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THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, by JOHN BUNYAN

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THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

FROM THIS WORLD
TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME

DELIVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM
BY JOHN BUNYAN

[Transcribed by C.E.K. from an uncopyrighted 1942 edition.]

Contents

THE AUTHORS APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK

THE PILGRIMS PROGRESS
IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM

THE CONCLUSION

         The Author's Apology
             for his Book

WHEN AT THE FIRST I TOOK MY PEN IN HAND
Thus for to write, I did not understand
That I at all should make a little book
In such a mode; nay, I had undertook
To make another; which, when almost done,
Before I was aware, I this begun.

And thus it was: I, writing of the way
And race of saints, in this our gospel day,
Fell suddenly into an allegory
About their journey, and the way to glory,
In more than twenty things which I set down.
This done, I twenty more had in my crown;
And 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 I did not think
To shew to all the world my pen and ink
In such a mode; I only thought to make
I knew not what; nor did I undertake

Thereby to please my neighbour: no, not I;
I did it my own self to gratify.

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend
In this my scribble; nor did I intend
But to divert 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 I penned
It down: until it came at last to be,
For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.

Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,
I shewed them others, that I might see whether
They would condemn them, or them justify:
And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die;
Some said, JOHN, print it; others said, Not so;
Some said, It might do good; others said, No.

Now was I in a strait, and did not see
Which was the best thing to be done by me:
At last I thought, Since you are thus divided,
I print it will, and so the case decided.

For, thought I, some, I see, would have it done,
Though others in that channel do not run:
To prove, then, who advised for the best,
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test.

I further thought, if now I did deny
Those that would have it, thus to gratify.
I did not know but hinder them I might
Of that which would to them be great delight.

For those which were not for its coming forth,
I said to them, Offend you I am loath,

Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be,
Forbear to judge till you do further see.

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone;
Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone.
Yea, that I might them better 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 her fruit
None can distinguish this from that: they suit
Her well when hungry; but, if she be full,
She spews out both, and makes their blessings null.

You see the ways the fisherman doth take
To catch the fish; what engines doth he make?
Behold how he engageth all his wits;
Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets;
Yet fish there be, that neither hook, nor line,
Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine:
They must be groped for, and be tickled too,
Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.

How does the fowler seek to catch his game
By divers means! all which one cannot name:
His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell:
He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell
Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these
Will make him master of what fowls he please.

Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this,
Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss.

If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell,
And may be found too in an oyster-shell;
If things that promise nothing do contain
What better is than gold; who will disdain,
That have an inkling of it, there to look,
That they may find it? Now, my little book,
(Though void of all these paintings that may make
It with this or the other man to take,)
Is not without those things that do excel
What do in brave but empty notions dwell.

'Well, yet I am not fully satisfied,
That this your book will stand, when soundly tried.'

Why, what's the matter? 'It is dark.' What though?
'But it is feigned.' What of that? I trow
Some men, by feigned words, as dark as mine,
Make truth to spangle and its rays to shine.
'But they want solidness.' Speak, man, thy mind.
'They drown the weak; metaphors make us blind.'

Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen
Of him that writeth things divine to men;
But must I needs want solidness, because
By metaphors I speak? Were not God's laws,
His gospel laws, in olden times held forth
By types, shadows, and metaphors? Yet loath
Will any sober man be to find fault
With them, lest he be found for to assault
The highest wisdom. No, he rather stoops,
And seeks to find out what by pins and loops,
By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams,
By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs,

God speaketh to him; and happy is he
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 parables 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, who so considers
Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see,
That truths to this day in such mantles be.

Am I afraid to say, that holy writ,
Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit,
Is everywhere so full of all these things -- 
Dark figures, allegories? Yet there springs
From that same book that lustre, and those rays
Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days.

Come, let my carper to his life now look,
And find there darker lines than in my book
He findeth any; yea, and let him know,
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 will
Submit; the memory too it doth fill

With what doth our imaginations 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
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?
Three things let me propound; then I submit
To those that are my betters, as is fit.

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
(Example 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,

Which way it pleases God; for who knows how,
Better than he that taught us first to plough,
To guide our mind 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 shew the profit of my book, and then
Commit both thee and it unto that Hand
That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.

This book it chalketh out before thine eyes
The man that seeks the everlasting prize;
It shews you whence he comes, whither he goes;
What he leaves undone, also what he does;
It also shews you how he runs and runs,
Till he unto the gate of glory comes.

It shews, 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 directions understand:
Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable?

Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember
From New-Year's day to the last of December?
Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs,
And may be, to the helpless, comforters.

This book is writ in such a dialect
As may the minds of listless men affect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.

Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see
A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm,
And find thyself again without a charm?
Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what,
And yet know whether thou art blest or not,
By reading the same lines? Oh, then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
                                               JOHN BUNYAN.

                              THE PILGRIM'S
                              PROGRESS
                        IN THE SIMILITUDE OF
                              A DREAM

AS I WALKED THROUGH THE WILDERNESS OF THIS world, I lighted on
a certain place where was a Den, and I laid me down in that
place to sleep: and, as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed,
and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain
place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and
a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the
book, and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and trembled;
and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a
lamentable cry, saying, What shall I do?

In this plight, therefore, he went home and refrained himself as
long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive
his distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his
trouble increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his
wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them: 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 for certain informed that this our
city will be burned with fire from heaven; in which fearful
overthrow, both myself, with thee my wife, and you my sweet
babes, shall miserably come to

ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape can be
found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his relations were
sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to
them was true, but because they thought that some frenzy
distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards
night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with
all haste they got him to bed. But the night was as troublesome
to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it
in sighs and tears. 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
thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages
to him; sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would chide,
and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began
to retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and
also to condole his own misery; he would also walk 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 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 perceived, he could not
tell which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named
Evangelist coming to him, who asked, Wherefore dost thou cry?

He answered, Sir, I perceive by the book in my hand,

that I am condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment;
and I find that I am not willing to do the first, nor able to do
the second.

      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.

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, I am sure, to go to judgment,
and from thence to execution; and the thoughts of these things
make me cry.

Then said Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why standest
thou still? He answered, Because I know not whither to go. Then
he gave him a parchment roll, and there was written within, Flee
from the wrath to come.

The man, therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist very
carefully, said, Whither must I fly? Then said Evangelist,
pointing with his finger over a very wide field, Do you see
yonder wicket-gate? The man said, No. Then said the other, Do
you see yonder shining light? He said, I think I do. Then said
Evangelist, Keep that light in your eye, and go up directly
thereto: so shalt thou see the gate; at which, when thou
knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do. So I saw in
my dream that the man began to run. Now, he had not run far from
his own door, but his wife and children, perceiving it, began to

cry after him to return; but the man put his fingers in his
ears, and ran on, crying, Life! life! eternal life! 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 that did so, there were two that
resolved to fetch him back by force. The name of the one was
Obstinate and the name of the other Pliable. Now, by this time,
the man was got a good distance from them; but, however, they
were resolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little
time they overtook him. Then said the man, Neighbours, wherefore
are ye come? They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But
he said, That can by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the
City of Destruction, the place also where I was born: 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.

Obst. What! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and our
comforts behind us?

Chr. Yes, said Christian, for that was his name, because that
ALL which you 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 hold it, you shall fare as I myself; for
there, where I go, is enough and to spare. Come away, and prove
my words.

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the
world to find them?

Chr. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that
fadeth not away, 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.

Obst. Tush! said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go
back with us or no?

Chr. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to
the plough.

Obst. Come, then, neighbour Pliable, let us turn again, and go
home without him; there is a company of these crazy-headed
coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy by the end, are wiser in
their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason.

Pli. Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good Christian
says is true, the things he looks after are better than ours: my
heart inclines to go with my neighbour.

Obst. What! more fools still! Be ruled by me, and go back; who
knows whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go back,
go back, and be wise.

Chr. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbour, Pliable; there
are such things to be had which I spoke of, and many more
glorious 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.

Pli. Well, neighbour Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to come to
a point; I intend to go along with this good man, and to cast in
my lot with him: but, my good companion, do you know the way to
this desired place?

Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, to speed
me to a little gate that is before us, where we shall receive
instructions about the way.

Pli. Come, then, good neighbour, let us be going. Then they went
both together.

Obst. And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate; I will be
no companion of such misled, fantastical fellows.

Now, I saw in my dream, that when Obstinate was gone back,
Christian and Pliable went talking over the plain; and thus they
began their discourse.

Chr. 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.

Pli. Come, neighbour Christian, since there are none but us two
here, tell me now further what the things are, and how to be
enjoyed, whither we are going.

Chr. I can better conceive of them with my mind, than speak of
them with my tongue: but yet, since you are desirous to know, I
will read of them in my book.

Pli. And do you think that the words of your book are certainly
true?

Chr. Yes, verily; for it was made by Him that cannot lie.

Pli. Well said; what things are they?

Chr. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and
everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that
kingdom for ever.

Pli. Well said; and what else?

Chr. There are crowns and glory to be given us, and garments
that will make us shine like the sun in the firmament of heaven.

Pli. This is very pleasant; and what else?

Chr. There shall be no more crying, nor Sorrow: for He that is
owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.

Pli. And what company shall we have there?

Chr. There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, 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 that they bear to the Lord of
the place, all well, and clothed with immortality as with a
garment.

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart. But
are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers
thereof?

Chr. The Lord, the Governor of the country, hath recorded that
in this book; the substance of which is, If we be truly willing
to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely.

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things:
come on, let us mend our pace.

Chr. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden
that is on my back.

Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk
they drew near to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of
the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into
the bog. The name of the slough

was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a being
grievously bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of the
burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire.

Pli. Then said Pliable; Ah! neighbour Christian, where are you
now?

Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know.

Pli. At this Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to
his fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me all this
while of? If we have such ill speed at our first setting out,
what may we expect betwixt this and our journey's end? May I get
out again with my life, you shall possess the brave country
alone for me. And, with that, he gave a desperate struggle or
two, and got out of the mire on that side of the slough which
was next to his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw
him no more.

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond
alone: but still he endeavoured to struggle to that side of the
slough that was still further from his own house, and next to
the wicket-gate; the which he did, but could not get out,
because of the burden that was upon his back: but I beheld in my
dream, that a man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked
him, What he did there?

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I was bid go this way by a man called
Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might
escape the wrath to come; and as I was going thither I fell in
here.

Help. But why did not you look for the steps?

Chr. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and
fell in.

Help. Then said he, Give me thy hand: so he gave him his hand,
and he drew him out, and set him upon sound ground, and bid him
go on his way.

Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, Sir,
wherefore, since over this place is the way from the City of
Destruction to yonder gate, is it 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 that
attends conviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore
it is called the Slough of Despond; for still, as the sinner is
awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul
many fears, and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which
all of them get together, and settle in this place. And this is
the reason of the badness of this ground.

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain
so bad. 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 Law-giver, certain good
and substantial steps, placed even through the very midst of
this slough; but at such time as this

place doth much spew out its filth, as it doth against change of
weather, these steps are hardly seen; or, if they be, men,
through the dizziness of their heads, step beside, and then they
are bemired to purpose, 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 Pliable was got home
to his house again, so that his neighbours came to visit him;
and some of them called him wise man for coming back, and some
called him fool for hazarding himself with Christian: others
again did mock at his cowardliness; saying, Surely, since you
began to venture, I would not have been so base to have given
out for a few difficulties. So Pliable sat sneaking among them.
But at last he got more confidence, and then they all turned
their tales, and began to deride poor Christian behind his back.
And thus much concerning Pliable.

Now, as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he espied
one afar off, come crossing over the field to meet him; and
their hap was to meet just as they were crossing the way of each
other. The gentleman's name that met him was Mr. Worldly
Wiseman, he dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy, a very great
town, and also hard by from whence Christian 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.

World. How now, good fellow, whither away after this burdened
manner?

Chr. 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.

World. Hast thou a wife and children?

Chr. Yes; but I am so laden with this burden that I cannot take
that pleasure in them as formerly; methinks I am as if I had
none.

World. Wilt thou hearken unto me if I give thee counsel?

Chr. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good counsel.

World. I would advise thee, then, that thou with all speed get
thyself rid of thy burden; for thou wilt never be settled in thy
mind till then; nor canst thou enjoy the benefits of the
blessing which God hath bestowed upon thee till then.

Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of this heavy
burden; but get it off myself, I cannot; nor is there any man in
our country that can take it off my shoulders; therefore am I
going this way, as I told you, that I may be rid of my burden.

World. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy burden?

Chr. A man that appeared to me to be a very great and honourable
person; his name, as I remember, is Evangelist.

World. I beshrew him for his counsel! there is not a more
dangerous and troublesome way in the world than

is that unto which he hath directed thee; and that thou shalt
find, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou hast met with
something, as I perceive, already; for I see the dirt of the
Slough of Despond is upon thee; but that slough is the beginning
of the sorrows that do attend those that go on in that way. Hear
me, I am older than thou; thou art like to meet with, in the way
which thou 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 why should a man so
carelessly cast away himself, by giving heed to a stranger?

Chr. Why, Sir, this burden upon my back is more terrible to me
than all these things which you have mentioned; nay, methinks I
care not what I meet with in the way, if so be I can also meet
with deliverance from my burden.

World. How camest thou by the burden at first?

Chr. By reading this book in my hand.

World. 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; which distractions do not
only unman men, as thine, I perceive, have done thee, but they
run them upon desperate ventures to obtain they know not what.

Chr. I know what I would obtain; it is ease for my heavy burden.

World. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing so many
dangers attend it? especially since, hadst thou but patience to
hear me, I could direct thee to the obtaining of what thou
desirest, without the dangers that

thou in this way wilt run 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.

Chr. Pray, Sir, open this secret to me.

World. Why, in yonder village -- the village is named Morality
-- there dwells a gentleman whose name is Legality, a very
judicious man, and a man of very good name, that has skill to
help men off with such burdens as thine are from their
shoulders: yea, to my knowledge, he hath done a great deal of
good this way; ay, and besides, he hath skill to cure those that
are somewhat crazed in their wits with their burdens. To him, as
I said, thou mayest go, and be helped presently. His house is
not quite a mile from this place, and if he should not be at
home himself, he hath a pretty young man to his son, whose name
is Civility, that can do it (to speak on) as well as the old
gentleman himself; there, I say, thou mayest be eased of thy
burden; and if thou art not minded to go back to thy former
habitation, as, indeed, I would not wish thee, thou mayest send
for thy wife and children to thee to this village, where there
are houses now stand empty, one of which thou mayest have at
reasonable rates; provision is there also cheap and good; and
that which will make thy life the more happy is, to be sure,
there thou shalt live by honest neighbours, in credit and good
fashion.

Now was Christian somewhat at a stand; but presently he
concluded, if this be true, which this gentleman hath said, my
wisest course is to take his advice; and with that he thus
further spoke.

Chr. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's house?

World. Do you see yonder hill?

Chr. Yes, very well.

World. By that hill you must go, and the first house you come at
is his.

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's house
for help; but, behold, when he was got now hard by the hill, it
seemed so high, and also that side of it that was next the
wayside did hang so much over, that Christian was afraid to
venture further, lest the hill should fall on his head;
wherefore there he stood still and wotted not what to do. Also
his burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was in his
way. There came also flashes of fire out of the hill, that made
Christian afraid that he should be burned. Here, therefore, he
sweat and did quake for fear.

      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.

And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly
Wiseman's counsel. And with that he saw Evangelist coming to
meet him; at the sight also of whom he began 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.

Evan. What dost thou here, Christian? said he: at which words
Christian knew not what to answer; wherefore at present he stood
speechless before him. Then said Evangelist further, Art not
thou the man that I found crying without the walls of the City
of Destruction?

Chr. Yes, dear Sir, I am the man.

Evan. Did not I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gate?

Chr. 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.

Chr. I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got over the Slough
of Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the village before
me, find a man that would take off my burden.

Evan. What was he?

Chr. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, and got
me at last to yield; so I came hither; but when I beheld this
hill, and how it hangs over the way, I suddenly made a stand
lest it should fall on my head.

Evan. What said that gentleman to you?

Chr. Why, he asked me whither I was going, and I told him.

Evan. And what said he then?

Chr. He asked me if I had a family? And I told him. But, said I,
I am so loaden with the burden that is on my back, that I cannot
take pleasure in them as formerly.

Evan. And what said he then?

Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden; and I told him
that 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 shew 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 beheld things as they are, I stopped for fear
(as I said) of danger: but I now know not what to do.

Evan. Then, said Evangelist, stand still a little, that I may
shew thee the words of God. So he stood trembling. Then said
Evangelist, See that ye refuse not him that speaketh. For if
they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more
shall not we escape, if we turn away from him that speaketh from
heaven. He said, moreover, Now the just shall live by faith: but
if any 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 begun to reject the counsel of the Most
High, and to draw back thy foot from the way of peace, even
almost to the hazarding of thy perdition.

Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, Woe is me,
for I am undone! At the sight of which Evangelist caught him by
the right hand, saying, All manner of sin and 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 earnest heed to the
things that I shall tell thee of. I will now shew thee who it
was that deluded thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee.
-- The man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is
he so called; partly, because he savoureth only 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 ways though
right. Now there are three things in this man's counsel, that
thou must utterly abhor.

1. His turning thee out of the way. 2. His labouring to render
the cross odious to thee. And, 3. His setting thy feet in that
way that leadeth unto the administration of death.

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way; and
thine own consenting thereunto: 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 sent 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 cometh after me,
and hateth not his father, and mother, and wife, and children,
and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot
be my disciple. 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, and also

how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy burden.

He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Legality, is
the son of the bond-woman which now is, and is in bondage with
her children; and is, in a mystery, this Mount Sinai, which thou
hast feared will fall on thy head. Now, if she, with her
children, are in bondage, how canst thou expect by them to be
made free? This Legality, therefore, is not able to set thee
free from thy burden. No man was as yet ever rid of his burden
by him; no, nor ever is like to be: ye cannot be justified by
the works of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living
can be rid of his burden: therefore, Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an
alien, and Mr. Legality is a cheat; and for his son Civility,
notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite and
cannot help thee. Believe me, there is nothing in all this
noise, that thou hast heard of sottish men, but a design 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 is 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
hearkening to his counsel; he also was greatly ashamed to think
that this gentle-

man's arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should have the
prevalency with him as to cause him to forsake the right way.
This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and
sense as follow:

Chr. Sir, what think you? Is there hope? May I now go back and
go up to the wicket-gate? Shall I not be abandoned for this, and
sent back from thence ashamed? I am sorry I have hearkened to
this man's counsel. But may my sin be forgiven?

Evan. Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very great, for by
it thou hast committed two evils: thou hast forsaken the way
that is good, to tread in forbidden paths; yet will the man at
the gate receive thee, for he has goodwill for men; only, said
he, take heed that thou turn not aside again, lest thou perish
from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. 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 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 left, to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's
counsel. So, in process of time, Christian got up to the gate.
Now, over the gate there was written, Knock, and it shall be
opened unto you.

      He that will 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.

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?

Chr. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the City of
Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, that I may be delivered
from the wrath to come. I would therefore, Sir, since I am
informed that by this gate is the way thither, know if you are
willing to let me in?

Good-Will. I am willing with all my heart, said he; and with
that he opened the gate.

So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave 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 the captain; from thence, both he
and them that are with him shoot arrows at those that come up to
this gate, if haply they may die before they can enter in.

Then said Christian, I rejoice and tremble. So when he was got
in, the man of the gate asked him who directed him thither?

Chr. Evangelist bid me come hither, and knock, (as I did;) and
he said that you, Sir, would tell me what I must do.

Good-Will. An open door is set before thee, and no man can shut
it.

Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.

Good-Will. But how is it that you came alone?

Chr. Because none of my neighbours saw their danger, as I saw
mine.

Good-Will. Did any of them know of your coming?

Chr. 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 return; but I put my fingers in my ears,
and so came on my way.

Good-Will. But did none of them follow you, to persuade you to
go back?

Chr. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable; but when they saw that
they could not prevail, Obstinate went railing back, but Pliable
came with me a little way.

Good-Will. But why did he not come through?

Chr. We, indeed, came both together, until we came at the Slough
of Despond, into the which we also suddenly fell. And then was
my neighbour, Pliable, discouraged, and would not venture
further. Wherefore, getting out again on that side next to his
own house, he told me I should possess the brave country alone
for him; so he went his way, and I came mine -- he after
Obstinate, and I to this gate.

Good-Will. Then said Good-Will, Alas, poor man! is the celestial
glory of so small esteem with him, that he counteth it not worth
running the hazards of a few difficulties to obtain it?

Chr. Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of Pliable,
and if I should also say all the truth of myself, it will appear
there is no betterment betwixt him and myself. It is true, he
went back to his own house, but I

also turned aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded
thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman.

Good-Will. Oh, did he light upon you? What! he would have had
you a sought for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality. They are,
both of them, a very cheat. But did you take his counsel?

Chr. Yes, as far as I durst; I went to find out Mr. Legality,
until I thought that the mountain that stands by his house would
have fallen upon my head; wherefore there I was forced to stop.

Good-Will. That mountain has been the death of many, and will be
the death of many more; it is well you escaped being by it
dashed in pieces.

