even of these, very few have had the deep and trying experience with which the author was exercised.

That the 'Holy War' allegorically represents Bunyan's personal feelings is clearly declared by him in the poetical Introduction or Address to the Reader, prefixed to the book. He adverts to books of fiction, and solemnly declares—

'I have somewhat else to do,
Than with vain stories thus to trouble you,
For my part, I (myself) was in the town,
Both when 'twas set up, and when pulling down;
I saw Diabolus in his possession,—
Yeah, I was there when she owned him for Lord.'

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1049

 

When the time came for them to depart, they went to the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were, Farewell night, welcome day. His daughter went through the river singing, but none could understand what she said.

Then it came to pass, a while after, that there was a post in the town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to his house where he was, and delivered to his hand these lines: Thou art commanded to be ready against this day sevennight, to present thyself before thy Lord, at His Father's house. And for a token that my message is true, 'All thy daughters of music shall he brought low' (Eccl. 12:4). Then Mr. Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, but shall make no will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me; let him that comes after be told of this. When the day that he was to be gone had come, he addressed himself to go over the river. Now the river at that time overflowed the banks in some places; but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace, reigns. So he left the world.

After this, it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken with a summons, by the same post as the other; and had this for a token that the summons was true, 'That his pitcher was broken at the fountain' (Eccl. 12:6). When he understood it, he called for his friends and told them of it. Then, said he, I am going to my Father's; and though with great difficulty I have got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me, that I have fought His battles, who now will be my Rewarder. When the day that he must go hence had come, many accompanied him to the riverside, into which, as he went, he said, 'Death, where is thy sting?' And as he went down deeper, he said, 'Grave, where is thy victory?' So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.

Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast—this Mr. Stand-fast was he that the rest of the Pilgrims found upon his knees in the Enchanted Ground—for the post brought it him open in his hands. The contents whereof were that he must prepare for a change of life, for his Master was not willing that he should be so far from Him any longer. At this, Mr. Stand-fast was put into a muse. Nay, said the messenger, you need not doubt of the truth of my message, for here is a token of the truth thereof: 'Thy wheel is broken at the cistern' (Eccl. 12:6). Then he called unto him Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said unto him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in your good company in the days of my pilgrimage; yet, since the time I knew you, you have been profitable to me. When I came from home, I left behind me a wife and five small children; let me entreat you, at your return (for I know that you will go, and return to your Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a conductor to more of the holy pilgrims), that you send to my family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath, or shall happen unto me. Tell them, moreover, of my happy arrival at this place, and of the present and late blessed condition that I am in. Tell them also of Christian, and Christiana, his wife, and how she and her children came after her husband. Tell them also of what a happy end she made, and whether she is gone. I have a little or nothing to send to my family, except it be prayers and tears for them; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure they may prevail.

When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the time being come for him to hasten him away, he also went down to the river. Now there was a great calm at that time in the river; wherefore Mr. Stand-fast, when he was about half-way in, stood a while and talked to his companions that had waited upon him thither; and he said, This river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it also have often frightened me. Now, methinks, I stand easy, my foot is fixed upon that upon which the feet of the priests that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel went over this Jordan (Josh. 3:17). The waters, indeed, are to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold; yet the thoughts of what I am going to, and of the conduct that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart.

I see myself now at the end of my journey; my toilsome days are ended. I am going now to see that Head that was crowned with thorns, and that Face that was spit upon for me.

I have formerly lived by hearsay and faith, but now I go where I shall live by sight and shall be with Him in whose company I delight myself.

I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wherever I have seen the print of His shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot too.

His name has been to me as a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all perfumes. His voice to me has been most sweet, and His countenance I have more desired than they that have most desired the light of the sun. His Word I did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. 'He has held me, and hath kept me from mine iniquities; yea, my steps hath He strengthened in His way.'

Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, his strong man bowed under him; and after he had said, Take me, for I come unto Thee, he ceased to be seen of them.

But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and players on stringed instruments, to welcome the Pilgrims as they went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city.

