University of Virginia Library PR3330.A2 M4 wueSieee st 5 - : | “aig i a i 4 bd 24 ] b J vi 4 i a 4 ee Seervern ss Otters ii a @ etryEES Serae ee] eh seer THE PILGRIM'S. PROGRES from this world to that which is to’*come 3 Delivered under the similitude of a dream In two parts With a memoir of the life and writings of JOHN BUNYAN teens Se rT Tt aaa er te ee aaa ot oth PHILADELPHIA oie aetna a) aati al aaa eh tt Presbyterian Board of PublicationSatya at - LtADVERTISEMENT TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. Bunyan has been picturesquely described as the ‘Prince of Dreamers.” He merits a much higher eu- logy. His imperishable work, which is here presented In a new and beautiful garb, exhibits the chastened imagination of the poet; the discriminating knowledge of the casuist; the acuteness of the theologian; and the sweet and gentle spirit of the Christian instructer. He enchains his readers by a species of fascination which it is difficult to analyze, and which could result only from a rare combination of talent. The deeply interested attention of the child and the philosopher, of the expe- rienced Christian and the admirer of fiction, is alike absorbed in his skilfully drawn narrative of the Pil- grim’s progress from . the, city at . Destruction to his celestial home: ‘The | reatler: is, od: ohee. ‘charmed and instructed; his, Imagination. 1s gratified. and his heart impressed, by the: peru’ sil ‘of this’és ifeapydinary eben tion. Founded as it ts in an intimate acquaintance with the workings of the human heart under the irn- pulse of natural principles and the superadded influ- ence of gracious affections, it found its place in the hearts of men at its first appearance, and its popularity has steadily increased in the lapse of time. No unin- A 1 aon eee eae ite » aba admis aakcatcaRaie gakial ct aceharnh aber‘2 ADVERTISEMENT. erhaps ever been dernanded with spired volume has p 1 classes of readers, or has been ereater eagerness by al so astonishingly multiplied through the press. No explanation is necessary in presenting a new edition, in a style in some degree commensurate with its intrinsic excellence. ‘The whole texture of the volume is strictly American in its fabric, and when its typo- eraphical beauty and the delicacy and finish of its engravings are considered, it will be readily acknow- ledged that few works of the American or even Huro- pean press have surpassed it in point of execution. In all respects it is highly creditable to the state of the arts in a country which may still be regarded as young in efforts of this kind. 'The encouragemeni to engage in a work so splendid and costly has been derived from two individuals, at once the admirers of Bunyan, the friends of religion, and the supporters of its institutions. —By their liberality, the whole expense of stereotyp- ing the volume, and procuring its embellishments, has been sustained; so that the Presbyterian Board of Publication are enabled to furnish the volume at a price greatly beneath that of any similar work. As it is, it is commended to public attention, and to that Divine blessing whith aloné*can snidke it an invalu- amiepessceson “ott tft tN st e © ee ° PS Sy abs Creat ait WYVIGNETTE FRONTISPIECE. 0! FOR ONE BRIGHT THOUGH MOMENTARY GLANCE! SUCH’AS OF OLD IN PATMOS ISLE WAS GIVEN TO HIM WHO SAW THE CLOUDS ASUNDER RIVEN: AND, PASSING ALL THE SPLENDOUR OF ROMANCE, IN GLORY, AND IN “POMP OF CIRCUMSTANCE :” THE NEW JERUSALEM COME DOWN FROM HEAVEN :— OR THE LEAST MEASURE OF THAT MYSTIC LEAVEN WHICH BLESSED OLD BUNYAN’S VISIONARY TRANCE: BUT VAIN THE PAINTER’S OR THE POET’S SKILL, THAT HEAVENLY CITY’S GLORY TO DECLARE :— ALL SUCH CAN FURNISH IS A VISION FAIR AND GORGEOUS: HAVING, AS ITS CENTRE STILL, HIS CROSS WHO DIED ON CALVARY’S HOLY HILL; MAN’S ONLY TITLE TO ADMITTANCE THERE, Psi Sitter eRR ESET UP eT org oeHead of le Vignette Initial Letter for | ee Life” ‘Initial Letter for Part I. Christian and Evangelist Christian got up to the Gate Christian’s Burden falls off his Back The Palace called Beautiful Christian passing the Cave of Pope and Pagan Vanity Fair Demas invites the alesis 4 the Hil ast EMBELLISHMENTS. to face title. s @ ® 9 e e e ° @ e @ eS ® e ® s e e e e Christian and Hopeful asleep in the grounds of Giant Dexpais Christian and Hopeful escaping from Doubting Castle The Delectable Mountains The Pilgrims on Mount Clear The Pilgrims Initial Letter for Part IL ‘ Christiana and her Children at the Wicket- spate Mercy :—‘O Sir, said she, I am faint’ The Shepherd Boy in the Valley of Humiliation Great-heart kills Giant Maul The River of the Water of Life Destruction of Doubting Castle Valhiant-for-Truth beset with Thieves The Land of Beulah PAGE m Pm oo OD OD OD rr aOR Ome Oa N 507 510 O22MEMOIR OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN BUNYAN. He most popular religious book in English literature,—in which the most popular books are of a religious ehar- acter,—is the production of an un- educated peasant, who worked his way out of the lowest vice and ignorance, not by the force of his genius, so much as by that of an impulse which quickened his genius into life, and transformed him at once. intellectually and morally. The finest specimen of well- sustained allegory in any language, is the composition of this self-taught rustic, who little aimed at literary celebrity in the homely parable which he wrote to solace his prison hours, for the religious instruction of the common people,6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS The most admirable exposition of the elements of’ Chris- tian theology,—one which is so little of a controversial or sectarian character, that it may confessedly be read without offence by sober-minded Protestants of all per- suasions, and yet so comprehensive, as to form the best popular body of divinity,—is the composition of an obscure itinerant preacher, whose apostolic labours consigned him, in the days of the Stuarts, to a twelve years’ imprison- ment in Bedford gaol, for no other crime than his noncon- formity. What is still more remarkable, this work, the Odyssey of the English people,—the favourite with young and old; which the poet admires for its imaginative beauty, and in which the artist finds the most delightful subjects for the pencil; to the extraordinary merit of which, testimony has been borne by critics who have had no sympathy with either the design and religious spirit of the work, or the theological opinions interwoven with it, and who rank the realities shadowed in the allegory with the visionary creations of romance ;—this work—we need not name it— the Pilgrim’s Progress, is, in fact, a powerful address to the conscience; having no other object than to delineate the successive stages of the spiritual life, and to portray the mental conflicts of experimental piety, which, to those who have no corresponding experience, must appear the hallucination of fanaticism. Strange that a work should have power so to please the imagination of an indevout man, which can be understood only by the heart in which religion has its seat;—that those who have not the key to the cipher, should still admire the character in which the spiritual meaning is veiled, and which experience alone can perfectly interpret. But such is the fact. This extraordinary work, it has been beautifully remarked by an American critic, “is like a painting meant to be exhibited by fire-light : the common reader sees it by day. To the Christian (the actual pilgrim) 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.” a Pos Ops tar tesOF JOHN BUNYAN. 7 Religion never offends, so long as she addresses only the imagination; a fact of which, for opposite purposes, the Author of all truth and the apostles of error have alike availed themselves; the former to gain access by this avenue to the understanding and the conscience, the latter to enlist the imagination in the support of superstition. He who spake as never man spake, taught the people in parables, and by this means obtained a hearing from those who could not bear his hard sayings; and still these divine allegories—the matchless parable of the Prodigal Son, for instance—have charms for readers who never take home to their own bosoms their, spiritual import. Rousseau has eloquently eulogized the sublime poetry of the Scriptures. The Pilgrim’s Progress is replete with the spirit of poetry, caught from no earthly muse. Bunyan’s genius Was nourished purely from the fountain-head of inspiration. He thought in the very dialect of Scripture; and the imagery of the Bible was ever present to his thoughts, as, if we may say so, the native scenery of his spiritual birth. He was made by the Bible; educated by the study of it; it was his “book of all learning;’? and the simplicity of purpose and the intense interest with which he searched its contents, as the treasury of heavenly wisdom, rendered him, like Apollos, “eloquent and mighty in the Scrip- tures,”? while his mind became more and more imbued with their “spirit and life.” It has been said with some truth, that the genius of his work is Hebrew. “The poetry of the Bible’? remarks the critic to whom we have already referred, “was not less the source of Bunyan’s poetical power, than the study of the whole Scriptures was_ the source of his simplicity and purity of style. 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 Pil- srim’s Progress. To the habit of mind thus induced, and the workings of an imagination thus disciplined, may be ieee seme et Ltrs OT nig ve ner ee rae ee er ee8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS traced the simplicity of all his imagery, and the power of his personifications. ...- He wrote from the impulse of his sanctified and illuminated by a heavenly influence : genius, rtless as the movements of a and its movements were as a little child left to play upon the green by itself.”’* It is in this inimitable simplicity and artlessness, that the work comes nearer to the character of the sacred writings than, perhaps, any uninspired composition. And, like the Scriptures, Bunyan’s parable, while it commands the admiration of cultivated minds by those qualities which delight the imagination, has conveyed in- struction arfd consolation to thousands incapable of appre- ciating its genius, and unconscious of the spell which it exerted over their minds. To the child, it is a gallery of pictures; to the man of taste, an exquisite drama; to the plain Christian of duller fancy, a chart and road-book of his course through this world. With regard to many whom the Pilgrim’s Progress captivates, it might be said of its author as of the Hebrew prophet: “Lo! thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not.” On the other hand, thousands who have had no ear for the music, have delighted in the words of the song, and have followed the instruction it conveyed: it would not otherwise be adapted to the mass of common minds among the lower classes for whom it was designed, and upon whom it has, for two hundred years, exerted a beneficial effect which it is im- possible to bring within any estimate. But the rich vein of native good sense and sober pleasantry which runs through the work, recommends it to all orders of readers; and the Pilgrim’s Progress was the favourite of the people, before the fame of its author had made its way up to those whc are called the public. In the “ well-told tale,” “Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail. Its humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style, May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile.— * North American Review, No. LXXIX. p, 462.OF JOHN BUNYAN. 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.” 50 Cowper sang fifty years ago; and the fact that there is no longer any danger of moving a sneer by naming the author of the Pilgrim’s Progress, affords reason to hope that we have grown, in this country, somewhat wiser. In addition to these various sources of attraction, the work possesses, in a considerable degree, the interest of autobiography: for it is impossible not to feel that, in the progress of his pilgrim, the author is laying open to us his own mental history. As he tells us in his homely rhymes, “Tt came from my own heait, so to my head, And thence into my fingers trickled.” This characteristic feature of the parable broadly and hap- pily distinguishes it from the heavy ingenuities of didactic or sentimental allegorists, such as the brood of imitators whom his success raised up, or those who had preceded him in the same species of composition. The charge of being a plagiarist, or of having been assisted in the compo- sition, Bunyan himself indignantly repels : “ Manner and matter too was all mine own.” « But,” remarks Dr. Southey, “original as Bunyan believed his own work to be, and as, in the main, undoubtedly it is, the same allegory had often been treated before him.”* * Mr. Montgomery, in his very able Introductory Essay to the Pilgrim’s Progress, refers to a poem, entitled “The Pilgrim,” in Witney’s “ Emblems,” (1585,) the print affixed to which represents a pilgrim leaving the world, (a geographical globe,) and travelling towards the symbol of the Divine Name. This emblem, with the following stanza, might, it is imagined, have suggested to Bunyan the first idea of his story; though it does not, in fact, present any thing beyond the familiar scripture simile :— “ © happier they that, pondering this arighte, Before that here their pilgrimage bee past, Resigne this world ; and marche with all their mighte Within that pathe that leads where ioys shall last. And whilst they maye, there treasure vp their store, Where, without rust, it lastes for evermore.” Dr. Southey mentions a once popular French poem, composed a. pv: 1310, entitled, “ Le Pelerin de la Vie Humaine,” as having suggested the Voyage of eer rie se ee Se ere Cre eee ot yc rT tt. naa baa10 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS How could it fail to have been employed by religious writers, when the outline of the allegory is supplied by the Holy Scriptures? In the eleventh chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews, the Christian life is represented as a pil- srimage to a better, a heavenly country ; and, in the following chapter, we have the heavenly city magnificently described. Surely we need look no further for the origin of Bunyan’s allegory, as regards the main idea of the parable. But the felicity with which he has dramatized the progress of the Christian pilgrim, is peculiar to him- self; and Dr. Southey sums up his examination of the works to which it has been thought to bear the strongest appearance of resemblance, with the candid and decisive conclusion, that “if ever there was a work which carried with it the stamp of originality in all its parts, it is that of John Bunyan.” Did its author’s claim to originality rest upon this work alone, his fame would even then be safe; but, in his Holy War, Bunyan has displayed even superior power of inven- tion; and if his “Life and Death of Mr. Badman” has not been as generally read, it is, in the opinion of Dr. Southey, whom we cite as an impartial judge, “because the subject is less agreeable, not that it has been treated with inferior ability.” the Wandering Knight, by Jean de Cartheray, a French Carmelite, of which a translation was printed in England in the reign of Elizabeth: but there is only a vague general resemblance in the subject, and some occasional simi- larity in the details. The Pilgrimage of Dovekin and Willekin to their Beloved in Jerusalem, originally published in Dutch, at Antwerp, in 1627, has also been absurdly supposed to have been the original of the Pilgrim’s Progress. Dr. Southey has triumphantly exposed the groundless nature of this supposition: the works have nothing in cammon. Dean Patrick’s “Parable of the Pilgrim,” 1663, comes nearer to Bunyan’s work in some points of general resemblance; but it is a treatise rather than an allegory, and the author, disclaiming all pretension to fancy or invention, states, that he took the idea from a discourse so entitled in Baker’s “ Sancta Sophia.” Bernard’s “Isle of Man, or the Legal Proceedings in Man-shire against Sin,” a popular book in Bunyan’s time, is more likely to have been seen by him, and to have had some effect upon his style; but it wants the charm of story, and has nothing of the romantic interest of Bunyan’s parable.OF JOHN BUNYAN. 11] “Little less popular” than the Pilgrim’s Progress, and, whether viewed as a theological work or as an allegory, of at least equal merit, the Holy War fails to excite the same romantic kind of interest, chiefly because we sympathize less strongly with the personifications of the drama; con- scious that, instead of being led through the vivid scenery of a dream, which is the shadow of waking realities, we are only looking at the well-constructed machinery of a fable. We feel to be conversing with abstractions, and never forget the allegory. One principal reason why the Pil- erim’s Progress is the most delightful thing of the kind in the world, Mr. Montgomery observes, is “that though the whole is written under the similitude of a dream, there is very little of pure allegory in it; and few abstract qualities or passions are personified.....If ever allegorical cha- racters excite either sympathy or affection, it is when we forget that they are allegorical; consequently, when the allegory is suspended with respect to them.” In reading the Pilgrim’s Progress, we so constantly identify the author with his hero, as to find it difficult to separate them in our feelings; and the allegorical meaning seems super- induced upon the story, which flows on with so much of the semblance of real life. The Pilgrim not only seems a real character, but gives reality to the emblematic phan- toms with which he is associated; and the mind of the reader undergoes a sort of deception similar to that which is produced upon the waking eye bya peculiar affection of the brain, the subject of which sees spectral forms blending with living figures, and is unable to discriminate between the substantial and the unreal. It may be suspected, indeed, that in the subordinate per- sonages of the allegory, Bunyan had real characters* so far in # «We may be sure,” remarks Dr. Southey, “ that Mr. Valiant-for-the- Truth, Old Honest, of the town of Stupidity, Mr. Despondency, and his daughter Much-Afraid, and their companions, were well known in ‘ Bishop Bunyan’s diocese ;? and if no real characters were designed by him in those who are less favourably introduced as turning back on their journey, striking into by-paths, or slumbering by the way, likenesses would be discovered where none were intended.” abet, Sonat tearthtese* PT | ee eri12 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS view, that the ideal was, as it were, modeled upon a portrait. In all the variety of characters which he brings before us, there is an individuality stamped upon them, by which they may be identified. But the biographical unity is as truly preserved by the prominence given to the principal actor, as in the classical epic. Christian is the Ulysses of the story. And this unity of interest results .from the author’s simplicity of purpose, which led him steadily to keep in view his main design. Hence, the allegory, if defective or inconsistent in parts, (for which the author has provided a sufficient apology in styling it a dream, for in dreams we are not conscious of such discrepancies,) is perfectly adapted, as Mr. Montgomery remarks, to the purpose for which it was composed. This was, “to show the particular experience of one Christian traveller, whose peculiar temptations and conflicts are general examples of what converted sinners must expect to encounter, though not all inthe same degree, nor indeed all the same in kind. Christian, therefore, may be considered as a whole-length portrait of the author himself; while the secondary cha- racters, more or less curtailed, show the variety which is found in religious societies.”....“The Pilgrim’s Progress is the history of one man’s experience in /fudl, and the expe- rience of many others in part; wherefore, though the plan may be defective with regard to the multitude, all of whom are absolutely subordinate to the hero, Christian, with regard to him it is perfect, consistent, and satisfactory throughout. This was all that the author primarily pro- posed; and whatever went beyond this, fell in his way, rather than belonged to his actual design. The unity of the plot, in the personal adventures of Christian, is not broken, but embellished and enriched by the incidental or episodical characters with which he becomes acquainted by the way.” Mr. Montgomery has pointed out a remarkable instance of the consummate yet artless skill which Bunyan has in this respect displayed, in the introduction of a companion to Christian, by which the interest of the narrative is rein-OF JOHN BUNYAN. 13 forced without being divided. “The individual experience of one man,’ remarks this accomplished critic, “would not have been sufficient to exemplify all the most useful lessons of the Gospel, unless the trials of many persons, of different age, sex, and disposition, were interwoven. Christian could not both have suffered martyrdom in Vanity Fair, and travelled the remainder of his jourmey to the Celestial City; yet, in the days of John Bunyan, (who had himself been most cruelly persecuted for righteousness’ sake,) it was necessary to set the precedent of a confessor who was ready, not to be bound only, but to die for the Lord Jesus. This has been done in the case of Faithful, who seals his testimony with his blood, while Christian, in a manner not explained, (which, however, is no flaw in the plot, having been advisedly adopted,) escapes ‘for this time,’ and, being joined by Hopeful, a convert raised up by the death of Faithful, proceeds on his way.” The Second Part of the Pilgrim’s Progress, if it does not excite so intense an interest, is not less delightful than the first. It is even richer in incident; and the author has shown the fertility of his invention, in the novelty which he has thrown into the journey over the same ground, so that nothing is repeated, but what is pleasing in the repe- tition, from the combined effect of reminiscence and con- trast. In the pilgrimage of Christian and* his successive companions, it appears to have been his design, Mr. Mont- gomery remarks, to portray the personal and solitary expe- rience of the individual believer, or only the bosom fellow- ship between two Christian friends. “In the journey of Christiana and her family, gradually increasing to a coodly troop, he seems to have had more in view to illustrate the communion of saints and the advantages of church-mem- bership. It is delightful to travel in such company, and hear them not only tell their several histories, but discourse of the adventures of others who have gone before; so that to the last stage, in the Enchanted Ground, when they find Standfast on his knees, there is a perpetual change of captivating anecdote and biography. Among the characters14 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS and adorn the Second Part of which so eminently enliven y; and the Pilgrim’s Progress, Mercy is the most lovel though of the utmost simplicity, it would be difficult, among the most finished portraits of womanly excellence by our first poets, to parallel this in delicacy and truth of drawing and colouring.” In the attempt to imbody in an imaginary portrait, the personification of feminine virtue, some of the greatest of our: poets have failed; and when we consider the circumstances of Bunyan’s early history, his success in this instance must be viewed as a remarkable proof of the tendency of religion to purify and. refine the taste. But here again the Bible was both his model and the source of his inspiration; and Mercy might almost pass for a scriptural character. It has been remarked, that the allegory is not so perfect in the Second Part, the pil- etimage of Christiana and her family appearing to occupy as many years as that of her husband did weeks; for those who are children at their setting out, are grown up and married by the time they reach the half-way house of Gaius. But these incongruities, which are regarded as a pardonable license in the dramatist, cannot be fairly imputed to want of skill in our “ingenious dreamer.”’ Bunyan’s purpose was to convey instruction; and to this, his main end, he would have sacrificed all the unities. But, upon the whole, the allegory is very skilfully main- tained. It may be questioned whether Bunyan himself would have succeeded in a Third Part. But let us now turn from the author’s parable to the prototype in the history of his own experience, of which he has left a narrative that forms one of the most interesting pieces of religious autobiography in any language. In common with all productions of the kind, where the sin- cerity of the writer is above suspicion, it requires to be taken as a transcript of the writer’s feelings and impres- sions, rather than as a literal and accurate history. There is always a generous exaggeration in the disclosures of true penitence, for which allowance must be made; and in the description of the interior phenomena of a mental conflict,OF JOHN BUNYAN. 