Chr. Why, truly, I do not know what had become of me there, had
not Evangelist happily met me again, as I was musing in the
midst of my dumps; but it was God's mercy that he came to me
again, for else I had never come hither. But now I am come, such
a one as I am, more fit, indeed, for death, by that mountain,
than thus to stand talking with my lord; but, oh, what a favour
is this to me, that yet I am admitted entrance here!

Good-Will. We make no objections against any, notwithstanding
all that they have done before they came hither. They are in no
wise cast out; and therefore, good Christian, come a little way
with me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look
before thee; dost thou see this narrow. way? THAT is the way
thou must 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.

Chr. But, said Christian, are there no turnings or windings by
which a stranger may lose his way?

Good-Will. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, and
they are crooked and wide. But thus thou 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 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, until thou
comest to the place of deliverance; for there it will fall from
thy back of itself.

Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address
himself to his journey. So the other told him, 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
shew him excellent things. Then Christian took his leave of his
friend, and he again bid him God-speed.

Then he went on till he came to the house of the Interpreter,
where he knocked over and over; at last one came to the door,
and asked who was there.

Chr. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid by an acquaintance of
the good-man of this house to call here for my profit; I would
therefore speak with the master of the house. So he called for
the master of the house, who, after a little time, came to
Christian, and asked him what he would have.

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am come from the City
of Destruction, and am going to the Mount

Zion; and I was told by the man that stands at the gate, at, the
head of this way, that if I called here, you would shew me
excellent things, such as would be a help to me in my journey.

Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Come in; I will shew that
which will be profitable to thee. So he commanded his man to
light the candle, and bid Christian follow him: so he had him
into a private room, and bid his man open a door; the which when
he had done, Christian saw the picture of a very grave person
hung up against the wall; and this was the fashion of it. It had
eyes lifted up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, the law
of truth was written upon his lips, the world was behind his
back. It stood as if it pleaded with men, and a crown of gold
did hang over his head.

Chr. Then said Christian, What meaneth this?

Inter. The man whose picture this is, is one of a thousand; he
can beget children, travail in birth with children, and nurse
them himself when they are born. And whereas thou seest him with
his eyes lift up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, and
the law of truth writ on his lips, it is to shew thee that his
work is to know and unfold dark things to sinners; even as also
thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with men: and whereas thou
seest the world as cast behind him, and that a crown hangs over
his head, that is to shew thee that slighting and despising the
things that are present, for the love that he hath to his
Master's service, he is sure in the world that comes next to
have glory for his reward. Now, said the Interpreter, I have
shewed thee this picture first, because the man whose picture
this is, is the only man whom the Lord of the place whither thou
art going, hath author-

ised to be thy guide in all difficult places thou mayest meet
with in the way; wherefore, take good heed to what I have shewed
thee, and bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest in thy
journey thou meet with some that pretend to lead thee right, but
their way goes down to death.

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a very large
parlour that was full of dust, because never swept; the which
after he had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter called for
a man to sweep. Now, when he began to sweep, the dust began so
abundantly to fly about, that Christian had almost therewith
been choked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that stood
by, Bring hither the water, and sprinkle the room; the which,
when she had done, it was swept and cleansed with pleasure.

Chr. Then said Christian, What means this?

Inter. The Interpreter answered, This parlour is the heart of a
man that was never sanctified by the sweet grace of the gospel;
the dust is his original sin and inward corruptions, that have
defiled the whole man. He that began to sweep at first, is the
Law; but she that brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the
Gospel. Now, whereas thou sawest, that so soon as the first
began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the room by him
could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choked
therewith; this is to shew thee, that the law, instead of
cleansing the heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, put
strength into, and increase it in the soul, even as it doth
discover and forbid it, for it doth not give power to subdue.

Again, as thou sawest the damsel sprinkle the room with water,
upon which it was cleansed with pleasure;

this is to shew thee, that when the gospel comes in the sweet
and precious influences thereof to the heart, then, I say, even
as thou sawest the damsel lay the dust by sprinkling the floor
with water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the soul made
clean through the faith of it, and consequently fit for the King
of glory to inhabit.

I saw, moreover, in my dream, that the Interpreter took him by
the hand, and had him into a little room, where sat two little
children, each one in his chair. The name of the eldest was
Passion, and the name of the other Patience. Passion seemed to
be much discontented; but Patience was very quiet. Then
Christian asked, What is the reason of the discontent of
Passion? The Interpreter answered, The Governor of them would
have him stay for his best things till the beginning of the next
year; but he will have all now: but Patience is willing to wait.

Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought him a bag of
treasure, and poured it down at his feet, the which he took up
and rejoiced therein, and withal laughed Patience to scorn. But
I beheld but a while, and he had lavished all away, and had
nothing left him but rags.

Chr. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound this matter
more fully to me.

Inter. So he said, These two lads are figures: Passion, of the
men of this world; and Patience, of the men of that which is to
come; for as here thou seest, Passion will have all now this
year, that is to say, in this world; so are the men of this
world, they must have all their good things now, they cannot
stay till next year, that is until the next world, for their
portion of good. That proverb,

'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,' is of more
authority with them than are all the Divine testimonies of the
good of the world to come. But as thou sawest that he had
quickly lavished all away, and had presently left him nothing
but rags; so will it be with all such men at the end of this
world.

Chr. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience has the best
wisdom, and that upon many accounts. First, because he stays for
the best things. Second, and also because he will have the glory
of his, when the other has nothing but rags.

Inter. Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of the next
world will never wear out; but these are suddenly gone.
Therefore Passion had not so much reason to laugh at Patience,
because he had his good things first, as Patience will have to
laugh at Passion, because he had his best things last; for first
must give place to last, because last must have his time to
come; but last gives place to nothing; for there is not another
to succeed. He, therefore, that hath his portion first, must
needs have a time to spend it; but he that hath his portion
last, must have it lastingly; therefore it is said of Dives,
Thou in thy life-time receivedst thy good things, and likewise
Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art
tormented.

Chr. Then I perceive it is not best to covet things that are
now, but to wait for things to come.

Inter. You say the truth: For the things which are seen are
temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal. But
though this be so, yet since things present and our fleshly
appetite are such near neighbours one to another; and again,
because things to come, and carnal

sense, are such strangers one to another; therefore it is, that
the first of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that
distance is so continued between the second.

Then I saw in my dream that the Interpreter took Christian by
the hand, and led him into a place where was a fire burning
against a wall, and one standing by it, always casting much
water upon it, to quench it; yet did the fire burn higher and
hotter.

Then said Christian, What means this?

The Interpreter answered, This fire is the work of grace that is
wrought in the heart; he that casts water upon it, to extinguish
and put it out, is the Devil; but in that thou seest the fire
notwithstanding burn higher and hotter, thou shalt also see the
reason of that. So he had him about to the backside of the wall,
where he saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the
which he did also continually cast, but secretly, into the fire.

Then said Christian, What means this?

The Interpreter answered, This is Christ, who continually, with
the oil of his grace, maintains the work already begun in the
heart: by the means of which, notwithstanding what the devil can
do, the souls of his people prove gracious still. And in that
thou sawest that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the
fire, that is to teach thee that it is hard for the tempted to
see how this work of grace is maintained in the soul.

I saw also, that the Interpreter took him again by the hand, and
led him into a pleasant place, where was builded a stately
palace, beautiful to behold; at the sight of which Christian was
greatly delighted. He saw also, upon the top thereof, certain
persons walking, who were clothed all in gold.

Then said Christian, May we go in thither?

Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up towards the door
of the palace; and behold, at the door stood a great company of
men, as desirous to go in; but durst not. There also sat a man
at a little distance from the door, at a table-side, with a book
and his inkhorn before him, to take the name of him that should
enter therein; he saw also, that in the doorway stood many men
in armour to keep it, being resolved to do the men that would
enter what hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian
somewhat in amaze. At last, when every man started back for fear
of the armed men, Christian saw a man of a very stout
countenance come up to the man that sat there to write, saying,
Set down my name, Sir: the which when he had done, he saw the
man draw his sword, and put a helmet upon his head, and rush
toward the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him with
deadly force; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell to
cutting and hacking most fiercely. So after he had received and
given many wounds to those that attempted to keep him out, he
cut his way through them all, and pressed forward into the
palace, at which there was a pleasant voice heard from those
that were within, even of those that walked upon the top of the
palace, saying -- 

      Come in, come in;
      Eternal glory thou shalt win.

So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as they. Then
Christian smiled and said; I think verily I know the meaning of
this.

Now, said Christian, let me go hence. Nay, stay, said the
Interpreter, till I have shewed thee a little more, and

after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him by the hand
again, and led him into a very dark room, where there sat a man
in an iron cage.

Now the man, to look on, seemed very sad; he sat with his eyes
looking down to the ground, his hands folded together, and he
sighed as if he would break his heart. Then said Christian, What
means this? At which the Interpreter bid him talk with the man.

Then said Christian to the man, What art thou? The man answered,
I am what I was not once.

Chr. What wast thou once?

Man. The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing professor,
both in mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of others; I once
was, as I thought, fair for the Celestial City, and had then
even joy at the thoughts that I should get thither.

Chr. Well, but what art thou now? Man. I am now a man of
despair, and am shut up in it, as in this iron cage. I cannot
get out. Oh, now I cannot!

Chr. But how camest thou in this condition?

Man. I left off to watch and be sober. I laid the reins, upon
the neck of my lusts; I sinned against the light of the Word and
the goodness of God; I have grieved the Spirit, and he is gone;
I tempted the devil, and he is come to me; I have provoked God
to anger, and he has left me: I have so hardened my heart, that
I cannot repent.

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But is there no hope for
such a man as this? Ask him, said the Interpreter. Nay, said
Christian, pray, Sir, do you.

Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Is there no hope, but you must
be kept in the iron cage of despair?

Man. No, none at all.

Inter. Why, the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful.

Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh; I have despised his
person; I have despised his righteousness; I have counted his
blood an unholy thing; I have done despite to the Spirit of
grace. Therefore I have shut myself out of all the promises, and
there now remains to me nothing but threatenings, dreadful
threatenings, fearful threatenings, of certain judgment and
fiery indignation, which shall devour me as an adversary.

Inter. For what did you bring yourself into this condition?

Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world; in the
enjoyment of which I did then promise myself much delight; but
now every one of those things also bite me, and gnaw me like a
burning worm.

Inter. But canst thou not now repent and turn?

Man. God hath denied me repentance. His Word gives me no
encouragement to believe; yea, himself hath shut me up in this
iron cage; nor can all the men in the world let me out. O
eternity, eternity! how shall I grapple with the misery that I
must meet with in eternity!

Inter. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man's
misery be remembered by thee, and be an everlasting caution to
thee.

Chr. Well, said Christian, this is fearful! God help me to watch
and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the cause of this
man's misery! Sir, is it not time for me to go on my way now?

Inter. Tarry till I shall shew thee one thing more, and then
thou shalt go on thy way.

So he took Christian by the hand again, and led him

into a chamber, where there was one rising out of bed; and as he
put on his raiment he shook and trembled. Then said Christian,
Why doth this man thus tremble? The Interpreter then bid him
tell to Christian the reason of his so doing. So he began and
said, This night, as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold
the heavens grew exceeding black; also it thundered and
lightened in most fearful wise, that it put me into an agony; so
I looked up in my dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual
rate, upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, and saw
also a man sit upon a cloud, attended with the thousands of
heaven; they were all in flaming fire: also the heavens were in
a burning flame. I heard then a voice saying, Arise, ye dead,
and come to judgment; and with that the rocks rent, the graves
opened, and the dead that were therein came forth. Some of them
were exceeding glad, and looked upward; and some sought to hide
themselves under the mountains. Then I saw the man that sat upon
the cloud open the book, and bid the world draw near. Yet there
was, by reason of a fierce flame which issued out and came from
before him, a convenient distance betwixt him and them, as
betwixt the judge and the prisoners at the bar. I heard it also
proclaimed to them that attended on the man that sat on the
cloud, Gather together the tares, the chaff, and stubble, and
cast them into the burning lake. And with that, the bottomless
pit opened, just whereabout I stood; out of the mouth of which
there came, in an abundant manner, smoke and coals of fire, with
hideous noises. It was also said to the same persons, Gather my
wheat into the garner. And with that I saw many catched up and
carried away into the clouds, but I was left behind. I also
sought to hide myself, but I

could not, for the man that sat upon the cloud still kept his
eye upon me; my sins also came into my mind; and my conscience
did accuse me on every side. Upon this I awaked from my sleep.

Chr. But what is it that made you so afraid of this sight?

Man. Why, I thought that the day of judgment was come, and that
I was not ready for it: but this frighted me most, that the
angels gathered up several, and left me behind; also the pit of
hell opened her mouth just where I stood. My conscience, too,
afflicted me; and, as I thought, the Judge had always his eye
upon me, shewing indignation in his countenance.

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Hast thou considered all
these things?

Chr. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear.

Inter. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they may be as
a goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in the way thou must
go. Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address
himself to his journey. Then said the Interpreter, The Comforter
be always with thee, good Christian, to guide thee in the way
that leads to the City. So Christian went on his way, saying -- 

      Here I have seen things rare and profitable;
      Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable
      In what I have begun to take in hand;
      Then let me think on them and understand
      Wherefore they shewed me were, and let me be
      Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee.

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which Christian was
to go, was fenced on either side with a

wall, and that wall was called Salvation. Up this way,
therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great
difficulty, because of the load on his back.

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending, and upon
that place stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a
sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as Christian came up
with the cross, his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and
fell from off his back, and began to tumble, and so continued to
do, till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell
in, and I saw it no more.

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said, with a merry
heart, 'He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his
death.' Then he stood still awhile to look and wonder; for it
was very surprising to him, that the sight of the cross should
thus ease him of his burden. He looked therefore, and looked
again, even till the springs that were in his head sent the
waters down his cheeks. Now, as he stood looking and weeping,
behold three Shining Ones came to him and saluted him with Peace
be unto thee. So the first said to him, Thy sins be forgiven
thee; the second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him with
change of raiment; the third also set a mark on his forehead,
and gave him a roll with a seal upon it, which he bade him look
on as he ran, and that he should give it in at the Celestial
Gate. So they went their way.

      Who's this? the Pilgrim. How! 'tis very true,
      Old things are past away, all's become new.
      Strange! he's another man, upon my word,
      They be fine feathers that make a fine bird.

Then Christian gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing -- 

      Thus far I did come laden with my sin;
      Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in
      Till I came hither: What a place is this!
      Must here be the beginning of my bliss?
      Must here the burden fall from off my back?
      Must here the strings that bound it to me crack?
      Blest cross! blest sepulchre! blest rather be
      The Man that there was put to shame for me!

I saw then in my dream, that he went on thus, even until he came
at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of the way, three men
fast asleep, with fetters upon their heels. The name of the one
was Simple, another Sloth, and the third Presumption.

Christian then seeing them lie in this case went to them, if
peradventure he might awake them, and cried, You are like them
that sleep on the top of a mast, for the Dead Sea is under you
-- a gulf that hath no bottom. Awake, therefore, and come away;
be willing also, and I will help you off with your irons. He
also told them, If he that goeth about like a roaring lion comes
by, you will certainly become a prey to his teeth. With that
they looked upon him, and began to reply in this sort: Simple
said, 'I see no danger;' Sloth said, 'Yet a little more sleep;'
and Presumption said, 'Every fat must stand upon its own bottom;
what is the answer else that I should give thee?' And so they
lay down to sleep again, and Christian went on his way.

Yet was he troubled to think that men in that danger

should so little esteem the kindness of him that so freely
offered to help them, both by awakening of them, counselling of
them, and proffering to help them off with their irons. And as
he was troubled thereabout, he espied two men come tumbling over
the wall on the left hand of the narrow way; and they made up
apace to him. The name of the one was Formalist, and the name of
the other Hypocrisy. So, as I said, they drew up unto him, who
thus entered with them into discourse.

Chr. Gentlemen, whence came you, and whither go you?

Form. and Hyp. We were born in the land of Vain-Glory, and are
going for praise to Mount Zion.

Chr. Why came you not in at the gate which standeth at the
beginning of the way? Know you not that it is written, that he
that cometh not in by the door, but climbeth up some other way,
the same is a thief and a robber?

Form. and Hyp. They said, That to go to the gate for entrance
was, by all their countrymen, counted too far about; and that,
therefore, their usual way was to make a short cut of it, and to
climb over the wall, as they had done.

Chr. But will it not be counted a trespass against the Lord of
the city whither we are bound, thus to violate his revealed
will?

Form. and Hyp. They told him, that, as for that, he needed not
to trouble his head thereabout; for what they did they had
custom for; and could produce, if need were, testimony that
would witness it for more than a thousand years.

Chr. But, said Christian, will your practice stand a trial at
law?

Form. and Hyp. They told him, That custom, it being of so long
a standing as above a thousand years, would, doubtless, now be
admitted as a thing legal by any impartial judge; and besides,
said they, if we get into the way, what's matter which way we
get in? if we are in, we are in; thou art but in the way, who,
as we perceive, came in at the gate; and we are also in the way,
that came tumbling over the wall; wherein, now, is thy condition
better than ours?

Chr. I walk by the rule of my Master: you walk by the rude
working of your fancies. You are counted thieves already, by the
Lord of the way; therefore, I doubt you will not be found true
men at the end of the way. You come in by yourselves, without
his direction; and shall go out by yourselves, without his
mercy.

To this they made him but little answer; only they bid him look
to himself. Then I saw that they went on every man in his way
without much conference one with another, save that these two
men told Christian, that as to laws and ordinances, they doubted
not but they should as conscientiously do them as he; therefore,
said they, we see not wherein thou differest from us but by the
coat that is on thy back, which was, as we trow, given thee by
some of thy neighbours, to hide the shame of thy nakedness.

Chr. By laws and ordinances you will not be saved, since you
came not in by the door. And as for this coat that is on my
back, it was given me by the Lord of the place whither I go; and
that, as you say, to cover my

nakedness with. And I take it as a token of his kindness to me;
for I had nothing but rags before. And besides, thus I comfort
myself as I go: Surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the
city, the Lord thereof will know me for good since I have this
coat on my back -- a coat that he gave me freely in the day that
he stripped me of my rags. I have, moreover, a mark in my
forehead, of which, perhaps, you have taken no notice, which one
of my Lord's most intimate associates fixed there in the day
that my burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, moreover,
that I had then given me a roll, sealed, to comfort me by
reading as I go on the way; I was also bid to give it in at the
Celestial Gate, in token of my certain going in after it; all
which things, I doubt, you want, and want them because you came
not in at the gate.

To these things they gave him no answer; only they looked upon
each other, and laughed. Then, I saw that they went on all, save
that Christian kept before, who had no more talk but with
himself, and that sometimes sighingly, and sometimes
comfortably; also he would be often reading in the roll that one
of the Shining Ones gave him, by which he was refreshed.

I beheld, then, that they all went on till they came to the foot
of the Hill Difficulty; at the bottom of which was a spring.
There were also in the same place two other ways besides that
which came straight from the gate; one turned to the left hand,
and the other to the right, at the bottom of the hill; but the
narrow way lay right up the hill, and the name of the going up
the side of the hill is called Difficulty. Christian now went to
the spring, and drank thereof, to refresh himself, and then
began to go up the hill, saying -- 

      The hill, though high, I covet to ascend,
      The difficulty will not me offend;
      For I perceive the way to life lies here.
      Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear;
      Better, though difficult, the right way to go,
      Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe.

The other two also came to the foot of the hill; but when they
saw that the hill was steep and high, and that there were two
other ways to go, and supposing also that these two ways might
meet again, with that up which Christian went, on the other side
of the hill, therefore they were resolved to go in those ways.
Now the name of one of these ways was Danger, and the name of
the other Destruction. So the one took the way which is called
Danger, which led him into a great wood, and the other took
directly up the way to Destruction, which led him into a wide
field, full of dark mountains, where he stumbled and fell, and
rose no more.

      Shall they who wrong begin yet rightly end?
      Shall they at all have safety for their friend?
      No, no; in headstrong manner they set out,
      And headlong will they fall at last, no doubt.

I looked, then, after Christian, to see him go up the hill,
where I perceived he fell from running to going, and from going
to clambering upon his hands and his knees, because of the
steepness of the place. Now, about the midway to the top of the
hill was a pleasant arbour, made by the Lord of the hill for the
refreshing of weary travellers; thither, therefore, Christian
got, where also

he sat down to rest him. Then he pulled his roll out of his
bosom, and read therein to his comfort; he also now began afresh
to take a review of the coat or garment that was given him as he
stood by the cross. Thus pleasing himself awhile, he at last
fell into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which
detained him in that place until it was almost night; and in his
sleep, his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as he was sleeping,
there came one to him, and awaked him, saying, Go to the ant,
thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise. And with that
Christian started up, and sped him on his way, and went apace,
till he came to the top of the hill.

Now, when he was got up to the top of the hill, there came two
men running to meet him amain; the name of the one was Timorous,
and of the other, Mistrust; to whom Christian said, Sirs, what's
the matter? You run the wrong way. Timorous answered, that they
were going to the City of Zion, and had got up that difficult
place; but, said he, the further we go, the more danger we meet
with; wherefore we turned, and are going back again.

Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of lions in
the way, whether sleeping or waking we know not, and we could
not think, if we came within reach, but they would presently
pull us in pieces.