As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana brought with her, with their wives and children, I did not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also, since I came away, I heard one say that they were yet alive, and so would be for the increase of the CHURCH in that place where they were, for a time.

Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire it an account of what I here am silent about. In the meantime, I bid my reader ADIEU.

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1048

 

Then came in that good man, Mr. Ready-to-halt, to see her. So she said to him, Thy travel hither has been with difficulty; but that will make thy rest the sweeter. But watch and be ready, for at an hour when you think not, the messenger may come. After him came in Mr. Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid, to whom she said, You ought with thankfulness, forever to remember your deliverance from the hands of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting Castle. The effect of that mercy is that you are brought with safety hither. Be ye watchful, and cast away fear; 'be sober and hope to the end.'

Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the mouth of Giant Slay-good, that thou mightest live in the light of the living forever, and see thy King with comfort; only I advise thee to repent thee of thine aptness to fear and doubt of His goodness, before He sends for thee; lest thou shouldest, when He comes, be forced to stand before Him, for that fault, with blushing. Now the day drew on, that Christiana must be gone. So the road was full of people to see her take her journey. But, behold, all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, which had come down from above to accompany her to the city gate. So she came forth and entered the river, with a beckon of farewell to those that followed her to the riverside. The last words that she was heard to say here were, I come, Lord, to be with Thee, and bless Thee.

So her children and friends returned to their place, for those who waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sight. So she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had done before her.

At her departure, her children wept. But Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. So all departed to their respective places.

In the process of time, there came a post to the town again, and his business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he inquired him out, and said to him, I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches; and my message is to tell thee, that He expects thee at His table to sup with Him, in His kingdom, the next day after Easter; wherefore prepare thyself for this journey.

Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, I have broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver cord (Eccl. 12:6).

After this, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims and told them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit you also. So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will; and because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive him, but his crutches, and his good wishes, therefore thus he said, These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall tread in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I have done. Then he thanked Mr. Greatheart for his conduct and kindness, and so addressed himself to his journey. When he came to the brink of the river, he said, Now I shall have no more need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words he was heard to say were, Welcome life! So he went his way.

After this, Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him that the post sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he came in, and told him, saying, I am come to tell thee, that thy Master hath need of thee; and that, in very little time, thou must behold His face in brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of my message, 'Those that look out of the windows shall be darkened' (Eccl. 12:3).

Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had received of the truth of the message. Then he said, Since I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for that I have no need of that in the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrim; wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill. This done, and the day being come in which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words were, Hold out, faith and patience. So he went over to the other side.

When many days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency was sent for; for a post had come, and brought this message to him: Trembling man, these are to summon thee to be ready with thy King by the next Lord's Day, to shout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy doubtings.

And, said the messenger, that my message is true, take this for a proof; so he gave him the grasshopper to be a burden unto him (Eccl. 12:5). Now, Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name was Much-afraid, said, when she heard what was done, that she would go with her father. Then Mr. Despondency said to his friends, "Myself and my daughter, you know what we have been, and how troublefully we have behaved ourselves in every company." My will and my daughter's is, that our desponds and slavish fears be by no man ever received, from the day of our departure, forever; for I know that after my death they will offer themselves to others. For, to be plain with you, they are ghosts which we entertained when we first began to be pilgrims, and could never shake them off after; and they will walk about and seek entertainment of the pilgrims; but, for our sakes, shut ye the doors upon them.

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1047

 

At this discourse, there was, among the Pilgrims, a mixture of joy and trembling; but at length they broke out, and sang—

What danger is the pilgrim in?
How many are his foes!
How many ways are there to sin
No living mortal knows.
Some of the ditch shy are, yet can
Lie tumbling in the mire;
Some, though they shun the frying-pan,
Do leap into the fire.