15 such as Bunyan passed through, the calmest judgment must be sometimes at a loss to discriminate between the healthful and the morbid action, when it is the patient who describes the case. Such works furnish the most valuable materials for biography; but, as will appear in the sequel, it requires no ordinary discrimination, candour, and knowledge of the heart, to make the requisite allowances for the circumstances of the most conscientious narrator of his own history. Joun Bunyan was born in the village of Elstow, near Bedford, in the year 1628. His descent, to use his own words, was “of a low and inconsiderable generation,” his “father’s house being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families in the land.’? The craft to which he was born and bred, like his father before him, was that of a brazier or tinker; and he is said to have worked as a journeyman at Bedford. Mean and _ incon- siderable as were the circumstances of his parents, they were able to put their son to school; where he learned both to read and write “according to the rate of other poor men’s children;’? but he confesses that he soon lost, almost utterly, what little he had acquired. Thrown among vile companions, he was early initiated into profaneness, lying, and all sorts of boyish vice and ungodliness; and the only indication of his having a capacity above the village rabble,” vas afforded by his being a ringleader of all the youth that kept him company, in their wickedness. Yet, even at nine or ten years old, in the midst of his many sports and childish vanities, and surrounded by his vain companions, he was often seized with deep compunction; and in his sleep, fearful visions, corresponding to his waking terrors, would alarm his conscience. “I was often,’? he says, “much cast down and afflicted therewith, yet could I not let go my sins: yea, I was also then so overcome with despair of life and heaven, that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil, sup- posing they were only tormentors; that, if it must needs be that I went thither, I might be rather a tormentor, than ne Ree cers se TT eet ee ace.16 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS After a time, these terrible dreams be tormented myself.” punishment left him, and his apprehensions of infernal wore off. He became “void of all good consideration ;” «heaven and hell were both out of mind :”? and “had not a miracle of precious grace prevented,’ he says, “ he had not only perished by the stroke of eternal justice, but had also laid himself open even to the stroke of those laws which bring some to disgrace and open shame before the world.’’ It may be inferred, however, from this ingenuous confes- sion, that he. was nevertheless restrained from the com- mission of any delinquency cognizable by the magistrate. He was wild, boisterous, reckless, disorderly ; passionately fond of village-sports, such as bell-ringing, dancing, ‘the game of cat,’ and similar amusements; a Sabbath-breaker, a terrible swearer, and thoroughly ungodly. But this appears to have been the extent of his youthful wicked- ness. He was no drunkard, nor was he, in the grossest acceptation, licentious. We have his own solemn decla- ration, in reply to his calumniators, that “no woman in heaven, or earth, or hell,’ could witness against him. “Not,” he adds, “that I have been thus kept because of any goodness in me, more than other, but God has been merciful to me, and has kept me.”’ It is evident that his conscience, though laid asleep, was never hardened; for, “while he could take pleasure in the vileness of his com- panions, yet, if at any time he saw wicked things com- mitted by those “who professed goodness,” it would make his spirit tremble. Once, when in the height of his vanity, hearing a person swear who was reputed a religious man, «it struck upon his spirit,’ he says, “so as to make his heart ache.”’ Bunyan was only seventeen when he entered into the Parliament’s army; and in 1645, he was drawn out, with others, to go to the siege of Leicester; but when he was just ready to set off, one of the company expressed a desire to go in his stead, and, Bunyan having consented, the volunteer took his place, went to the siege, and was shot as he stood sentinel. This remarkable interposition of DivineOF JOHN BUNYAN. Pt Providence, as well as some other narrow escapes from death, Bunyan records with devout gratitude; but, at the time, they appear to have made a slight or transient impression upon his conscience. He could not have been long a soldier; yet it is probable that we are indebted to his having served in the civil wars, for the skilful manage- ment of his military allegory. | Not long after the occurrence above mentioned, and when, consequently, he must have been very young, (Dr. Southey thinks, before he was nineteen,) Bunyan married ; and “my mercy was,’ he says, “to light upon a wife whose father was counted godly.”” They were both so poor as not to have so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon between them; but she brought him, for her portion, two books which her father had bequeathed to her when he died; one entitled, “The Plain Man’s Pathway to Heaven;” the other, “The Practice of Piety.”* In these two books, Bunyan would sometimes read with his wife; and though they did not reach his heart so as to waken him to a sense of his real condition, yet they produced some desires and endeavours after reformation. These were fostered, too, by the frequent references made by his wife to the strict and holy life of her father. Bunyan now “fell in very eagerly with the religion of the times; went to church twice on the Sunday, and said and sung with the fore- most ;” and was withal, according to his own account, “so overrun with the spirit of superstition,” that he adored with great devotion all things belonging to the church,— “the high-place, priest, clerk, vestment,’? and every thing relating to the service. The priest and clerk he counted most happy, and without doubt blessed, as the servants of God; and for the love he bore to the clergy, supposing them the ministers of heaven, he could have lain down at their feet, and have been trampled upon by them; so * The latter work, by Bayly, Bishop of Bangor, was at one time so popular as to pass through more than fifty editions in the course of a hundred years, and has been translated not only into Welsh, the author's native tongue, but into Polish and Hungarian. C ee) Ce eee Ree ete hee nee Caretta18 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS strongly, at this time, did their name, their garb, and their function “intoxicate and bewitch’?? him. This 1s precisely the feeling of abject reverence with which the priest of the Romish church is regarded by the common people in Popish countries ; and if, at this period of his le, when his imagination was so much stronger than his judgment, and his mind had not emerged from the grossest ignorance, Bunyan had been thrown in the way of an artful emissary of that church, it is probable that be would have been inextricably entangled in the toils of superstition. His moral and intellectual progress would have terminated at the Giant’s Cave. All this while, he says, he was not sensible of the danger and evil of sin, nor ever thought of the Saviour. The “Plain Man’s Pathway’ > had not directed him to. the Cross. “Thus man,” he remarks, “ while blind, doth wander, but wearieth himself with vanity, for he knoweth not the way to the city of Goc 2 Vin feet, ot this stage, Bunyan had not even thrown off the habit of using profane language; for, some time afterwards, he met with a humiliating reproof from a woman who was herself of bad character, but who protested that Bunyan’s awful profaneness made her tremble, and that “he was able to spoil all the youth in the town who but came into his company.” “At this reproof,’ he says, “I was silenced and put to secret shame, and that too, as I thought, before the God of heaven; wherefore, while I stood there, and hanging down my head, 1 wished with all my heart that I might be a little child again, that my father might learn me to speak without this wicked way of swearing; for, thought I, I am so accustomed to it, that it is in vain for me to think of a reformation; for I thought that could never be. But how it came to pass, I know not; I did from this time forward so leave my swearing, that it was a sreat wonder to myself to observe it; and whereas, before, I knew not how to speak unless I put an oath before and another behind, to make my words have authority; now | could, without it, speak better, and with more pleasantness, than ever I could before.”This cordial wish, so touchingly expressed, would seem to have been the first genuine emotion of penitence in unyan’s heart, such as all the terrific alarms of an awak- ened conscience had hitherto failed to produce. At this critical moment of incipient conversion, he “fell into com- pany with one poor man that made profession of religion,” who, as he then thought, «did talk pleasantly of the Scrip- tures and of the matter of religion; wherefore,” he says, “falling into some love and liking to what he said, I betook me to my Bible, and began to take great pleasure in reading, but especially with the historical part thereof; for, as for Paul’s Epistles, and such like scriptures, I could not away with them, being as yet ignorant either of the corruptions of my nature, or of the want and worth of Jesus Christ to save us. Wherefore, 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, and as I thought, did keep them pretty well sometimes, , . . . 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 conversion was as great as for Tom of Bedlam to become a sober man. Now, there- fore, they began to praise, to commend, and to speak well of me, both to my face and behind my back.’ Flattered by these commendations, and proud of his imagined god- liness, he concluded that the Almighty “could not choose but be now pleased with him. Yea,’’ he says, “to relate it in mine own way, I thought no man in England could please God better than [.”’ He was wakened from this self-righteous delusion by accidentally overhearing the discourse of three or four poor women, who were sitting at a door in the sun, in one of the streets of Bedford, “talking about the things of God.” Bunyan’s attention was arrested by language which was altogether new to him, and which he heard, but under- stood not. What especially struck him was, that they conversed about the matters of religion “as if joy did OF JOHN BUNYAN. 19- reece te x meets cinta: ahaa na 720 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS «as if they had found a new make them speak,” and «JI felt my own heart Sordi. 2’. At this,” “he says, a and mistrust my condition to be naught. When he left them to go about his employment, their talk and discourse went with him, while his heart tarried behind; for, he says, «J was greatly affected with their words, both because by them I was convinced that I wanted the true tokens of a truly godly man, and also because by them I was convinced of the happy and blessed condition of him that was such a one.” These poor women were members of a small Baptist congregation at Bedford, who had for their pastor a man whose religious history is not less remarkable than that of Bunyan himself. Formerly a major in the king’s army, and having narrowly escaped execution as a rebei, John Gifford had come a stranger to Bedford, where he practised physic; leading, at the same time, the genuine life of a cavalier. Profligate and reckless, a drunkard, a gambler, and abominably profane, he entertained the most savage hatred of all Puritans. Yet was this man, when in a state of desperation occasioned by losses from gambling, «startled into a sense of his real condition” by meeting with one of the works of Robert Bolton; the perusal of which, after a mental conflict of some weeks, wrought a cure of his diseased mind and heart; and, joining himself to the company of those whom he had formerly most despised, he became at length their chosen pastor. From the members of this little flock, Bunyan received the first elements of evangelical instruction; and the more he went among these poor people, to whom he had been thus casually introduced, the more he questioned his own con- dition, and the more his heart was softened “under the conviction of what, by scripture, they asserted.’ His mind now became eamestly fixed upon eternity, and almost absorbed with things relating to the kingdom of heaven: but still his knowledge was that of infancy. Of this he was now humbly conscious, and a wise distrust of himself About this time he met with begin to shake, drove him to his knees,Oc aN BUNYAN. 21 some publications of the Ranters; a sect whose tenets would appear, from Baxter’s account, to have been a com- pound of the Quaker mysticism and the grossest practical Antinomianism. The works alluded to. were « highly in esteem’’ among a certain class; and they were, probably, at once specious and mystical, for Bunyan was not able to understand them sufficiently to form any judgment about them. He therefore betook himself to hearty prayer in this manner: “Q Lord, I am a fool, and not able to know the truth from error: Lord, leave me not to my own blindness, either to approve of, or condemn this doctrine: if it be of God, let me not despise it; if it be of the devil, let me not embrace it. Lord, I lay my soul in this matter only at thy foot; let me not be deceived, I humbly beseech thee.’ Such a prayer as this was never denied. “Blessed be God,” continues Bunyan, “who put it into my heart to cry to him to be kept and directed, still distrusting my own wisdom; for I have since seen even the effects of that prayer, in his preserving me not only from Ranting errors, but from those also that have sprung up since. The Bible was precious to me in those days. And now, methought, I began to look into the Bible with new, eyes, and read as I never did before; and especially the Epistles of the Apostles were sweet and pleasant to me; and indeed then I was never out of the Bible, either by reading or meditation; still crying out to God, that I might know the truth and way to heaven and glory.” Bunyan’s preservation from these seducing and. fatal errors was the more remarkable, as his most intimate reli- gious companion, the poor man whose “pleasant talk’? of the Scriptures first led him to take to reading the Bible ? in fact, from the account given of him, he must have become both atheist and libertine. Shocked at his abominable prin- ciples, Bunyan at once broke off all intercourse with him. But he was also thrown into the company of several others who, though formerly strict in religion, were also drawn away by these Ranters, and who endeavoured to instil their about this time turned “a most devilish Ranter :’ RR el ee en ee iT) i are lala22 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS furnished mind of our fanatical tenets into the as yet ill- he was, for though he escaped the snare, a long time, greatly harassed with the anxious doubts, the scriptural problems, and the practical difficulties which beset the path of religious inquiry along which he was groping his solitary way. «Tossed betwixt the devil and i his own ignorance,” he was sometimes so perplexed that he could not tell what to do. He had no friend to advise | with, no spiritual guide to set him right. While in this state of mind, the happiness of the poor people at Bedford a kind of vision—a waking dream ; ill often for poor novice. Al was presented to him in or, perhaps, during actual slumber, such as wi : a few moments unconsciously suspend the voluntary action of an exhausted mind. Whether dream or reverie, it left | a powerful impression ; and in it, Dr. Southey thinks, «the germ of the Pilgrim’s Progress may plainly be per- ceived.”? May we not rather say, the germinating of that imagination which was afterwards to ripen into genius? «I saw,” says Bunyan, “as if they were on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds. Methought also, betwixt me and them I saw a wall that did compass about this mountain. Now, through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass, concluding that, if I could, I would even go into the very midst of them, and there also comfort myself with the heat of their sun. About this wall, I bethought myself to go again and | again, still prying as I went, to see if I could find some way or passage by which I might enter therein; but none could I find for some time. At the last I saw, as it were, a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the wall, through which I attempted to pass. Now, the passage being very strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well nigh quite beat out by striving to get in. At last, with great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after that, by a sideling striv- ing, my shoulders and my whole body. Then I wasOF JOHN BUNYAN. 20 exceeding glad, went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of their sun. Now this mountain and wall, &c. were thus made out of me. The mountain signified the church of the living God; the sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of his mer- ciful face on them that were therein; the wall, 1 thought, was the Word, that did make separation between the Chris- tian and the world; and the gap which was in the wall I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father. .... But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not but with great difficulty enter in thereat; it showed me that none could enter into life, but those that were in downright earnest, and unless also they left that wicked world behind them; for here was only room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin.’’ This resemblance “abode many days” upon his spirit, exciting a “vehement desire to be one of that number who did sit in the sunshine.’? Yet more than a year appears to have elapsed before he could take courage to disclose the state of his feelings to those poor people at Bedford. When he did, they introduced him to their pastor, who invited Bunyan to his house, and had some conversation with him, but evidently had not penetration enough to discover the character of the extraordinary man thus brought under his notice. In the meanwhile, and for a long time after this interview, Bunyan’s mind, being left to prey upon itself, was overclouded with the deepest spiritual distress. The workings of his thoughts during this fiery ordeal, of which he has given so vivid a description, were, no doubt, of that morbid character which any deep-seated anxiety or intense emotion is apt to assume, when the mind begins to act upon the body, and physical effects react upon mental operations. Dr. Southey has been pleased to describe this stage of Bunyan’s experience as “a burning and feverish enthusiasm,” during which he was “shaken continually by the hot and cold fits of a spiritual ague.” That his imagi- nation “was wrought to a state of excitement, in which24 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS as realities, and affected him its own shapings became vivid external world,’ more forcibly than impressions from the is, we admit, very apparent. But there was nothing fac- titious in Bunyan’s feelings, nothing unreasonable in his anxieties, nothing enthusiastic in his creed. If, for the time, the calm exercise of his understanding, not suffi- ciently fortified by religious knowledge, was overborne by the morbid action of his imagination, this natural effect of over-excited feelings under a real and rational cause, is not to be confounded with the hallucinations of a distempered intellect. “Where there is no error of the imagination, no misjudging of realities, no calculations which reason condemns, there,’’ it has been remarked by a philosophical writer,* “is no enthusiasm, even though the soul may be on fire with the velocity of its movement in pursuit of its chosen object.” If this be a correct definition of the term, Bunyan was at no period of his history an enthusiast: his repelling the fanatical notions of the Ranters proves this. False notions, false by exaggeration, of the corruption of our nature, are supposed by Dr. Southey to have laid upon Bunyan’s mind that heavy burden of distress, “heavy as that with which his own Christian begins his pilgrimage.” But this remark is not warranted by any thing in the nar- rative, nor by the practical effect or tendency of those notions which Bunyan had derived from the Scriptures,— the main and almost only source of his knowledge. The «sense of inward and original pollution,’ which produced so much self-loathing and horrible despondency, could not have been produced by any doctrinal notion, true or false, but was an impression upon the spirit, such as only the mind that has been itself wounded can understand, and He who made the spirit alone can heal. The source of such feelings lies deeper in human nature than this world’s phi- losophy can reach. But when we find a similar feeling of self-loathing and abasement seizing upon the minds of the holy man of Uz and the rapt Isaiah, under a sense of the * Natural History of Enthusiasm, p. 7.OF JOHN BUNYAN. 20 Divine purity and majesty, surely it were wise to hesitate before we rashly ascribe mental distress of this character either to enthusiastic and fallacious notions, or to physical distemper. Despondency, indeed, does not consist with a healthful state of mind; and religious despondency is Inconsistent with right views of the gospel, which forbids any one to despair of the Divine mercy. Religion is not the cause of despondency more than it is of unbelief, or than light is the cause of blindness. We may admit, how- ever, that such states of distress involve both mental and moral infirmity. The pressure upon the spirit produces, if we may so express it, a temporary paralysis of the judg- ment, and the heart labours under a terrible nightmare. We exclude from consideration how far, in such cases, the mind may be acted upon from without itself, and external sugge:tions add to the terror and agitation of the spirit. But we cannot forbear to remark, that such periods of mental darkness and agitation, if not to be viewed as direct inflictions, are often permitted and overruled for the pur- poses of moral discipline. The Saviour himself “ suffered being tempted.’? This is the proper light in which to view Bunyan’s religious experience. He was allowed for a while to wrestle alone, and in the dark, that he might come forth from the conflict the stronger and better man. Inthe language of an able critic already referred to, “the Spint of God was his teacher; the .very discipline of his intellect was a spiritual discipline; the conflicts that his soul sus- tained with the powers of darkness, were the sources of his intellectual strength.””* During this severe probation, he was, to use his own expressive language, “led from truth to truth by God; for never did any one owe less to * North American Review, No. LXXIX. art. Southey’s Life of Bunyan, “ We incline to think,” says the Reviewer, “that Southey, with all his talent, is incapable of fully appreciating a character of such directness and originality as that of Bunyan, or of doing justice to the workings of his mind. It would have been the truth, as well as the better philosophy, if he had said, that the Spirit of God was preparing Bunyan, by this severe discipline, to send forth into the world the Pilgrim’s Progress.” D err uee tar Nore os nee Perera ers 7 is ol ei il26 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS human teaching.”? What other men learn from books, he with the aid only of his Bible, spelt out and put together by the light from heaven that irradiated his darkness. He was educated by this severe process of thought; and the coarse, boisterous, ignorant, profane rustic became trans- formed like his own pilgrim, who, after emerging from the slough of despond, lost his burden and his rags together at the foot of the Cross. He was beginning to emerge from these “ temptations,” when a translation of Luther’s Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians fell into his hands; an old copy, so tattered that it was ready to fall to pieces if he did but turn it over. He had not read far, before he found his own condition “so largely and profoundly handled,’’? and his own expe- rience so faithfully mirrored, in its pages, that it seemed as if the book had been “written out of his own heart.’ Such a book he had longed to meet with; and it had for the time the happiest effect upon his mind. In writing his Narrative long afterwards, he declares his preference of this work of Martin Luther’s above all others that he had ever seen, the Bible alone excepted, as “most fitted for a wounded conscience.”? Dr. Southey finds or imagines a resemblance between “the passionate and mighty mind of Luther,’ and that of Bunyan. “Like Luther, he had undergone the agonies of unbelief and deadly fear, and, according to his own persuasion, wrestled with the Enemy.” But here the parallel begins and terminates. Both were men of powerful imagination, but of opposite spirit and very different mental temperament. The peaceful assurance and serene composure to which Bunyan had now attained, were not of long continuance; and the state of mind into which he relapsed, is characterized by Dr. Southey, not without some reason, as “the strangest part of his history.” “An almost unimaginable tempta- tion came upon him, which,’ remarks the learned Biogra- pher, “he might well call more grievous and dreadful than any with which he had before been afflicted :”’ it was, “to sell and part with Christ,—to exchange him for the thingsOF JOHN BUNYAN. 