Chr. Then said Christian, You make me afraid, but whither shall
I fly to be safe? If I go back to mine own country, that is
prepared for fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish
there. If I can get to the Celestial City, I am sure to be in
safety there. I must venture. To go back is nothing but death;
to go forward is fear of death, and life-everlasting beyond it.
I will yet go for-

ward. So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill, and Christian
went on his way. But, thinking again of what he had heard from
the men, he felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read
therein, and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. Then
was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do; for he
wanted that which used to relieve him, and that which should
have been his pass into the Celestial City. Here, therefore, he
begun to be much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he
bethought himself that he had slept in the arbour that is on the
side of the hill; and, falling down upon his knees, he asked
God's forgiveness for that his foolish act, and then went back
to look for his roll. But all the way he went back, who can
sufficiently set forth the sorrow of Christian's heart?
Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid
himself for being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which
was erected only for a little refreshment for his weariness.
Thus, therefore, he went back, carefully looking on this side
and on that, all the way as he went, if happily he might find
his roll, that had been his comfort so many times in his
journey. He went thus, till he came again within sight of the
arbour where he sat and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow
the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping
into his mind. Thus, therefore, he now went on bewailing his
sinful sleep, saying, O wretched man that I am that I should
sleep in the day-time! that I should sleep in the midst of
difficulty! that I should so indulge the flesh, as to use that
rest for ease to my flesh, which the Lord of the hill hath
erected only for the relief of the spirits of pilgrims!

How many steps have I took in vain! Thus it happened

to Israel, for their sin; they were sent back again by the way
of the Red Sea; and I am made to tread those steps with sorrow,
which I might have trod with delight, had it not been for this
sinful sleep. How far might I have been on my way by this time!
I am made to tread those steps thrice over, which I needed not
to have trod but once; yea, now also I am like to be benighted,
for the day is almost spent. O, that I had not slept!

Now, by this time he was come to the arbour again, where for a
while he sat down and wept; but at last, as Christian would have
it, looking sorrowfully down under the settle, there he espied
his roll; the which he, with trembling and haste, catched up,
and put it into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man
was when he had gotten his roll again! for this roll was the
assurance of his life and acceptance at the desired haven.
Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for
directing his eye to the place where it lay, and with joy and
tears betook himself again to his journey. But oh, how nimbly
now did he go up the rest of the hill! Yet, before he got up,
the sun went down upon Christian; and this made him again recall
the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance; and thus he again
began to condole with himself: O thou sinful sleep; how, for thy
sake, am I like to be benighted in my journey! I must walk
without the sun; darkness must cover the path of my feet; and I
must hear the noise of the doleful creatures, because of my
sinful sleep. Now also he remembered the story that Mistrust and
Timorous told him of; how they were frighted with the sight of
the lions. Then said Christian to himself again, These beasts
range in the night for their prey; and if they should meet with
me in the dark, how

should I shift them? How should I escape being by them torn in
pieces? Thus he went on his way. But while he was thus bewailing
his unhappy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold there
was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was
Beautiful; and it stood just by the highway side.

So I saw in my dream that he made haste and went forward, that
if possible he might get lodging there. Now, before he had gone
far, he entered into a very narrow passage, which was about a
furlong off the porter's lodge; and looking very narrowly before
him as he went, he espied two lions in the way. Now, thought he,
I see the dangers that Mistrust and Timorous were driven back
by. (The lions were chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he
was afraid, and thought also himself to go back after them, for
he thought nothing but death was before him. But the porter at
the lodge, whose name is Watchful, perceiving that Christian
made a halt as if he would go back, cried unto him, saying, Is
thy strength so small? Fear not the lions, for they are chained,
and are placed there for trial of faith where it is, and for
discovery of those that had none. Keep in the midst of the path,
and no hurt shall come unto thee.

      Difficulty is behind, Fear is before,
      Though he's got on the hill, the lions roar;
      A Christian man is never long at ease,
      When one fright's gone, another doth him seize.

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the lions, but
taking good heed to the directions of the porter; he heard them
roar, but they did him no harm. Then

he clapped his hands, and went on till he came and stood before
the gate where the porter was. Then said Christian to the
porter, Sir, what house is this? And may I lodge here to-night?
The porter answered, This house was built by the Lord of the
hill, and he built it for the relief and security of pilgrims.
The porter also asked whence he was, and whither he was going.

Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, and am going to
Mount Zion; but because the sun is now set, I desire, if I may,
to lodge here to-night.

Por. What is your name?

Chr. My name is now Christian, but my name at the first was
Graceless; I came of the race of Japheth, whom God will persuade
to dwell in the tents of Shem.

Por. But how doth it happen that you come so late? The sun is
set.

Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched man that I am!
I slept in the arbour that stands on the hillside; nay, I had,
notwithstanding that, been here much sooner, but that, in my
sleep, I lost my evidence, and came without it to the brow of
the hill; and then feeling for it, and finding it not, I was
forced with sorrow of heart, to go back to the place where I
slept my sleep, where I found it, and now I am come.

Por. Well, I will call out one of the virgins of this place, who
will, if she likes your talk, bring you into the rest of the
family, according to the rules of the house. So Watchful, the
porter, rang a bell, at the sound of which came out at the door
of the house a grave and beautiful damsel, named Discretion, and
asked why she was called.

The porter answered, This man is in a journey from

the City of Destruction to Mount Zion, but being weary and
benighted, he asked me if he might lodge here tonight; so I told
him I would call for thee, who, after discourse had with him,
mayest do as seemeth thee good, even according to the law of the
house.

Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he was going, and
he told her. She asked him also how he got into the way; and he
told her. Then she asked him what he had seen and met with in
the way; and he told, her. And last she asked his name; so he
said, It is Christian, and I have so much the more a desire to
lodge here to-night, because, by what I perceive, this place was
built by the Lord of the hill for the relief and security of
pilgrims. So she smiled, but the water stood in her eyes; and
after a little pause, she said, I will call forth two or three
more of the family. So she ran to the door, and called out
Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who, after a little more discourse
with him, had him into the family; and many of them, meeting him
at the threshold of the house, said, Come in, thou blessed of
the Lord; this house was built by the Lord of the hill, on
purpose to entertain such pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head,
and followed them into the house. So when he was come in and sat
down, they gave him something to drink, and consented together,
that until supper was ready, some of them should have some
particular discourse with Christian, for the best improvement of
time; and they appointed Piety, and Prudence, and Charity to
discourse with him; and thus they began:

Piety. Come, good Christian, since we have been so loving to
you, to receive you in our house this night, let us, if perhaps
we may better ourselves thereby, talk with

you of all things that have happened to you in your pilgrimage.

Chr. With a very good will, and I am glad that you are so well
disposed.

Piety. What moved you at first to betake yourself to a pilgrim's
life?

Chr. I was driven out of my native country by a dreadful sound
that was in mine ears: to wit, that unavoidable destruction did
attend me, if I abode in that place where I was.

Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of your country
this way?

Chr. It was as God would have it; for when I was under the fears
of destruction, I did not know whither to go; but by chance
there came a man, even to me, as I was trembling and weeping,
whose name is Evangelist, and he directed me to the wicket-gate,
which else I should never have found, and so set me into the way
that hath led me directly to this house.

Piety. But did you not come by the house of the Interpreter?

Chr. Yes, and did see such things there, the remembrance of
which will stick by me as long as I live; especially three
things -- to wit, how Christ, in despite of Satan, maintains his
work of grace in the heart; how the man had sinned himself quite
out of hopes of God's mercy; and also the dream of him that
thought in his sleep the day of judgment was come.

Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his dream?

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was. I thought it made my heart
ache as he was telling of it; but yet I am glad I heard it.

Piety. Was that all that you saw at the house of the
Interpreter?

Chr. No; he took me and had me where he shewed me a stately
palace, and how the people were clad in gold that were in it;
and how there came a venturous man and cut his way through the
armed men that stood in the door to keep him out, and how he was
bid to come in, and win eternal glory. Methought those things
did ravish my heart! I would have stayed at that good man's
house a twelvemonth, but that I knew I had further to go.

Piety. And what saw you else in the way?

Chr. Saw! why, I went but a little further, and I saw one, as I
thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon the tree; and the very
sight of him made my burden fall off my back, (for I groaned
under a very heavy burden,) but then it fell down from off me.
It was a strange thing to me, for I never saw such a thing
before; yea, and while I stood looking up, for then I could not
forbear looking, three Shining Ones came to me. One of them
testified that my sins were forgiven me; another stripped me of
my rags, and gave me this broidered coat which you see; and the
third set the mark which you see in my forehead, and gave me
this sealed roll. (And with that he plucked it out of his
bosom.)

Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not?

Chr. The things that I have told you were the best; yet some
other matters I saw, as, namely -- I saw three men, Simple,
Sloth, and Presumption, lie asleep a little out of the way, as
I came, with irons upon their heels; but do you think I could
awake them? I also saw Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling
over the wall, to go, as they pretended, to Zion, but they were
quickly lost, even

as I myself did tell them; but they would not believe. But above
all, I found it hard work to get up this hill, and as hard to
come by the lions' mouths, and truly if it had not been for the
good man, the porter that stands at the gate, I do not know but
that after all I might have gone back again; but now I thank God
I am here, and I thank you for receiving of me.

Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few questions, and
desired his answer to them.

Prud. Do you not think sometimes of the country from whence you
came?

Chr. Yes, but with much shame and detestation -- Truly, if I had
been mindful of that country from whence I came out, I might
have had opportunity to have returned; but now I desire a better
country, that is, an heavenly.

Prud. Do you not yet bear away with you some of the things that
then you were conversant withal?

Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will; especially my inward and
carnal cogitations, with which all my countrymen, as well as
myself, were delighted; but now all those things are my grief;
and might I but choose mine own things, I would choose never to
think of those things more; but when I would be doing of that
which is best, that which is worst is with me.

Prud. Do you not find sometimes as if those things were
vanquished, which at other times are your perplexity?

Chr. Yes, but that is seldom; but they are to me golden hours in
which such things happen to me.

Prud. Can you remember by what means you find your annoyances,
at times, as if they were vanquished?

Chr. Yes, when I think what I saw at the cross, that will do it;
and when I look upon my broidered coat, that will do it; also
when I look into the roll that I carry in my bosom, that will do
it; and when my thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that
will do it.

Prud. And what is it that makes you so desirous to go to Mount
Zion?

Chr. Why, there I hope to see him alive that did hang dead on
the cross; and there I hope to be rid of all those things that
to this day are in me an annoyance to me; there, they say, there
is no death; and there I shall dwell with such company as I like
best. For, to tell you truth, I love him, because I was by him
eased of my burden; and I am weary of my inward sickness. I
would fain be where I shall die no more, and with the company
that shall continually cry, Holy, Holy, Holy.

Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family? Are you a
married man?

Chr. I have a wife and four small children.

Char. And why did you not bring them along with you?

Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, Oh, how willingly would I
have done it! but they were all of them utterly averse to my
going on pilgrimage.

Char. But you should have talked to them, and have endeavoured
to have shewn them the danger of being behind.

Chr. So I did; and told them also of what God had shewn to me of
the destruction of our city; but I seemed to them as one that
mocked, and they believed me not.

Char. And did you pray to God that he would bless your counsel
to them?

Chr. Yes, and that with much affection: for you must think that
my wife and poor children were very dear unto me.

Char. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear of
destruction? for I suppose that destruction was visible enough
to you.

Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also see my fears
in my countenance, in my tears, and also in my trembling under
the apprehension of the judgment that did hang over our heads;
but all was not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me.

Char. But what could they say for themselves, why they came not?

Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this world, and my
children were given to the foolish delights of youth: so what by
one thing, and what by another, they left me to wander in this
manner alone.

Char. But did you not, with your vain life, damp all that you by
words used by way of persuasion to bring them away with you?

Chr. Indeed, I cannot commend my life; for I am conscious to
myself of many failings therein; I know also that a man by his
conversation may soon overthrow what by argument or persuasion
he doth labour to fasten upon others for their good. Yet this I
can say, I was very wary of giving them occasion, by any
unseemly action, to make them averse to going on pilgrimage.
Yea, for this very thing they would tell me I was too precise,
and that I denied myself of things, for their sakes, in which
they saw no evil. Nay, I think I may say, that if what they saw
in me did hinder them, it was my great tenderness in

sinning against God, or of doing any wrong to my neighbour.

Char. Indeed Cain hated his brother, because his own works were
evil, and his brother's righteous; and if thy wife and children
have been offended with thee for this, they thereby shew
themselves to be implacable to good, and thou hast delivered thy
soul from their blood.

Now I saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking together until
supper was ready. So when they had made ready, they sat down to
meat. Now the table was furnished with fat things, and with wine
that was well refined: and all their talk at the table was about
the Lord of the hill; as, namely, about what he had done, and
wherefore he did what he did, and why he had builded that house.
And by what they said, I perceived that he had been a great
warrior, and had fought with and slain him that had the Power of
death, but not without great danger to himself, which made me
love him the more.

For as they said, and as I believe (said Christian), he did it
with the loss of much blood; but that which put glory of grace
into all he did, was, that he did it out of pure love to his
country. And besides, there were some of them of the household
that said they had been and spoke with him since he did die on
the cross; and they have attested that they had it from his own
lips, that he is such a lover of poor pilgrims, that the like is
not to be found from the east to the west.

They, moreover, gave an instance of what they affirmed, and that
was, he had stripped himself of his glory, that he might do this
for the poor; and that they heard him say and affirm, 'that he
would not dwell in the

mountain of Zion alone.' They said, moreover, that he had made
many pilgrims princes, though by nature they were beggars born,
and their original had been the dunghill.

Thus they discoursed together till late at night; and after they
had committed themselves to their Lord for protection, they
betook themselves to rest: the Pilgrim they laid in a large
upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising: the
name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day
and then he awoke and sang -- 

      Where am I now? Is this the love and care
      Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are?
      Thus to provide that I should be forgiven!
      And dwell already the next door to heaven!

So in the morning they all got up; and, after some more
discourse, they told him that he should not depart till they had
shewn him the rarities of that place. And first they had him
into the study, where they shewed him records of the greatest
antiquity; in which, as I remember my dream, they shewed him
first the pedigree of the Lord of the hill, that he was the son
of the Ancient of Days, and came by that eternal generation.
Here also was more fully recorded the acts that he had done, and
the names of many hundreds that he had taken into his service;
and how he had placed them in such habitations that could
neither by length of days nor decays of nature be dissolved.

Then they read to him some of the worthy acts that some of his
servants had done: as, how they had sub-

dued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped
the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the
edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed
valiant in fight, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens.

They then read again, in another part of the records of the
house, where it was shewed how willing their Lord was to receive
into his favour any, even any, though they in time past had
offered great affronts to his person and proceedings. Here also
were several other histories of many other famous things, of all
which Christian had a view; as of things both ancient and
modern; together with prophecies and predictions of things that
have their certain accomplishment, both to the dread and
amazement of enemies, and the comfort and solace of pilgrims.

The next day they took him and had him into the armoury, where
they shewed him all manner of furniture, which their Lord had
provided for pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, breastplate,
all-prayer, and shoes that would not wear out. And there was
here enough of this to harness out as many men for the service
of their Lord as there be stars in the heaven for multitude.

They also shewed him some of the engines with which some of his
servants had done wonderful things. They shewed him Moses' rod;
the hammer and nail with which Jael slew Sisera; the pitchers,
trumpets, and lamps too, with which Gideon put to flight the
armies of Midian. Then they shewed him the ox's goad wherewith
Shamgar slew six hundred men. They shewed him also the jaw-bone
with which Samson did such mighty feats. They shewed him,
moreover, the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath of
Gath; and the sword, also,

with which their Lord will kill the Man of Sin, in the day that
he shall rise up to the prey. They shewed him, besides, many
excellent things, with which Christian was much delighted. This
done, they went to their rest again.

Then I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to go
forward; but they desired him to stay till the next day also;
and then, said they, we will, if the day be clear, shew you the
Delectable Mountains, which, they said, would yet further add to
his comfort, because they were nearer the desired haven than the
place where at present he was; so he consented and stayed. When
the morning was up, they had him to the top of the house, and
bid him look south; so he did: and behold, at a great distance,
he saw a most pleasant mountainous country, beautified with
woods, vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with
springs and fountains, very delectable to behold. Then he asked
the name of the country. They said it was Immanuel's Land; and
it is as common, said they, as this hill is, to and for all the
pilgrims. And when thou comest there from thence, said they,
thou mayest see to the gate of the Celestial City, as the
shepherds that live there will make appear.

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they were
willing he should. But first, said they, let us go again into
the armoury. So they did; and when they came there, they
harnessed him from head to foot with what was of proof, lest,
perhaps, he should meet with assaults in the way. He being,
therefore, thus accoutred, walketh out with his friends to the
gate, and there he asked the porter if he saw any pilgrims pass
by. Then the porter answered, Yes.

Chr. Pray, did you know him? said he.

Por. I asked him his name, and he told me it was Faithful.

Chr. Oh, said Christian, I know him; he is my townsman, my near
neighbour; he comes from the place where I was born. How far do
you think he may be before?

Por. He is got by this time below the hill.

Chr. Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord be with thee,
and add to all thy blessings much increase, for the kindness
that thou hast shewed to me.

Then he began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, Charity, and
Prudence would accompany him down to the foot of the hill. So
they went on together, reiterating their former discourses, till
they came to go down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was
difficult coming up, so, so far as I can see, it is dangerous
going down. Yes, said Prudence, so it is, for it is a hard
matter for a man to go down into the Valley of Humiliation, as
thou art now, and to catch no slip by the way; therefore, said
they, are we come out to accompany thee down the hill. So he
began to go down, but very warily; yet he caught a slip or two.

Then I saw in my dream that these good companions, when
Christian was gone to the bottom of the hill, gave him a loaf of
bread, a bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins; and then he
went on his way.

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was hard
put to it; for he had gone but a little way, before he espied a
foul fiend coming over the field to meet him; his name is
Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in
his mind whether to go back or to stand his ground. But he
considered again that he had no armour for his back; and
therefore thought that to

turn the back to him might give him the greater advantage with
ease to pierce him with his darts. Therefore he resolved to
venture and stand his ground; for, thought he, had I no more in
mine eye than the saving of my life, it would be the best way to
stand.

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous
to behold; he was clothed with scales, like a fish, (and they
are his pride,) he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear,
and out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as
the mouth of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he beheld
him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question
with him.

Apol. Whence come you? and whither are you bound?

Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, which is the place
of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion.

Apol. By this I perceive thou art one of my subjects, for all
that country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. How is
it, then, that thou hast run away from thy king? Were it not
that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee
now, at one blow, to the ground.

Chr. I was born, indeed, in your dominions, but your service was
hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on, for the
wages of sin is death; therefore, when I was come to years, I
did, as other considerate persons do, look out, if, perhaps, I
might mend myself.

Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his
subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee; but since thou
complainest of thy service and wages, be content to go back:
what our country will afford, I do here promise to give thee.

Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the King of
princes; and how can I, with fairness, go back with thee?

Apol. Thou hast done in this, according to the proverb, 'Changed
a bad for a worse;' but it is ordinary for those that have
professed themselves his servants, after a while to give him the
slip, and return again to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be
well.

Chr. I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to him;
how, then, can I go back from this, and not be hanged as a
traitor?

Apol. Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing to pass by
all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back.

Chr. What I promised thee was in my nonage; and, besides, I
count the Prince under whose banner now I stand is able to
absolve me; yea, and to pardon also what I did as to my
compliance with thee; and besides, O thou destroying Apollyon!
to speak truth, I like his service, his wages, his servants, his
government, his company, and country, better than thine; and,
therefore, leave off to persuade me further; I am his servant,
and I will follow him.

Apol. Consider, again, when thou art in cool blood, what thou
art like to meet with in the way that thou goest. Thou knowest
that, for the most part, his servants come to an ill end,
because they are transgressors against me and my ways. How many
of them have been put to shameful deaths! and, besides, thou
countest his service better than mine, whereas he never came yet
from the place where he is to deliver any that served him out of
their hands; but as for me, how many times, as all the world
very well knows, have I delivered, either by power,

or fraud, those that have faithfully served me, from him and
his, though taken by them; and so I will deliver thee.

Chr. His forbearing at present to deliver them is on purpose to
try their love, whether they will cleave to him to the end; and
as for the ill end thou sayest they come to, that is most
glorious in their account; for, for present deliverance, they do
not much expect it, for they stay for their glory, and then they
shall have it when their Prince comes in his and the glory of
the angels.

Apol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to him;
and how dost thou think to receive wages of him?

Chr. Wherein, O Apollyon! have I been unfaithful to him?

Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou wast
almost choked in the Gulf of Despond; thou didst attempt wrong
ways to be rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldst have stayed
till thy Prince had taken it off; thou didst sinfully sleep and
lose thy choice thing; thou wast, also, almost persuaded to go
back at the sight of the lions; and when thou talkest of thy
journey, and of what thou hast heard and seen, thou art inwardly
desirous of vain-glory in all that thou sayest or doest.

Chr. All this is true, and much more which thou hast left out;
but the Prince whom I serve and honour is merciful, and ready to
forgive; but, besides, these infirmities possessed me in thy
country, for there I sucked them in; and I have groaned under
them, been sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of my
Prince.

Apol. Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, saying, I am
an enemy to this Prince; I hate his person,

his laws, and people; I am come out on purpose to withstand
thee.