After this, I beheld until they came unto the Land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because they were weary, they betook themselves a while to rest; and, because this country was common for pilgrims, and because the orchards and vineyards that were here belonged to the King of the Celestial country, therefore they were licensed to make bold with any of His things. But a little while soon refreshed them here; for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets continually sounded so melodiously, that they could not sleep; and yet they received as much refreshing as if they had slept their sleep ever so soundly. Here also, all the noise of them that walked in the streets was, More pilgrims have come to town. And another would answer, saying, And so many went over the water, and were let in at the golden gates today. They would cry again. There is now a legion of Shining Ones just come to town, by which we know that there are more pilgrims upon the road; for here they come to wait for them, and to comfort them after all their sorrow. Then the Pilgrims got up, and walked to and fro; but how were their ears now filled with heavenly noises, and their eyes delighted with celestial visions! In this land, they heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing that was offensive to their stomach or mind; only when they tasted the water of the river over which they were to go, they thought that it tasted a little bitterish to the palate, but it proved sweeter when it was down.

In this place, there was a record kept of the names of those who had been pilgrims of old, and a history of all the famous acts that they had done. It was also here that much discourse was held about how the river had its flowings, and what ebbings it has had, while others have gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some, while it has overflowed its banks for others.

In this place, the children of the town would go into the King's gardens, and gather nosegays for the Pilgrims, and bring them to them with much affection. Here also grew camphire, with spikenard, and saffron, calamus, and cinnamon, with all its trees of frankincense, myrrh, and aloes, with all chief spices. With these, the Pilgrims' chambers were perfumed, while they stayed here; and with these were their bodies anointed, to prepare them to go over the river when the time appointed was come.

Now, while they lay here and waited for the good hour, there was a noise in the town that a post had come from the Celestial City, with matter of great importance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian the Pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, and the house was found out where she was; so the post presented her with a letter; the contents whereof were, 'Hail, good woman! I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldest stand in His presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days.'

When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a sure token that he was a true messenger and had come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was an arrow with a point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.

When Christiana saw that her time had come and that she was the first of this company to go over, she called for Mr. Greatheart, her guide, and told him how matters were. So he told her he was heartily glad of the news, and could have been glad had the post come for him. Then she bade that he advise on how all things should be prepared for her journey. So he told her, saying, thus and thus it must be; and we that survive will accompany you to the riverside.

Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and told them that she yet read with comfort the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor that little she had, and commanded her sons and her daughters to be ready against the messenger should come for them. When she had spoken these words to her guide and to her children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him, Sir, you have in all places showed yourself truehearted; 'be faithful unto death,' and my King will give you 'a crown of life.' I would also entreat you to have an eye to my children, and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfortably to them. For my daughters, my sons' wives, they have been faithful, and a fulfillment of the promise upon them will be their end. But she gave Mr. Stand-fast a ring. Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, 'Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.' Then said he, I wish you a fair day, when you set out for Mount Zion, and shall be glad to see that you go over the river dry-shod. But she answered, Come wet, come dry, I long to be gone; for, however the weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough when I come there to sit down and rest me, and dry me.

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1046

 

They went on, then, in this Enchanted Ground, till they came to where there was another arbor, and it was built by the highway-side. And in that arbor there lay two men, whose names were Heedless and Too-bold. These two went thus far on pilgrimage; but here, being wearied with their journey, they sat down to rest themselves, and so fell fast asleep. When the Pilgrims saw them, they stood still, and shook their heads; for they knew that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. Then they consulted what to do, whether to go on and leave them in their sleep, or to step to them, and try to awake them. So they concluded to go to them, and awake them; that is, if they could; but with this caution, namely, to take heed that themselves did not sit down nor embrace the offered benefit of that arbor.

So they went in, and spake to the men, and called each by his name, for the guide, it seems, did know them; but there was no voice nor answer. Then the guide shook them and did what he could to disturb them. Then said one of them, I will pay you when I take my money. At which the guide shook his head. I will fight so long as I can hold my sword in my hand, said the other. At that, one of the children laughed.

Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this? The guide said, They talk in their sleep. If you strike them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, they will answer you after this fashion; or, as one of them said in old time, when the waves of the sea did beat upon him, and he slept as one upon the mast of a ship, 'When shall I awake? I will seek it yet again' (Prov. 23:34, 35). You know, when men talk in their sleep, they say anything, but their words are not governed either by faith or reason. There is an incoherency in their words now, as there was before, betwixt their going on pilgrimage, and sitting down here. This, then, is the mischief of it: when heedless ones go on pilgrimage, it is twenty to one, but they are served thus; for this Enchanted Ground is one of the last refuges that the enemy to pilgrims has. Wherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the way, and so it standeth against us with the more advantage. For when, thinks the enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit down, as when they are weary? and when so like to be weary, as when almost at their journey's end? Therefore, it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so nigh to the Land Beulah, and so near the end of their race. Wherefore, let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to them as it has done to these, that, as you see, are fallen asleep, and none can wake them.

Then the Pilgrims desired, with trembling, to go forward; only they prayed their guide to strike a light, that they might go the rest of their way by the help of the light of a lantern. So he struck a light, and they went by the help of that through the rest of this way, though the darkness was very great (2 Peter 1:19).

But the children began to be sorely weary, and they cried out unto Him that loveth pilgrims, to make their way more comfortable. So by that time they had gone a little further, and a wind arose that drove away the fog, making the air clearer.

Yet they were not off, by much, of the Enchanted Ground, only now they could see one another better, and the way wherein they should walk.

Now, when they were almost at the end of this ground, they perceived that, a little before them, was a solemn noise of one who was much concerned. So they went on and looked before them; and behold, they saw, as they thought, a man upon his knees, with hands and eyes lifted up, and speaking, as they thought, earnestly to One that was above. They drew nigh, but could not tell what he said. So they went softly till he had done. When he had done, he got up and began to run towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Greatheart called after him, saying, Soho! friend, let us have your company, if you go, as I suppose you do, to the Celestial City. So the man stopped, and they came up to him. But so soon as Mr. Honest saw him, he said, I know this man. Then said Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Prithee, who is it? It is one, said he, who comes from whereabouts I dwelt. His name is Stand-fast; he is certainly a right good pilgrim.

So they came up one to another, and presently Stand-fast said to old Honest, Ho, father Honest, are you there? Aye, said he, that I am, as sure as you are there. Right glad am I, said Mr. Stand-fast, that I have found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I espied you upon your knees. Then Mr. Stand-fast blushed and said, But why did you see me? Yes, that I did, quoth the other, and with my heart was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think? said Stand-fast. Think! said old Honest, what should I think? I thought we had an honest man upon the road, and therefore should have his company by and by. If you thought not amiss [said Stand-fast], how happy am I; but if I be not as I should, I alone must bear it. That is true, said the other, but your fear doth further confirm me that things are right betwixt the Prince of Pilgrims and your soul; for, saith he, 'Blessed is the man that feareth always.'

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1045

 

GREAT-HEART. I promise you this was enough to discourage, but did they make an end here?

VALIANT. No, stay. They told me also of many that had tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way therein, to see if they could find something of the glory there, that so many had so much talked of from time to time; and how they came back again, and befooled themselves for setting a foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. And they named several that did so; as Obstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old Atheist, with several more, who, they said, had some of them, gone far to see if they could find; but not one of them found so much advantage by going as amounted to the weight of a feather.

GREAT-HEART. Did they say anything more to discourage you?

VALIANT. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was a pilgrim, and how he found this way so solitary that he never had a comfortable hour therein. Also, that Mr. Despondency had like to have been starved therein; yea, and also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian himself, about whom there has been such a noise, after all his ventures for a celestial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black River, and never went foot further, however it was smothered up.

GREAT-HEART. And did none of these things discourage you?

VALIANT. No, they seemed but as so many nothings to me.

GREAT-HEART. How did that come about?

VALIANT. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had said, and that carried me beyond them all.

GREAT-HEART. Then this was your victory, even your faith.

VALIANT. It was so. I believed, by the grace of God, and therefore came out, got into the way, fought all that set themselves against me, and, by believing, am come to this place.

Who would true valor see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constantly be,
Come wind, come weather.
There's no discouragement
Shall make him once relent,
His first avow'd intent
To be a pilgrim.