20 of this life.—for any thing.’? For the space of a year, he was haunted by this strange and hateful suggestion; and so continually, that he was not rid of it one day in a month, nor sometimes one hour in many succeeding days, unless in his sleep. Such is Bunyan’s own account, who attributes the suggestion to the immediate agency of the Tempter; and he describes the series of assaults to which he believed himself to be exposed from the Enemy of souls, with a vividness of language which reminds us of his descrip- tion of Christian’s allegorical combat with Apollyon. ‘he task of a biographer, in referring to this stage of Bunyan’s mental history, becomes one of extreme delicacy, as it requires him to touch upon points of inscrutable mystery. The origin of our thoughts must ever remain beyond the reach of discovery. That they ordinarily obey the law of association, every one must be aware; and this is doubtless the case in a thousand instances where the connecting link is not perceived. But sometimes a thought will present itself with all the effect of an extraneous suggestion, clothed, it may be, in words which the mind does not recognize as of its own coining; just as, in dreams, we seem to be present at conversations, and mingle with persons whose features are those of strangers. Under ordinary states of feeling, such thoughts come and go with- out being questioned as to their origin, and leave but a faint, if any impression. The apparent suggestion may be trivial or ludicrous. But most persons of reflective habits will recollect occasions on which actions and events of the great- est moment to themselves, hinged upon some thought that seemed to dart into their minds, perhaps with astonishing suddenness and vividness. Such an occurrence of thought, not less than any external occurrence, a devout man would not hesitate to ascribe to the overruling and all-pervading providence of God; and it matters nothing, in this point of view. whether we regard such thoughts as proceeding from the natural operation of reflection, or as imparted to the mind. Those persons, hewever, who acknowledge that from God “all holy desires and all good counsels pre: Se ee ee ee crelt ras28 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS ceed,” must believe that our minds and hearts are open tt an ordinary inspiration, not less real, and perhaps not more imperceptible in its mode of influencing us, than the extra- ordinary and plenary inspiration under which the prophets and apostles spoke and wrote “as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.” The holy Scriptures, moreover, not only contain the promise of such heavenly inspiration as the source of wisdom and consolation, but they very plainly intimate that evil thoughts, while the natural produce of the human heart, are sometimes the result of an inspiration of an evil and malignant character. The conception of crime in the mind of Judas, and of Ananias, is distinctly referred to Satanic influence operating upon the heart, yet so as not to interfere, any more than human suasion, with conscious responsibility. No violence is done to the mind in either case, more than by involuntary dreams, or by the social influences which are perpetually governing and modifying our thoughts and actions, but of which we can no more detect the actual operation, than we can that of the atmosphere upon our bodily functions; and it must, therefore, be impossible to discriminate between the spon- taneous action of the thoughts, and the good or evil inspi- ration, except by the reflex act of the judgment. Many persons of enthusiastic temperament have, no doubt erro- neously, ascribed to a foreign influence, the natural though unrecognized suggestions of their own minds; especially when the mind itself was in a morbid state. The impossi- bility of detecting the true source of what may be termed morbid thoughts, is beautifully illustrated by Bunyan him- self, than whom no man, perhaps, ever suffered more agony of spirit from these internal visitations. In describing Christian’s passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, in which the Pilgrim was “worse put to it than in his fight with Apollyon,’’—evidently referrmg to what he himself suffered after having obtained a victory over the temptation to infidelity,—Bunyan says: “One thing | would not let slip. I took notice that now poor Christian was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice ; andOF JOHN BUNYAN. 29 thus I perceived it. Just when he was come over-against the mouth of the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up softly to him, and whisperingly 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 discre- tion either ‘to stop his ears, or to know from whence these blasphemies came.” Since, however, Christian could not ascertain this by any thing of which he was conscious at the time, the knowledge that these grievous blasphemies were suggested by the wicked one, must have been obtained only by inference from their evil character and their repugnance to the mind. But, although knowledge obtained by inference, may be as certain as that which is derived from consciousness, there is some room to question, in the present case, the sound- ness of the deduction. Unless we were prepared to con- tend that all evil thoughts which spring up in the mind, and yet are repugnant to the feelings and judgment, so as to be condemned and rejected with abhorrence, have a source foreign to the imagination, and that the mind cannot be the author of any thoughts which affect it with this sense of contrariety and aversion, and of which it would fain rid itself,—unless, too, dreams of a painful description, and contrary to the tenor of the waking thoughts, are in like manner to be accounted for only by the same external and supernatural agency,—we must require some stronger reason for ascribing wicked and blasphemous thoughts to infernal inspiration, in any particular case, than their hateful character. That they may have this origin is very possible: “Yet, their very contrariety to the mind of the individual supplies a reason against the supposition. All heavenly inspiration is congenial with the holy character of those who have K been the recipients and organs of the Divine communiee en ncaa 0 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS CH cations; and so far as Scripture throws any light upon the awful fact, it would appear that Satanic inspiration is, in like manner, congenial with the character of its ‘victims; that it is in every case a concurrent impulse, and not either compulsive or repugnant. It may be. urged, that our blessed Lord was himself tempted by the suggestions of Satan; suggestions infinitely repugnant to his holy nature; but these were both external to his mind, and such as partook of the nature of rational inducements to specific actions. The force of the temptation lay in the apparent reasonableness of the insidious counsel, and in the strength of the inducements; and where there is no appeal to rational motives, there can be no temptation. Nothing can surely be more improper, than to confound, under a common term, the mere phantasmagoria of the imagination, and the real transactions of the evangelical history. Bunyan, in his autobiographical narrative, does indeed describe the horrible but irrational thought that was ever running in his mind, as “a temptation :’? but where was the hait? Had the prospect of worldly advantage been held out to him on the condition of renouncing his creed, or violating his allegiance to the Saviour; had he, in the face of worldly scorn or fiery persecution, been prompted to deny the faith; or had some dishonest gain been within his reach while struggling with penury ;—here would have been a temptation. But in the case described, the assault, the suggestion, and the seeming compliance with the ab- horred blasphemy, were all ideal, without motive, and con- trary to reason. The suffering and distress only were real; and these constituted a trial of the sharpest kind, a dis- cipline of fearful severity; just as any other species of physical or mental suffering might have proved. We see no reason, then, to deny, that the state of dark- ness into which Bunyan was plunged, arose from that distempered action of the imagination which is the ordi- nary effect of over-excitement. Nothing is a more commoi, characteristic of bodily disease, than that the parts affected shall take on an action the very reverse of their natural We Om Fete tks es eaeOF JOHN BUNYAN. By and healthful condition. Something analogous to this has been observed in cases of mental disorder. It is, therefore, quite conceivable, that the distempered mind should give birth to monstrous thoughts, irrational, abhorrent, yet on that very account the more fixed and unmanageable, burn- ing themselves into the memory by the pain they inflict, and possessing the imagination as with an external pre- sence. In cases of decided insanity, this is known to take place. But there are diseased conditions of the frame, not amounting to insanity, in which the imagination is dis- tempered, but there is no delirium; in which unreasonable ideas have hold of the mind, but there is no eclipse of the controlling judgment; there are involuntary impressions, but no involuntary decisions: in such conditions, which, how nearly soever they approximate to insanity, are clearly distinguishable from it, a morbid action of the thoughts, such as Bunyan describes, would be the natural effect of physical causes. How far bodily disease, and especially mental distemper, may be the result of the malignant agency of that being to whom Bunyan ascribed his “temp- tation,”? is a distinct question. The history of the patriarch Job, and some intimations in other parts of the inspired volume, have led many learned and pious persons fo enter- tain the belief that, with the Divine permission, evil spirits may be the instruments of immediately afflicting those whom they cannot tempt or morally injure. We make no concession to the infidel, when we refuse to ascribe to supernatural suggestions, phenomena which admit of a simpler explanation, and which it is most important to distinguish from the moral conflict that every Christian is called to sustain with the seductions of the world, and the temptations of the great Enemy. “Had it been the Romish superstition which Bunyan had imbibed,” remarks Dr. Southey, “he might have vied with P. Dominic the Cuirassier, or the Jesuit Joam d’Almeida, in inflicting torments upon his own miserable body.” But Bunyan was never a self-tormentor; his mind was free from superstition; and the sound views of the rere ae Te ee eeCe aes a oe THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Christian doctrine which he had embraced, and to which he adhered through this long ordeal of suffering, at once attested the sanity of his judgment, and preserved it During the two years and a half of almost incessant agi tation and despondency that he passed, the Scriptures afforded the only balm to his wounded spirit; and he recounts, among the advantages which he gained by this “temptation,” that he was “made to see more into the nature of the promises’ than ever he had _ seen _ before. «The Scriptures also were wonderful things to me: I saw that the truth and verity of them were the keys of the kingdom of heaven. .. . Now I saw the apostles to be the elders of the city of refuge. Those that they were to receive in, were received to life; but those that they shut out, were to be slain by the avenger of blood. . . . Woe be to him against whom the Scriptures bend themselves !’ Thus was he led to search the Bible, and to dwell upon it, with an earnestness and intensity of feelmg which no deter- mination of a calmer mind could have commanded. < If,’’ remarks Dr. Southey, “in the other writings of Bunyan, and especially in that which has made his name immortal, we discover none of that fervid language in which his confessions and self-examination are recorded,—none of those ‘thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,’—none of that passion, in which the reader so far participates as to be disturbed and distressed by it,—here we perceive how he acquired that thorough and familiar acquaintance with the Scriptures, which in those works is manifested.”’ Even the strongest constitution would be likely to give way under the effects of such long-continued mental excite- ment and suffering; and not unfrequently, as the mind recovers its tone, the body begins to betray the insidious mischief. Symptoms of a pulmonary kind appeared in Bunyan, shortly after he had attained to a happier state of feeling, and had been admitted to fellowship with the con- gregation at Bedford under Mr. Gifford’s pastoral care. The weakness to which he was suddenly reduced by a violent increase of these symptoms, was so extreme, that oi Yess: Salis Sa PageOF JOHN BUNYAN. 33 he thought he could not live. Again the clouds returned, and darkened his spirit; but he was soon waked out of his despondency by the voice of the Scripture, and the fear of death vanished before the assurance of the free mercy of God. “Now,” he says, “death was lovely and beautiful in my sight; for I saw we shall never live indeed, till we be gone to the other world. Oh! methought this life is but a slumber in comparison with that above. At this time also, I saw more in these words, ‘Heirs of God,’ (Rom. vili. 17,) than ever I shall be able to expréss while I live in this world.’ At another time, when he was extremely ill and weak, those words in the fifteenth chapter of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, «O. death! where is thy sting?” &c., fell with such force upon his mind, that he “became well both in body and mind at once;’’ his sickness did presently vanish, and he “walked comfortably again in” his “work for God.’? The close connexion between these returns of gloom and seizures of physical weakness, is evident from his own narrative; but there is nothing very uncommon in the cure of physical malady by ' moral remedies. Joy is a powerful restorative to the animal spirits; and this is emphatically true of spiritual joy. Bunyan was admitted a member of the Baptist church at Bedford, in the year 1653, when he was only twenty-five years: of age, Mr. Gifford, the pastor, digd in 2655, I¢ would appear that, prior to his decease, Bunyan had been prevailed upon, once or twice, to address a few words of exhortation to the members of the society at their private assemblies. After this, he was induced, occasionally, to accompany some of them that went into the adjacent villages to teach; “where,” he says, “though as yet I did not, nor durst not, make use of my gift In an open way, yet more privately, still, as I came amongst the good people in those places, I did sometimes speak a word of admonition unto them also. At last, being still desired by the church, after some solemn prayer with fasting, I was more particularly called forth and appointed to a more ordinary and public preaching of the word, not only to and amongst i34 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS them that believed, but also to offer the gospel to those who had not yet received the faith thereof.’? Bunyan cannot be charged with having thrust himself into noto- riety, nor with having rashly assumed the function of a public teacher. He entered upon the probationary exercise of his “gift in a public way,’ with diffidence and fear; and only by degrees acquired that consciousness of his qualifications which led him to believe that he was called to the work. In this, as in all other matters, he was not satisfied ‘till he had ascertained that his conduct had the sanction of scriptural directions; and he has specified the passages of the New Testament which animated and encou- raged him in complying with the desires of his pious friends.* His preaching could not fail to attract great attention; and no sooner had the rumour spread, than, as he tells us, “they came in to hear the word by hundreds, and that from all parts, though upon divers and sundry accounts.” He was now so constantly employed in these itinerant labours, that, upon being nominated as deacon of the Bedford congregation in the ensuing year, the church declined to elect him to that office, on the ground that he was thus too much engaged to attend to its duties. In the mean time, he continued to work with his own hands for his living and the maintenance of his family, as he had opportunity. In referring to the work in which he was engaged, he says, “I have been in my preaching, especially when I have been engaged in the doctrine of life by Christ without works, as if an angel of God had stood by 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 consciences 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 ex- * The following are the passages cited in his own narrative: —1 Cor. xvi 15, 16. Acts viii. 4; xviii, 24, 25. 1 Pet. iv. 10. Rom. xii. 6. Also, subsequently to his meeting with instances of success, 2 Cor. 11. 2, spe 1 Cor. ix 2.OF JOHN BUNYAN, oO [ \ press myself,\ were true. “When I have been preaching, I thank God, my heart hath often all the time with great earnestness cried to God that he would make the word effectual to the salvation of the soul; still being grieved lest the enemy should take the word away from the conscience, and so it should be- come unfruitful; wherefore I should labour so to speak the word, as that thereby, if it were possible, the sin and person guilty might be particularised by "it? But his labours were viewed with a jealous eye, and awakened opposition. To quote his own language, “ When I first went to preach the word abroad, the doctors and priests of the country did open wide against me; but I was persuaded of this, not to render railing for railing; but to see how many of their camal professors I could convince of their miserable state by the law, and of the want and worth of Christ; for, thought I, This shail answer for me in time to come, when they shall be for my hire before their face.’?* His “great desire in fulfilling his ministry,”’ he tells us, “was to get into the darkest places of the country,” and to preach the gospel where Christ was not named. He « never cared to meddle with things controverted.” «It pleased me much,”’ he says, “to contend with great earnestness for the word of faith, and the remission of sins by the death and sufferings of Jesus; but, as to other things, I would let them alone, because I saw they engendered strife”? This wise and modest course could not, however, screen him either from being regarded as an intruder by the intolerant, or from being grossly calumniated by the ignorant and mali clous, who sought, by aspersing his moral character, to cause his ministry to be abandoned. It was rumoured, that he was “a witch, a Jesuit, a highwayman,” and a libertine. These “lies and slanders,’ says Bunyan, «I that those things which then I asserted, * The Editor of the American edition has taken the liberty to substitute the language of Bunyan himself for certain irrelevant remarks of the author Signo of this biography.36 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS bind to me as an ornament; it belongs to my Christian profession to be vilified, slandered, reproached, and reviled , and since all this is nothing else, as my God and my con- science do bear me witness, I rejoice in reproaches fof Christ’s sake.” But he was destined to have his constancy and fortitude put to a severer test: “bonds and imprisonment awaited him.” He had “for five or six years, without any inter- ruption, freely preached the gospel,’? when, in November, 1660, he was taken up by a warrant from a justice named Wingate, at a place called Samsell in Bedfordshire, at which he had been invited to preach; the justice having resolved, as he said, to “break the neck of such meetings.” The mittimus ran to this effect: “That he went about to several conventicles in the county, to the great disparage- ment of the government of the church of England,” &c. Such was one of the first-fruits of the Restoration! Dr. Southey, willing to palliate the conduct of his persecutors, insinuates, that “he was known to be hostile to the restored church, and that probably it might be remembered that he had served in the Parliament’s army.’’ Of the former, there is no evidence; and the latter is a gratuitous con- jecture, which, if admitted, would only give a more despi- cably vindictive character to the proceedings. The fact appears to be, that his old enemies took advantage of the change in the Government, to execute their long-cherished purpose in putting a stop to his preaching; and that, had the state of the law admitted of it, he would have met with the same treatment under Cromwell, from the same parties, that he did under Charles. One of the party con- cerned in these proceedings, a Dr. Lindale, is described by Bunyan as “an old enemy to the truth,’’ who, on hearing of the Tinker’s apprehension, came in, and fell to taunting of him “with many reviling terms.’ Bunyan, however, was a match for his accusers, as well in ready wit as in scriptural argument. And when this Dr. Lindale, alluding to his cailing, said, that “he remembered reading of one Alexander, a coppersmith, who did much oppose and disturbOF JOHN BUNYAN. od the apostles ;’? Bunyan replied, that “he also had read of Inany priests and pharisees that had their hands in the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.’? “Aye,” rejoined Lindale, ‘and you are one of those scribes and pharisees; for you, with a pretence, make long prayers, to devour widows’ houses.” He received for answer, that if he (Dr. L.) had got no more by preaching and praying than Bunyan had, he would not be so rich as he was. Bunyan had notice of the intention to arrest him, and might have eluded the writ; and after being taken before the magistrate, he might have obtained his discharge, if he would have pro- mised to leave off preaching, and keep to his calling. But his conscience would not allow him to make any such engagement. He was accordingly committed to gaol. After he had lain there five or six days, some of his friends offered bail for his appearance at the sessions; but the magistrate to whom they applied, refused to take it. Some seven weeks after his apprehension, the quarter sessions were held at Bedford, and Bunyan was brought up for examination before the justices. The bill of indictment preferred against him, was under the act of the 35th Elizabeth, and ran to this effect: “That John Bunyan, of the town of Bedford, labourer, being a person of such and such conditions, hath devilishly and perniciously abstained from coming to church to hear divine service, and is a common upholder of several unlawful meetings and con- venticles, to the great disturbance and distraction of the zood subjects of this kingdom, contrary to the luws of our sovereign lord the king,’ and so forth. Upon this being read, he was asked by the justices what he had to say to it. Not aware that he had been indicted, Bunyan veadily admitted that he did not attend the parish church, and that he did attend private meetings at which he preached: he also entered into a defence of his conduct upon scriptural grounds, by which he only drew down upon himself the coarse invectives of his judges. “Who is your God, Beelzebub ?”? said one of the justices; and they repeatedly said, that he was possessed of the devil. At the close ofSa ential iene ocinee a8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS this memorable examination, his answers being taken down without any other trial, without as a confession of guilt, the verdict of a jury, he was sentenced in the following terms: “You must be had back again to prison, and there lie for three months following ; and at the three months’ end, if you do not submit to go to church to hear divine ser- vice, and leave your preaching, you must be banished the realm; and if you be found to come over again without special license from the king, you must be stretched by the neck for it, I tell you plainly,” said the judge: and so he bade the jailor remove his prisoner. Bunyan resolutely answered, that if he were out of prison to-day, he would preach the gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God. Of the propriety of Bunyan’s conduct in refusing to desist from preaching, different opinions will be formed. Dr. Southey, as might be anticipated, takes a decided part with his judges; giving it as his opinion, that in none of Bunyan’s writings “does he appear so little reasonable, or so little tolerant, as upon these examinations.’”? In what his intolerance consisted, is not very apparent; but the learned biographer possibly refers to honest John’s objec- tion to using the common-prayer-book, as not being of divine authority. In proof that he was unreasonable, it is urged, that “he was neither called upon to renounce any thing that he did believe, nor to profess any thing that he did not; that the congregation to which he belonged, held at this time their meetings unmolested; that he might have worshipped when he pleased, where he pleased, and how he pleased; and that he was only required not to go about the country holding conventicles.”’