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do; for I am in the King's
highway, the way of holiness; therefore take heed to yourself.

Apol. Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of
the way, and said, I am void of fear in this matter: prepare
thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal den, that thou shalt
go no further; here will I spill thy soul. And with that he
threw a flaming dart at his breast; but Christian had a shield
in his hand, with which he caught it, and so prevented the
danger of that.

Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to bestir him;
and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as
hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do
to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and
foot. This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon,
therefore, followed his work amain, and Christian again took
courage, and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat
lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was almost
quite spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of his
wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker.

Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close
to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall;
and with that Christian's sword flew out of his hand. Then said
Apollyon, I am sure of thee now. And with that he had almost
pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of
life; but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of
his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man,
Chris-

tian nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and caught it,
saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy; when I fall I
shall arise; and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made
him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound.
Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in
all these things we are more than conquerors through him that
loved us. And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon's
wings, and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him no
more.

In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard
as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the
time of the fight -- he spake like a dragon; and, on the other
side, what sighs and groans burst from Christian's heart. I
never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look,
till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged
sword; then, indeed, he did smile, and look upward; but it was
the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.

      A more unequal match can hardly be, -- 
      Christian must fight an Angel; but you see,
      The valiant man by handling Sword and Shield,
      Doth make him, though a Dragon, quit the field.

So when the battle was over, Christian said, I will here give
thanks to him that delivered me out of the mouth of the lion, to
him that did help me against Apollyon. And so he did, saying -- 

      Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend,
      Design'd my ruin; therefore to this end
      He sent him harness'd out: and he with rage
      That hellish was, did fiercely me engage.

      But blessed Michael helped me, and I,
      By dint of sword, did quickly make him fly.
      Therefore to him let me give lasting praise,
      And thank and bless his holy name always.

Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of the
tree of life, the which Christian took, and applied to the
wounds that he had received in the battle, and was healed
immediately. He also sat down in that place to eat bread, and to
drink of the bottle that was given him a little before; so,
being refreshed, he addressed himself to his journey, with his
sword drawn in his hand; for he said, I know not but some other
enemy may be at hand. But he met with no other affront from
Apollyon quite through this valley.

Now, at the end of this valley was another, called the Valley of
the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs go through it,
because the way to the Celestial City lay through the midst of
it. Now, this valley is a very solitary place. The prophet
Jeremiah thus describes it: -- 'A wilderness, a land of deserts
and of pits, a land of drought, and of the shadow of death, a
land that no man' (but a Christian) 'passed through, and where
no man dwelt.'

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight with
Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. I saw then in my
dream, that when Christian was got to the borders of the shadow
of Death, there met him two men, children of them that brought
up an evil report of the good land, making haste to go back; to
whom Christian spake as follows: -- 

Chr. Whither are you going?

Men. They said, Back! back! and we would have you to do so too,
if either life or peace is prized by you.

Chr. Why, what's the matter? said Christian.

Men. Matter! said they; we were going that way as you are going,
and went as, far as we durst; and indeed we were almost past
coming back; for had we gone a little further, we had not been
here to bring the news to thee.

Chr. But what have you met with? said Christian.

Men. Why, we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow of Death;
but that, by good hap, we looked before us, and saw the danger
before we came to it.

Chr. But what have you seen? said Christian. Men. Seen! Why, the
Valley itself, which is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the
hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit; we heard also in
that Valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people
under unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and
irons; and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of
confusion. Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In
a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order.

Chr. Then, said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what you have
said, but that this is my way to the desired haven.

Men. Be it thy way; we will not choose it for ours. So, they
parted, and Christian went on his way, but still with his sword
drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be assaulted.

I saw then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, there was
on the right hand a very deep ditch; that ditch is it into which
the blind have led the blind in all ages,

and have both there miserably perished. Again, behold, on the
left hand, there was a very dangerous quag, into which, if even
a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to stand
on. Into that quag King David once did fall, and had no doubt
therein been smothered, had not HE that is able plucked him out.

The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good
Christian was the more put to it; for when he sought, in the
dark, to shun the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip
over into the mire on the other; also when he sought to escape
the mire, without great carefulness he would be ready to fall
into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him here sigh
bitterly; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the pathway
was here so dark, and ofttimes, when he lift up his foot to set
forward, he knew not where or upon what he should set it next.

      Poor man! where art thou now? thy day is night.
      Good man, be not cast down, thou yet art right,
      Thy way to heaven lies by the gates of hell;
      Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall go well.

About the midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth of hell to
be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought
Christian, what shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and
smoke would come out in such abundance, with sparks and hideous
noises, (things that cared not for Christian's sword, as did
Apollyon before,) that he was forced to put up his sword, and
betake himself to another weapon called all-prayer. So he cried,
in my hearing, O Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Thus he
went on

a great while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards
him. Also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so
that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or
trodden down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was
seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by him for several
miles together; and, coming to a place where he thought he heard
a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped, and
began to muse what he had best to do. Sometimes he had half a
thought to go back; then again he thought he might be half way
through the valley; he remembered also how he had already
vanquished many a danger, and that the danger of going back
might be much more than for to go forward; so he resolved to go
on. Yet the fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer; but when
they were come even almost at him, he cried out with a most
vehement voice, I will walk in the strength of the Lord God! so
they gave back, and came no further.

One thing I would not let slip. I took notice that now, poor
Christian was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice;
and thus I perceived it. Just when he was come over against the
mouth of the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him,
and stept 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
anything that he met with before, even to think that he should
now blaspheme him that he loved so much before; yet, if he could
have helped it, he would not have done it; but he had not the
discretion either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these
blasphemies came.

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate con-

dition some considerable time, he thought he heard the voice of
a man, as going before him, saying, Though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art
with me.

Then he was glad, and that for these reasons: -- 

First, Because he gathered from thence, that some who feared God
were in this valley as well as himself.

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, though in
that dark and dismal state; and why not, thought he, with me?
though, by reason of the impediment that attends this place, I
cannot perceive it.

Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, to have
company by and by. So he went on, and called to him that was
before; but he knew not what to answer; for that he also thought
himself to be alone. And by and by the day broke; then said
Christian, He hath turned the shadow of death into the morning.

Now morning being come, he looked back, not out of desire to
return, but to see, by the light of the day, what hazards he had
gone through in the dark. So he saw more perfectly the ditch
that was on the one hand, and the quag that was on the other;
also how narrow the way was which led betwixt them both; also
now he saw the hobgoblins, and satyrs, and dragons of the pit,
but all afar off, (for after break of day, they came not nigh;)
yet they were discovered to him, according to that which is
written, He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and
bringeth out to light the shadow of death.

Now was Christian much affected with his deliverance from all
the dangers of his solitary way; which dangers, though he feared
them more before, yet he saw them more clearly now, because the
light of the day made them

conspicuous to him. And about this time the sun was rising, and
this was another mercy to Christian; for you must note, that
though the first part of the Valley of the Shadow of Death was
dangerous, yet this second part which he was yet to go, was, if
possible, far more dangerous; for from the place where he now
stood, even to the end of the valley, the way was all along set
so full of snares, traps, gins, and nets here, and so full of
pits, pitfalls, deep holes, and shelvings down there, that, had
it now been dark, as it was when he came the first part of the
way, had he had a thousand souls, they had in reason been cast
away; but, as I said just now, the sun was rising. Then said he,
His candle shineth upon my head, and by his light I walk through
darkness.

In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the valley. Now
I saw in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood,
bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even of pilgrims that
had gone this way formerly; and while I was musing what should
be the reason, I espied a little before me a cave, where two
giants, Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time; by whose power and
tyranny the men whose bones, blood, and ashes, &c., lay there,
were cruelly put to death. But by this place Christian went
without much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have
learnt since, that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for
the other, though he be yet alive, he is, by reason of age, and
also of the many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger
days, grown so crazy and stiff in his joints, that he can now do
little more than sit in his cave's mouth, grinning at pilgrims
as they go by, and biting his nails because he cannot come at
them.

So I saw that Christian went on his way; yet, at the sight of
the Old Man that sat in the mouth of the cave, he could not tell
what to think, especially because he spake to him, though he
could not go after him, saying, You will never mend till more of
you be burned. But he held his peace, and set a good face on it,
and so went by and catched no hurt. Then sang Christian: -- 

      O world of wonders! (I can say no less,)
      That I should be preserved in that distress
      That I have met with here! O blessed be
      That hand that from it hath deliver'd me!
      Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and sin
      Did compass me, while I this vale was in:
      Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets, did lie
      My path about, that worthless, silly I
      Might have been catch'd, entangled, and cast down;
      But since I live, let JESUS wear the crown.

Now, as Christian went on his way, he came to a little ascent,
which was cast up on purpose that pilgrims might see before
them. Up there, therefore, Christian went, and looking forward,
he saw Faithful before him, upon his journey. Then said
Christian aloud, Ho! ho! So-ho! stay, and I will be your
companion! At that, Faithful looked behind him; to whom
Christian cried again, Stay, stay, till I come up to you! But
Faithful answered, No, I am upon my life, and the avenger of
blood is behind me.

At this, Christian was somewhat moved, and putting to all his
strength, he quickly got up with Faithful, and did also overrun
him; so the last was first. Then did Christian vain-gloriously
smile, because he had gotten

the start of his brother; but not taking good heed to his feet,
he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not rise again until
Faithful came up to help him.

Then I saw in my dream they went very lovingly on together, and
had sweet discourse of all things that had happened to them in
their pilgrimage; and thus Christian began: -- 

Chr. My honoured and well-beloved brother, Faithful, I am glad
that I have overtaken you; and that God has so tempered our
spirits, that we can walk as companions in this so pleasant a
path.

Faith. I had thought, dear friend, to have had your company
quite from our town; but you did get the start of me, wherefore
I was forced to come thus much of the way alone.

Chr. How long did you stay in the City of Destruction before you
set out after me on your pilgrimage?

Faith. Till I could stay no longer; for there was great talk
presently after you were gone out that our city would, in short
time, with fire from heaven, be burned down to the ground.

Chr. What! did your neighbours talk so?

Faith. Yes, it was for a while in everybody's mouth.

Chr. What! and did no more of them but you come out to escape
the danger?

Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk thereabout, yet
I do not think they did firmly believe it. For in the heat of
the discourse, I heard some of them deridingly speak of you and
of your desperate journey, (for so they called this your
pilgrimage,) but I did believe, and do still, that the end of
our city will be with fire and

brimstone from above; and therefore I have made my escape.

Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbour Pliable?

Faith. Yes, Christian, I heard that he followed you till he came
at the Slough of Despond, where, as some said, he fell in; but
he would not be known to have so done; but I am sure he was
soundly bedabbled with that kind of dirt.

Chr. And what said the neighbours to him?

Faith. He hath, since his going back, been had greatly in
derision, and that among all sorts of people; some do mock and
despise him; and scarce will any set him on work. He is now
seven times worse than if he had never gone out of the city.

Chr. But why should they be so set against him, since they also
despise the way that he forsook?

Faith. Oh, they say, hang him, he is a turncoat! he was not true
to his profession. I think God has stirred up even his enemies
to hiss at him, and make him a proverb, because he hath forsaken
the way.

Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came out?

Faith. I met him once in the streets, but he leered away on the
other side, as one ashamed of what he had done; so I spake not
to him.

Chr. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that man; but
now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of the city; for it
is happened to him according to the true proverb, The dog is
turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed, to
her wallowing in the mire.

Faith. These are my fears of him too; but who can hinder that
which will be?

Chr. Well, neighbour Faithful, said Christian, let us leave him,
and talk of things that more immediately concern ourselves. Tell
me now, what you have met with in the way as you came; for I
know you have met with some things, or else it may be writ for
a wonder.

Faith. I escaped the Slough that I perceived you fell into, and
got up to the gate without that danger; only I met with one
whose name was Wanton, who had like to have done me a mischief.

Chr. It was well you escaped her net; Joseph was hard put to it
by her, and he escaped her as you did; but it had like to have
cost him his life. But what did she do to you?

Faith. You cannot think, but that you know something, what a
flattering tongue she had; she lay at me hard to turn aside with
her, promising me all manner of content.

Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a good
conscience.

Faith. You know what I mean; all carnal and fleshly content.

Chr. Thank God you have escaped her: The abhorred of the Lord
shall fall into her ditch.

Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape her or no.

Chr. Why, I trow, you did not consent to her desires?

Faith. No, not to defile myself; for I remembered an old writing
that I had seen, which said, Her steps take hold on hell. So I
shut mine eyes, because I would not be bewitched with her looks.
Then she railed on me, and I went my way.

Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as you came?

Faith. When I came to the foot of the hill called Dif-

ficulty, I met with a very aged man, who asked me what I was,
and whither bound. I told him that I am a pilgrim, going to the
Celestial City. Then said the old man, Thou lookest like an
honest fellow; wilt thou be content to dwell with me for the
wages that I shall give thee? Then I asked him his name, and
where he dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that he
dwelt in the town of Deceit. I asked him then what was his work,
and what the wages he would give. He told me that his work was
many delights; and his wages that I should be his heir at last.
I further asked him what house he kept, and what other servants
he had. So he told me that his house was maintained with all the
dainties in the world; and that his servants were those of his
own begetting. Then I asked if he had any children. He said that
he had but three daughters: The Lust of the Flesh, The Lust of
the Eyes, and The Pride of Life, and that I should marry them
all if I would. Then I asked how long time he would have me live
with him? And he told me, As long as he lived himself.

Chr. Well, and what conclusion came the old man and you to at
last?

Faith. Why, at first, I found myself somewhat inclinable to go
with the man, for I thought he spake very fair; but looking in
his forehead, as I talked with him, I saw there written, Put off
the old man with his deeds.

Chr. And how then?

Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind, whatever he said,
and however he flattered, when he got me home to his house, he
would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I
would not come near the door

of his house. Then he reviled me, and told me that he would send
such a one after me, that should make my way bitter to my soul.
So I turned to go away from him; but just as I turned myself to
go thence, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and give me such a
deadly twitch back, that I thought he had pulled part of me
after himself. This made me cry, O wretched man! So I went on my
way up the hill.

Now when I had got about half-way up, I looked behind, and saw
one coming after me, swift as the wind; so he overtook me just
about the place where the settle stands.

Chr. Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me; but
being overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll out of my
bosom.

Faith. But, good brother, hear me out. So soon as the man
overtook me, he was but a word and a blow, for down he knocked
me, and laid me for dead. But when I was a little come to myself
again, I asked him wherefore he served me so. He said, because
of my secret inclining to Adam the First; and with that he
struck me another deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down
backward; so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So, when I
came to myself again, I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not
how to shew mercy; and with that he knocked me down again. He
had doubtless made an end of me, but that one came by, and bid
him forbear.

Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear?

Faith. I did not know him at first, but as he went by, I
perceived the holes in his hands and in his side; then I
concluded that he was our Lord. So I went up the hill.

Chr. That man that overtook you was Moses. He

spareth none, neither knoweth he how to shew mercy to those that
transgress his law.

Faith. I know it very well; it was not the first time that he
has met with me. It was he that came to me when I dwelt securely
at home, and that told me he would burn my house over my head if
I stayed there.

Chr. But did you not see the house that stood there on the top
of the hill, on the side of which Moses met you?

Faith. Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it: but for the
lions, I think they were asleep, for it was about noon; and
because I had so much of the day before me, I passed by the
porter, and came down the hill.

Chr. He told me, indeed, that he saw you go by, but I wish you
had called at the house, for they would have shewed you so many
rarities, that you would scarce have forgot them to the day of
your death. But pray tell me, Did you meet nobody in the Valley
of Humility?

Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would willingly have
persuaded me to go back again with him; his reason was, for that
the valley was altogether without honour. He told me, moreover,
that there to go was the way to disobey all my friends, as
Pride, Arrogancy, Selfconceit, Worldly-glory, with others, who
he knew, as he said, would be very much offended, if I made such
a fool of myself as to wade through this valley.

Chr. Well, and how did you answer him?

Faith. I told him, that although all these that he named might
claim kindred of me, and that rightly, for indeed they were my
relations according to the flesh; yet since I became a pilgrim,
they have disowned me, as I also have rejected them; and
therefore they were to me now no more than if they had never
been of my lineage.

I told him, moreover, that as to this valley, he had quite
misrepresented the thing; for before honour is humility, and a
haughty spirit before a fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather go
through this valley to the honour that was so accounted by the
wisest, than choose that which he esteemed most worthy our
affections.

Chr. Met you with nothing else in that valley?

Faith. Yes, I met with Shame; but of all the men that I met with
in my pilgrimage, he, I think, bears the wrong name. The others
would be said nay, after a little argumentation, and somewhat
else; but this bold-faced Shame would never have done.

Chr. Why, what did he say to you?

Faith. What! why, he objected against religion itself; he said
it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind
religion; he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing;
and that for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to
tie up himself from that hectoring liberty that the brave
spirits of the times accustom themselves unto, would make him
the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but few of the
mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion; nor any of them
neither, before they were persuaded to be fools, and to be of a
voluntary fondness, to venture the loss of all, for nobody knows
what. He, moreover, objected the base and low estate and
condition of those that were chiefly the pilgrims of the times
in which they lived: also their ignorance and want of
understanding in all natural science. Yea, he did hold me to it
at that rate also, about a great many more things than here I
relate; as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning
under a sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groaning home:
that it was

a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness for petty faults, or to
make restitution where I have taken from any. He said, also,
that religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of
a few vices, which he called by finer names; and made him own
and respect the base, because of the same religious fraternity.
And is not this, said he, a shame?

Chr. And what did you say to him?

Faith. Say! I could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, he
put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face; even this
Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. But at
last I began to consider, that that which is highly esteemed
among men, is had in abomination with God. And I thought again,
this Shame tells me what men are; but it tells me nothing what
God or the Word of God is. And I thought, moreover, that at the
day of doom, we shall not be doomed to death or life according
to the hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the
wisdom and law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God
says is best, indeed is best, though all the men in the world
are against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his religion;
seeing God prefers a tender conscience; seeing they that make
themselves fools for the kingdom of heaven are wisest; and that
the poor man that loveth Christ is richer than the greatest man
in the world that hates him; Shame, depart, thou art an enemy to
my salvation! Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign Lord?
How then shall I look him in the face at his coming? Should I
now be ashamed of his ways and servants, how can I expect the
blessing? But, indeed, this Shame was a bold villain; I could
scarce shake him out of my company; yea, he would be haunting of
me, and continually

whispering me in the ear, with some one or other of the
infirmities that attend religion; but at last I told him it was
but in vain to attempt further in this business; for those
things that he disdained, in those did I see most glory; and so
at last I got past this importunate one. And when I had shaken
him off, then I began to sing -- 

      The trials that those men do meet withal,
      That are obedient to the heavenly call,
      Are manifold, and suited to the flesh,
      And come, and come, and come again afresh;
      That now, or sometime else, we by them may
      Be taken, overcome, and cast away.
      Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims, then
      Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men.

Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this
villain so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has
the wrong name; for he is so bold as to follow us in the
streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all men: that
is, to make us ashamed of that which is good; but if he was not
himself audacious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But
let us still resist him; for notwithstanding all his bravadoes,
he promoteth the fool and none else. The wise shall inherit
glory, said Solomon, but shame shall be the promotion of fools.

Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against Shame, who
would have us to be valiant for the truth upon the earth.

Chr. You say true; but did you meet nobody else in that valley?

Faith. No, not I; for I had sunshine all the rest of the

way through that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow of
Death.

Chr. It was well for you. I am sure it fared far otherwise with
me; I had for a long season, as soon almost as I entered into
that valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend Apollyon;
yea, I thought verily he would have killed me, especially when
he got me down and crushed me under him, as if he would have
crushed me to pieces; for as he threw me, my sword flew out of
my hand; nay, he told me he was sure of me: but I cried to God,
and he heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then
I entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no
light for almost half the way through it. I thought I should
have been killed there, over and over; but at last day broke,
and the sun rose, and I went through that which was behind with
far more ease and quiet.

Moreover, I saw in my dream, that as they went on, Faithful, as
he chanced to look on one side, saw a man whose name is
Talkative, walking at a distance beside them; for in this place
there was room enough for them all to walk. He was a tall man,
and something more comely at a distance than at hand. To this
man Faithful addressed himself in this manner: -- 

Faith. Friend, whither away? Are you going to the heavenly
country?

Talk. I am going to the same place.

Faith. That is well; then I hope we may have your good company.

Talk. With a very good will will I be your companion.

Faith. Come on, then, and let us go together, and let us spend
our time in discoursing of things that are profitable.

Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very acceptable,
with you or with any other; and I am glad that I have met with
those that incline to so good a work; for, to speak the truth,
there are but few that care thus to spend their time, (as they
are in their travels,) but choose much rather to be speaking of
things to no profit; and this hath been a trouble for me.

Faith. That is indeed a thing to be lamented; for what things so
worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth of men on earth as are
the things of the God of heaven?

Talk. I like you wonderful well, for your sayings are full of
conviction; and I will add, what thing is so pleasant, and what
so profitable, as to talk of the things of God? What things so
pleasant (that is, if a man hath any delight in things that are
wonderful)? For instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the
history or the mystery of things; or if a man doth love to talk
of miracles, wonders, or signs, where shall he find things
recorded so delightful, and so sweetly penned, as in the Holy
Scripture?

Faith. That is true; but to be profited by such things in our
talk should be that which we design.