Who so beset him round
With dismal stories,
Do, but themselves confound.
His strength is more.
No lion can frighten him,
He'll be in a giant fight.
But he will have a right
To be a pilgrim.

Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit;
He knows he is at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He'll fear not what men say;
He'll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.

By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy; and that place was all grown over with briars and thorns, excepting here and there, where was an Enchanted Arbour, upon which if a man sits, or in which, if a man sleeps, it is a question, say some, whether ever he shall rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, therefore, they went, both one and the other, and Mr. Great-heart went before, for that he was the guide; and Mr. Valiant-for-truth came behind, being there a guard, for fear, lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or thief, should fall upon their rear, and so do mischief. They went on here, each man with his sword drawn in his hand, for they knew it was a dangerous place. Also, they cheered up one another as well as they could; Feeble-mind, Mr. Great-heart commanded, should come up after him, and Mr. Despondency was under the eye of Mr. Valiant.

Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarcely, for a great while, see one another; wherefore they were forced, for some time, to feel for one another by words; for they walked not by sight.

But anyone must think that here was but sorry going for the best of them all; but how much worse for the women and children, who, both of feet and heart, were but tender. Yet so it was that through the encouraging words of he that led in the front, and of him that brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along.

The way was also here very wearisome, through dirt and slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much as one inn, or victualling house, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting, and puffing, and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the dirt, and the children, some of them, lost their shoes in the mire. While one cries out, I am down; and another, Ho! where are you? And a third, the bushes have got such a fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away from them.

Then they came at an arbor, warm, and promising much refreshing to the Pilgrims; for it was finely wrought above the head, beautified with greens, furnished with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft couch, whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, all things considered, was tempting; for the Pilgrims already began to be foiled with the badness of the way; but there was not one of them that made so much as a motion to stop there. Yea, for aught I could perceive, they continually gave so good heed to the advice of their guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, and of the nature of dangers, when they were at them, that usually, when they were nearest to them, they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one another to deny the flesh. This arbor was called The Slothful's Friend, on purpose to allure, if it might be, some of the pilgrims there to take up their rest when weary.

I saw them in my dream, that they went on in this their solitary ground, till they came to a place at which a man is apt to lose his way. Now, though when it was light, their guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that led wrong, yet in the dark he was put to a stand; but he had in his pocket a map of all ways leading to, or from the Celestial City; wherefore he struck a light, for he never goes also without his tinder-box, and takes a view of his book or map, which bids him be careful, in that place, to turn to the right-hand way. And had he not here been careful to look in his map, they had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud; for, just a little before them, and that at the end of the cleanest way too, was a pit, none knows how deep, full of nothing but mud, there made on purpose to destroy the Pilgrims in.

Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on pilgrimage, but would have one of these maps about him, that he may look when he is at a stand, which is the way he must take.

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1044

 

GREAT-HEART. But you fought a great while; I wonder you were not weary.

VALIANT. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand; and when they were joined together, as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when the blood ran through my fingers, then I fought with most courage (2 Sam. 23:10).

GREAT-HEART. Thou hast done well. Thou hast 'resisted unto blood, striving against sin.' Thou shalt abide by us, come in and go out with us, for we are thy companions.

Then they took him, and washed his wounds, and gave him of what they had to refresh him; and so they went on together. Now, as they went on, because Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him, for he loved one greatly that he found to be a man of his hands, and because there were with his company them that were feeble and weak, therefore he questioned him about many things; as, first, what countryman he was?

VALIANT. I am of Dark-land; for there I was born, and there my father and mother are still.

GREAT-HEART. Dark-land, said the guide, doth not that lie up on the same coast with the City of Destruction?

VALIANT. Yes, it doth. Now, that which caused me to come on pilgrimage was this: we had one Mr. Tell-true, who came into our parts, and he told it about what Christian had done, who went from the City of Destruction; namely, how he had forsaken his wife and children, and had betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported that he had killed a serpent that came out to resist him in his journey, and how he got through to whither he intended. It was also told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, especially when he came to the gates of the Celestial City; for there, said the man, he was received with sound of trumpet, by a company of Shining Ones. He also told how all the bells in the city did ring for joy at his reception, and what golden garments he was clothed with, with many other things that now I shall forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told the story of Christian and his travels, that my heart fell into a burning haste to be gone after him; nor could father or mother stay me! So I got from them, and have come thus far on my way.