* The extreme disingenuousness of this statement will be evident when it * Dr. Southey adds: “The cause for that interdiction was, not that persons were admonished in such conventicles to labour for salvation, but that they were exhorted there to regard with abhorrence that Protestant church which is essentially part of the constitution of this kingdom.” An assertion imbody- ing an historical misrepresentation and a calumny, and which would serve just as well to justify the persecution of Dissenters in the present day. If the conyenticle act was right, the toleration act was wrong.OF JOHN BUNYAN. 39 is recollected, that the statute under which he was indicted, rendered his nonconformity itself a crime; that his abstain- ing from coming to church was placed in the front of his offence; and that he was not only required to profess what, in him, would have been hypocrisy, but to renounce what he believed to be his sacred duty. “Sir,” said Bunyan, in a subsequent examination, to the clerk of the peace, who tried to persuade him to forbear awhile,—“ Wicliff saith, that he who leaveth off preaching and hearing of the word of God for fear of excommunication of men, he is already excommunicated of God, and shall in the day of judgment be counted a traitor to Christ.””, When reminded that the Scripture enjoined obedience to the powers that be, his answer was: “That Paul did own the powers that were in his day to be 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, but of God, yet he died under the same Pilate. And yet,” (he added,) “I hope you will not say that either Paul or Christ were such as did deny magistracy, and so sinned against God in slighting the ordinance. Sir, the law hath provided two ways of obeying: the one, to do that which I in my conscience do believe I am bound to do actively; and where I cannot obey actively, there I am willing to lie down, and to suffer what they shall do unto me.’”? Such was the “unreasonable” character of his defence; and because it was, in the opinion of the apologist for Laud,* unreasonable, Bunyan, we have been told, “is most wrong- fully represented as having been the victim of intolerant laws and prelatical oppression.” Yet, it is admitted, that he evinced at least the strength of will and strength of heart, the fortitude and the patience of a martyr. Nor was it without a painful conflict of emotions that —e made up his mind to the consequences of his firmness, as we learn from the touching expression of his feelings during * And biographer of Wesley, whom, but for the Toleration-act the same statute would have condemned to incarceration and exile.40 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS imprisonment, contained in his Narrative. “I found myself’ he says, “a man encompassed with infirmities: the parting with my wife and poor children hath often been to me in this place as the pulling the flesh from the bones; and that not only because I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor family was likely to meet with, should I be taken from them; especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces. Poor child! thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy portion in this world! Thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand cala- mities, though I cannot now endure the wind should 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.’’ The summary punishment which the justices had inflicted upon Bunyan, was not only an act of gross oppression, but obviously a stretch of the law, both as he was apprehended before there had been any proclamation against the meet- ings, upon a statute which had lain dormant, and as he was convicted upon a mere construction put upon his own words during examination. His detention in prison after- wards turned upon his having been thus irregularly con- victed. On the King’s coronation, in April 1661, a general par- don was proclaimed; and thousands who had been com- mitted to prison for nonconformity and other offences, were set at liberty. “In which privilege,” says Bunyan, “I should also have had my share, but they took me for a convicted person; and, therefore, unless I sued out a pardon, as they called it, I could have no benefit thereby.”’ Bunyan, therefore, was still detained; and at the next assizes, in August 1661, that he might leave no lawful means of escape unattempted, he did, by his wife, presentOF JOHN 2BUNVAN, Al a petition to the judges, three times, that he might be heard, and his case taken into consideration. Sir Matthew Hale was one of these judges; and it appears from Mrs. Bunyan’s testimony, as preserved in the Narrative, that, on receiving the petition, he expressed a willingness to do for her the best he could, but feared that nothing could be done; and on being assured by one of the justices who had committed Bunyan, that be was a hot-spirited fellow, he waved the matter, and declined interfering. Encou- raged, however, by the high sheriff, to make another effort before the judges left the town, Elizabeth Bunyan, who seems to have imbibed a portion of her husband’s spirit, again made her way, “with a bashed face and a trembling heart,’? into the judges’ chamber. Addressing herself to Judge Hale, she pleaded the unlawfulness of his convic- tion; urging that she had been told in London by a noble- man, to whom she had delivered a petition to the House of Lords on her husband’s behalf, that his releasement was committed to the judges at the next assizes. “And now,” she said, “I am come to you, to see if any thing may be done in this business, and you give neither releasement nor relief.’ «My Lord,” said Justice Chester, “he is a pestilent fellow; there is not such a fellow in the country again.” «Will your husband leave preaching?’’ said Judge Twisdon: “if he will do so, then send for him.” “My Lord,” replied Elizabeth Bunyan, “he dares not leave preaching, as long as he can speak.’”? “See here \”’ exclaimed the last-mentioned judge; “what should we talk any more about such a fellow? Must he do what he lists? He is a breaker of the peace.” “He desires to live peaceably, my Lord,” rejoined Mrs. Bunyan, “and to follow his calling, that his family may be maintained. Moreover,”? she added, “I have four small children that cannot help themselves, one of which is blind; and we have nothing to live upon but the charity of good people.” “Hast thou four children?” said Judge Hale: “thou art but a young woman to have four childyen:’7” .“¢ My . Lord,” said she, “I am but mother-in-law to them, having not Fbite pena At etait ini “ 42 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS been married to him yet two full years.” She proceeded to add, that she was near her confinement when her hus- band was apprehended; and that the shock brought on premature labour, and the child died. Upon hearing which, Judge Hale, looking very seriously, exclaimed, « Alas! poor woman.’ Judge Twisdon brutally remarked, that she made poverty a cloak; and that Bunyan was maintained better by running up and down preaching, than by following his calling. “What is his calling?” asked Judge Hale. “A tinker, my Lord,” said a _ bystander. “Yes,” rejoined Elizabeth Bunyan, “and because he is a tinker and a poor man, therefore he is despised, and cannot have justice.’ There was truth in this biunt appeal, and Hale felt its force. “I tell thee, woman,’”’?. he very mildly replied, “seeing it is so, that they have taken what thy hus- band spake for a conviction, thou must apply thyself to the king, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error.”’ Justice Chester, on hearing the upright judge give her this counsel, could not conceal his vexation; exclaiming, “ My Lord, he will preach, and do what he lists.” “He preach- eth nothing but the word of God,’ said his wife. “He preach the word of God!” said Twisdon in a rage; “he runneth up and down, and doth harm.” “No, my Lord,’ said she, “it is not so: God hath owned him, and done much good by him.’ “God! said Twisdon, “his doctrine is: the «doctrine of the devil.” “My Lord,” oneé more replied this meek, yet spirited woman, “when the righteous Judge shall appear, it will be known that his doctrine is not the doctrine of the devil.’ There was 10 answering this; and Twisdon, turning to Hale, begged him not to mind her, but to send her away. The Judge, evidently moved, said again to Mrs. Bunyan, in a tone of kindness: «Tam sorry, woman, that I can do thee no good. Thou must do one of those three things 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 the cheapest.” Thus terminated this extraordinary scene. Elizabeth Bunyan left the court in tears; “not so much,” sheOF JOHN BUNYAN. 43 declares, “because they were so hard-hearted against her and her husband,.as from the thought, what a sad account such poor creatures will have to give at the coming of the Lord.” How could she suppose that one of those judges was a man of saintly piety and integrity! And how little did that judge suspect that the prisoner whose cause was thus pathetically pleaded, was destined by his writings to win to himself an everlasting name, as the guide of Chris- tian pilgrims to the heavenly city! At the coming of the Lord, Hale and Bunyan will not be divided. Although, in the Pilgrim’s Progress, there is nothing that can be construed into personal satire, its author must be supposed to have had his own case in vivid recollection, when he described the treatment which Christian and Faithful met with at Vanity Fair. The indictment of the pilgrims, if not a parody on the charges brought against Bunyan, conveys the same idea in allegorical terms :— «That they were enemies to and disturbers of the trade; that they had made commotions and divisions in the town, and had won a party to their own most dangerous opinions, in contempt of the law of their prince.” “Pie language of the witnesses, too, will recall the above exami- nation. « Envy. My lord, this man is one of the vilest men in the country; he neither regardeth prince nor people, law nor custom; but doth all he can to possess all men with certain of his disloyal notions, which he in the general calls principles of faith and holiness. And, in particular, I heard him once myself affirm, that Christianity and the customs of our town of Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could not be reconciled; by which saying, my lord, he doth at once not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the doing of them. « Superstition. My lord, I have no great acquaintance with this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge of him: however, this I know, that he is a very pestilent fellow, from some discourse that the other day I had with him in this town; for, then talking with him, I heardAd THE LIFE AND WRITINGS him say, that our religion was naught, and such by which a man could by no means please God. « Faithful. May I speak a few words in my own de- fence ? | “Judge. Sirrah, sirrah ! thou deservest to live no longer, but to be slain immediately on the place. Yet, that all men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us hear what thou, vile runagate, hast to say. “ Faithful. I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath spoken, I never said aught but this; That what rule, or laws, or custom, or people, were flat against the word of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. If I have said amiss in this, convince me of my error, and I am ready, here before you, to make my recantation. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition and his charge against me, I said only this; That in the worship of God there is required a divine faith; but there can be no divine faith without a divine revelation of the will of God. Therefore, whatever is thrust into the worship of God that is not agreeable to divine revelation, cannot be done but by a human faith, which faith will not be profitable to eternal Lite. There can be no doubt that it was upon such grounds as these, (whether valid or otherwise, this is not the place to inquire,) that Bunyan, in common with other noncon- formists, objected to the use, and still more to the imposi- tion, of the Book of Common Prayer. He tells us himself, that, on obtaining liberty from the gaoler, (who appears to have confided in him so far as to allow him to go at large upon his word,) he followed his wonted course of preaching, taking all occasions put into his hand to visit those who had attended upon his ministry; “exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, and to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, &c.,* but to mind the word of God, which giveth direction to Chris- *“ An &c.,” remarks Dr. Southey, “more full of meaning than that which occasioned the dishonest outcry against the &c. oath.” Had the learned biographer printed the whole of the sentence, however, Bunyan’s meaning us Tad Ops eae tareOF JOHN BUNYAN. 45 tians in every point, being able to make the man of God perfect in all things, through faith in Jesus Christ, and thoroughly to furnish him unto all good works.” The indul- gence at first allowed him, enabled him to be. present at private meetings of the congregation at Bedford, in June and July, 1661, his name being found in the minutes of the church-book; and once the gaoler permitted him to take a journey to London. Unfortunately, Bunyan’s enemies heard of it, and his friendly gaoler, being threatened with the loss of his office, was compelled to keep his prisoner more close ; so that, says Bunyan, “I must not now look out of the door.”? He expected to be called to account at the ensu- ing assizes, in November 1661; but he was passed over. In January. following, the assizes were again held; and being anxious to come before the judges, he prevailed upon the gaoler to put down his name in the calendar; but his enemies prevented his being called to appear. Why no steps were taken in pursuance of Judge Hale’s advice, does not appear from the Narrative; and it has been surmised, that the means for defraying the legal expenses could not be raised. It might have been supposed that the object of his visit to London was connected with some effort to obtain the reversal of his sentence, as there would seem to have been otherwise no adequate motive for the risk he incurred; but the Narrative contains no intimation of the kind. He now appears to have resigned himself to his fate. From there being no mention of his name at the church-meetings of the Bedford congregation from July 1661, to August 1668, it is inferred that, during these seven years, he was kept a close prisoner. As there was an end put to his working at his craft, he learned to make tagged laces, and by this means contributed to support his family. Dr. Southey takes for granted, that their condition was not would have been more evident from the exhortation to adhere to- the Scrip. tures as the only and sufficient rule of faith. A jealousy for the exclusive authority of the word of God, the principle so manfully advocated by Chilling- worth, was the real source of the strong feeling manifested against both the Common Prayer and the et-cetera.46 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS “worsened by his imprisonment,” since it would render them “objects of compassion to their neighbours,” and that Bunyan was, upon the whole, very comfortable in gaol. “ He had the society there,” he says, “of some who were suffering for the same cause;”* he had his Bible, and _ his Book of Martyrs; and he had leisure to brood over his own thoughts. Scanty materials of worldly comfort; but how enviable the man who could extract happiness out of them! Are any thanks due to his unjust persecutors, that “the Pilgrim’s Progress was one of the fruits of his imprison- ment ?” “'The oppressor holds His body bound; but knows not what a range His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; And, that to bind him is a vain attempt, Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.”—Cowrrr. Bunyan thus speaks of his own imprisonment: “JI 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.t In which condition I have continued with much content, through grace, but have met with many turnings and goings upon my heart;’” the result of which, he adds, had been “much conviction, instruction, and * Jt is said, “there were never fewer than sixty dissenters in the prison with him during the period of his confinement; for, as some were discharged, others were committed. Two of these were ministers of the Baptist denomi- nation, Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Dunn.”—Ivimey’s Lirz or Bunyan. t Perhaps we are to understand Bunyan as meaning that he was imprisoned twelve years altogether. The Continuator of his Life states, that he was Imprisoned at first for six years, till, “the Act of Indulgence to Dissenters being allowed, he obtained his freedom by the intercession of some in trust and power, that took pity on his sufferings ; but within six years afterwards”— six days must be meant—he was again taken up, viz. in the year 1666, and was then confined for six years more. .. When he was taken this last time, he was preaching on these words: ‘Dost thou believe on the Son of God?? And this imprisonment continued six years; and when this was over, another short affliction, which was an imprisonment of half a year, fell to his share.” “In the last year of his twelve years’ imprisonment,” it is added, “the pastor of the congregation at Bedford died; and he was chosen to that care of souls on the 12th of December, 1671.” On Porn Spies aia VarOF JOHN BUNYAN. AT understanding’? During the last four years of his im- ptisonment—that is, from 1669 to 1672, inclusive—he enjoyed a considerable degree of liberty. From the entries in the Baptist church-book, he appears to have been regularly present at their social meetings; and in October 1671, though still a prisoner, he was elected to the office of co-pastor or elder of that community. Among the works written during his confinement, we find enumerated the following :—Of Prayer by the Spirit. The Holy City’s Resurrection. Grace Abounding, (the autobiographical nar- rative so often referred to.) Pilgrim’s Progress, Part I. Defence of the Doctrine of Justification, against Bishop Fowler. This last work is dated from prison, the 21st of the llth month, 167. The First Part of the Pilgrim’s Progress is known to have been written during his imprisonment; but, as no extant copy of the first edition has hitherto been discovered, the year in which it was published remains uncertain. The date of the second edition, of which a copy is in the British Museum, is 1678. If, therefore, the work was published before his release, or even immediately after it, the sale must have been very slow and limited for some years after its appearance. But when once it had found its way into general circulation, edition after edition was rapidly called for. The eighth edition was published in 1682, the ninth in 1684, and -the.tenth: im 1685.7 Tn ihe mean time, several dishonest imitations of his work had appeared; * One passage of considerable length, the whole scene between Mr. By-ends and his three friends, and their subsequent discourse with Christian and Faith- ful, was added after the second edition. Dr. Southey conjectures that it was first inserted in the fourth impression, “which had many additions more than any preceding.” This is stated in an advertisement on the back of the frontis- piece to the eighth; where it 1s also stated, that the publisher, “ observing that many persons desired to have it illustrated with pictures, hath endeavoured to gratify them therein; and besides those that are ordinarily printed to the fifth impression, hath provided thirteen copper cuts, curiously engraven, for such as desire them.” -No additions, Dr. Southey informs us, after collating the editions, were introduced subsequently to the eighth; nor any alterations but verbal ones of slight importance.48 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS some of them counterfeiting his popular title, others pur- porting to be a second part. These interlopers may have furnished an additional inducement to Bunyan to put forth his own Continuation of the Parable, which appeared in January, 1684. In the poetical preface to this Second Part, he refers with honest satisfaction to the extensive reputa- tion which his Pilgrim had attained: “In France and Flanders, where men kill each other, My Pilgrim is esteemed a friend, a brother. In Holland too, ’tis said, as I am told, My Pilgrim is, with some, worth more than gold. Highlanders and wild Irish can agree, My Pilgrim should familiar with them be. °Tis in New England under such advance, Receives there so much loving countenance, As to be trimmed, new clothed, and decked with gems, That it might show its features and its limbs. Yet more; so comely doth my Pilgrim walk, That of him thousands daily sing and talk.” In the same homely, yet not despicable lines, he refers to some of the objections which had been urged against the First Part: “ But some there be that say, He laughs too loud ; And some do say, His head is in a cloud. Some things are of that nature as to make One’s fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache. Whereas some say, A cloud is in his head, That doth but show his wisdom’s covered With its own mantle.” It is probable that Bunyan had already become known by his writings, when he obtained his release. How this was effected, is not known; but, some time in 1672, a day of thanksgiving was observed by his flock, on the occasion of his deliverance. The author of the Continuation of his Life, appended to his own Narrative,* states, that “ Dr. Barlow, the then bishop of Lincoln, and other churchmen,” * Supposed to have been Mr. Charles Doe, a Baptist minister. He describe. himself as “a true friend and long acquaintance of Mr. Bunyan’s.”OF JOHN BUNYAN. 49 had been “moved by his patience to pity his hard and unreasonable sufferings, so far as to stand very much his friends in procuring his enlargement.’? And the interfer- ence of Bishop Barlow has been ascribed, upon credible authority, to the intercession of Dr. John Owen. For this story there must be some foundation. Yet Barlow was not made a bishop till 1675;* and it may be questioned, whether, at that period, any thing short of a royal order could nave secured to Bunyan the undisturbed enjoyment of his personal freedom and his liberty to preach. The Conventicle Act had been revived in 1670, in all its severity. Yet, shortly after his enlargement, Bunyan was enabled to build a meeting-house, by the voluntary contributions of his friends. In the church-book, it is entered: “11 August, 1672, the ground on which the meeting-house stands was bought by subscription.’? Here he continued to preach to large audiences, without any material interruption. “ In this charge,’? says the Continuator of his Narrative, “he often had disputes with scholars that came to oppose him, as supposing him an ignorant person; and, though he argued plainly, and by scripture, without phrases and logical expressions, yet he nonplussed’’ them by his perti- nent answers. Every year he used to pay a visit to his friends in London, where his reputation as a preacher was so great, that “if but a day’s notice were given, the meet- ing-house in Southwark, where he _ generally preached, would not hold half the people that attended. Three thou- sand persons have been gathered together for the purpose in a remote part of the town; and no fewer than twelve hundred, on a dark winter’s morning, at seven o’clock, even on week-days.” Dr. Owen is stated to have been among his oceasional auditors; and an anecdote is on record, that, being asked by Charles II., how a learned man such as he # See Orme’s Life of Owen, p. 398. Mr. Orme confesses that he is unable to reconcile with this date the story told in Asty’s Memoirs of Owen, and repeated by Mr. Ivimey, of Bishop Barlow’s refusing to comply with Owen’s request, without an order from the chancellor ; unless it refers to some subsequent impri- sonmient. GSata in ca eae q 20 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS was, could sit and hear an illiterate tinker prate, he repliec «May it please your majesty, could I possess that tinker’s abilities for preaching, I would most gladly relinquish all my learning.’** The anecdote, if true, may be thought to illustrate the modesty and generous candour of Owen, himself an accomplished pulpit orator, as much as the power of Bunyan’s native eloquence; yet it is quite credi- ble, that Owen should prize above all his scholastic attain- ments, the native genius displayed by the uneducated preacher, in combination with the peculiar unction that appears to have characterized his ministry. “ Even some to whom he had been misrepresented upon the account of his (want of) education,” says the Continuator of his Nar- rative, “were convinced of his worth and knowledge in sacred things, as perceiving him to be a man of sound judgment, delivering himself plainly and powerfully ; inso- much that many who came spectators for novelty, rather than to be edified and improved, went away well satisfied with what they heard, and wondered, as the Jews did at the apostles, ‘whence this man should have these things.’ ”’ Besides his annual visit to London, Bunyan occasionally visited other parts of the country; “ insomuch,’’ says the same authority, “that some, by these visitations that he had made, which were two or three every year, (though in jeering manner, no doubt,) gave him the epithet of Bishop Bunyan; while others envied him for his so earnestly labouring in Christ’s vineyard.” The Baptist congregation at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, is supposed to have been founded by him. There is a deep dell in a wood near the * Ivimey’s History of the English Baptists, Vol. IT. p. 41. Southey treats the anecdote as apocryphal, without assigning any other reason for his incredulity, than that such an opinion would be discreditable to Owen’s judgment, if he really entertained it. Yet he remarks of the following anecdote, that it authenticates itself “One day, when he had preached with peculiar warmth and enlargement, some of his friends came to shake hands with him after the service, and observed to him, what ‘a sweet sermon’ he had delivered. * Aye!’ he replied, ‘you need not remind me of that; for the devil told me of it before I was out of the pulpit.” This story has been told of others besides Bunyan, but it may belong to him.OF JOHN BUNYAN. ol village of Preston, where a thousand people could collect ; and there Bunyan used frequently to preach to large con- gregations. A chimney-corner, in a house in the same wood, is still looked upon with veneration, as having been the place of his refreshment.* About five miles from Hitchin, was a famous Puritan preaching-place, called Bendish,t where also Bunyan was in the practice of preach- ing, in an old malt-house; and the pulpit was carefully removed, as an honoured relic, when, in 1787, the meeting was transferred to Coleman’s Green. Other congregations in Bedfordshire are believed to owe their origin to his mid- night preaching during his imprisonment, when he enjoyed the liberty, by sufferance, of making secret excursions to visit his friends. Reading, in Berkshire, was another place which he frequently visited; and a tradition has been pre- served by the Baptist congregation there, that he sometimes went through that town dressed like a carter, with a long whip in his hand, to avoid detection. The house in which the Baptists met for worship, stood in a lane; and from the back door, they had a bridge over a branch of the river Kennett, whereby, in case of alarm, they might escape. In a visit to that place, prompted by his characteristic kindness of heart, he contracted the disease which brought him to his grave. The son of a gentleman who resided there, having fallen under his father’s displeasure, who threatened to disinherit him, applied to Mr. Bunyan to act as a mediator on his behalf. He did so with good success ; and it was his last labour of love. As-he returned to London on horseback, he was overtaken by heavy rains, * The following anecdote has been preserved by tradition, At a house near Preston Castle, about three miles from Hitchin, the nonconformist ministers nsed to meet for mutual conference. At one of these meetipgs, that difficult text, Rom. viii. 18—22, was spoken from. When it came to Mr. Bunyan’s turn to speak, he only said, “ The Scriptures are wiser than I.’ Luther confessed that the meaning of that Scripture he could never make out. + [t was a low, thatched building, running in two directions. A large square pulpit stood in the angles, and adjoining it was a “ high pew, in which taipisters sat, out of sight of informers, and from which, in case of alarm, they could es escape into an adjacent cave. BN eee ee ee tee it ial a2 REBIN— v2 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS ow A violent fever ensued; and, after an. ill. «resigned his soul into the hands of »* Be died at the house of his and took cold. ness of ten days, he his most merciful Redeemer. friend Mr. Struddock, (or Stradwick,) a grocer, on Snow- hill, on the 12th of August, 1688, in the 61st year of his age; and was buried in his host’s yault at Bunhill-fields. where a handsome tomb has been erected to his memory. The following description of his person and character has been drawn by his first biographer. “He appeared in countenance to be of a stern and rough temper, but, in his conversation, mild and affable; not given to loquacity of much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion required it; observing never to boast of himself or his parts, but rather to seem low in his own eyes, and submit himself to the judgment of others; .... loving to reconcile differences, and make friendship with all. He had a sharp, quick eye, accompanied with an excellent discerning of persons, being of good judgment and quick wit. As for his person, he was tall of stature, strong-boned, though not corpulent ; somewhat of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes; wearing his hair on his upper lip, after the old British fashion; his hair reddish, but, in his latter days, time had sprinkled it with grey ; his nose well set, but not declining or bending, and his mouth moderately large; his forehead somewhat high; and his habit always plain and modest.’’ Of his four children, (there were none by his second mar- riage,) three survived him :-+ the blind daughter, on whose * Tt appears that at the time of his death, the lord mayor, Sir John Shorter, was one of his London flock. A memorandum preserved in Ellis’s Correspond- ence thus records his death, September 6, 1688: “Few days before died Bunian, his Lordship’s teacher or chaplain; a man said to be gifted in that way, though once a cobler.”’ + Thomas, the eldest son, was received into communion with the Baptist Church at Bedford, November 6, 1673, just after his father had obtained his liberty, and continued a member for forty-five years, preaching occasionally in the adjacent villages. Katherine Bunyan, admitted a member in 1692, and John Bunyan, received into communion June 27, 1693, are supposed to have been grand-children of Mr. Bunyan. In the burial-ground of the Bedford meeting- house, is a stone in memory of his great-grand-daughter, Hannah Bunyan, who died Feb. 15, 1%70, aged 76.OF JOHN BUNYAN. Jo behalf he expressed such tender solicitude, died a few years before him. His wife Elizabeth, who had pleaded his cause with so much energy and feeling before the justices, « hav- ing lived to see him overcome his labour and sorrow, and pass from this life to receive the reward of his work, long survived him not; for, in 1692, she died, to follow her faithful pilgrim from this world to the other; whilst his works,” quaintly adds the same biographer, “which con- sist of sixty books, remain for the edifying of the reader, and praise of the author.’ Bunyan was a voluminous writer. Besides the works already enumerated, he published from time to time a number of theological and polemical tracts; and he appears to great advantage as a controversial writer, in contrast with his acrimonious and intolerant assailants. He was reluctantly drawn into a dispute with some of the most eminent Baptist ministers of the day, who attacked him with unreasonable violence for maintaining the principle and practice of what is termed open communion; that is to say, for admitting persons of other denominations to communion at the Lord’s Table, on the principle, that «differences of judgment about water baptism’? are “no bar to communion.’”’ In, his tracts upon, this litigated point, he discovers an -enkghtened -tolérance and a catho- licity of feeling, not only ‘far removed trom the narrow views and bigoted >préjudicés cf, his brethren, but far in advance of the spirit’of his age. "The Holy War, published also in his life-time, (apparently before the second part of the Pilgrim’s Progress,) would of itself have immortalized its author, had he produced nothing else. Shortly after his decease, his widow put forth an advertisement, stating her inability to print the writings which he left unpub- lished, some of them prepared for the press. Four years, however, elapsed before, in 1692, his collected works, including several posthumous writings, were published in one volume folio, edited by Ebenezer Chandler, who suc- ceeded him as pastor of the Bedford congregation, and John Wilson, the first pastor of the Baptist flock at Roe ty vee reneeSe RES cei lige oe aoe agp ieee o4 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Hitchin. But this volume did not comprise the whole of his works. In 1735-6, another edition appeared in two vols. folio, edited by Rev. Samuel Wilson of Prescot-street meeting, ‘grandson to the above John Wilson. For a reprint of this, the Rev. George Whitfield furnished a recommendatory preface. A_ later edition has been pub- lished in 6 vols. 8vo.; and an edition of his “ Select Works” was printed in 1808. The» Third: Part. of ther Pilerims Progress, which appeared after his death, and is included in many editions of his incomparable work, is not genuine, and bears the indubitable marks of an inferior imitator. It is impossible to form even a conjecture as to the number of editions through which the Pilgrim’s Pro- egress has passed. Dr. Southey thinks it probable that no other book in the English language has obtained so con- stant and so wide a sale. The prints which have been engraved to illustrate it, would form a curious and exten- sive collection, exhibiting every variety, from the worst specimens, both in wood and copper, up to the vignettes from Harvey’s spirited designs, and the copper-plates from Martin, which adorn the elegant edition to which is pre- fixed Dr. Southey’s Life of the Author, and the exquisite series of Illustrations by Melville, now presented to the admirers of: the Prince: .of Dreamers: : A list of the several! languages into’ which ‘the’ Pilgyini’s Progress has been translated, wouldi de, not tess. curious.. * Bunyan,” remarks Dr. Southey,‘ “coutd ‘little shave supposed that his book would ever be adapted for sale among the Romanists. Whether this was done in the earliest French translation, I do not know; but in the second there is no Giant Pope... . The First Part, under the title of ‘Ze Pelerinage dun nommé Chrétien, forms one of the volumes of the ‘ Petite Bibliothéque du Catholique,’ and bears in the title-page a glorified head of the Virgin! A Portuguese translation of the First Part also, and in like manner cut down to the opinions of the public for which it was designed, was published in 1782. Indeed, I believe there is no Kuropean language into which the Pilgrim’s Progress has not beenOF JOHN BUNYAN. deo translated.” The idiom of the work, however, is so purely and peculiarly English, that it must be next to impossible to preserve its genuine character in a foreign dress. “The fervour of the Poet’s soul,?? remarks the American. Critic oefore cited, (nor is the descriptive appellation a misnomer,) “acting through the medium of such a language as he learned from our common 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!’? Pages might be occupied with the encomiums with which poets and critics have of late delighted to honour this once obscure and despised religious writer. Scott, Byron, and Wordsworth, besides Southey and Montgomery, have re-echoed the tribute of admiration and affectionate sympathy, which Cowper was the first that ventured to offer to his memory, suppressing the as yet incanonized name. “T name thee not, Yet e’en in transitory life’s late day, That mingles all my brown with sober grey, Revere the man whose Piterim marks the road, And guides the Progress of the soul to God.”Toe PILGRIWS PROGE ES a. FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME, DELIVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. PAK? a: WHEREIN ARE DISCOVERED THE MANNER OF HIS SETTING OUT, HIS DANGEROUS JOURNEY; AND SAFE ARRIVAL AT THE DESIRED COUNTRY. ‘‘T have used similitudes,” Hos, x11. 10.Ops abs ; “|AUTHOR’S APOLOGY FOR’HYs’" book WHEN at the first I took my pen in hand, Thus for to write, I did not understand That I at all should make a little book In such a mode: nay, I had undertook To make another; which when almost done, Before I was aware, I this begun. And thus it was: I, writing of the way And race of saints in this our gospel-day, Fell suddenly into an allegory About their journey, and the way to glorv, In more than twenty things, which I set down: This done, I twenty more had in my crown; And they again began to multiply, Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast. I’ll put you by yourselves, lest you at last Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out The book that I already am about. Well, so I did; but yet f did not think To show to all the world my pen and ink In such a mode; I only thought to make I knew not what; nor did I undertakeere ty) Theat iets THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY. Thereby to please my neighbour; no, not I; I did it mine own self to oratify. 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 with delight, And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. For having now my method by the end, Still as I pulled, it came; and so { penned It down; until at last it came to be, For length and breadth, the bigness which you see. Well, when I had thus put my ends together, I showed them others, that I might see whether They would condemn them, or them justify ; And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die ; Some said, John, print it; others said, Not so: Some said, It might do good; others said, No. Now was I in a strait, and did not see Which was the best thing to be done by me: At last I thought, Since you are thus divided, I print it will; and so the case decided. For, thought I, some I see would have 1t done, Though others in that channel do not run: To prove, then, who advised for the best, Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. I further thought, if now I did deny Those that would have it thus to gratfy, I did not know but hinder them I might Of that which would to them be great delight : For those which were not for its coming forth, I said to them, Offend you I am loath ;THE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY. Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be, Forbear to judge, till you do further see. If that thou wilt not read, let it alone; Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone ; Yea, that I might them better palliate, I did too ‘with them thus expostulate : May I not write in such a style as this? In such a method too, and yet not miss My end, thy good? Why may it not be done? Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either, But treasures up the fruit they yield together ; Yea, so commixes both, that in their fruit None can distii'guish this from that; they suit Her well when hungry ; but, if she be full, She spews out both, and makes their blessing null. You see the ways the fisherman doth take To catch the fish; what engines doth he make! Behold! how he engageth all his wits; Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets ; Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line, Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make thine ; They must be groped for, and be tickled too, Or they will not be catched, whate’er you do. How does the fowler seek to catch his game ? By divers means, all which one cannot name: His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell: He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell Of all his postures? Yet there’s none of these Will make him master of what fowls he please.THE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY. i Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch thas, Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss. If that a pearl may in a toad’s head dwell, ae re eg Sater ei And may be found too in an oyster shell : If things that promise nothing do contain What better is than gold, who will disdain, That have an inkling of it, there to look, That they may find it? Now, my little book (Though void of all these paintings, that may make It with this or the other man to take) Is not without those things that do excel fi What do in brave but empty notions dwell. fhe Well, yet Lam not fully satisfied ii That this your book will stand, when soundly tried. | | Why, what’s the matter? Jt 7s dark! What though? ) | But it ts feigned. What of that? I trow Some men, by feigned words, as dark as mine, Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine! But they want solidness. Speak, man, thy mind! They drown the weak ; metaphors make us blind. Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen Of him that writeth things divine to men: | But must I needs want solidness, because a By metaphors I speak? Were not God’s laws, | His gospel laws, in olden time held forth al By shadows, types, and metaphors? Yet loath it Will any sober man be to find fault With them, lest he be found for to assault bia The Highest Wisdom! No, he rather stoops, | And seeks to find out what by pins and loops, By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams, By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, Oa eke Se gas tae =THE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY. God speaketh to him; and happy is he That finds the light and grace that in them be. Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude That I want solidness, that I am rude: All things solid in show, not solid be ; All things in parable despise not we, Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive, And things that good are, of our souls bereave. My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold. The prophets used much by metaphors To set forth truth; yea, whoso considers Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see That truths to this day in such mantles be. Am J afraid to say, that holy writ, Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit, Is every where so full of all these things, (Dark figures, allegories,) yet there springs From that same book, that lustre, and those rsay Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days. Come, let my carper to his life now look, And find there darker lines than in my book He findeth any; yea, and let him know, That in his best things there are worse lines too. May we but stand before impartial men, To his poor one I dare adventure ten, That they will take my meaning in these lines Far better than his lies in silver shrines. Come, truth, although in swaddling-clouts I find, Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind; Pleases the understanding, makes the wil Submit; the memory too it doth fillTHE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY. ri : With what doth our imagination please ; | Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use, And old wives’ fables he is to refuse ; But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid i aaa ita eine ta The use of parables, in which lay hid That gold, those pearls, and precious stones, that were Worth digging for, and that with greatest care. Let me add one word more: O man of God, Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had Put forth my matter in another dress? Or that I had in things been more express? To those that are my betters, as is fit, Three things let me propound, then I submit: 1. I find not that I am denied the use Of this my method, so I no abuse Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude In handling figure or similitude, In application; but all that I may Seek the advance of truth, this or that way Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave, (Examples too, and that from them that have God better pleased, by their words or ways, Than any man that breatheth now-a-days,) Thus to express my mind, thus to declare Things unto thee that excellentest are. 2, I find that men as high as trees will write : Dialogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight | For writing so: indeed, if they abuse Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use To that intent; but yet let truth be free To make her sallies upon thee and me, ae Tbs Spa Se CarTHE: AUDHOR’S:: APOLOGY, Which way it pleases God ; for who knows how, Better than He that taught us first to plough, To guide our minds and pens for his design ? And He makes base things usher in divine. 3. I find that holy writ, in many places, Hath semblance with this method, where the cases Do call for one thing to set forth another: Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother Truth’s golden beams: nay, by this method may Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. And now, before-I do put up my pen, I’ll show the profit of my book; and then Commit both me and it unto that hand That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand. This book it chalketh out before thine eyes The man that seeks the everlasting prize: It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes, What he leaves undone; also what he does: It also shows you how he runs and runs, Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes. It shows too who set out for life amain, As if the lasting crown they would obtain, Here also you may see the reason why They lose their labour, and like fools do die. 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 direction understand ; Yea, it will make the slothful active be ; The blind also delightful things to see. Art thou for something rare and profitable ? Or wouldst thou see a truth within a fable? ICor arene pea a THE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY. Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember From New-year’s day to the last of December ? Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs, And may be to the helpless, comforters. This book is writ in such a dialect As may the minds of listless men affect : It seems a novelty, and yet contains Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains. Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy ? Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly ? Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation ? Or else be drowned in thy contemplation ? Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see A man i’ the clouds, and hear him speak to thee ? Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep ? Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep? *WVouldest thou lose thyself and catch no harm, And find thyself again without a charm ? Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowst not what, And yet know whether thou art blest or not, By reading the same lines? O then come hither ! Aud lay my book, thy head, and heart together. JOHN BUNYAN.PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. PART, <1 ANTIRAES pa Sn UIT pea ed Mie axa - - AA ee ae S I walked through the wilderness : of this world, I lighted on a certain pe place where was a den,* and tus sar. laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and, i pase = 1 I GPE za < t C * Mr. Bunyan was confined, at different times, about twelve years in Bedford jail, for exercising his ministry contrary to the statutes then in force. This was ‘the den, in which he slept and dreamed :’ here he penned this instructive allegory, and many other useful works, which evince that he was neither soured nor disheartened by persecution. The Christian, who understands what usage he ought to expect in this evil world, com- paring our present measure of religious liberty with the rigours of that age, will see abundant cause for gratitude; but they, who are disposed to complain, can never be at a loss for topics, while so much is amiss among all ranks and orders of men, and in the conduct of every individual. a68 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. behold, I saw* a man clothed with rags standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back.’ [ looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein ; and, as he read, he wept and trembled; and, not being a Isaiah lxiv. 5. Luke xiv. 33. Psalm XXxviii. 4. Hab. ii. 2. *The allegory opens with a description of the principal character to which it relates. ‘The view, which the author in his dream had of him, as ‘clothed in rags,’ implies that all men are sinners, in their dispositions, affections and conduct; that their supposed virtues are radically defective, and worthless in the sight of God; that the pilgrim has discovered this in his own case, so that he perceives his own righteousnesses to be insufficient for justification, even as sordid rags would be unsuitable raiment for those who stand before kings. His ‘face turned from his own house’ represents the sinner convinced that it is absolutely necessary to subordinate all other concerns to the care of his immortal soul, and to renounce every thing which interferes with that grand object: this makes him lose his former relish for the pleasures of sin, and even for the most lawful temporal satis- factions, while he trembles at the thought of impending destruction. (Heb. xi. 8. 