Talk. That is it that I said; for to talk of such things is most
profitable; for by so doing, a man may get knowledge of many
things; as of the vanity of earthly things, and the benefit of
things above. Thus, in general, but more particularly by this,
a man may learn the necessity of the new birth, the
insufficiency of our works, the need of Christ's righteousness,
&c. Besides, by this a man may learn, by talk, what it is to
repent, to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like; by this
also a man may learn what are

the great promises and consolations of the gospel, to his own
comfort. Further, by this a man may learn to refute false
opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct the
ignorant.

Faith. All this is true, and glad am I to hear these things from
you.

Talk. Alas! the want of this is the cause why so few understand
the need of faith, and the necessity of a work of grace in their
soul, in order to eternal life; but ignorantly live in the works
of the law, by which a man can by no means obtain the kingdom of
heaven.

Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of these is the
gift of God; no man attaineth to them by human industry, or only
by the talk of them.

Talk. All this I know very well; for a man can receive nothing,
except it be given him from Heaven; all is of grace, not of
works. I could give you a hundred scriptures for the
confirmation of this.

Faith. Well, then, said Faithful, what is that one thing that we
shall at this time found our discourse upon?

Talk. What you will. I will talk of things heavenly, or things
earthly; things moral, or things evangelical; things sacred, or
things profane; things past, or things to come; things foreign,
or things at home; things more essential, or things
circumstantial; provided that all be done to our profit.

Faith. Now did Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping to
Christian, (for he walked all this while by himself,) he said to
him, (but softly,) What a brave companion have we got? Surely
this man will make a very excellent pilgrim.

Chr. At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This man, with
whom you are so taken, will beguile, with that tongue of his,
twenty of them that know him not.

Faith. Do you know him, then?

Chr. Know him! Yes, better than he knows himself.

Faith. Pray, what is he?

Chr. His name is Talkative; he dwelleth in our town. I wonder
that you should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our
town is large.

Faith. Whose son is he? And whereabout does he dwell?

Chr. He is the son of one Say-well; he dwelt in Prating Row; and
is known of all that are acquainted with him, by the name of
Talkative in Prating Row; and notwithstanding his fine tongue,
he is but a sorry fellow.

Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man.

Chr. That is, to them who have not thorough acquaintance with
him; for he is best abroad; near home, he is ugly enough. Your
saying that he is a pretty man, brings to my mind what I have
observed in the work of the painter, whose pictures shew best at
a distance, but, very near, more unpleasing.

Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you
smiled.

Chr. God forbid that I should jest (although I smiled) in this
matter, or that I should accuse any falsely! I will give you a
further discovery of him. This man is for any company, and for
any talk; as he talketh now with you, so will he talk when he is
on the ale-bench; and the more drink he hath in his crown, the
more of these things he hath in his mouth; religion hath no
place in his heart, or

house, or conversation; all he hath lieth in his tongue, and his
religion is, to make a noise therewith.

Faith. Say you so! then am I in this man greatly deceived.

Chr. Deceived! you may be sure of it; remember the proverb, They
say and do not. But the kingdom of God is not in word, but in
Power. He talketh of prayer, of repentance, of faith, and of the
new birth; but he knows but only to talk of them. I have been in
his family, and have observed him both at home and abroad; and
I know what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of
religion as the white of an egg is of savour. There is there
neither prayer nor sign of repentance for sin; yea, the brute in
his kind serves God far better than he. He is the very stain,
reproach, and shame of religion, to all that know him; it can
hardly have a good word in all that end of the town where he
dwells, through him. Thus say the common people that know him,
A saint abroad, and a devil at home. His poor family finds it
so; he is such a churl, such a railer at and so unreasonable
with his servants, that they neither know how to do for or speak
to him. Men that have any dealings with him say it is better to
deal with a Turk than with him; for fairer dealing they shall
have at their hands. This Talkative (if it be possible) will go
beyond them, defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he
brings up his sons to follow his steps; and if he findeth in any
of them a foolish timorousness, (for so he calls the first
appearance of a tender conscience,) he calls them fools and
blockheads, and by no means will employ them in much, or speak
to their commendations before others. For my part, I am of
opinion, that he has, by his wicked life,

caused many to stumble and fall; and will be, if God prevent
not, the ruin of many more.

Faith. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you; not only
because you say you know him, but also because, like a
Christian, you make your reports of men. For I cannot think that
you speak these things of ill-will, but because it is even so as
you say.

Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might perhaps have
thought of him, as, at the first, you did; yea, had he received
this report at their hands only that are enemies to religion, I
should have thought it had been a slander, -- a lot that often
falls from bad men's mouths upon good men's names and
professions; but all these things, yea, and a great many more as
bad, of my own knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. Besides,
good men are ashamed of him; they can neither call him brother,
nor friend; the very naming of him among them makes them blush,
if they know him.

Faith. Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, and
hereafter I shall better observe this distinction.

Chr. They are two things, indeed, and are as diverse as are the
soul and the body; for as the body without the soul is but a
dead carcass, so saying, if it be alone, is but a dead carcass
also. The soul of religion is the practical part: Pure religion
and undefiled, before God and the Father, is this, To visit the
fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself
unspotted from the world. This Talkative is not aware of; he
thinks that hearing and saying will make a good Christian, and
thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but as the sowing of
the seed; talking is not sufficient to prove that fruit is
indeed

in the heart and life; and let us assure ourselves, that at the
day of doom men shall be judged according to their fruits. It
will not be said then, Did you believe? but, Were you doers, or
talkers only? and accordingly shall they be judged. The end of
the world is compared to our harvest; and you know men at
harvest regard nothing but fruit. Not that anything can be
accepted that is not of faith, but I speak this to shew you how
insignificant the profession of Talkative will be at that day.

Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which he
describeth the beast that is clean. He is such a one that
parteth the hoof and cheweth the cud; not that parteth the hoof
only, or that cheweth the cud only. The hare cheweth the cud,
but yet is unclean, because he parteth not the hoof. And this
truly resembleth Talkative; he cheweth the cud, he seeketh
knowledge, he cheweth upon the word; but he divideth not the
hoof, he parteth not with the way of sinners; but, as the hare,
he retaineth the foot of a dog or bear, and therefore he is
unclean.

Chr. You have spoken, for aught I know, the true gospel sense of
those texts. And I will add another thing: Paul calleth some
men, yea, and those great talkers, too, sounding brass and
tinkling cymbals; that is, as he expounds them in another place,
things without life, giving sound. Things without life, that is,
without the true faith and grace of the gospel; and
consequently, things that shall never be placed in the kingdom
of heaven among those that are the children of life; though
their sound, by their talk, be as if it were the tongue or voice
of an angel.

Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first, but I am
as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid of him?

Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you shall find
that he will soon be sick of your company too, except God shall
touch his heart, and turn it.

Faith. What would you have me to do?

Chr. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious discourse about
the power of religion; and ask him plainly (when he has approved
of it, for that he will) whether this thing be set up in his
heart, house, or conversation.

Faith. Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said to
Talkative, Come, what cheer? How is it now?

Talk. Thank you, well. I thought we should have had a great deal
of talk by this time.

Faith. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and since you
left it with me to state the question, let it be this, How doth
the saving grace of God discover itself when it is in the heart
of man?

Talk. I perceive, then, that our talk must be about the power of
things. Well, it is a very good question, and I shall be willing
to answer you. And take my answer in brief, thus: -- First,
Where the grace of God is in the heart, it causeth there a great
outcry against sin. Secondly --  -- 

Faith. Nay, hold, let us consider of one at once. I think you
should rather say, It shews itself by inclining the soul to
abhor its sin.

Talk. Why, what difference is there between crying out against,
and abhorring of sin?

Faith. Oh, a great deal. A man may cry out against sin of
policy, but he cannot abhor it but by virtue of a

godly antipathy against it. I have heard many cry out against
sin in the pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough in the
heart, house, and conversation. Joseph's mistress cried out with
a loud voice, as if she had been very holy; but she would
willingly, notwithstanding that, have committed uncleanness with
him. Some cry out against sin even as the mother cries out
against her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and
naughty girl, and then falls to hugging and kissing it.

Talk. You lie at the catch, I perceive.

Faith. No, not I; I am only for setting things right. But what
is the second thing whereby you would prove a discovery of a
work of grace in the heart?

Talk. Great knowledge of gospel mysteries.

Faith. This sign should have been first; but first or last, it
is also false; for knowledge, great knowledge, may be obtained
in the mysteries of the gospel, and yet no work of grace in the
soul. Yea, if a man have all knowledge, he may yet be nothing,
and so consequently be no child of God. When Christ said, Do you
know all these things? and the disciples had answered, Yes; he
addeth, Blessed are ye if ye do them. He doth not lay the
blessing in the knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For
there is a knowledge that is not attended with doing: He that
knoweth his masters will, and doeth it not. A man may know like
an angel, and yet be no Christian, therefore your sign of it is
not true. Indeed, to know is a thing that pleaseth talkers and
boasters, but to do is that which pleaseth God. Not that the
heart can be good without knowledge; for without that, the heart
is naught. There is, therefore, knowledge and knowledge.
Knowledge that resteth in the bare speculation of things; and

knowledge that is accompanied with the grace of faith and love;
which puts a man upon doing even the will of God from the heart:
the first of these will serve the talker; but without the other
the true Christian is not content. Give me understanding, and I
shall keep thy law; yea, I shall observe it with my whole heart.

Talk. You lie at the catch again; this is not for edification.

Faith. Well, if you please, propound another sign how this work
of grace discovereth itself where it is.

Talk. Not I, for I see we shall not agree.

Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave to do it?

Talk. You may use your liberty.

Faith. A work of grace in the soul discovereth itself, either to
him that hath it, or to standers by.

To him that hath it thus: It gives him conviction of sin,
especially of the defilement of his nature and the sin of
unbelief, (for the sake of which he is sure to be damned, if he
findeth not mercy at God's hand, by faith in Jesus Christ). This
sight and sense of things worketh in him sorrow and shame for
sin; he findeth, moreover, revealed in him the Saviour of the
world, and the absolute necessity of closing with him for life,
at the which he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him; to
which hungerings, &c., the promise is made. Now, according to
the strength or weakness of his faith in his Saviour, so is his
joy and peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his desires to
know him more, and also to serve him in this world. But though
I say it discovereth itself thus unto him, yet it is but seldom
that he is able to conclude that this is a work of grace;
because his corruptions now, and

his abused reason, make his mind to misjudge in this matter;
therefore, in him that hath this work, there is required a very
sound judgment before he can, with steadiness, conclude that
this is a work of grace.

To others, it is thus discovered: -- 

1. By an experimental confession of his faith in Christ.

2. By a life answerable to that confession; to wit, a life of
holiness, heart-holiness, family-holiness, (if he hath a
family,) and by conversation-holiness in the world which, in the
general, teacheth him, inwardly, to abhor his sin, and himself
for that, in secret; to suppress it in his family and to promote
holiness in the world; not by talk only, as a hypocrite or
talkative person may do, but by a practical subjection, in faith
and love, to the power of the Word. And now, Sir, as to this
brief description of the work of grace, and also the discovery
of it, if you have aught to object, object; if not, then give me
leave to propound to you a second question.

Talk. Nay, my part is not now to object, but to hear; let me,
therefore, have your second question.

Faith. It is this: Do you experience this first part of this
description of it? and doth your life and conversation testify
the same? or standeth your religion in word or in tongue, and
not in deed and truth? Pray, if you incline to answer me in
this, say no more than you know the God above will say Amen to;
and also nothing but what your conscience can justify you in;
for not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the
Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus, when my
conversation, and all my neighbours, tell me I lie, is great
wickedness.

Talk. Then Talkative at first began to blush; but, re-

covering himself, thus he replied: You come now to experience,
to conscience, and God; and to appeal to him for justification
of what is spoken. This kind of discourse I did not expect; nor
am I disposed to give an answer to such questions, because I
count not myself bound thereto, unless you take upon you to be
a catechiser, and, though you should so do, yet I may refuse to
make you my judge. But, I pray, will you tell me why you ask me
such questions?

Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and because I knew not
that you had aught else but notion. Besides, to tell you all the
truth, I have heard of you, that you are a man whose religion
lies in talk, and that your conversation gives this your
mouth-profession the lie. They say, you are a spot among
Christians; and that religion fareth the worse for your ungodly
conversation; that some have already stumbled at your wicked
ways, and that more are in danger of being destroyed thereby;
your religion, and an alehouse, and covetousness, and
uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and vain-company keeping,
&c., will stand together. The proverb is true of you which is
said of a whore, to wit, that she is a shame to all women; so
are you a shame to all professors.

Talk. Since you are ready to take up reports and to judge so
rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude you are some peevish or
melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed with; and so adieu.

Chr. Then came up Christian, and said to his brother, I told you
how it would happen: your words and his lusts could not agree;
he had rather leave your company than reform his life. But he is
gone, as I said; let him go, the loss is no man's but his own;
he has saved us the trouble

of going from him; for he continuing (as I suppose he will do)
as he is, he would have been but a blot in our company: besides,
the apostle says, From such withdraw thyself.

Faith. But I am glad we had this little discourse with him; it
may happen that he will think of it again: however, I have dealt
plainly with him, and so am clear of his blood, if he perisheth.

Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to him as you did; there is
but little of this faithful dealing with men nowa-days, and that
makes religion to stink so in the nostrils of many, as it doth;
for they are these talkative fools whose religion is only in
word, and are debauched and vain in their conversation, that
(being so much admitted into the fellowship of the godly) do
puzzle the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve the sincere.
I wish that all men would deal with such as you have done: then
should they either be made more conformable to religion, or the
company of saints would be too hot for them. Then did Faithful
say,

      How Talkative at first lifts up his plumes!
      How bravely doth he speak! How he presumes
      To drive down all before him! But so soon
      As Faithful talks of heart-work, like the moon
      That's past the full, into the wane he goes.
      And so will all, but he that HEART-WORK knows.

Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by the way, and
so made that way easy which would otherwise, no doubt, have been
tedious to them; for now they went through a wilderness.

Now, when they were got almost quite out of this wilderness,
Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and espied one coming
after them, and he knew him. Oh! said Faithful to his brother,
who comes yonder? Then Christian looked, and said, It is my good
friend Evangelist. Ay, and my good friend too, said Faithful,
for it was he that set me in the way to the gate. Now was
Evangelist come up to them, and thus saluted them: -- 

Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved; and peace be to your
helpers.

Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist, the sight of thy
countenance brings to my remembrance thy ancient kindness and
unwearied labouring for my eternal good.

Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said good Faithful. Thy
company, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable it is to us poor
pilgrims!

Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared with you, my
friends, since the time of our last parting? What have you met
with, and how have you behaved yourselves?

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that had
happened to them in the way; and how, and with what difficulty,
they had arrived at that place.

Evan. Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you have met
with trials, but that you have been victors; and for that you
have, notwithstanding many weaknesses, continued in the way to
this very day.

I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine own sake
and yours. I have sowed, and you have reaped: and the day is
coming, when both he that sowed and they that reaped shall
rejoice together; that is, if you hold

out: for in due season ye shall reap, if ye faint not. The crown
is before you, and it is an incorruptible one; so run, that you
may obtain it. Some there be that set out for this crown, and,
after they have gone far for it, another comes in, and takes it
from them: hold fast, therefore, that you have; let no man take
your crown. You are not yet out of the gun-shot of the devil;
you have not resisted unto blood, striving against sin; let the
kingdom be always before you, and believe steadfastly concerning
things that are invisible. Let nothing that is on this side the
other world get within you; and, above all, look well to your
own hearts, and to the lusts thereof, for they are deceitful
above all things, and desperately wicked; set your faces like a
flint; you have all power in heaven and earth on your side.

Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation; but told
him, withal, that they would have him speak further to them for
their help the rest of the way, and the rather, for that they
well knew that he was a prophet, and could tell them of things
that might happen unto them, and also how they might resist and
overcome them. To which request Faithful also consented. So
Evangelist began as followeth: -- 

Evan. My sons, you have heard, in the words of the truth of the
gospel, that you must, through many tribulations, enter into the
kingdom of heaven. And, again, that in every city bonds and
afflictions abide in you; and therefore you cannot expect that
you should go long on your pilgrimage without them, in some sort
or other. You have found something of the truth of these
testimonies upon you already, and more will immediately follow;
for now, as you see, you are almost out of this wilderness,

and therefore you will soon come into a town that you will by
and by see before you; and in that town you will be hardly beset
with enemies, who will strain hard but they will kill you; and
be you sure that one or both of you must seal the testimony
which you hold, with blood; but be you faithful unto death, and
the King will give you a crown of life. He that shall die there,
although his death will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps
great, he will yet have the better of his fellow; not only
because he will be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but
because he will escape many miseries that the other will meet
with in the rest of his journey. But when you are come to the
town, and shall find fulfilled what I have here related, then
remember your friend, and quit yourselves like men, and commit
the keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a
faithful Creator.

Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the
wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name
of that town is Vanity; and at the town there is a fair kept,
called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long. it beareth the
name of Vanity Fair because the town where it is kept is lighter
than vanity; and, also because all that is there sold, or that
cometh thither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, all
that cometh is vanity.

This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient
standing; I will shew you the original of it.

Almost five thousand years agone, there were pilgrims walking to
the Celestial City, as these two honest persons are: and
Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with their companions,
perceiving by the path that the pilgrims made, that their way to
the city lay through this town of

Vanity, they contrived here to set up a fair; a fair wherein,
should be sold all sorts of vanity, and that it should last all
the year long: therefore at this fair are all such merchandise
sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, honours, preferments,
titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures, and delights of
all sorts, as whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters,
servants, lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls,
precious stones, and what not.

And, moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be seen
juggling cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues,
and that of every kind.

Here are to be seen, too, and that for nothing, thefts, murders,
adulteries, false swearers, and that of a bloodred colour.

And as in other fairs of less moment, there are the several rows
and streets, under their proper names, where such and such wares
are vended; so here likewise you have the proper places, rows,
streets, (viz; countries and kingdoms,) where the wares of this
fair are soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the
French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row,
where several sorts of vanities are to be sold. But, as in other
fairs, some one commodity is as the chief of all the fair, so
the ware of Rome and her merchandise is greatly promoted in this
fair; only our English nation, with some others, have taken a
dislike thereat.

Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just through
this town where this lusty fair is kept; and he that will go to
the city, and yet not go through this town, must needs go out of
the world. The Prince of princes himself, when here, went
through this town to his own country, and that upon a fair day
too; yea, and as I think,

it was Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him
to buy of his vanities; yea, would have made him lord of the
fair, would he but have done him reverence as he went through
the town. Yea, because he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub
had him from street to street, and shewed him all the kingdoms
of the world in a little time, that he might, if possible,
allure the Blessed One to cheapen and buy some of his vanities;
but he had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the
town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon these
vanities. This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long
standing, and a very great fair. Now these pilgrims, as I said,
must needs go through this fair. Well, so they did: but, behold,
even as they entered into the fair, all the people in the fair
were moved, and the town itself as it were in a hubbub about
them; and that for several reasons: for -- 

First, The pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment as
was diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that fair.
The people, therefore, of the fair, made a great gazing upon
them: some said they were fools, some they were bedlams, and
some they are outlandish men.

Secondly, And as they wondered at their apparel, so they did
likewise at their speech; for few could understand what they
said; they naturally spoke the language of Canaan, but they that
kept the fair were the men of this world; so that, from one end
of the fair to the other, they seemed barbarians each to the
other.

Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the merchandisers
was, that these pilgrims set very light by

all their wares; they cared not so much as to look upon them;
and if they called upon them to buy, they would put their
fingers in their ears, and cry, Turn away mine eyes from
beholding vanity, and look upwards, signifying that their trade
and traffic was in heaven.

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriage of the men, to say
unto them, What will ye buy? But they, looking gravely upon him,
answered, We buy the truth. At that there was an occasion taken
to despise the men the more; some mocking, some taunting, some
speaking reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite
them. At last things came to a hubbub and great stir in the
fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word
presently brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came
down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to take these
men into examination, about whom the fair was almost overturned.
So the men were brought to examination; and they that sat upon
them, asked them whence they came, whither they went, and what
they did there, in such an unusual garb? The men told them that
they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that they
were going to their own country, which was the heavenly
Jerusalem, and that they had given no occasion to the men of the
town, nor yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to
let them in their journey, except it was for that, when one
asked them what they would buy, they said they would buy the
truth. But they that were appointed to examine them did not
believe them to be any other than bedlams and mad, or else such
as came to put all things into a confusion in the fair.
Therefore they took them and beat them, and

besmeared them with dirt, and then put them into the cage, that
they might be made a spectacle to all the men of the fair.

      Behold Vanity Fair! the pilgrims there
            Are chain'd and stand beside:
      Even so it was our Lord pass'd here,
            And on Mount Calvary died.