GREAT-HEART. You came in at the gate, did you not?

VALIANT. Yes, yes; for the same man also told us that all would be nothing if we did not begin to enter this way at the gate.

GREAT-HEART. Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrimage of your husband, and what he has gotten thereby, is spread abroad far and near.

VALIANT. Why is this Christian's wife?

GREAT-HEART. Yes, that is, and these are also her four sons.

VALIANT. What! and going on pilgrimage too?

GREAT-HEART. Yes, verily; they are following after.

VALIANT. It gladdens me at heart. Good man! How joyful will he be when he shall see them that would not go with him, yet to enter after him in at the gates into the City!

GREAT-HEART. Without doubt, it will be a comfort to him; for, next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a joy to meet there his wife and children.

VALIANT. But now you are upon that, pray let me hear your opinion about it. Some ask a question, whether we shall know one another when we are there.

GREAT-HEART. Do they think they shall know themselves then, or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that bliss? And if they think they shall know and do these, why not know others, and rejoice in their welfare also?

Again, since relations are our second self, though that state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be rationally concluded that we shall be more glad to see them there than to see they are wanting?

VALIANT. Well, I understand where you are on this. Do you have any more questions to ask me about my beginning to come on pilgrimage?

GREAT-HEART, Yes. Were your father and mother willing that you should become a pilgrim?

VALIANT. OH no! They used all means imaginable to persuade me to stay at home.

GREAT-HEART, What could they say against it?

VALIANT. They said it was an idle life, and if I myself were not inclined to sloth and laziness, I would never countenance a pilgrim's condition.

GREAT-HEART. And what did they say else?

VALIANT. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way; yea, the most dangerous way in the world, said they, is that which the pilgrims go.

GREAT-HEART. Did they show that this way is so dangerous?

VALIANT. Yes, and that in many particulars.

GREAT-HEART. Name some of them.

VALIANT. They told me of the Slough of Despond, where Christian was well nigh smothered. They told me that there were archers standing ready in Beelzebub Castle, to shoot them that should knock at the wicket-gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood, and dark mountains; of the Hill Difficulty; of the lions; and also of the three giants, Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. They said, moreover, that there was a foul fiend that haunted the Valley of Humiliation, and that Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, said they, you must go over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the hobgoblins are; where the light is darkness; where the way is full of snares, pits, traps, and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, of Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the Pilgrims met with there. Further, they said I must go over the Enchanted Ground, which was dangerous. And that, after all this, I should find a river, over which I should find no bridge, and that that river did be betwixt the Celestial Country and me.

GREAT-HEART. And was this all?

VALIANT. No. They also told me that this way was full of deceivers, and of persons that lay in wait there to turn good men out of the path.

GREAT-HEART. But how did they make that out?

VALIANT. They told me that Mr. Worldly-wiseman did there lie in wait to deceive. They also said that there was Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. They also said that By-ends, Talkative, or Demas would go near to gather me up; that the Flatterer would catch me in his net; or that, with green-headed Ignorance, I would presume to go on to the gate, from whence he always was sent back to the hole that was in the side of the hill, and made to go the by-way to hell.

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1043

 

EXPERIENCE. Call her, call her; she shall assuredly have what we can help her to. So they called her, and said to her, Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldst have? Then she blushed and said, The great glass that hangs up in the dining room. So Sincere ran and fetched it, and, with a joyful consent, it was given to her. Then she bowed her head and gave thanks, and said, "By this I know that I have obtained favor in your eyes."

They also gave to the other young women such things as they desired, and to their husbands great commendations, for that they had joined with Mr. Great-heart, to the slaying of Giant Despair, and the demolishing of Doubting Castle.

About Christiana's neck, the Shepherds put a bracelet, and so they did about the necks of her four daughters; also, they put earrings in their ears, and jewels on their foreheads.