24—27.) ‘The book in his hand,’ &c. instructs us, that sinners dis- cover their real state and character, by reading and believing the Scrip- tures; that their first attention is often directed to the denunciations of the wrath to come contained in them, and that such persons cannot but con- tinue to search the word of God, though their grief and alarm be increased by every perusal. The ‘burden upon his back’ represents that distressing sense of guilt, and fear of wrath, which deeply convinced sinners cannot shake off; ‘the remembrance of their sins is grievous to them, the burden of them is intolerable:’ their consciences are oppressed with guilt, even on account of those actions in which their neighbours perceive no harm; their hearts tremble at the prospect of dangers of which others have no appre- hension; and they see an absolute necessity of escaping from a situation in which others live most securely: for true faith, from the very first, ‘sees things that are invisible.’ In one way or other, therefore, they soon mani- fest the earnestness of their minds, in inquiring ‘what they must do to be saved.’ The circumstances of these humiliating convictions exceedingly vary; but the life of faith and grace always begins with them: and they, who are wholly strangers to this experience, are Christians only in name and form :— ‘He knows no hope, who never knew a fear.’ Cowper.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 69 able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, “ What shall I do!” In this plight,* therefore, he went home, and restrained himself as long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble increased. Where- fore, at length, he brake his mind to his wife and child- Db, Acts 1137. *The contempt or indignation, which worldly people express towards those who are distressed in conscience, commonly induces them to conceal their inquietude as long as they can, even from their relatives; but this soon becomes impracticable. Natural affection also, connected with a view of the extreme danger to which a man sees the objects of his most tender attachments exposed, but of which they have no apprehensions, will extort such earnest representations, warnings, and entreaties, as are here ex- pressed. The city of Destruction (as it is afterwards called) signifies this present evil world, as doomed to the flames; or the condition of careless sinners, immersed in secular pursuits and pleasures, neglecting eternal things, and exposed to the unquenchable fire of hell, ‘at the day of judg- ment and perdition of ungodly men.’ They who are ignorant of the Scriptures, and unaccustomed to compare their own conduct with the Divine law, will be amazed at such discourse; and, instead of duly re- garding the warnings given them, will commonly ascribe them to enthu- siasm or insanity; and as prophets, apostles, and the Son of God himself, were looked upon in this light by their contemporaries, we may be sure that no prudence, excellence, or benevolence, can exempt the consistent believer from the trial. Near relations will generally be the first to form this opinion of his case; and will devise various expedients to quiet his mind: diversions, company, feastings, absence from serious friends or books, will be prescribed: and by these means a false peace often succeeds a tran- sient alarm. But when a genuine humiliating discovery of the evil and desert of sin has been made to the soul, such expedients will not alleviate, but increase, the anguish; and will be followed by still greater earnest- ness about a man’s own salvation, and that of others. This commonly strengthens prejudice, and induces obduracy: and contemptuous pity gives place to resentment, ill usage, derision, or neglect. The disconsolate be- liever will then be driven into retirement, and relieve his burdened mind by reading the Scriptures, and meditating on his doleful case, with com- passionate prayers for his despisers: and thus he sows in tears that seed from which the harvest of his future joy will surely be produced.70 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, ren; and thus he began to talk to them: O my dear wife, said he, and you the children of my bowels, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am certainly cars worn». informed that this our city will be burnt with fire from heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both my- self, with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall az xvows xo miserably come to ruin, except (the which sven: yet | see not) some way of escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his rela- tions were sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was true, but because they thought that some frenzy distemper had got into his head. Therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got him to bed. But the night was as trouble- some to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. ‘So when the morning was come, they would know how he did. He told them, Worse and worse. He also set to talking to them again; but they began to be hardened. They also canna ray. thought to drive away his distemper by sou. harsh and surly carriage to him: some- times they would deride, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Where- fore he began to retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to condole his own misery. He would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and thus for some days he spent his time. Now I saw,* upon a time, when he was walking in «The Scriptures are indeed sufficient to make us wise unto salvation, as well as to shew us our guilt and danger; yet the Lord commonly uses theTHE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 71 the fields, that he was (as he was wont) reading in his book, and greatly distressed in his mind; and as he read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, “ What shall I do to be saved?" I saw also that he looked this way, and that way, as if he would run; yet he stood still, because (as I per- ceived) he could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him, and he asked, Wherefore dost thou cry ? He answered, Sir, I perceive, by the book in my hand, that Iam condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment; and I find that J} am not willing to do the first, nor able to do the second.‘ Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this life is attended with so many evils? The man answered, Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the grave, and I shall fall into Tophet.° And, sir, if I be not fit to go to prison, I am not fit to go to judgment, and from thence to execution: and the thoughts of these things make me cry. Then said Evangelist,* If this be thy condition, why ce Acts xvi. 30, 31. d Heb. ix. 27. Job xvi. 21,22. Ezek. xxii. 14. e Isa. xxx. 33. ministry of his servants to direct, into the way of peace, even those who have previously discovered their lost condition. Though convinced of the necessity of escaping from impending ruin, they hesitate, not knowing what to do, till Providence brings them acquainted with some faithful preacher of the Gospel, whose instructions afford an explicit answer to their secret inquiries after the way of salvation. * The able minister of Christ will deem it necessary to enforce -he warning, ‘ flee from the wrath to come,’ even upon those who are alarmed about their souls; because this is the proper way of exciting them to dilt. ~ gence and decision, and of preserving them from procrastination. They, therefore, who would persuade such persons, that their fears are groundless, their guilt far less than they suppose, and their danger imaginary, use the2 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. CONVICTION OF standest thou still? He answered, Because THE NECESSITY e OF FLEEING. I know not whither to go. Then he gave him a parchment roll; and there was written within, “Flee from the wrath to come.” The man therefore read it, and looking upon Evan- gelist very carefully, said, Whither must I flee?* Then said Evangelist, poimting with his finger over a very wide field. Do you see yonder wicket-gate?’ ‘The man ourrex, anp 821d, No. Then said the other, Do you see mim, caxxot se yonder shining light?" He said, I think I FOUND WITHOUT rue word. o, Then said Evangelist, Keep that light in your eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate; at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do. So I saw in my dream, f Matt. iil. 7 g Matt. vii. 13, 14. Ih Bsalm cxix. 105, 2-Pet. 1. 19. most effectual means of soothing them into a fatal security. Nor can any discoveries of heinous guilt or helpless ruin in themselves produce despond- ency, provided the salvation of the Gospel be fully exhibited, and proposed to them. * The awakened sinner may be incapable for a time of perceiving the way of salvation by faith in Christ; for divine illumination is often very gradual. Thus, though the pilgrim could not see the gate, when Evangelist pointed it out to him, he thought he could discern the shining light. Up- right inquirers attend to the general instructions and encouragements of Scripture, and the declarations of the pardoning mercy of God; which by degrees lead them to the knowledge of Christ, and to faith in him: for, as our author says in a marginal note, ‘Christ, and the way to him, cannot be found without the word.’ Thus instructed, the pilgrim ‘began to run;’ for no persuasions or considerations can induce the man, who is duly in earnest about salvation, to neglect those things which he knows to be his present duty: but it must be expected that carnal relations will oppose this, espe- cially as it appears to them destructive of all their prospects of worldly advantage. The following lines are here subjoined to a very rude en- erTaving :— ‘Christian no sooner leaves the world, but meets Evangelist, who lovingly him greets With tidings of another; and doth shew Him how to mount to that from this below.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 73 that the man began to run. Now he had not run far from his own door, when his wife and children per- ceiving it, began to cry after him to return;' but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, ‘Life! life! eternal life!’ So he looked not behind him,* but fled towards the middle of the plain. The neighbours* also came out to see him run: and, as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and among those | t#2y | tHat FLY FROM THE WRATH TO COME that did so, there were two that were re- (Re ’, cazine- TOCK, «TO. sOHiE solved to fetch him back by force. The name wort. of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other Pliable. Now by this time the man was got a good j Luke xiv. 26. k Gen. xix. 17. * The attention of numbers is in general excited when one of their companions in sin and vanity engages in religion and forsakes the party. He soon becomes the topic of conversation among them: their minds are variously affected; some ridicule, others rail, threaten, attempt force, or employ artifice, to withdraw him from his purpose ; according to their dif- ferent dispositions, situations, or relations to him. Most of them, however, soon desist, and leave him to his choice. But two characters are not so easily shaken off; these our author has named Obstinate and Pliable, to denote their opposite propensities. The former, through a resolute pride and stoutness of heart, persists in attempting to bring back the new con- vert to his worldly pursuits; the latter, from a natural easiness of temper and susceptibility of impression, is pliant to persuasion, and readily con- sents to make a profession of religion. The subsequent dialogue admirably illustrates the characters of the speakers. Christian (for so he is henceforth called) is firm, decided, bold, and sanguine :—Obstinate is profane, scornful, self-sufficient, and disposed to contemn God’s word, when it interferes with his worldly interests :— Pliable is yielding, and easily induced to engage in things, of which he understands neither the nature nor the consequences. Christian’s plain warnings and earnest entreaties; Obstinate’s contempt of believers, as ‘crazy-headed coxcombs,’ and his exclamation when Pliable inclines to be a pilgrim, ‘ What, more fools still?’ are admirably characteristic ; and show that such things are peculiar to no age or place, but always accompany serious godliness, as the shadow does the substance. KV4 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. distance from them; but, however, they were resolved to pursue him; which they did, and in a little time they overtook him. Then said the man, Neighbours, where- fore are you come? ‘They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said, That can by no means be. You dwell, said he, in the city of Destruction; the place also where I was born: I see it to be so; and dying there, sooner or later, you will sink lower than the grave, into a place that burns with fire and brimstone: be content, good neighbours, and go along with me. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends and our comforts behind us? Yes, said Christian, (for that was his name,) be- cause that all which you shall forsake, is not worthy to be compared with a little of that which I am seeking to enjoy ;’ and if you will go along with me, and hoid it, you shall fare as I myself; for there, where I go, is enough and to spare." Come away, and prove my words. Ozst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the world to find them ? Cur. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away; and it is laid up in heaven,” and safe there, to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on them that diligently seek it. Read it so, if you will, in my book. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go back with us, or no? No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to the plough.° Oest. Come then, neighbour Pliable, let us turn again, and go home without him: there 1s a company of these crazy-headed coxcombs, who, when they take } 2 Cor. iv. 18. m Luke xv. 17. n ] Pet. i. 4—6. Heb. xi. 6, 16. o Luke ix. 62,THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. a fancy by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason. Then said Pliable, Don’t revile; if what the good Christian says is true, the things he looks after are better than ours: my heart inclines to go with my neighbour. Oxsst. What! more fools still! Be ruled by me, and go back; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go back, go back, and be wise. Cur. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbour Pliable; there are such things to be had cxrrszrtay ano OBSTINATE PULL which I spoke of, and many more glories 79%, *™"424#’s besides. If you believe not me, read here in this book ; and, for the truth of what is expressed therein, behold, all is confirmed by the blood of Him that made it.” Well, neighbour Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to come to a point; I intend to go along with _Prtasze_ cox. NTETH TO GO this good man, and to cast in my lot with (74% oss him: but, my good companion, do you know the way to this desired place? Cur. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evan- gelist, to speed me to a little gate that is before us, where we shall receive instructions about the way. Pur. Come then, good neighbour, let us be going. Then re went both together. I will go back to my place, said Obstinate: I will be no companion of such misled, ogsrinare coxs fantastical fellows. a Now I saw in my dream,* that when Obstinate was p Heb. ix. 17—22 * This conversation between Christian and Pliable marks the difference in their characters, as well as the measure of the new convert’s attain- ments, The want of a due apprehension of eternal things is evidently the al otal 1 ala REAR aaah ia atten esha AA OTe ots Nant ET eefteeb es F716 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. TALK BETWEEN oS one back, Christian and Pliable went talk- So hy a ing over the plain; and thus they began their discourse. Cur. Come, neighbour Pliable, how do you do? I am glad you are persuaded to go along with me. Had even Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the powers and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus lightly have given us the back. Pui. Come, neighbour Christian, since there are none but us two here, tell me now farther, what the things are, and how to be enjoyed, whither we are going. Cur. I can better conceive of them with my mind, than speak of them with my tongue: but yet, since you are desirous to know, I will read of them in my book. GopD’Ss THINGS UNSPEAKABLE, primary defect of all who oppose or neglect religion; but more maturity of judgment and experience is requisite to discover, that many professors are equally strangers to a realizing view ‘of the powers and terrors of what is yet unseen.’ The men represented by Pliable disregard these subjects ; they inquire eagerly about the good things to be enjoyed, but not in any due proportion about the way of salvation, the difficulties to be encountered, or the danger of coming short: and new converts, being zealous, sanguine, and unsuspecting, are naturally led to enlarge on the descriptions of hea- venly felicity given in Scripture. As these are generally figurative or negative, such unhumbled professors, annexing carnal ideas to them, are greatly delighted; and, not being retarded by any distressing remorse and terror, or feeling the opposition of corrupt nature, they are often more zealous, and seem to proceed faster in external duties, than true converts. They take it for granted that all the privileges of the Gospel belong to them; and, being very confident, zealous, and joyful, they often censure those who are really fighting the good fight of faith. There are also systems diligently propagated, which marvellously encourage this delusion, excite a high flow of false affections, especially of a mere selfish gratitude to a supposed benefactor for imaginary benefits, which is considered as a very high attainment: till the event proves them to be like the Israelites at the Red Sea, who‘ believed the Lord’s words, and sang his praise; but soon forgat his works, and waited not for his counsel.’ (Psalm evi. 12—24)THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. ae Put. And do you think that the words of your book are certainly true? Cur. Yes, verily; for it was made by Him that can- not lie.’ Pur. Well said; what things are they ? Cur. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that kingdom for ever. Pur. Well said; and what else? Cur. There are crowns of glory to be given us; and garments that will make us shine like the sun in the firmament of heaven.® Pri. This is very pleasant; and what else? Cur. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow; for He that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.‘ Pur. And what company shall we have there ? Cur. There we shall be with seraphims and cheru- bims, 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 hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. In a word, there we shall see the elders with their golden crowns ;” there we shall see the holy virgins with their golden 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 bare to the Lord of the place, all well, and clothed with immortality as with a garment.* Pu. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one’s g Tit.4.9.. ¥ ig. Ixv..17.. Jahn, x. 27229... 2 Tim. iv.8. Rev. xxii. 5. Matt. xiii. 43. t fea. xxv. 8. ev. vit. 16,17. xxi. 4 u Isa. vi. 2. 1 Thess. iv. 16, 17. v Rev. iv. 4. w Rev. xiv. t—3. x John xii. 25. 2 Cor. v, 2—4,78 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. heart. But are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers thereof? Cur. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded that in this book, the substance of which is, If we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely.” Pur. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things: come on, let us mend our pace. Cur. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that is upon my back. Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough,* that y Isa. lv. 1—8. John vi. 37. Vil. o/. ReVaxxi 6, 7. xl. 77. * The slough of Despond represents those discouraging fears which often harass new converts. It is distinguished from the alarms whith induced Christian to leave the city, and ‘flee from the wrath to come ?. sfor athe anxious apprehensions of one who is diligently seeking salvation are very different from those which excited him to enquire after it. The latter are reasonable and useful, and arise from faith in God’s word: but the former are groundless; they result from remaining ignorance, inattention, and un- belief, and greatly retard the pilgrim in his progress. They should also be carefully distinguished from those doubts and discouragements, which assault the established Christian; for these are generally the consequence of negligence, or yielding to temptation; whereas new converts fall into their despondings, when most diligent, according to the light they have re- ceived: and if some conscientious persons seem to meet with this slough in every part of their pilgrimage, it arises from an immature judgment, erro- neous sentiments, or peculiar temptations. When the diligent student of the Scriptures obtains such an acquaintance with the perfect holiness of God, the spirituality of his law, the inexpressible evil of sin, and his own obligations and transgressions, as greatly exceeds the measure in which he discerns the free and full salvation of the Gospel, his humiliation will verge nearer and nearer to despondency. ‘This, however, is not essential to re- pentance, but arises from misapprehension ; though few in proportion wholly escape it. The mire of the slough represents that idea which desponding persons entertain of themselves and their situation, as altogether vile and loathsome; and their confessions and self-abasing complaints, which render them contemptible in the opinion of others. As every attempt to rescue themselves discovers to them more of the latent evil of their hearts, theyTHE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 79 was in the midst of the plain; and they being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond. Here, therefore, ney Ee wallowed for a time, being grievously be- “* °"""°*” daubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of the burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire. Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbour Christian, where are you now ? Truly, said Christian, I do not know. At that Phable began to be offended, and angrily said to his fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me of all this while? If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may we expect between this and our journey’s end? May I get out again with my life, you shall possess the brave country alone for ir is wor ENOUGH TO BE me. And with that he gave a desperate »ttste. struggle or two, and got out of the mire on that side seem to grow worse and worse; and, for want of a clear understanding of the Gospel, they have no firm ground to tread on, and know neither where they are, or what they must do. But how could Pliable fall into this slough, seeing he had no such views of God or his law, of himself, or of sin, as this condition seems to presuppose? ‘To this it may be answered, that men can hardly associate with religious persons, and hear their discourse, confessions, and complaints, or become acquainted with any part of Scripture, without making some alarming and mortifying discoveries concerning themselves. These transient convictions taking place when they fancied they were about to become very good, and succeeding to great self-complacency, con- stitute a grievous disappointment; and they ascribe their uneasiness to the new doctrine they have heard. But, though Pliable fell into the slough, Christian ‘ by reason of his burden’ sank the deepest ; for the true believer’s humiliation for sin tends greatly to increase his fear of wrath. Superficial professors, expecting the promised happiness without trouble or suffering, are often very angry at those who were the means of inducing them to think of religion; as if they had deceived them: and, being destitute of true faith, their only object is, at any rate to get rid of their uneasiness. he church, who are offended and fall away, by means of a little inward dis- a This is a species of stony-ground hearers abounding in every part of t quietude, before any outward tribulation arises because of the word. ee eer ed eee ae Seer ee es80 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. of the slough which was next to his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw him no more. Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough Be So i et te liule Despond alone: but still he endea- TROUSLE SEEKS Fred to struggle to that side of the STILL TO GET FARTHER FRO Is oWN HOUSE, slough that was farthest from his own house, and next to the Wicket-gate ;* the which he did, but could not get out because of the burden that was upon his back. But 1 beheld in my dream, that a man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him, What he did there ? Sir, said Christian, I was bid to go this way by a man called Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might escape the wrath to come. And as I was going thither, I fell in here. Tae nponrexe:, . LAR EPeglltio aye didwmotmouslook, tox the steps ? Cur. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and fell in. Then said he, Give me thy hand; so he gave him * Christian dreaded the doom of his city more than the slough. Many persons, under deep distress of conscience, are afraid of relief, lest it should prove delusive. Deliverance from wrath and the blessings of salvation appear to them so valuable, that all else is comparatively trivial. Despon- ding fears may connect with their religious diligence; but despair would be the consequence of a return to their former course of sin. If they perish, therefore, it shall be whilst earnestly struggling, under deep discouragement, after that salvation for which their souls even faint within them. Their ywn efforts, indeed, fail to extricate them: but in due time the Lord will send them assistance. This is described by the allegorical person named Help, who may represent the instruments by which they receive encourage- ment: a service in which it is a privilege to be employed!—Fear is also personified: in the midst of the new convert’s discourse on the joys of hea- ven, fears of wrath often cast him into despondency, while he so thinks or the terrors of the Lord, as to overlook his precious promises.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 8] his han ‘few hi and, and he drew him Olt sand nei ee him upon sound ground, and bid him Qs gee on his way.” Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the city of Destruction to yonder gate, is it, that this plat is not mended, that poor travellers might go thither with more security? And he said unto me,” This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended. it is the descent whither the scum and filth waar waxes ae ; THE SLOUGH OF that attends conviction for sin doth con- >zsrox». tinually run, and therefore it is called the Slough of zZ Psalm xl. 2, * This account of the slough, which our author in his vision received from Help, coincides with the preceding explanation. Increasing knowledge produces deeper self-abasement: hence discouraging fears arise in men’s minds, lest they should at last perish; and objections against themselves continually accumulate till they fall into habitual despondency, unless they constantly attend to the encouragements of the Scripture, or, in the apostle’s language, have their ‘ feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of peace.’ As this state of mind is distressing and enfeebling in itself, and often fur- nishes enemies with a plausible objection to religion, the servants of God have always attempted to preserve humble enquirers from it, by various scriptural instructions and consolatory topics: yet their success is not ad- equate to their wishes; for the Lord is pleased to permit numbers to be thus discouraged, in order to detect false professors, and to render the upright more watchful and humble. Our author in a marginal note, explains the steps to mean, ‘ the promises of forgiveness and acceptance to life by faith in Christ ;’ which includes the general invitations, and the various encour- agements given in Scripture to all who seek the salvation of the Lord, and diligently use the appointed means. It was evidently his opinion, that the path from destruction to life lies by this slough; and that none are indeed in the narrow way, who had neither struggled through it, nor gone over it by means of the steps. The ‘change of weather’ seems to denote those seasons when peculiar temptations, exciting sinful passions, perplex the minds of new converts; and s0, losing sight of the promises, they sink into despondency during humiliating experiences: but faith in Christ, and in the mercy of God through him, sets the pilgrim’s feet on good ground. L82 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. Despond; for still, as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there arise in his soul many fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this place. And this is the reason of the badness of this ground. It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain so bad.* His labourers also have, by the direction of his Majesty’s surveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years employed about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to my knowledge, said he, here have been swallowed up at least twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of wholesome instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from all places of the King’s dominions, (and they that can tell, say, they are the best materials to make good ground of the place,) if so be it might have been mended; but it is the slough of Despond still, and so will be when they have done what they can. True, there are, by the direction of the Lawegiver, raz rrowise certain good and substantial steps, placed OF FORGIVENESS axp acceFt oven through the very midst of this ANCE TO LIFE BY BKALTH: IN CHRIST. slough; but at such time as this place doth much spew out its filth, as it doth against change of weather, these steps are hardly seen; or if they be, men, through the dizziness of their heads, step beside ; and then they are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there :> but the ground is good when they are once got in at the gate. Now I saw in my dream, that by this time Phable acitstz ect was got home to his house. So his neigh- VISITED BY HS NEIGHBOURS. bours came to visit him; and some of them a Isa. xxxv. 3, 4, 8. b 1Sam. xii. 21.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 83 called him wise man for coming back,* and some called him fool for hazarding himself with Christian: others again did mock at his cowardliness, saying, Surely, since you began to venture, I would not have been so base as to have given out for a few difficulties: so Pliable sat sneaking among them. But at last he got more confi- dence, and then they all turned their tales and began to deride poor Christian behind his back. And thus much concerning Pliable. as er oe si Now as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he espied one afar off, come crossing over the field to meet him; and their hap was to meetjustas ,,"*:,WOR=>2¥ WISEMAN MEETS they were crossing the way of each other, TZ °™*!™ The gentleman’s name that met him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman :T he dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy, a * They, who affect to despise real Christians, often both express and feel great contempt for those that cast off their profession ; such men are unable, for a time, to resume their wonted confidence among their former:compan- ions; and this excites them to pay court to them by reviling and deriding those whom they have forsaken. { The wise men of this world carefully notice those who begin to turn their thoughts to religion, and attempt to counteract their convictions before the case becomes desperate : from their desponding fears they take occasion to insinuate that they are deluded or disordered in their minds; that they make too much ado about religion ; and that a decent regard to it (which is all that is requisite) consists with the enjoyment of this life, and even con- duces to secular advantage. Worldly-Wiseman, therefore, is a person of consequence, whose superiority gives him influence over poor pilgrims: he is a.reputable and successful man; prudent, sagacious, and acquainted with mankind; moral and religious in his way, and qualified to give the very best counsel to those who wish to serve both God and Mammon: but he is decided in his judgment against all kinds and degrees of religion, which interfere with a man’s worldly inter¢st,disquiet his mind, or spoil his relish for outward enjoyments. He resides at Carnal-Policy, a great town near the city of Destruction: for worldly prudence, modelling a man’s religion, is as ruinous as open vice and impiety ; though it be very prevalent among decent and virtuous people. Such men attend to the reports that are circu- lated about the conversion of their neighbours, and often watch their oppor- tunity of enteriz into discourse with them. tS atthe caalabilaed84 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. very great town, and also hard-by from whence Chris- tian came. This man then, meeting with Christian, and having some inkling of him, (for Christian’s setting forth from the city of Destruction was much noised abroad, not only in the town where he dwelt, but also it began to be the town-talk in some other places,)— Mr. Worldly Wiseman, therefore, having some guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, by observing his sighs and groans, and the like, began thus to enter into some talk with Christian. Dale Raves Wortp. How now, good fellow, whither MR. WORLDLY wisewax 48? away after this burdened manner {* * There is great beauty in this dialogue, arising from the exact regard to character preserved throughout. Indeed this forms one of our author’s peculiar excellencies; as it is a very difficult attainment, and always man- ifests a superiority of genius. The self-satisfaction of Worldly-Wiseman, his contempt of Christian’s capacity, sentiments, and pursuits; his affected sneering compassion, and his censure of Evangelist’s advice; his represen- tation of the dangers and hardships of the way, and of ‘the desperate ven- tures of religious people to obtain they know not what:’ and his confident assumption that Christian’s concern arose from weakness of intellect, ‘ med- dling with things too high’ for him, hearkening to bad counsel (that is read- ing the word of God, and attending to the preaching of the Gospel,) and from distraction, as the natural consequence, are most admirably character- istic. His arguments also are very specious, though wholy deduced from worldly considerations. He does not say, that Evangelist had not pointed out the way of salvation, or that wicked men are not in danger of future misery ; but he urges, that so much concern about sin and the eternal world takes men off from a proper regard to their secular interests, to the injury of their families; that it prevents their enjoying comfort in domestic life, or in other providential blessings; that it leads them into perilous and dis- tressing situations, of which their first terrors and despondings are only an earnest; that a troubled conscience may be quieted in a more expeditious and easy manner; and that they may obtain credit, comfort, and manifold advantages, by following prudent counsel. On the other hand, Christian not only speaks according to his name, but consistently with the character of a young convert. He makes no secret of his disquietude and terrors, and declares, without reserve, the method in which he sought relief. He owns, that he had lost his relish for every earthly comfort, and he desires to receive good counsel: but while he is prepared to withstand all persuasionsTHE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, 85 Cur. A burdened manner indeed, as ever I think poor creature had! And whereas you ask me, Whither away! I tell you, sir, I am going to yonder wicket- gate before me; for there, as I am informed, I shall be put into a way to be rid of my heavy burden. Wortp. Hast thou a wife and children? Cur. Yes; but I am so laden with this burden, that [ cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly: me- thinks I am as if I had none. Wortp. Wilt thou hearken to me, if I give thee counsel ? Cur. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good counsel. Wortp. I would advise thee, then, that thou with all speed get thyself tid of thy burden; for sostoe wien MAN’S COUNSEL thou wilt never be settled in thy mind till 1° currsrrax. then: nor canst thou enjoy the benefits of the blessings which God hath bestowed upon thee, till then. Cur. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of this heavy burden: but get it off myself I cannot; nor is there any man in our country that can take it off my shoulders; therefore am I going this way, as I told you, that I may be rid of my burden. Wortp. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy burden ? ce} 1 Cor: vir. 29: to return home, he is not upon his guard against the insidious proposal of his carnal counsellor. He fears the wrath to come more than all the dread- ful things which had been mentioned: but his earnestness to get present relief exposes him to the danger of seeking it in an unwarranted way. He has obtained from the Scriptures a conviction of his guilt and danger; but, not having also learned the instructions of life, he does not discern the fatal tendency of the plausible advice given him by so reputable a person. Every one, who has been in the way of making observations on these matters, must perceive how exactly this suits the case of numbers, when first brought to mind the one thing needful. eked alba Raat hago a t'50 heen ioplalb86 THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. o me to be a very great Cur. A man that appeared t as I remember, is and honourable person: his name, Evangelist. W ortp. I beshrew him for his counsel! there is not bi. Ut neyeta more dangerous and troublesome way in Wiewese xvas the world than is that into which he hath -—. ... . @irected.thee; sand 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 1s 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, sword, lions, dragons, darkness, and, in a word, death, and what not. ‘These things are certainly true, having been confirmed by many testimonies. And should a man so carelessly cast away himself, by giving heed to a stranger ! Cur. Why, sir, this burden upon my back is more terrible to me than are all these things THE FRAME OF : ’ : ps eer or which you have mentioned: nay, methinks TIAN. : e ° IT care not what I meet with in the way, if so be I can also meet with deliverance from my burden. Worzp. How camest thou by thy burden at first! Cnr. By reading this book in my hand. Wort. I thought so; 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 ; cs pores vor Which distractions do not only unman men, LIKE THAT MEN ° e sxourp azsenr as thine I perceive have done thee, but Ovus IN READING “am they run them upon desperate ventures, to obtain they know not what.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, 87 Cur. I know what I would obtain; it is ease from my heavy burden. Wortp. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing so many dangers attend it? especially since (hadst thou but patience to hear me) I could direct thee to the obtaining of what thou desirest, without the dangers that thou in this way wilt run thyself into. Yea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, that, instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet with much safety, friendship, and content. | Cur. Sir, I pray open this secret to me. Worip. Why, in yonder village* (the village ts * The village Morality, is the emblem of that large company, who in nations favoured with revelation abstain from scandalous vices, and practise reputable duties, without any true fear or love of God, or regard to his au- thority or glory. This, connected with a system of notions, and a stint of external worship, is substituted in the place of Christianity: but it is faulty in its principle, measure, and object; it results wholly from self-love ; is restricted to the outward observance of some precepts selected from the Scriptures ; and aims principally at the acquisition of reputation, distinction, or temporal advantages, with no more than a subordinate respect even to the interests of eternity: it is destitute of humility, delight, impartiality, and universality in obedience; it leaves the heart in the possession of some worldly idol, and never advances a man to the rank of a spiritual worship- per, or renders him meet for the peculiar pleasures of heaven. Yet this mutilated kind of religion draws multitudes off from attending either to the holy requirements of the law, or to the humbling doctrines of the Gospel. The most noted inhabitant of this village does not derive his name, Legal- ity, from making the law of God the rule of his conduct (for ‘by the law is the knowledge of sin,’ which tends to increase the convinced sinner’s dis- tress), but from his teaching men to depend on a defective obedience to a small part of the law, explained and lowered, according to the method of the scribes and pharisees. Such teachers, however, are admired by the wise men of this world, and are deemed very skilful in relieving troubled consciences, and recovering men from religious distractions. His son Civility is the emblem of those, who persuade themselves and others, that a decent, benevolent, and obliging behaviour, will secure men from all future punishment, and insure an inheritance in heaven, if indeed tee be any such place! Such counsellors can ease the consciences of ignorant88 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. named Morality) there dwells a gentleman whose name is Legality, a very judicious man, and a man of a very we rrerers wo. good name, that has skill to help men off THE STRANI with such burdens as thine Is from their shoulders; yea, to my knowledge, he hath done a great deal of good this way; aye, and besides, he hath skill to cure those that are somewhat crazed in their wits with their burdens. To him, as I said, thou mayst go, and be helped presently. His house is not quite a mile from this place; and if he should not be at home him- self, he hath a pretty young man to his son, whose name is Civility, that can do it (to speak on) as well as the old gentleman himself: there, I say, thou mayst be eased of thy burden; and if thou art not minded to go back to thy former habitation, (as indeed I would not wish thee,) thou mayst send for thy wife and children to thee to this village, where there are houses now stand- ing empty, one of which thou mayst have at a reasonable rate: provision is there also cheap and good; and that which will make thy life the more happy 1s, to be sure there thou shalt live by honest neighbours, in credit and good fashion. Now was Christian somewhat at a stand; but pre- sently he concluded, If this be true which this gentle- persons, when superficially alarmed, almost as well as those who superadd a form of godliness, a few doctrinal opinions, and a regard to some precepts of the Gospel. Both are nigh at hand in every place; and the wise men of this world are ever ready to direct convinced sinners to seek relief from them: they allow, that it is better for those who have been immoral and profligate to reform their lives; for this will meet with the approbation of their relatives, and conduce to their advantage, while the strait gate and narrow way would prove their ruin. Most pilgrims are assailed by such counsellors: and many are not able to detect the fallacy of their reasonings till their own folly corrects them.THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 89 man hath said, my wisest course is to take CUBIS : SNARED BY MR his advice: and with that he thus further mays worvs. spake. Cur. Sir, which is my way to this honest man’s house? Wortp. Do you see yonder high hill?* — moony stwat. Cur. Yes, very well. Wortp. By that hill you must go, and the first house you come at is his. So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality’s house for help: but behold, when CHRISTIAN AFRAED TAAT he was got now hard by the hill, it seemed = “ounr stwar WOULD FALL so hich, and also that side of it that was) °* "™* ***” next the way-side did hang so much over, that Christian was afraid to venture further, lest the hill should fall on his head; wherefore there he stood still, and wist not what todo. Also his burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was in his way. ‘There came also flashes of fire out of the hill, that made Christian afraid that he should be burnt:‘ here therefore he did d Exod. xix. 16—18. Heb. xii. 21. * Christian must go past mount Sinai to the village Morality; not that such men, as depend on their own reformation and good works, pay a due regard to the holy law which was delivered from that mountain (for ‘ they are alive without the law’); but because they substitute their own scanty obedience in the place of Christ’s righteousness and atonement. They, who are not duly humbled and enlightened, perceiving little danger, pass on quietly and securely: but the sinner, who is deeply convinced of his guilt, finds every attempt ‘to establish his own righteousness’ entirely abortive: the more narrowly he compares his conduct and character with the holy law, the greater is his alarm: and he trembles lest its cUTSes should immediately fall upon him, with vengeance more tremendous than the most awful thunder. Then the counsels of worldly wisdom appear in their true light, and the sinner is prepared to welcome the Gospel of free salvation: but if the minister, whose instructions he had forsaken, meet him, his terror will unite with conscious shame; and he will even be tempted to shun his faithful friend, through fear of his merited reproofs. MaS 90 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. sweat, and quake for fear. And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wiseman’s coun- sel; and with that he saw Evangelist coming to meet svancezist him, at the sight also of whom he began FINDETH CHRIS- TaN =NP=R to blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer; and coming up to him, he looked upon him with a severe and dreadful countenance, and thus began to reason with Christian. pds isiny ye MGallngnaty NST HAN nl li Tie (iyo betthar® on, i Al? 4 a ie a i hy Nit 4 ay . i a Hf a = uy 5 (i LG iy) iS AR Ys AAW A Ay What dost thou here, Christian? said he: at which words Christian knew not what to answer; wherefore at present he stood speechless before him. Then said evancettst Fivangoelist further, Art not thou the man REASONS AFRESH WiLH “CHRIS- @ rian, that I found crying without the walls of the city of Destruction ? Cur. Yes, dear sir, J am the man. Evan. Did not I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gate ? :THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 9] Yes, dear sir, said Christian. Evan. How is it then that thou art so quickly turned aside? For thou art now out of the way. Cur. I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got over the Slough of Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the village before me, find a man that could take off my burden. Evan. What was he? Cur. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, and got me at last to yield; so I came hither ; but when I beheld this hill, and how it hangs over the way, I suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my head. Evan. What said that gentleman to you? Cur. Why, he asked me whither I was going; and I told him. Evan. And what said he then? Cur. He asked me if I had a family; and I told him. But, said I, 1 am so laden with the burden that is on my back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly. Evan. And what said he then ? Cur. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden; and I told him it was ease that I sought. And, said I, I am therefore going to yonder gate, to receive further direction how I may get to the place of deliverance. So he said that he would show me a better way, and short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, sir, that you set me in; which way, said he, will direct you to a gentleman’s house that hath skill to take off these burdens: so I believed him, and turned out of that way into this, if haply I might be soon eased of my burden. But when I came to this place, and be-cic mime oo ke Rear AEE Wess 92 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. held things as they are, I stopped, for fear, as I said, of danger: but I now know not what to do. Then said Evangelist, Stand still a little, that I may evanertist ghow thee the words of God.* So he stood or mis eRrox. trembling. Then said Evangelist, “See that ye refuse not Him that speaketh: for if they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away from Him that speaketh from Heaven.” He said, more- over, “Now the just shall live by faith; but if any e Heb. xii. 25. * Our author judged it right, in dealing with persons under great terror of conscience, to aim rather at preparing them for solid peace, than hastily to give them comfort. Men may be greatly dismayed, and in some degree truly humbled, yet not be duly sensible of the aggravation and degree of their guilt. In this case, further instructions, as to the nature and hein- ousness of their offences, are needful to excite them to proper diligence and self-denial, and to prepare them for solid peace and comfort. Whereas, a well-meant, compassionate, but injudicious, method, of proposing consola- tory topics indiscriminately to all under trouble of conscience, lulls many into a fatal sleep; and gives others a transient peace, which soon terminates in deep despondency: like a wound, hastily skinned over by an ignorant practitioner, instead of being soundly cured by the patient attention of a skilful surgeon. The communication of more knowledge may, indeed, augment a man’s terror and distress; but it will produce deeper humilia- tion, and thus effectually warn him against carnal counsellors and legal de- pendences. Whatever may be generally thought of ‘turning aside’ from the Gospel, it is a direct refusal to hearken to Christ; and they who do so, run into misery, and leave the way of peace, to the hazard of their souls; even though moral decency and formal piety be the result. (Gal. v. 4.) Such denunciations are despised by the stout-hearted, but the contrite in spirit, when conscious of this guilt, are cast by them into the deepest distress; so that they would fall into despair did not the ministers of Christ encourage them by evangelical topics. The following lines are here insertde, as be- fore, in the old editions :— ‘When Christians unto carnal men give ear, Out of their way they go, and pay for’t dear: For Master Worldly Wiseman can but shew A saint the way to bondage and to woe.’THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 93 man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.” He also did thus apply them: Thou art the man that art running into this misery; thou hast be- gun to reject the counsel of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot from the way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy perdition. Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, Woe is me, for Il am undone! At the sight of which Evangelist caught him by the right hand, saying, “ All manner of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men.” “Be not faithless, but believing.” ‘Then did Christian again a little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, before Evangelist. Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earn- est heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now show thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee. The man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly Qtsenan | p= WISEMAN DE- SCRIBED BY is he so called; partly because he sa- — evancsnisr. voureth only of the doctrine of this world,’ (therefore he always goes to the town of Morality to church ;*) and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him best from the cross: and because he is of this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to pervert my f Heb. x. 38. g 1 John iv. 5. h Gal. vi. 12. * Worldly Wiseman goes to church at the town of Morality: for such men support their confidence and reputation for religion by attending on those preachers, who substitute a proud scanty morality in place of the Gospel. This coincides with their secular views, dispositions, and inte- rests; they avoid the cross, verily thinking they have found out the secret of reconciling the friendship of the world with the favour of God; and then they set up for teachers of the same convenient system to their neighbours !it Rae aay Bara ck hole 94 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. ways, though right. Now there are three things in this man’s counsel that thou must utterly abhor. 1. His turning thee out of the way. 9. His labouring to render the cross odious to thee. 9. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth unto the administration of death. First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way; yea, and thine own consenting thereto; because this is to reject the counsel of God for the sake of the counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, «Strive to enter in at the strait gate,” the gate to which I send thee; “for strait is the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it’”” From this little wicket-gate, and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the bringing of thee almost to destruction: hate, therefore, his turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself for hearkening to him. Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the cross odious unto thee; for thou art to prefer it. before the treasures of Egypt. Besides, the King of glory hath told thee, that he that will save his life shall lose it. And he that comes after him, and hates not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and . brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be his disciple.' I say, therefore, for man to labour to persuade thee that that shall be thy death, without which, the truth hath said, thou canst not have eternal life; this doctrine thou must abhor. Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the way that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, i Luke xiii. 24. Matt. vii. 13, 14. k Heb. xi. 25, 26. 1 Matt. x. 37—39, Mark viii. 34,35. Luke xiv. 2¢ &7. John xii. 20.THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 95 and also how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy burden. He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Legality,* 1s the son of the bond-woman which now is, and is in bondage with her children;” and js, in a mystery, this mount Sinai, which thou hast feared will fall on thy head. Now, if she and her children are in bondage, how canst thou expect by them to be made free? This Legality, therefore, is not able to set thee free from thy burden. No man was as yet ever rid of his burden by him; no, nor ever is like to be. Ye cannot be justified by the works of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of his burden: therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an alien, and Mr. Legality is a cheat; and for his son Civility, notwith- standing his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite, and cannot help thee. Believe me, there is nothing in all this noise that thou hast heard of these sottish men, but m Gal. iv. 21—97. * When Christ had finished his work on earth, the Sinai covenant with Israel was abrogated. The Jews, therefore, by cleaving to the Mosaic law as a complex covenant of works, were left in bondage and under con- demnation ;: and all professed Christians, who thus depend on notions, sacra- ments, religious duties, and morality, to the neglect of Christ and the new covenant in his blood, are entangled in the same fatal error. Legality can only lead a man to a false peace: it can never deliver a sinner from guilt, or quiet the conscience of one who is really humbled and enlightened. The Scriptures adduced by Evangelist are so pertinent and conclusive against the fashionable religion, which has at present almost superseded the Gospel, that they can never be fairly answered: nay, the more any man considers them as the testimony of God, the greater must be his alarm (even as if he heard the voice from mount Sinai out of the midst of the fire 5) unless he be conscious of having renounced every other confidence, to ‘flee for re- fuge to lay hold on the hope set before us’ in the Gospel. Such alarms pre- pare men to attend to the counsel of those who preach salvation by faith in Christ alone, provided there may yet be hope; of which there is no reason to doubt. teoe96 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. a desion to beguile thee of thy salvation, by turning thee from the way in which I had set thee. After this, Evangelist called aloud to the heavens for confirmation of what he had said; and with that there came words and fire. out of the mountain under which poor Christian stood, that made the hair of his flesh stand up. The words were thus pronounced; “ As many as are of the works of the law are under the curse; for it 1s written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.” Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to cry out lamentably; even cursing the time in which he met with Mr. Worldly Wiseman; still calling himself a thousand fools for hearkéning to his counsel. He also was greatly ashamed to think that this gentle- | man’s arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should | | have the prevalency with him so far as to cause him to forsake the right way. This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and sense as follows. Cur. Sir, what think you, is there any hope? May I now go back, and go up to the wicket-gate? Shall curistiax 1» [ not be abandoned for this, and sent back QUIRES IF HE may veT 2 from thence ashamed? Iam sorry I have HAPPY. hearkened to this man’s counsel: but may my sin be forgiven ¢ Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very great,* ‘ei ati pesmi n Gal. iii. 10. * In attempting to encourage those who despond, we should by no means | persuade them that their sins are few or trivial, or even that they judge too Pia hardly of their own conduct; nay, we should endeavour to convince them, that their guilt is even far greater than they suppose ; though not too great to be pardoned by the infinite mercy of God in Christ Jesus: for this tends to take them off more speedily from every vain attempt to justify them- selves, and renders them more unreserved in relying on Christ for accept-z : aa Us ware Det ee eee te ard ered Bee es‘ Tat ‘i NehTHE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, 97 for by it thou hast committed two evils; thou hast forsaken the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths. Yet will the man at the gate BV ANGELIaT receive thee, for he has food-will tor mens °° only, said he, take heed that thou turn not aside again, “lest thou perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.’ Then did Christian address himself to go back; and Evangelist, after he had kissed him, gave him one smile, and bid him God speed. So he went on with haste, neither spake he to any man by the way; nor if any man asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He went like one that was all the while treading on forbidden ground, and could by no means think himself safe till again he was got into the way which he hai left to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman’s counsel. So in process of time Christian got up to the gate.* Now o Psalm ii. 12. ance. In the midst of the most affectionate encouragements, the faithf:! minister must also solemnly warn young converts not to turn aside; nor can the humble ever‘find confidence or comfort, till they are conscious having regained the way they had forsaken. * The gate, at which Christian desired admission, represents Christ hiin> self, as received by the penitent sinner in all his offices, and for all the pur- poses of salvation, according to the measure of his explicit knowledge; Ly which he actually enters into a state of acceptance with God. The Scriv- tures referred to were spoken by our Lord himself, previous to the full re- velation of his character and redemption; and may be very properly ex- plained of a man’s finally and decidedly renouncing his worldly and sinfix pursuits, and engaging with diligence and self-denial in a life of devotet- ness to God. ‘The broad road leads to destruction;’ the gate by which men enter into it is wide; for we are all ‘born in sin and the children of wrath,’ and ‘turn every one to his own way’ of folly and transgression: but the strait gate opens into ‘ the narrow way that leadeth unto life ;’ and at this the penitent finds admission with difficulty and conflict. As it is strait, (or, in the language of the allegory, a wicket, or a little gate,) the convert can- not carry along with him any of his sinful practices, ungodly companions, Narene ea screir tc Mae G8 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. a over the gate there was written, *“ Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” He knocked, therefore, more than once or twice, saying, «“ May I now enter here? Will he within Open to sorry me, though I have been An undeserving rebel? Then shall I \ Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high.” At last there came a grave person to the gate, named Good-will,* who asked Who was there? and whence he came? and what he would have? : p Matt. vii. 8. ut worldly idols, or carnal confidences, when he strives to enter in at it; nor i can he effectually contend with those enemies that obstruct his passage, unless he wrestle continually with God in prayer, for his gracious assist- ance. But, while we advert to these things, we must not forget, that the | sinner returns to God by faith in Christ: genuine repentance comes from : him and leads to him; and the true believer not only trusts in the Lord for salvation, but also seeks his liberty and happiness in his service. ‘To enter in this manner, by Christ the door, is so contrary to man’s pride and lusts, to the course of the world, and to the temptations of the devil, that striving or wrestling is more necessary in this than it can be conceived to be in any other kind of conversion. Various things commonly precede this unreserved acceptance of Christ, in the experience of those who are born of God; but they are not easily distinguishable from many temporary con- victions, impressions, and starts of devotion, which evidently vanish and come to nothing. Yet even this is judiciously distinguished by our author from that view of the cross by which Christian was delivered from his bur- den, for reasons which will speedily be stated. The following lines are here inserted, under an engraving :— ‘He that would enter in, must first without Stand knocking at the gate, nor need he doubt That is a knocker, but to enter in; For God can love him, and forgive his sin.’ * Good-will seems to be an allegorical person, the emblem of the com- passionate love of God to sinners, in and through Jesus Christ (Luke ii. 14.) He ‘came from heaven to do the will of him that sent him,’ and ‘he will id in no wise cast out any that come to him,’ either on account of their former sins, or their present mistakes, infirmities, evil propensities and habits, orTHE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 99 Cur. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the city of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, that I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I would, therefore, sir, since I am informed that by this gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let me in. I am willing with all my heart, ,7"",9472, 5 BE OPENED TO said he; and with that he opened the sixzzs gate. So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave him a pull.* Then said Christian, What means that? The other told him, A little distance from this gate there is erected a strong castle, of which Beelzebub is peculiar temptations. ‘He waits to be gracious,’ till sinners apply by earn- est persevering prayer for his salvation; and even the preparation of heart which leads to this is not requisite to induce the Lord to receive them, but to make them willing to apply to him. Numbers give themselves no con- cern about their souls; others, after convictions, turn back with Pliable, or finally cleave to the counsels of worldly wisdom: but all, who come to Christ with a real desire of his whole salvation, are cordially welcomed ; over them angels rejoice, and in them the Redeemer ‘sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied.’ So that inquirers are greatly mistaken when they fear lest Christ should reject them; since they need only dread being tempted to reject him, or being partial and hypocritical in their application to him. * As sinners become more decided in applying to Christ, and assiduous in the means of grace, Satan, if permitted, will be more vehement in his en- deavours to discourage them; that, if possible, he may induce them to de- sist, and so to come short of the prize. Indeed, the Lord will accomplish the good work which he hath begun by his special grace; but probably the nywers of darkness cannot exactly distinguish between those impressions which are the effects of regeneration, and such as result from the excite- ment of natural passions. It is, however, certain, that they attempt to dis- turb those who earnestly cry for mercy, by various suggestions, to which they were wholly strangers, while satisfied with a form of godliness: and that the Christian's grand conflict, to the end of his course, consists in sur- mounting the hinderances and opposition that he experiences, in keeping near to the throne of grace, by fervent, importunate, and persevering prayer.100 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. the captain: from thence both he, and they that are SATAN ENVIES s with him, shoot arrows at those that come THOSE THAT TER THE os up to this gate, 1 iL haply they may die be- GATE. fore they can enter in. Then said Christian, I rejoice and tremble. So when cuaistran ex- he was got in, the man at the gate asked TERS THE GATE wita sox 4x> him, who directed him thither? Cur. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock, as TALK BETWEEN I did; and he said, that you, sir, would cunistrax. tel] me what I must do. Goop. An open door is set before thee, and no man can shut it. Cur. Now I begin to reap the benefit of my ha- zards. Goop. But how is it that you came alone? Cur. Because none of my neighbours saw their danger, as I saw mine. Goop. Did any of them know of your coming. Cur. Yes, my wife and children saw me at the first, and called after me to turn again: also some of my neighbours stood crying, and calling after me to re- turn; but I put my fingers in my ears, and so came on my way. Goop. But did none of them follow you, to persuade you to go back? Cur. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable: but when they saw that they could not prevail, Obstinate went railing back, but Pliable came with me a little way. Goopv. But why did he not come through? Cur. We indeed came both together, until we came to the Slough of Despond, into the which we also sud- denly fell. And then was my neighbour Phiable dis- couraged, and would not adventure further. Where-THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 101 fore, getting out again on the side next to 4 «ax way wave COMPANY WHEN his own house, he told me, I should pOs= Bees Porn es sess the brave country alone for him: so tox ""* * he went his way, and I came mine: he after Obstinate, and I to this gate. Then said Good-will, Alas, poor man! is the celes- tial glory of so little esteem with him, that he counteth it not worth running the hazard of a few difficulties to obtain it ? Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of Pli- able, and if I should also say all the currsrian ac CUSETH HIMSELF truth of myself, it will appear there is no 2£°0R# T= Man betterment* betwixt him and myself. It is true, he went back to his own house, but I also turned aside to go into the way of death, being persuaded thereto by the carnal argument of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman. Goop. Oh, did he light upon you?) What, he would have had you seek for ease at the hands of Mr. Le- gality! they are both of them a very cheat. But did you‘take his counsel ? Cur. Yes, as far as I durst. I went to find out Mr. Legality, until I thought that the mountain that stands by his house would have fallen upon my head; where- fore there was I forced to stop. Goop. That mountain has been the death of many, * Our author-here puts a very emphatical word into Christian’s mouth, (‘there is no betterment betwixt him and myself,’) which later editors have changed for difference. This is far from an improvement, though the word be bor classical: for grace had made an immense difference between Christian and Pliable; but the former thought his conduct equally criminal, and therefore, in respect to their deservings, there was no betterment be- twixt them. There are many alterations of a similar nature, in which the uld copies have been generally followed ; but it would preclude more useful matter were they constantly noted.102 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. and will be the death of many more: it is well you escaped being by it dashed in pieces. Cur. Why, truly, Ido not know what had become of me there, had not Evangelist happily met me again as I was musing in the midst of my dumps: but it was God’s mercy that he came to me again, for else I had never come hither. But now Iam come, such a one as 1am, more fit indeed for death by that mountain, than thus to stand talking with my Lord. But, oh! what a favour is this to me, that yet lam admitted entrance here. Goop. We make no objections against any, net- withstanding all that they have done before they come i ay Hog buther; they in no wise are cast out.’ rorten acaix, And therefore, good Christian, come a AND DIRECTED YeronuIswa¥. Ji+tle way with me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look before thee; dost thou see this narrow way ?* that is the way thou must q John vi. 37. * Christian, being admitted at the strait gate, is directed in the narrow way. In the broad road every man may chose a path suited to his inclina- tions, shift about to avoid difficulties, or accommodate himself to circumstan- ces; and he will be sure of company agreeable to his taste. But Christians must follow one another in the narrow way, along the same track, surmount- ing difficulties, facing enemies, and bearing hardships, without any room to evade them: nor is any indulgence given to different tastes, habits, or pro- pensities. It is, therefore, a straitened, or, as some render the word, an afflicted way; being indeed an habitual course of repentance, faith, love, self-denial, patience, and mortification to sin and the world, according to the rule of the Holy Scriptures. Christ himself is the way, by which we come to the Father and walk with him; but true faith works by love, and ‘sets us in the way of his steps’ (Psalm Ixxxv 13.) This path is also straight, as opposed to the crooked ways of wicked men (Psalm exxv. 55) for it consists in an uniform regard to piety, integrity, sincerity, and kindness, at a dis- tance from all the hypocrisies, frauds, and artifices by which ungodly men wind about, to avoid detection, keep up their credit, deceive others, or im- pose on themselves. The question proposed by Christian implies, that be-THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS, 103 go. It was cast up by the patriarchs, prophets, Christ, and his apostles, and it is as straight as a rule can make it: this is the way thou must go. But, said Christian, are there no turnings nor windings, by which a stranger may lose CHRISTIAN AFRAID OF LOSING his way ( HIS WAY. Goon. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, and they are crooked and wide: but thus thou mayest distinguish the right from the wrong, the right only being straight and narrow. Then I saw in my dream, that Christian asked him further, if he could not help him off with CHRISTIAN WEARY OF HIS his burden that was upon his back,* for as ®°"?=* yet he had not got rid thereof, nor could he by any means get it off without help. He told him, As to thy burden, be content to bear it, r Matt. vii. 14. lievers are more afraid of missing the way, than euvuuntering hardships in it: and Good-will’s answer, that many ways butted down on it, or opened into it, in various directions, shews, that the careless and self-willed are ex- tremely liable to be deceived: but it follows, that all-these ways are crooked and wide; they turn aside from the direct line of living faith and holy obe- dience, and are more soothing, indulgent, and pleasing to corrupt nature than the path of life; which lies straight forward, and is everywhere con- trary to the bias of the carnal mind. * A general reliance on the mercy of God by faith m Christ, accom- panied with consciousness of sincerity in applying for this salvation, gives some encouragement to the convinced sinner’s hope; and transient joys are often vouchsafed in a large proportion to unestablished believers: but more distinct views of the glory of the gospel are necessary to abiding peace. The young convert’s consolations resemble the breaking forth of the sun in a cloudy and tempestuous day ; those of the experienced Christian, the sun’s more constant light in settled weather, which is not long together interrup- ted, though it be sometimes dimmed by intervening clouds. Believers should not, therefore, rest in such transient glimpses, but press forward to more abiding peace and joy: and, as Christ does not in general bestow this blessing on the unestablished, the endeavours of ministers to do so must be vain.104 THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. raere 1s xo vz: until thou comest to the place of deliver. LIVERANCE FROM THE GUILT 4ND ance; for there it will fall from thy back ruocior Gants Of atselie Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address himself to his journey. So the other told him, that by that he was gone some distance from the gate, he would come at the house of the Interpreter, at whose door he should knock, and he would show him excellent things. Then Christian took his leave of his friend, and he again bid him God speed. Then he went on, till he came at the house of the euereesy cou=* Interpreter; where’ he! knoeked over and TO THE HOUSE OF THE INTER- PRETER. over. At last one came to the door, and asked who was there. Cur. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid by an acquaintance of the good man of this house to call here for my profit; I would therefore speak with the master of the house. So he called for the master of the house, who, after * We continually meet with fresh proofs of our author’s exact acquaint- ance with the Scriptures, his sound judgment, deep experience, and exten- sive observation. With great propriety he places the house of the Inter- preter beyond the strait gate: for the knowledge of divine things, which precedes conversion to God by faith in Christ, is very scanty, compared with the diligent believer’s subsequent attainments.