There, therefore, they lay for some time, and were made the
objects of any man's sport, or malice, or revenge, the great one
of the fair laughing still at all that befell them. But the men
being patient, and not rendering railing for railing, but
contrariwise, blessing, and giving good words for bad, and
kindness for injuries done, some men in the fair that were more
observing, and less prejudiced than the rest, began to check and
blame the baser sort for their continual abuses done by them to
the men; they, therefore, in angry manner, let fly at them
again, counting them as bad as the men in the cage, and telling
them that they seemed confederates, and should be made partakers
of their misfortunes. The other replied that, for aught they
could see, the men were quiet, and sober, and intended nobody
any harm; and that there were many that traded in their fair
that were more worthy to be put into the cage, yea, and pillory
too, than were the men they had abused. Thus, after divers words
had passed on both sides, the men behaving themselves all the
while very wisely and soberly before them, they fell to some
blows among themselves, and did harm one to another. Then were
these two poor men brought before their examiners again, and
there charged as being

guilty of the late hubbub that had been in the fair. So they
beat them pitifully, and hanged irons upon them, and led them in
chains up and down the fair, for an example and a terror to
others, lest any should speak in their behalf, or join
themselves unto them. But Christian and Faithful behaved
themselves yet more wisely, and received the ignominy and shame
that was cast upon them, with so much meekness and patience,
that it won to their side, though but few in comparison of the
rest, several of the men in the fair. This put the other party
yet into greater rage, insomuch that they concluded the death of
these two men. Wherefore they threatened, that the cage nor
irons should serve their turn, but that they should die, for the
abuse they had done, and for deluding the men of the fair.

Then were they remanded to the cage again, until further order
should be taken with them. So they put them in, and made their
feet fast in the stocks.

Here, therefore, they called again to mind what they had heard
from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were the more
confirmed in their way and sufferings by what he told them would
happen to them. They also now comforted each other, that whose
lot it was to suffer, even he should have the best of it;
therefore each man secretly wished that he might have that
preferment: but committing themselves to the all-wise disposal
of Him that ruleth all things, with much content, they abode in
the condition in which they were, until they should be otherwise
disposed of.

Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought them forth
to their trial, in order to their condemnation. When the time
was come, they were brought before their

enemies and arraigned. The judge's name was Lord Hategood. Their
indictment was one and the same in substance, though somewhat
varying in form, the contents whereof were this: -- 

'That they were enemies to and disturbers of their trade; that
they had made commotions and divisions in the town, and had won
a party to their own most dangerous opinions, in contempt of the
law of their prince.'

      Now, Faithful, play the man, speak for thy God:
      Fear not the wickeds' malice; nor their rod!
      Speak boldly, man, the truth is on thy side:
      Die for it, and to life in triumph ride.

Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only set himself
against that which hath set itself against Him that is higher
than the highest. And, said he, as for disturbance, I make none,
being myself a man of peace; the parties that were won to us,
were won by beholding our truth and innocence, and they are only
turned from the worse to the better. And as to the king you talk
of, since he is Beelzebub, the enemy of our Lord, I defy him and
all his angels.

Then proclamation was made, that they that had aught to say for
their lord the king against the prisoner at the bar, should
forthwith appear and give in their evidence. So there came in
three witnesses, to wit, Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank. They
were then asked if they knew the prisoner at the bar; and what
they had to say for their lord the king against him.

Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect: My Lord, I have
known this man a long time, and will attest upon my oath before
this honourable bench that he is -- 

Judge. Hold! Give him his oath. (So they sware him.) Then he
said -- 

Envy. My Lord, this man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is
one of the vilest men in our country. He neither regardeth
prince nor people, law nor custom; but doth all that 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.

Judge. Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any more to say?

Envy. My Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be
tedious to the court. Yet, if need be, when the other gentlemen
have given in their evidence, rather than anything shall be
wanting that will despatch him, I will enlarge my testimony
against him. So he was bid to stand by.

Then they called Superstition, and bid him look upon the
prisoner. They also asked, what he could say for their lord the
king against him. Then they sware him; so he began.

Super. 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 heard him say, that our religion was naught,
and such by which a man could by no means please God. Which say-

ings of his, my Lord, your Lordship very well knows, what
necessarily thence will follow, to wit, that we do still worship
in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned; and
this is that which I have to say.

Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he knew, in behalf of
their lord the king, against the prisoner at the bar.

Pick. My Lord, and you gentlemen all, This fellow I have known
of a long time, and have heard him speak things that ought not
to be spoke; for he hath railed on our noble prince Beelzebub,
and hath spoken contemptibly of his honourable friends, whose
names are the Lord Old Man, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord
Luxurious, the Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord Lechery,
Sir Having Greedy, with all the rest of our nobility; and he
hath said, moreover, That if all men were of his mind, if
possible, there is not one of these noblemen should have any
longer a being in this town. Besides, he hath not been afraid to
rail on you, my Lord, who are now appointed to be his judge,
calling you an ungodly villain, with many other such like
vilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the
gentry of our town.

When this Pickthank had told his tale, the Judge directed his
speech to the prisoner at the bar, saying, Thou runagate,
heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest
gentlemen have witnessed against thee?

Faith. May I speak a few words in my own defence?

Judge. Sirrah! sirrah! thou deservest to live no longer, but to
be slain immediately upon the place; yet, that all men may see
our gentleness towards thee, let us hear what thou, vile
runagate, hast to say.

Faith. 1. I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath spoken,
I never said aught but this, That what rule, or laws, or
customs, 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.

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his charge
against me, I said only this, That in the worship of God there
is required a Divine faith; but there can be no Divine faith
without a Divine revelation of the will of God. Therefore,
whatever is thrust into the worship of God that is not agreeable
to Divine revelation, cannot be done but by a human faith, which
faith will not be profitable to eternal life.

3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoiding terms, as
that I am said to rail, and the like) that the prince of this
town, with all the rabblement, his attendants, by this gentleman
named, are more fit for a being in hell, than in this town and
country: and so, the Lord have mercy upon me!

Then the Judge called to the jury, (who all this while stood by,
to hear and observe:) Gentlemen of the jury, you see this man
about whom so great an uproar hath been made in this town. You
have also heard what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed
against him. Also you have heard his reply and confession. It
lieth now in your breasts to hang him or save his life; but yet
I think meet to instruct you into our law.

There was an Act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, servant
to our prince, that lest those of a contrary religion should
multiply and grow too strong for him, their males should be
thrown into the river. There was

also an Act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great,
another of his servants, that whosoever would not fall down and
worship his golden image, should be thrown into a fiery furnace.
There was also an Act made in the days of Darius, that whoso,
for some time, called upon any god but him, should be cast into
the lions' den. Now the substance of these laws this rebel has
broken, not only in thought, (which is not to be borne,) but
also in word and deed, which must therefore needs be
intolerable.

For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition, to
prevent mischief, no crime being yet apparent; but here is a
crime apparent. For the second and third, you see he disputeth
against our religion; and for the treason he hath confessed, he
deserveth to die the death.

Then went the jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blind-man, Mr.
No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr. Heady,
Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr.
Hate-light, and Mr. Implacable; who every one gave in his
private verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards
unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the Judge.
And first, among themselves, Mr. Blind-man, the foreman, said,
I see clearly that this man is a heretic. Then said Mr. No-good,
Away with such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said Mr. Malice, for
I hate the very looks of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could
never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, for he would
always be condemning my way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady.
A sorry scrub, said Mr. High-mind. My heart riseth against him,
said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging is too
good for him, said Mr. Cruelty.

Let us despatch him out of the way, said Mr. Hate-light. Then
said Mr. Implacable, Might I have all the world given me, I
could not be reconciled to him; therefore, let us forthwith
bring him in guilty of death. And so they did; therefore he was
presently condemned to be had from the place where he was, to
the place from whence he came, and there to be put to the most
cruel death that could be invented.

They, therefore, brought him out, to do with him according to
their law; and, first, they scourged him, then they buffeted
him, then they lanced his flesh with knives; after that, they
stoned him with stones, then pricked him with their swords; and,
last of all, they burned him to ashes at the stake. Thus came
Faithful to his end.

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a chariot and a
couple of horses, waiting for Faithful, who (so soon as his
adversaries had despatched him) was taken up into it, and
straightway was carried up through the clouds, with sound of
trumpet, the nearest way to the Celestial Gate.

      Brave Faithful, bravely done in word and deed;
      Judge, witnesses, and jury have, instead
      Of overcoming thee, but shewn their rage:
      When they are dead, thou'lt live from age to age.

But as for Christian, he had some respite, and was remanded back
to prison. So he there remained for a space; but He that
overrules all things, having the power of their rage in his own
hand, so wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped
them, and went his way; and as he went, he sang, saying -- 

      Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profest
      Unto thy Lord; with whom thou shalt be blest,
      When faithless ones, with all their vain delights,
      Are crying out under their hellish plights:
      Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive;
      For though they kill'd thee, thou art yet alive!

Now I saw in my dream, that Christian went not forth alone, for
there was one whose name was Hopeful (being made so by the
beholding of Christian and Faithful in their words and
behaviour, in their sufferings at the fair,) who joined himself
unto him, and, entering into a brotherly covenant, told him that
he would be his companion. Thus, one died to bear testimony to
the truth, and another rises out of his ashes, to be a companion
with Christian in his pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told
Christian, that there were many more of the men in the fair,
that would take their time and follow after.

So I saw that quickly after they were got out of the fair, they
overtook one that was going before them, whose name was By-ends:
so they said to him, What countryman; Sir? and how far go you
this way? He told them that he came from the town of
Fair-speech, and he was going to the Celestial City, but told
them not his name.

From Fair-speech! said Christian. Is there any good that lives
there?

By-ends. Yes, said By-ends, I hope.

Chr. Pray, Sir, what may I call you? said Christian.

By-ends. I am a stranger to you, and you to me: if you be going
this way, I shall be glad of your company; if not, I must be
content.

Chr. This town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have heard of;
and, as I remember, they say it is a wealthy place.

By-ends. Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have very many
rich kindred there.

Chr. Pray, who are your kindred there? if a man may be so bold.

By-ends. Almost the whole town; and in particular, my Lord
Turn-about, my Lord Time-server, my Lord Fair-speech, (from
whose ancestors that town first took its name,) also Mr.
Smooth-man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Any-thing; and the parson
of our parish, Mr. Two-tongues, was my mother's own brother by
father's side; and to tell you the truth, I am become a
gentleman of good quality, yet my great-grandfather was but a
water-man, looking one way and rowing another, and I got most of
my estate by the same occupation.

Chr. Are you a married man?

By-ends. Yes, and my wife is a very virtuous woman, the daughter
of a virtuous woman; she was my Lady Feigning's daughter,
therefore she came of a very honourable family, and is arrived
to such a pitch of breeding, that she knows how to carry it to
all, even to prince and peasant. It is true we somewhat differ
in religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in two
small points: first, we never strive against wind and tide;
secondly, we are always most zealous when religion goes in his
silver slippers; we love much to walk with him in the street, if
the sun shines, and the people applaud him.

Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow, Hopeful,
saying, It runs in my mind that this is one By-ends of
Fair-speech; and if it be he, we have as very a

knave in our company as dwelleth in all these parts. Then said
Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he should not be ashamed of his name.
So Christian came up with him again, and said, Sir, you talk as
if you knew something more than all the world doth; and if I
take not my mark amiss, I deem I have half a guess of you: Is
not your name Mr. By-ends, of Fair-speech?

By-ends. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick-name that
is given me by some that cannot abide me: and I must be content
to bear it as a reproach, as other good men have borne theirs
before me.

Chr. But did you never give an occasion to men to call you by
this name?

By-ends. Never, never! The worst that ever I did to give them an
occasion to give me this name was, that I had always the luck to
jump in my judgment with the present way of the times, whatever
it was, and my chance was to get thereby; but if things are thus
cast upon me, let me count them, a blessing; but let not the
malicious load me therefore with reproach.

Chr. I thought, indeed, that you were the man that I heard of;
and to tell you what I think, I fear this name belongs to you
more properly than you are willing we should think it doth.

By-ends. Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it; you
shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will still admit me
your associate.

Chr. If you will go with us, you must go against wind and tide;
the which, I perceive, is against your opinion; you must also
own religion in his rags, as well as when in his silver
slippers; and stand by him, too, when bound in irons, as well as
when he walketh the streets with applause.

By-ends. You must not impose, nor lord it over my faith; leave
me to my liberty, and let me go with you.

Chr. Not a step further, unless you will do in what I propound
as we.

Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old principles, since
they are harmless and profitable. If I may not go with you, I
must do as I did before you overtook me, even go by myself,
until some overtake me that will be glad of my company.

Now I saw in my dream that Christian and Hopeful forsook him,
and kept their distance before him; but one of them looking
back, saw three men following Mr. By-ends, and behold, as they
came up with him, he made them a very low conge; and they also
gave him a compliment. The men's names were Mr. Hold-the-world,
Mr. Money-love, and Mr. Save-all; men that Mr. By-ends had
formerly been acquainted with; for in their minority they were
schoolfellows, and were taught by one Mr. Gripe-man, a
schoolmaster in Love-gain, which is a market town in the county
of Coveting, in the north. This schoolmaster taught them the art
of getting, either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by
putting on the guise of religion; and these four gentlemen had
attained much of the art of their master, so that they could
each of them have kept such a school themselves.

Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, Mr.
Money-love said to Mr. By-ends, Who are they upon the road
before us? (for Christian and Hopeful were yet within view).

By-ends. They are a couple of far countrymen, that, after their
mode, are going on pilgrimage.

Money-love. Alas! Why did they not stay, that we

might have had their good company? for they, and we, and you,
Sir, I hope, are all going on pilgrimage.

By-ends. We are so, indeed; but the men before us are so rigid,
and love so much their own notions, and do also so lightly
esteem the opinions of others, that let a man be never so godly,
yet if he jumps not with them in all things, they thrust him
quite out of their company.

Save-all. That is bad, but we read of some that are righteous
overmuch; and such men's rigidness prevails with them to judge
and condemn all but themselves. But, I pray, what, and how many,
were the things wherein you differed?

By-ends. Why, they, after their headstrong manner, conclude that
it is duty to rush on their journey all weathers; and I am for
waiting for wind and tide. They are for hazarding all for God at
a clap; and I am for taking all advantages to secure my life and
estate. They are for holding their notions, though all other men
are against them; but I am for religion in what, and so far as
the times, and my safety, will bear it. They are for religion
when in rags and contempt; but I am for him when he walks in his
golden slippers, in the sunshine, and with applause.

Mr. Hold-the-world. Ay, and hold you there still, good Mr.
By-ends; for, for my part, I can count him but a fool, that,
having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so unwise as to
lose it. Let us be wise as serpents; it is best to make hay when
the sun shines; you see how the bee lieth still all winter, and
bestirs her only when she can have profit with pleasure. God
sends sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine; if they be such
fools to go through the first, yet let us be content to take
fair weather

along with us. For my part, I like that religion best that will
stand with the security of God's good blessings unto us; for who
can imagine, that is ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed
upon us the good things of this life, but that he would have us
keep them for his sake? Abraham and Solomon grew rich in
religion. And Job says, that a good man shall lay up gold as
dust. But he must not be such as the men before us, if they be
as you have described them.

Mr. Save-all. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, and
therefore there needs no more words about it.

Mr. Money-love. No, there needs no more words about this matter,
indeed; for he that believes neither Scripture nor reason (and
you see we have both on our side) neither knows his own liberty,
nor seeks his own safety.

Mr. By-ends. My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on
pilgrimage; and, for our better diversion from things that are
bad, give me leave to propound unto you this question: --
Suppose a man, a minister, or a tradesman, &c., should have an
advantage lie before him, to get the good blessings of this
life, yet so as that he can by no means come by them except, in
appearance at least, he becomes extraordinarily zealous in some
points of religion that he meddled not with before, may he not
use these means to attain his end, and yet be a right honest
man?

Mr. Money-love. I see the bottom of your question; and, with
these gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to shape you an
answer. And first, to speak to your question as it concerns a
minister himself: Suppose a minister, a worthy man, possessed
but of a very small benefice, and has in his eye a greater, more
fat, and plump by far;

he has also now an opportunity of getting of it, yet so as by
being more studious, by preaching more frequently and zealously,
and, because the temper of the people requires it, by altering
of some of his principles; for my part, I see no reason but a
man may do this, (provided he has a call,) ay, and more a great
deal besides, and yet be an honest man. For why -- 

1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful, (this cannot be
contradicted,) since it is set before him by Providence; so
then, he may get it, if he can, making no question for
conscience' sake.

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more
studious, a more zealous preacher, &c., and so makes him a
better man; yea, makes him better improve his parts, which is
according to the mind of God.

3. Now, as for his complying with the temper of his people, by
dissenting, to serve them, some of his principles, this argueth
-- (1.) That he is of a self-denying, temper; (2.) Of a sweet
and winning deportment; and so (3.) More fit for the ministerial
function.

4. I conclude, then, that a minister that changes a small for a
great, should not, for so doing, be judged as covetous; but
rather, since he has improved in his parts and industry thereby,
be counted as one that pursues his call, and the opportunity put
into his hands to do good.

And now to the second part of the question, which concerns the
tradesman you mentioned. Suppose such a one to have but a poor
employ in the world, but by becoming religious, he may mend his
market, perhaps get a rich wife, or more and far better
customers to his shop; for my part, I see no reason but that
this may be lawfully done. For why -- 

1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means soever a man
becomes so.

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more custom to my
shop.

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, gets
that which is good, of them that are good, by becoming good
himself; so then here is a good wife, and good customers, and
good gain, and all these by becoming religious, which is good;
therefore, to become religious, to get all these, is a good and
profitable design.

This answer, thus made by this Mr. Money-love to Mr. By-ends's
question, was highly applauded by them all; wherefore they
concluded upon the whole, that it was most wholesome and
advantageous. And because, as they thought, no man was able to
contradict it, and because Christian and Hopeful were yet within
call, they jointly agreed to assault them with the question as
soon as they overtook them; and the rather because they had
opposed Mr. By-ends before. So they called after them, and they
stopped, and stood still till they came up to them; but they
concluded, as they went, that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr.
Hold-the-world, should propound the question to them, because,
as they supposed, their answer to him would be without the
remainder of that heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. By-ends and
them, at their parting a little before.

So they came up to each other, and after a short salutation, Mr.
Hold-the-world propounded the question to Christian and his
fellow, and bid them to answer it if they could.

Chr. Then said Christian, Even a babe in religion may answer ten
thousand such questions. For if it be unlaw-

ful to follow Christ for loaves, (as it is in the sixth of
John,) how much more abominable is it to make of him and
religion a stalking-horse to get and enjoy the world! Nor do we
find any other than heathens, hypocrites, devils, and witches,
that are of this opinion.

1. Heathens; for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind to the
daughter and cattle of Jacob, and saw that there was no way for
them to come at them, but by becoming circumcised, they say to
their companions, If every male of us be circumcised, as they
are circumcised, shall not their cattle, and their substance,
and every beast of theirs, be ours? Their daughter and their
cattle were that which they sought to obtain, and their religion
the stalking-horse they made use of to come at them. Read the
whole story, Gen. xxxiv. 20-23.

2. The hypocritical Pharisees were also of this religion; long
prayers were their pretence, but to get widows' houses was their
intent; and greater damnation was from God their judgment.

3. Judas the devil was also of this religion; he was religious
for the bag, that he might be possessed of what was therein; but
he was lost, cast away, and the very son of perdition.

4. Simon the witch was of this religion too; for he would have
had the Holy Ghost, that he might have got money therewith; and
his sentence from Peter's mouth was according.

5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man that takes
up religion for the world, will throw away religion for the
world; for so surely as Judas resigned the world in becoming
religious, so surely did he also sell religion and his Master
for the same. To answer the ques-

tion, therefore, affirmatively, as I perceive you have done, and
to accept of, as authentic, such answer, is both heathenish,
hypocritical, and devilish; and your reward will be according to
your works. Then they stood staring one upon another, but had
not wherewith to answer Christian. Hopeful also approved of the
soundness of Christian's answer; so there was a great silence
among them. Mr. By-ends and his company also staggered and kept
behind, that Christian and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said
Christian to his fellow, If these men cannot stand before the
sentence of men, what will they do with the sentence of God? And
if they are mute when dealt with by vessels of clay, what will
they do when they shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring
fire?

Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, and went till
they came to a delicate plain called Ease, where they went with
much content; but that plain was but narrow, so they were
quickly got over it. Now at the further side of that plain was
a little hill called Lucre, and in that hill a silver mine,
which some of them that had formerly gone that way, because of
the rarity of it, had turned aside to see; but going too near
the brink of the pit, the ground being deceitful under them,
broke, and they were slain; some also had been maimed there, and
could not, to their dying day, be their own men again.

Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over against
the silver mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike) to call to
passengers to come and see; who said to Christian and his
fellow, Ho! turn aside hither, and I will shew you a thing.

Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way to see
it?

Demas. Here is a silver mine, and some digging in it for
treasure. If you will come, with a little pains you may richly
provide for yourselves.

Hope. Then said Hopeful, Let us go see.

Chr. Not I, said Christian, I have heard of this place before
now; and how many have there been slain; and besides that,
treasure is a snare to those that seek it; for it hindereth them
in their pilgrimage. Then Christian called to Demas, saying, Is
not the place dangerous? Hath it not hindered many in their
pilgrimage?

Demas. Not very dangerous, except to those that are careless,
(but withal he blushed as he spake).

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir a step, but
still keep on our way.

Hope. I will warrant you, when By-ends comes up, if he hath the
same invitation as we, he will turn in thither to see.

Chr. No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him that way, and
a hundred to one but he dies there.

Demas. Then Demas called again, saying, But will you not come
over and see?