When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in peace, but gave not to them those certain cautions which before were given to Christian and his companion. The reason was that these had Greatheart to be their guide, who was one that was well acquainted with things, and so could give them their cautions more seasonably; to wit, even then when the danger was nigh the approaching.

What cautions Christian and his companion had received from the Shepherds, they had also lost, by that time had come when they had need to put them into practice. Wherefore, here was the advantage that this company had over the others.

From hence they went on singing, and they said,
Behold, how fitly are the stages set
For their relief, pilgrims have become!
And how they use receive without one let,
That makes the other life our mark and home!

What novelties they have to give us,
That we, though Pilgrims, joyful lives may live;
They do upon us, too, such things bestow,
That shows we Pilgrims are, wherever we go.

When they were gone from the Shepherds, they quickly came to the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, who dwelt in the town of Apostasy. Wherefore of him Mr. Great-heart, their guide, did now put them in mind, saying, This is the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, who carried with him the character of his rebellion at his back. And this I have to say concerning this man; he would hearken to no counsel, but once falling, persuasion could not stop him.

When he came to the place where the Cross and the Sepulcher were, he did meet with one that did bid him look there, but he gnashed with his teeth, stamped, and said he was resolved to go back to his own town. Before he came to the gate, he met with the Evangelist, who offered to lay hands on him to turn him back to the way. But this Turn-away resisted him, and having done much despite unto him, he got away over the wall, and so escaped his hand (Heb. 10:26-29).

Then they went on, and just at the place where Little-faith formerly was robbed, there stood a man with his sword drawn, and his face all bloody. Then said Mr. Great-heart, What art thou? The man made answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am a pilgrim and am going to the Celestial City. Now, as I was on my way, there were three men who beset me, and propounded unto me these three things: 1. Whether I would become one of them. 2. Or go back from whence I came. 3. Or die upon the place. To the first, I answered, I had been a true man a long season, and therefore it could not be expected that I now should cast in my lot with thieves (Prov. 1:10-14). Then they demanded what I would say to the second. So I told them that the place from whence I came, had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken it at all; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me what I said to the third. And I told them, My life cost more dear far, than that I should lightly give it away. Besides, you have nothing to do but put things to my choice; wherefore, at your peril be it, if you meddle. Then these three, to wit, Wild-head, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them.

So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above three hours. They have left upon me, as you see, some of the marks of their valor, and have also carried away with them some of mine. They are, but just now gone. I suppose they might, as the saying is, have heard your horse dash, and so they betook themselves to flight.

GREAT-HEART. But here were great odds, three against one.

VALIANT. It is true, but little or more is nothing to him that has the truth on his side. 'Though a host should encamp against me,' said one, 'my heart shall not fear; though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident' (Psa. 27:3). Besides, saith he, I have read in some records, that one man has fought an army. And how many did Samson slay with the jaw-bone of an ass?[283] (Judg. 15:15, 16).

GREAT-HEART. Then said the guide, Why did you not cry out, that some might have come in for your succor?

VALIANT. So I did, to my King, who, I knew, could hear and afford invisible help, and that was sufficient for me.

GREAT-HEART. Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Thou hast worthily behaved thyself. Let me see thy sword. So he showed it to him. When he had taken it in his hand and looked thereon a while, he said, Ha! It is a right Jerusalem blade (Isa. 2:3).

VALIANT. It is so. Let a man have one of these blades, with a hand to wield it and skill to use it, and he may venture upon an angel with it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its edges will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and soul and spirit, and all (Eph. 6:12-17; Heb. 4:12).