Chr. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, Demas, thou art an
enemy to the right ways of the Lord of this way, and hast been
already condemned for thine own turning aside, by one of His
Majesty's judges; and why seekest thou to bring us into the like
condemnation? Besides, if we at all turn aside, our Lord and
King will certainly hear thereof, and will there put us to
shame, where we would stand with boldness before him.

Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fraternity; and
that if they would tarry a little, he also himself would walk
with them.

Chr. Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it not the same
by the which I have called thee?

Demas. Yes, my name is Demas; I am the son of Abraham.

Chr. I know you; Gehazi was your great-grandfather, and Judas
your father; and you have trod in their steps. It is but a
devilish prank that thou usest; thy father was hanged for a
traitor, and thou deservest no better reward. Assure thyself,
that when we come to the King, we will do him word of this thy
behaviour. Thus they went their way.

By this time By-ends and his companions were come again within
sight, and they, at the first beck, went over to Demas. Now,
whether they fell into the pit by looking over the brink
thereof, or whether they went down to dig, or whether they were
smothered in the bottom by the damps that commonly arise, of
these things I am not certain; but this I observed, that they
never were seen again in the way. Then sang Christian -- 

      By-ends and silver Demas both agree;
      One calls, the other runs, that he may be
      A sharer in his lucre; so these do
      Take up in this world, and no further go.

Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, the
pilgrims came to a place where stood an old monument, hard by
the highway side, at the sight of which they were both
concerned, because of the strangeness of the form thereof; for
it seemed to them as if it had been a woman transformed into the
shape of a pillar; here, therefore they stood looking, and
looking upon it, but

could not for a time tell what they should make thereof. At last
Hopeful espied written above the head thereof, a writing in an
unusual hand; but he being no scholar, called to Christian (for
he was learned) to see if he could pick out the meaning; so he
came, and after a little laying of letters together, he found
the same to be this, Remember Lot's Wife. So he read it to his
fellow; after which they both concluded that that was the pillar
of salt into which Lot's wife was turned, for her looking back
with a covetous heart, when she was going from Sodom for safety.
Which sudden and amazing sight gave them occasion of this
discourse.

Chr. Ah, my brother! this is a seasonable sight; it came
opportunely to us after the invitation which Demas gave us to
come over to view the Hill Lucre; and had we gone over, as he
desired us, and as thou wast inclining to do, my brother, we
had, for aught I know, been made ourselves like this woman, a
spectacle for those that shall come after to behold.

Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to wonder
that I am not now as Lot's wife; for wherein was the difference
betwixt her sin and mine? She only looked back; and I had a
desire to go see. Let grace be adored, and let me be ashamed
that ever such a thing should be in mine heart.

Chr. Let us take notice of what we see here, for our help for
time to come. This woman escaped one judgment, for she fell not
by the destruction of Sodom; yet she was destroyed by another,
as we see she is turned into a pillar of salt.

Hope. True; and she may be to us both caution and example;
caution, that we should shun her sin; or a sign

of what judgment will overtake such as shall not be prevented by
this caution; so Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the two hundred
and fifty men that perished in their sin, did also become a sign
or example to others to beware. But above all, I muse at one
thing, to wit, how Demas and his fellows can stand so
confidently yonder to look for that treasure, which this woman,
but for looking behind her after, (for we read not that she
stepped one foot out of the way) was turned into a pillar of
salt; especially since the judgment which overtook her did make
her an example, within sight of where they are; for they cannot
choose but see her, did they but lift up their eyes.

Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their
hearts are grown desperate in the case; and I cannot tell who to
compare them to so fitly, as to them that pick pockets in the
presence of the judge, or that will cut purses under the
gallows. It is said of the men of Sodom, that they were sinners
exceedingly, because they were sinners before the Lord, that is,
in his eyesight, and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had
shewed them; for the land of Sodom was now like the garden of
Eden heretofore. This, therefore, provoked him the more to
jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the fire of the Lord
out of heaven could make it. And it is most rationally to be
concluded, that such, even such as these are, that shall sin in
the sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples that
are set continually before them, to caution them to the
contrary, must be partakers of severest judgments.

Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a mercy is it
that neither thou, but especially I, am not made myself this
example! This ministereth occasion to

us to thank God, to fear before him, and always to remember
Lot's wife.

I saw, then, that they went on their way to a pleasant river;
which David the king called the river of God, but John, the
river of the water of life. Now their way lay just upon the bank
of the river; here, therefore, Christian and his companion
walked with great delight; they drank also of the water of the
river, which was pleasant, and enlivening to their weary
spirits; besides, on the banks of this river, on either side,
were green trees, that bore all manner of fruit; and the leaves
of the trees were good for medicine; with the fruit of these
trees they were also much delighted; and the leaves they eat to
prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to those
that heat their blood by travels. On either side of the river
was also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies, and it was
green all the year long. In this meadow they lay down, and
slept; for here they might lie down safely. When they awoke,
they gathered again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again
of the water of the river, and then lay down again to sleep.
Thus they did several days and nights. Then they sang -- 

      Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide,
      To comfort pilgrims by the highway side;
      The meadows green, beside their fragrant smell,
      Yield dainties for them; and he that can tell
      What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves, these trees do yield,
      Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field.

So when they were disposed to go on, (for they were not, as yet,
at their journey's end,) they ate and drank, and departed.

Now, I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but
the river and the way for a time parted; at which they were not
a little sorry; yet they durst not go out of the way. Now the
way from the river was rough, and their feet tender, by reason
of their travels; so the souls of the pilgrims were much
discouraged because of the way. Wherefore, still as they went
on, they wished for better way. Now, a little before them, there
was on the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go
over into it; and that meadow is called By-path Meadow. Then
said Christian to his fellow, If this meadow lieth along by our
wayside, let us go over into it. Then he went to the stile to
see, and behold, a path lay along by the way, on the other side
of the fence. It is according to my wish, said Christian. Here
is the easiest going; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over.

Hope. But how if this path should lead us out of the way?

Chr. That is not like, said the other. Look, doth it not go
along by the wayside? So Hopeful, being persuaded by his fellow,
went after him over the stile. When they were gone over, and
were got into the path, they found it very easy for their feet;
and withal, they, looking before them, espied a man walking as
they did, (and his name was Vain-confidence;) so they called
after him, and asked him whither that way led. He said, To the
Celestial Gate. Look, said Christian, did not I tell you so? By
this you may see we are right. So they followed, and he went
before them. But, behold, the night came on, and it grew very
dark; so that they that were behind lost the sight of him that
went before.

He, therefore, that went before, (Vain-confidence by

name,) not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit,
which was on purpose there made, by the Prince of those grounds,
to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed in pieces
with his fall.

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to
know the matter, but there was none to answer, only they heard
a groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where are we now? Then was his
fellow silent, as mistrusting that he had led him out of the
way; and now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten in a
very dreadful manner; and the water rose amain.

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh, that I had kept on
my way!

Chr. Who could have thought that this path should have led us
out of the way?

Hope. I was afraid on it at the very first, and therefore gave
you that gentle caution. I would have spoken plainer, but that
you are older than I.

Chr. Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have brought
thee out of the way, and that I have put thee into such imminent
danger; pray, my brother, forgive me; I did not do it of an evil
intent.

Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee; and believe,
too, that this shall be for our good.

Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother; but we must
not stand thus: let us try to go back again.

Hope. But, good brother, let me go before.

Chr. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there be any
danger, I may be first therein, because by my means we are both
gone out of the way.

Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first; for your mind
being troubled may lead you out of the way

again. Then, for their encouragement, they heard the voice of
one saying, Set thine heart toward the highway, even the way
which thou wentest; turn again. But by this time the waters were
greatly risen, by reason of which the way of going back was very
dangerous. (Then I thought that it is easier going out of the
way, when we are in, than going in when we are out.) Yet they
adventured to go back, but it was so dark, and the flood was so
high, that in their going back they had like to have been
drowned nine or ten times.

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again to
the stile that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a
little shelter, they sat down there until the daybreak; but,
being weary, they fell asleep. Now there was, not far from the
place where they lay, a castle called Doubting Castle, the owner
whereof was Giant Despair; and it was in his grounds they now
were sleeping: wherefore he, getting up in the morning early,
and walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian and
Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then, with a grim and surly
voice, he bid them awake; and asked them whence they were, and
what they did in his grounds. They told him they were pilgrims,
and that they had lost their way. Then said the Giant, You have
this night trespassed on me, by trampling in and lying on my
grounds, and therefore you must go along with me. So they were
forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They also had
but little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault. The
Giant, therefore, drove them before him, and put them into his
castle, into a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the
spirits of these two men. Here, then, they lay from Wednesday
morning till Saturday night, without one bit

of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or any to ask how they
did; they were, therefore, here in evil case, and were far from
friends and acquaintance. Now in this place Christian had double
sorrow, because it was through his unadvised counsel that they
were brought into this distress.

      The pilgrims now, to gratify the flesh,
      Will seek its ease; but oh! how they afresh
      Do thereby plunge themselves new griefs into!
      Who seek to please the flesh, themselves undo.

Now, Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence. So
when he was gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done; to
wit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners and cast them into
his dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her
also what he had best to do further to them. So she asked him
what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound;
and he told her. Then she counselled him that when he arose in
the morning he should beat them without any mercy. So, when he
arose, he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes down
into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of
them as if they were dogs, although they never gave him a word
of distaste. Then he falls upon them, and beats them fearfully,
in such sort that they were not able to help themselves, or to
turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws and leaves
them there to condole their misery and to mourn under their
distress. So all that day they spent the time in nothing but
sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, talking with
her husband about them further, and under-

standing they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them to
make away themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them
in a surly manner as before, and perceiving them to be very sore
with the stripes that he had given them the day before, he told
them, that since they were never like to come out of that place,
their only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves,
either with knife, halter, or poison, for why, said he, should
you choose life, seeing it is attended with so much bitterness?
But they desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly
upon them, and, rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of
them himself, but that he fell into one of his fits, (for he
sometimes, in sunshiny weather, fell into fits,) and lost for a
time the use of his hand; wherefore he withdrew, and left them
as before, to consider what to do. Then did the prisoners
consult between themselves whether it was best to take his
counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse: -- 

Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we
now live is miserable. For my part I know not whether is best,
to live thus, or to die out of hand. My soul chooseth strangling
rather than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this
dungeon. Shall we be ruled by the Giant?

Hope. Indeed, our present condition is dreadful, and death would
be far more welcome to me than thus for ever to abide; but yet,
let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going
hath said, Thou shalt do no murder: no, not to another man's
person; much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to
kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can but commit
murder upon his body; but for one to kill himself is to

kill body and soul at once. And, moreover, my brother, thou
talkest of ease in the grave; but hast thou forgotten the hell,
whither for certain the murderers go? For no murderer hath
eternal life, &c. And let us consider, again, that all the law
is not in the hand of Giant Despair. Others, so far as I can
understand, have been taken by him, as well as we; and yet have
escaped out of his hand. Who knows, but the God that made the
world may cause that Giant Despair may die? or that, at some
time or other, he may forget to lock us in? or that he may, in
a short time, have another of his fits before us, and may lose
the use of his limbs? and if ever that should come to pass
again, for my part, I am resolved to pluck up the heart of a
man, and to try my utmost to get from under his hand. I was a
fool that I did not try to do it before; but, however, my
brother, let us be patient, and endure a while. The time may
come that may give us a happy release; but let us not be our own
murderers. With these words Hopeful at present did moderate the
mind of his brother; so they continued together (in the dark)
that day, in their sad and doleful condition.

Well, towards evening, the Giant goes down into the dungeon
again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel; but when
he came there he found them alive; and truly, alive was all; for
now, what for want of bread and water, and by reason of the
wounds they received when he beat them, they could do little but
breathe. But, I say, he found them alive; at which he fell into
a grievous rage, and told them that, seeing they had disobeyed
his counsel, it should be worse with them than if they had never
been born.

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Chris-

tian fell into a swoon; but, coming a little to himself again,
they renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel; and
whether yet they had best to take it or no. Now Christian again
seemed to be for doing it, but Hopeful made his second reply as
followeth: -- 

Hope. My brother, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thou
hast been heretofore? Apollyon could not crush thee, nor could
all that thou didst hear, or see, or feel, in the Valley of the
Shadow of Death. What hardship, terror, and amazement hast thou
already gone through! And art thou now nothing but fear! Thou
seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, a far weaker man by
nature than thou art; also, this Giant has wounded me as well as
thee, and hath also cut off the bread and water from my mouth;
and with thee I mourn without the light. But let us exercise a
little more patience; remember how thou playedst the man at
Vanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain, nor cage, nor
yet of bloody death. Wherefore let us (at least to avoid the
shame, that becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with
patience as well as we can.

Now, night being come again, and the Giant and his wife being in
bed, she asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had
taken his counsel. To which he replied, They are sturdy rogues,
they choose rather to bear all hardship, than to make away
themselves. Then said she, Take them into the castle-yard
to-morrow, and shew them the bones and skulls of those that thou
hast already despatched, and make them believe, ere a week comes
to an end, thou also wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast done
their fellows before them.

So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to

them again, and takes them into the castle-yard, and shews them,
as his wife had bidden him. These, said he, were pilgrims as you
are, once, and they trespassed in my grounds, as you have done;
and when I thought fit, I tore them in pieces, and so, within
ten days, I will do you. Go, get you down to your den again; and
with that he beat them all the way thither. They lay, therefore,
all day on Saturday in a lamentable case, as before. Now, when
night was come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband, the
Giant, were got to bed, they began to renew their discourse of
their prisoners; and withal the old Giant wondered, that he
could neither by his blows nor his counsel bring them to an end.
And with that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that they live
in hope that some will come to relieve them, or that they have
picklocks about them, by the means of which they hope to escape.
And sayest thou so, my dear? said the Giant; I will, therefore,
search them in the morning.

Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to pray, and
continued in prayer till almost break of day.

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half
amazed, brake out in this passionate speech: -- What a fool,
quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may as
well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise,
that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle.
Then said Hopeful, That is good news, good brother; pluck it out
of thy bosom, and try.

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at
the dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the key) gave back,
and the door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both
came out. Then he went to

the outward door that leads into the castle-yard, and, with his
key, opened that door also. After, he went to the iron gate, for
that must be opened too; but that lock went damnable hard, yet
the key did open it. Then they thrust open the gate to make
their escape with speed, but that gate, as it opened, made such
a creaking, that it waked Giant Despair, who, hastily rising to
pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail, for his fits took
him again, so that he could by no means go after them. Then they
went on, and came to the King's highway, and so were safe,
because they were out of his jurisdiction.

Now, when they were over the stile, they began to contrive with
themselves what they should do at that stile to prevent those
that should come after from falling into the hands of Giant
Despair. So they consented to erect there a pillar, and to
engrave upon the side thereof this sentence -- 'Over this stile
is the way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair,
who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to
destroy his holy pilgrims.' Many, therefore, that followed after
read what was written, and escaped the danger. This done, they
sang as follows: -- 

      Out of the way we went, and then we found
      What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground;
      And let them that come after have a care,
      Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to fare.
      Lest they for trespassing his prisoners are,
      Whose castle's Doubting, and whose name's Despair.

They went then till they came to the Delectable Mountains, which
mountains belong to the Lord of that hill of

which we have spoken before; so they went up to the mountains,
to behold the gardens and orchards, the vineyards and fountains
of water; where also they drank and washed themselves, and did
freely eat of the vineyards. Now there were on the tops of these
mountains Shepherds feeding their flocks, and they stood by the
highway side. The Pilgrims therefore went to them, and leaning
upon their staves, (as is common with weary pilgrims when they
stand to talk with any by the way,) they asked, Whose Delectable
Mountains are these? And whose be the sheep that feed upon them?

      Mountains delectable they now ascend,
      Where Shepherds be, which to them do commend
      Alluring things, and things that cautious are,
      Pilgrims are steady kept by faith and fear.

Shep. These mountains are Immanuel's Land, and they are within
sight of his city; and the sheep also are his, and he laid down
his life for them.

Chr. Is this the way to the Celestial City?

Shep. You are just in your way.

Chr. How far is it thither?

Shep. Too far for any but those that shall get thither indeed.

Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous?

Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe; but the
transgressors shall fall therein.

Chr. Is there, in this place, any relief for pilgrims that are
weary and faint in the way?

Shep. The Lord of these mountains hath given us a charge not to
be forgetful to entertain strangers, therefore the good of the
place is before you.

I saw also in my dream, that when the Shepherds perceived that
they were wayfaring men, they also put questions to them, to
which they made answer as in other places; as, Whence came you?
and, How got you into the way? and, By what means have you so
persevered therein? For but few of them that begin to come
hither do shew their face on these mountains. But when the
Shepherds heard their answers, being pleased therewith, they
looked very lovingly upon them, and said, Welcome to the
Delectable Mountains.

The Shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, Experience,
Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the hand, and had them to
their tents, and made them partake of that which was ready at
present. They said, moreover, We would that ye should stay here
awhile, to be acquainted with us; and yet more to solace
yourselves with the good of these Delectable Mountains. They
then told them, that they were content to stay; so they went to
their rest that night, because it was very late.

Then I saw in my dream, that in the morning the Shepherds called
up to Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the
mountains; so they went forth with them, and walked a while,
having a pleasant prospect on every side. Then said the
Shepherds one to another, Shall we shew these pilgrims some
wonders? So when they had concluded to do it, they had them
first to the top of a hill called Error, which was very steep on
the furthest side, and bid them look down to the bottom. So
Christian and Hopeful looked down, and saw at the bottom several
men dashed all to pieces by a fall that they had from the top.
Then said Christian, What meaneth this? The Shepherds answered,
Have you not heard of them that were made

to err by hearkening to Hymeneus and Philetus as concerning the
faith of the resurrection of the body? They answered, Yes. Then
said the Shepherds, Those that you see lie dashed in pieces at
the bottom of this mountain are they; and they have continued to
this day unburied, as you see, for an example to others to take
heed how they clamber too high, or how they come too near the
brink of this mountain.

Then I saw that they had them to the top of another mountain,
and the name of that is Caution, and bid them look afar off;
which, when they did, they perceived, as they thought, several
men walking up and down among the tombs that were there; and
they perceived that the men were blind, because they stumbled
sometimes upon the tombs, and because they could not get out
from among them. Then said Christian, What means this?

The Shepherds then answered, Did you not see a little below
these mountains a stile, that led into a meadow, on the left
hand of this way? They answered, Yes. Then said the Shepherds,
From that stile there goes a path that leads directly to
Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair, and these,
pointing to them among the tombs, came once on pilgrimage, as
you do now, even till they came to that same stile; and because
the right way was rough in that place, they chose to go out of
it into that meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair, and
cast into Doubting Castle; where, after they had been a while
kept in the dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and led
them among those tombs, where he has left them to wander to this
very day, that the saying of the wise man might be fulfilled, He
that wandereth out of the way of understanding, shall remain in
the congregation of the

dead. Then Christian and Hopeful looked upon one another, with
tears gushing out, but yet said nothing to the Shepherds.

Then I saw in my dream, that the Shepherds had them to another
place, in a bottom, where was a door in the side of a hill, and
they opened the door, and bid them look in. They looked in,
therefore, and saw that within it was very dark and smoky; they
also thought that they heard there a rumbling noise as of fire,
and a cry of some tormented, and that they smelt the scent of
brimstone. Then said Christian, What means this? The Shepherds
told them, This is a by-way to hell, a way that hypocrites go in
at; namely, such as sell their birthright, with Esau; such as
sell their master, with Judas; such as blaspheme the gospel,
with Alexander; and that lie and dissemble, with Ananias and
Sapphira his wife. Then said Hopeful to the Shepherds, I
perceive that these had on them, even every one, a show of
pilgrimage, as we have now; had they not?

Shep. Yes, and held it a long time too.

Hope. How far might they go on in pilgrimage in their day, since
they notwithstanding were thus miserably cast away?

Shep. Some further, and some not so far, as these mountains.

Then said the Pilgrims one to another, We have need to cry to
the Strong for strength.

Shep. Ay, and you will have need to use it, when you have it,
too.

By this time the Pilgrims had a desire to go forward, and the
Shepherds a desire they should; so they walked together towards
the end of the mountains. Then said the

Shepherds one to another, Let us here shew to the Pilgrims the
gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill to look through
our perspective glass. The Pilgrims then lovingly accepted the
motion; so they had them to the top of a high hill, called
Clear, and gave them their glass to look.

Then they essayed to look, but the remembrance of that last
thing that the Shepherds had shewn them, made their hands shake;
by means of which impediment, they could not look steadily
through the glass; yet they thought they saw something like the
gate, and also some of the glory of the place. Then they went
away, and sang this song -- 

      Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are reveal'd,
      Which from all other men are kept conceal'd.
      Come to the Shepherds, then, if you would see
      Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be.

When they were about to depart, one of the Shepherds gave them
a note of the way. Another of them bid them beware of the
Flatterer. The third bid them take heed that they sleep not upon
the Enchanted Ground. And the fourth bid them God-speed. So I
awoke from my dream.

And I slept, and dreamed again, and saw the same two Pilgrims
going down the mountains along the highway towards the city.
Now, a little below these mountains, on the left hand, lieth the
country of Conceit; from which country there comes into the way
in which the Pilgrims walked, a little crooked lane. Here,
therefore, they met with a very brisk lad, that came out of that
country; and his name was Ignorance. So Christian asked him from
what parts he came, and whither he was going.