Works of John Bunyan: THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME. SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. THE 2nd PART. 1042

 

So they made them a feast of things easy of digestion, and that were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing; the which, when they had received, they went to their rest, each one respectively unto his proper place. When morning was come, because the mountains were high, and the day clear, and because it was the custom of the Shepherds to show to the Pilgrims, before their departure, some rarities; therefore, after they were ready, and had refreshed themselves, the Shepherds took them out into the fields, and showed them first what they had showed to Christian before. Then they had them go to some new places. The first was to Mount Marvel, where I looked and beheld a man at a distance, who tumbled the hills about with words. Then they asked the Shepherds what that should mean. So they told them that that man was a son of one Great-grace, of whom you read in the First Part of the Records of the Pilgrim's Progress. And he is set there to teach pilgrims how to believe down, or to tumble out of their way, what difficulties they shall meet with, by faith (Mark 11:23, 24). Then said Mr. Great-heart, I know him. He is a man above many.

Then they had them go to another place, called Mount Innocent, and there they saw a man clothed all in white, and two men, Prejudice and Ill-will, continually casting dirt upon him. Now, behold, the dirt, whatsoever they cast at him, would in little time fall off again, and his garments would look as clear as if no dirt had been cast thereat.

Then said the Pilgrims, What means this? The Shepherds answered, This man is named Godly-man, and this garment is to show the innocency of his life. Now, those who throw dirt at him are such as hate his well-doing; but, as you see, the dirt will not stick upon his clothes, so it shall be with him that liveth truly innocently in the world. Whoever they be that would make such men dirty, they labor all in vain; for God, by that a little time is spent, will cause that their innocence shall break forth as the light, and their righteousness as the noon-day.

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, where they showed them a man that had a bundle of cloth lying before him, out of which he cut coats and garments for the poor that stood about him; yet his bundle or roll of cloth was nevertheless. Then said they, What should this be? This is, said the Shepherds, to show you, that he that has a heart to give of his labor to the poor, shall never want wherewithal. He that watereth shall be watered himself. And the cake that the widow gave to the Prophet did not cause that she had ever the less in her barrel.

They also had them to a place where they saw one Fool, and one Want-wit, washing of an Ethiopian, with intention to make him white; but the more they washed him, the blacker he was. They then asked the Shepherds what that should mean. So they told them, saying, Thus shall it be with the vile person. All means used to get such a one a good name shall, in conclusion, tend but to make him more abominable. Thus it was with the Pharisees, and so shall it be with all hypocrites.

Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Christiana, her mother, Mother, I would, if it might be, see the hole in the hill, or that commonly called the by-way to hell. So her mother broke her mind to the Shepherds. Then they went to the door. It was on the side of a hill, and they opened it, and bade Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, and heard one saying, Cursed be my father, for holding of my feet back from the way of peace and life; and another said, O that I had been torn in pieces, before I had, to save my life, lost my soul! And another said, If I were to live again, how would I deny myself, rather than come to this place! Then there was as if the very earth had groaned and quaked under the feet of this young woman for fear. So she looked white, and came trembling away, saying, Blessed be he and she that are delivered from this place. Now, when the Shepherds had shown them all these things, then they took them back to the palace and entertained them with what the house would afford. But Mercy, being a young and breeding woman, longed for something that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed, for she looked as if she was not well. Then said Mercy, There is a looking-glass hanging up in the dining-room, off which I cannot take my mind: if, therefore, I have it not, I think I shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will mention thy wants to the Shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But she said, I am ashamed that these men should know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, said she, it is no shame but a virtue, to long for such a thing as that. So Mercy said, Then, mother, if you please, ask the Shepherds if they are willing to sell it.

Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a man, one way, with his own features exactly (James 1:23); and, turn it but another way, and it would show one the very face and similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims Himself (1 Cor. 13:12). Yea, I have talked with them that can tell, and they have said, that they have seen the very crown of thorns upon His head, by looking in that glass; they have therein also seen the holes in His hands, in His feet, and His side (2 Cor. 3:18). Yea, such an excellency is there in that glass, that it will show Him, to one where they have a mind to see Him; whether living or dead; whether in earth or Heaven; whether in a state of humiliation, or in His exaltation; whether coming to suffer, or coming to reign.

Christiana, therefore, went to the Shepherds apart—now the names of the Shepherds are Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere—and said unto them, There is one of my daughters, a breeding woman, that I think doth long for something that she hath seen in this house; and she thinks she shall miscarry, if she shall by you be denied.