Ignor. Sir, I was born in the country that lieth off there a
little on the left hand, and I am going to the Celestial City.

Chr. But how do you think to get in at the gate? for you may
find some difficulty there.

Ignor. As other people do, said he.

Chr. But what have you to shew at that gate, that may cause that
the gate should be opened to you?

Ignor. I know my Lord's will, and I have been a good liver; I
pay every man his own; I pray, fast, pay tithes, and give alms,
and have left my country for whither I am going.

Chr. But thou camest not in at the wicket-gate that is at the
head of this way; thou camest in hither through that same
crooked lane, and therefore, I fear, however thou mayest think
of thyself, when the reckoning day shall come, thou wilt have
laid to thy charge that thou art a thief and a robber, instead
of getting admittance into the city.

Ignor. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know you not;
be content and follow the religion of your country, and I will
follow the religion of mine. I hope all will be well. And as for
the gate that you talk of, all the world knows that that is a
great way off of our country. I cannot think that any man in all
our parts doth so much as know the way to it, nor need they
matter whether they do or no, since we have, as you see, a fine,
pleasant green lane, that comes down from our country, the next
way into the way.

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his own conceit, he
said to Hopeful, whisperingly, There is more hope of a fool than
of him. And said, moreover, When

he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him,
and he saith to every one that he is a fool. What, shall we talk
further with him, or out-go him at present, and so leave him to
think of what he hath heard already, and then stop again for him
afterwards, and see if by degrees we can do any good to him?
Then said Hopeful -- 

      Let Ignorance a little while now muse
      On what is said, and let him not refuse
      Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain
      Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain.
      God saith, those that no understanding have,
      Although he made them, them he will not save.

Hope. He further added, It is not good, I think, to say all to
him at once; let us pass him by, if you will, and talk to him
anon, even as he is able to bear it.

So they both went on, and Ignorance he came after. Now when they
had passed him a little way, they entered into a very dark lane,
where they met a man whom seven devils had bound with seven
strong cords, and were carrying of him back to the door that
they saw on the side of the hill. Now good Christian began to
tremble, and so did Hopeful his companion; yet as the devils led
away the man, Christian looked to see if he knew him; and he
thought it might be one Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of
Apostasy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he did hang
his head like a thief that is found. But being once past,
Hopeful looked after him, and espied on his back a paper with
this inscription, Wanton professor and damnable apostate. Then
said Christian to his fellow, Now I call to remembrance, that
which was told me of a

thing that happened to a good man hereabout. The name of the man
was Little-faith, but a good man, and he dwelt in the town of
Sincere. The thing was this: -- At the entering in at this
passage, there comes down from Broad-way Gate, a lane called
Dead Man's Lane; so called because of the murders that are
commonly done there; and this Little-faith going on pilgrimage,
as we do now, chanced to sit down there, and slept. Now there
happened, at that time, to come down the lane, from Broad-way
Gate, three sturdy rogues, and their names were Faint-heart,
Mistrust, and Guilt, (three brothers,) and they espying
Little-faith, where he was, came galloping up with speed. Now
the good man was just awake from his sleep, and was getting up
to go on his journey. So they came up all to him, and with
threatening language bid him stand. At this Little-faith looked
as white as a clout, and had neither power to fight nor fly.
Then said Faint-heart, Deliver thy purse. But he making no haste
to do it (for he was loath to lose his money,) Mistrust ran up
to him, and thrusting his hand into his pocket, pulled out
thence a bag of silver. Then he cried out, Thieves! Thieves!
With that Guilt, with a great club that was in his hand, struck
Little-faith on the head, and with that blow felled him flat to
the ground, where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed to
death. All this while the thieves stood by. But, at last, they
hearing that some were upon the road, and fearing lest it should
be one Great-grace, that dwells in the city of Good-confidence,
they betook themselves to their heels, and left this good man to
shift for himself. Now, after a while, Little-faith came to
himself, and getting up, made shift to scrabble on his way. This
was the story.

Hope. But did they take from him all that ever he had?

Chr. No; the place where his jewels were they never ransacked,
so those he kept still. But, as I was told, the good man was
much afflicted for his loss, for the thieves got most of his
spending-money. That which they got not (as I said) were jewels,
also he had a little odd money left, but scarce enough to bring
him to his journey's end; nay, if I was not misinformed, he was
forced to beg as he went, to keep himself alive; for his jewels
he might not sell. But beg, and do what he could, he went (as we
say) with many a hungry belly the most part of the rest of the
way.

Hope. But is it not a wonder they got not from him his
certificate, by which he was to receive his admittance at the
Celestial Gate?

Chr. It is a wonder; but they got not that, though they missed
it not through any good cunning of his; for he, being dismayed
with their coming upon him, had neither power nor skill to hide
anything; so it was more by good Providence than by his
endeavour, that they missed of that good thing.

Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him, that they got not
his jewels from him.

Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had he used it as
he should; but they that told me the story said, that he made
but little use of it all the rest of the way, and that because
of the dismay that he had in the taking away his money; indeed,
he forgot it a great part of the rest of his journey; and
besides, when at any time it came into his mind, and he began to
be comforted therewith,

then would fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon him, and
those thoughts would swallow up all.

Hope. Alas! poor man! This could not but be a great grief to
him.

Chr. Grief! ay, a grief indeed. Would it not have been so to any
of us, had we been used as he, to be robbed, and wounded too,
and that in a strange place, as he was? It is a wonder he did
not die with grief, poor heart! I was told that he scattered
almost all the rest of the way with nothing but doleful and
bitter complaints; telling also to all that overtook him, or
that he overtook in the way as he went, where he was robbed, and
how; who they were that did it, and what he lost; how he was
wounded, and that he hardly escaped with his life.

Hope. But it is a wonder that his necessity did not put him upon
selling or pawning some of his jewels, that he might have
wherewith to relieve himself in his journey.

Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the shell to this
very day; for what should he pawn them, or to whom should he
sell them? In all that country where he was robbed, his jewels
were not accounted of; nor did he want that relief which could
from thence be administered to him. Besides, had his jewels been
missing at the gate of the Celestial City, he had (and that he
knew well enough) been excluded from an inheritance there; and
that would have been worse to him than the appearance and
villainy of ten thousand thieves.

Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother? Esau sold his
birthright, and that for a mess of pottage, and that birthright
was his greatest jewel; and if he, why might not Little-faith do
so too?

Chr. Esau did sell his birthright indeed, and so do many
besides, and by so doing exclude themselves from the chief
blessing, as also that caitiff did; but you must put a
difference betwixt Esau and Little-faith, and also betwixt their
estates. Esau's birthright was typical, but Little-faith's
jewels were not so; Esau's belly was his god, but Little-faith's
belly was not so; Esau's want lay in his fleshly appetite,
Little-faith's did not so. Besides, Esau could see no further
than to the fulfilling of his lusts; Behold, I am at the point
to die, (said he,) and what profit shall this birthright do me?
But Little-faith, though it was his lot to have but a little
faith, was by his little faith kept from such extravagances, and
made to see and prize his jewels more than to sell them, as Esau
did his birthright. You read not anywhere that Esau had faith,
no, not so much as a little; therefore, no marvel if, where the
flesh only bears sway, (as it will in that man where no faith is
to resist,) if he sells his birthright, and his soul and all,
and that to the devil of hell; for it is with such, as it is
with the ass, who in her occasions cannot be turned away. When
their minds are set upon their lusts, they will have them
whatever they cost. But Little-faith was of another temper, his
mind was on things divine; his livelihood was upon things that
were spiritual, and from above; therefore, to what end should he
that is of such a temper sell his jewels (had there been any
that would have bought them) to fill his mind with empty things?
Will a man give a penny to fill his belly with hay; or can you
persuade the turtle-dove to live upon carrion like the crow?
Though faithless ones can, for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage,
or sell what they have, and themselves outright to boot; yet
they that have

faith, saving faith, though but a little of it, cannot do so.
Here, therefore, my brother, is thy mistake.

Hope. I acknowledge it; but yet your severe reflection had
almost made me angry.

Chr. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the birds that are
of the brisker sort, who will run to and fro in untrodden paths,
with the shell upon their heads; but pass by that, and consider
the matter under debate, and all shall be well betwixt thee and
me.

Hope. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am persuaded in my
heart, are but a company of cowards; would they have run else,
think you, as they did, at the noise of one that was coming on
the road? Why did not Little-faith pluck up a greater heart? He
might, methinks, have stood one brush with them, and have
yielded when there had been no remedy.

Chr. That they are cowards, many have said, but few have found
it so in the time of trial. As for a great heart, Little-faith
had none; and I perceive by thee, my brother, hadst thou been
the man concerned, thou art but for a brush, and then to yield.
And, verily, since this is the height of thy stomach, now they
are at a distance from us, should they appear to thee as they
did to him they might put thee to second thoughts.

But, consider again, they are but journeymen thieves, they serve
under the king of the bottomless pit, who, if need be, will come
into their aid himself, and his voice is as the roaring of a
lion. I myself have been engaged as this Little-faith was, and
I found it a terrible thing. These three villains set upon me,
and I beginning, like a Christian, to resist, they gave but a
call, and in came their master. I would, as the saying is, have
given my life for

a penny, but that, as God would have it, I was clothed with
armour of proof. Ay, and yet, though I was so harnessed, I found
it hard work to quit myself like a man. No man can tell what in
that combat attends us, but he that hath been in the battle
himself.

Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but suppose
that one Great-grace was in the way.

Chr. True, they have often fled, both they and their master,
when Great-grace hath but appeared; and no marvel; for he is the
King's champion. But, I trow, you will put some difference
betwixt Little-faith and the King's champion. All the King's
subjects are not his champions, nor can they, when tried, do
such feats of war as he. Is it meet to think that a little child
should handle Goliath as David did? Or that there should be the
strength of an ox in a wren? Some are strong, some are weak;
some have great faith, some have little. This man was one of the
weak, and therefore he went to the wall.

Hope. I would it had been Great-grace for their sakes.

Chr. If it had been, he might have had his hands full; for I
must tell you, that though Great-grace is excellent good at his
weapons, and has, and can, so long as he keeps them at sword's
point, do well enough with them; yet, if they get within him,
even Faint-heart, Mistrust, or the other, it shall go hard but
they will throw up his heels. And when a man is down, you know,
what can he do?

Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face, shall see those scars
and cuts there, that shall easily give demonstration of what I
say. Yea, once I heard that he should say, (and that when he was
in the combat,) We despaired even of life. How did these sturdy
rogues and their fellows make David groan, mourn, and roar? Yea,
Heman,

and Hezekiah, too, though champions in their day, were forced to
bestir them, when by these assaulted; and yet, notwithstanding,
they had their coats soundly brushed by them. Peter, upon a
time, would go try what he could do; but though some do say of
him that he is the prince of the apostles, they handled him so,
that they made him at last afraid of a sorry girl.

Besides, their king is at their whistle. He is never out of
hearing; and if at any time they be put to the worst, he, if
possible, comes in to help them; and of him it is said, The
sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold the spear, the dart,
nor the habergeon; he esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as
rotten wood. The arrow cannot make him flee; sling stones are
turned with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble: he
laugheth at the shaking of a spear. What can a man do in this
case? It is true, if a man could, at every turn, have Job's
horse, and had skill and courage to ride him, he might do
notable things; for his neck is clothed with thunder, he will
not be afraid of the grasshopper; the glory of his nostrils is
terrible: he paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his
strength, he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear,
and is not affrighted, neither turneth he back from the sword.
The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear, and the
shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage,
neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He
saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle
afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never desire to
meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could do better, when we
hear of others that they have been foiled,

Nor be tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood; for such
commonly come by the worst when tried. Witness Peter, of whom I
made mention before. He would swagger, ay, he would; he would,
as his vain mind prompted him to say, do better, and stand more
for his Master than all men; but who so foiled, and run down by
these villains, as he?

When, therefore, we hear that such robberies are done on the
King's highway, two things become us to do: -- 
1. To go out harnessed, and to be sure to take a shield with us;
for it was for want of that, that he that laid so lustily at
Leviathan could not make him yield; for, indeed, if that be
wanting, he fears us not at all. Therefore, he that had skill
hath said, Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye
shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.

2. It is good, also, that we desire of the King a convoy, yea,
that he will go with us himself. This made David rejoice when in
the Valley of the Shadow of Death; and Moses was rather for
dying where he stood, than to go one step without his God. Oh,
my brother, if he will but go along with us, what need we be
afraid of ten thousands that shall set themselves against us?
But, without him, the proud helpers fall under the slain.

I, for my part, have been in the fray before now; and though,
through the goodness of him that is best, I am, as you see,
alive, yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad shall I be, if I
meet with no more such brunts; though I fear we are not got
beyond all danger. However, since the lion and the bear have not
as yet devoured me, I hope God will also deliver us from the
next uncircumcised Philistine. Then sang Christian -- 

      Poor Little-faith! Hast been among the thieves?
      Wast robb'd? Remember this, whoso believes,
      And gets more faith, shall then a victor be
      Over ten thousand, else scarce over three.

So they went on and Ignorance followed. They went then till they
came at a place where they saw a way put itself into their way,
and seemed withal to lie as straight as the way which they
should go: and here they knew not which of the two to take, for
both seemed straight before them; therefore, here they stood
still to consider. And as they were thinking about the way,
behold a man, black of flesh, but covered with a very light
robe, came to them, and asked them why they stood there. They
answered they were going to the Celestial City, but knew not
which of these ways to take. Follow me, said the man, it is
thither that I am going. So they followed him in the way that
but now came into the road, which by degrees turned, and turned
them so from the city that they desired to go to, that, in
little time, their faces were turned away from it; yet they
followed him. But by and by, before they were aware, he led them
both within the compass of a net, in which they were both so
entangled that they knew not what to do; and with that the white
robe fell off the black man's back. Then they saw where they
were. Wherefore, there they lay crying some time, for they could
not get themselves out.

Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see myself in
error. Did not the Shepherds bid us beware of the flatterers? As
is the saying of the wise man, so we have found it this day. A
man that flattereth his neighbour, spreadeth a net for his feet.

Hope. They also gave us a note of directions about the way, for
our more sure finding thereof; but therein we have also
forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the paths of
the destroyer. Here David was wiser than we; for saith he,
Concerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips, I have
kept me from the paths of the destroyer. Thus they lay bewailing
themselves in the net. At last they espied a Shining One coming
towards them with a whip of small cord in his hand. When he was
come to the place where they were, he asked them whence they
came, and what they did there. They told him that they were poor
pilgrims going to Zion, but were led out of their way by a black
man, clothed in white, who bid us, said they, follow him, for he
was going thither too. Then said he with the whip, It is
Flatterer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into
an angel of light. So he rent the net, and let the men out. Then
said he to them, Follow me, that I may set you in your way
again. So he led them back to the way which they had left to
follow the Flatterer. Then he asked them, saying, Where did you
lie the last night? They said, With the Shepherds upon the
Delectable Mountains. He asked them then if they had not of
those Shepherds a note of direction for the way. They answered,
Yes. But did you, said he, when you were at a stand, pluck out
and read your note? They answered, No. He asked them, Why? They
said, they forgot. He asked, moreover, if the Shepherds did not
bid them beware of the Flatterer? They answered, Yes, but we did
not imagine, said they, that this fine-spoken man had been he.

Then I saw in my dream that he commanded them to lie down;
which, when they did, he chastised them sore,

to teach them the good way wherein they should walk; and as he
chastised them he said, As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten;
be zealous, therefore, and repent. This done, he bid them go on
their way, and take good heed to the other directions of the
shepherds. So they thanked him for all his kindness, and went
softly along the right way, singing -- 

      Come hither, you that walk along the way;
      See how the pilgrims fare that go astray.
      They catched are in an entangling net,
      'Cause they good counsel lightly did forget:
      'Tis true they rescued were, but yet you see,
      They're scourged to boot. Let this your caution be.

Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one coming softly
and alone all along the highway to meet them. Then said
Christian to his fellow, Yonder is a man with his back towards
Zion, and he is coming to meet us.

Hope. I see him; let us take heed to ourselves now, lest he
should prove a flatterer also. So he drew nearer and nearer, and
at last came up unto them. His name was Atheist, and he asked
them whither they were going.

Chr. We are going to Mount Zion.

Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter.

Chr. What is the meaning of your laughter?

Atheist. I laugh to see what ignorant persons you are, to take
upon you so tedious a journey, and you are like to have nothing
but your travel for your pains.

Chr. Why, man, do you think we shall not be received?

Atheist. Received! There is no such place as you dream of in all
this world.

Chr. But there is in the world to come.

Atheist. When I was at home in mine own country, I heard as you
now affirm, and from that hearing went out to see, and have been
seeking this city this twenty years; but find no more of it than
I did the first day I set out.

Chr. We have both heard and believe that there is such a place
to be found.

Atheist. Had not I, when at home, believed, I had not come thus
far to seek; but finding none, (and yet I should, had there been
such a place to be found, for I have gone to seek it further
than you,) I am going back again, and will seek to refresh
myself with the things that I then cast away, for hopes of that
which, I now see, is not.

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful his fellow, Is it true which
this man hath said?

Hope. Take heed, he is one of the flatterers; remember what it
hath cost us once already for our hearkening to such kind of
fellows. What! no Mount Zion? Did we not see, from the
Delectable Mountains the gate of the city? Also, are we not now
to walk by faith? Let us go on, said Hopeful, lest the man with
the whip overtake us again. You should have taught me that
lesson, which I will round you in the ears withal: Cease, my
son, to hear the instruction that causeth to err from the words
of knowledge. I say, my brother, cease to hear him, and let us
believe to the saving of the soul.

Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to thee for that I
doubted of the truth of our belief myself, but to prove thee,
and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of thy heart. As
for this man, I know that he is blinded by the god of this
world. Let thee and I go on, knowing

that we have belief of the truth, and no lie is of the truth.

Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of God. So they
turned away from the man; and he laughing at them went his way.

I saw then in my dream, that they went till they came into a
certain country, whose air naturally tended to make one drowsy,
if he came a stranger into it. And here Hopeful began to be very
dull and heavy of sleep; wherefore he said unto Christian, I do
now begin to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold up mine
eyes, let us lie down here and take one nap.

Chr. By no means, said the other, lest sleeping, we never awake
more.

Hope. Why, my brother? Sleep is sweet to the labouring man; we
may be refreshed if we take a nap.

Chr. Do you not remember that one of the Shepherds bid us beware
of the Enchanted Ground? He meant by that that we should beware
of sleeping; Therefore let us not sleep, as do others, but let
us watch and be sober.

Hope. I acknowledge myself in a fault, and had I been here alone
I had by sleeping run the danger of death. I see it is true that
the wise man saith, Two are better than one. Hitherto hath thy
company been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward for thy
labour.

Chr. Now then, said Christian, to prevent drowsiness in this
place, let us fall into good discourse.

Hope. With all my heart, said the other.

Chr. Where shall we begin?

Hope. Where God began with us. But do you begin, if you please.

Chr. I will sing you first this song: -- 

      When saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither,
      And hear how these two pilgrims talk together:
      Yea, let them learn of them, in any wise,
      Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb'ring eyes.
      Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well,
      Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell.

Chr. Then Christian began and said, I will ask you a question.
How came you to think at first of so doing as you do now?

Hope. Do you mean, how came I at first to look after the good of
my soul?

Chr. Yes, that is my meaning.

Hope. I continued a great while in the delight of those things
which were seen and sold at our fair; things which, I believe
now, would have, had I continued in them, still drowned me in
perdition and destruction.

Chr. What things are they?

Hope. All the treasures and riches of the world. Also, I
delighted much in rioting, revelling, drinking, swearing, lying,
uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and what not, that tended to
destroy the soul. But I found at last, by hearing and
considering of things that are divine, which indeed I heard of
you, as also of beloved Faithful that was put to death for his
faith and good living in Vanity Fair, that the end of these
things is death. And that for these things' sake cometh the
wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.

Chr. And did you presently fall under the power of this
conviction?

Hope. No, I was not willing presently to know the evil of sin,
nor the damnation that follows upon the com-

mission of it; but endeavoured, when my mind at first began to
be shaken with the Word, to shut mine eyes against the light
thereof.

Chr. But what was the cause of your carrying of it thus to the
first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon you?

Hope. The causes were -- 1. I was ignorant that this was the
work of God upon me. I never thought that, by awakenings for
sin, God at first begins the conversion of a sinner. 2. Sin was
yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was loath to leave it. 3. I
could not tell how to part with mine old companions, their
presence and actions were so desirable unto me. 4. The hours in
which convictions were upon me were such troublesome and such
heart-affrighting hours that I could not bear, no not so much as
the remembrance of them, upon my heart.

Chr. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your trouble.

Hope. Yes, verily, but it would come into my mind again, and
then I should be as bad, nay, worse, than I was before.

Chr. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind again?

Hope. Many things; as,

1. If I did but meet a good man in the streets; or,

2. If I have heard any read in the Bible; or,

3. If mine head did begin to ache; or,

4. If I were told that some of my neighbours were sick; or,

5. If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead; or,

6. If I thought of dying myself; or,

7. If I heard that sudden death happened to others;

8. But especially, when I thought of myself, that I must quickly
come to judgment.

Chr. And could you at any time, with ease, get off the guilt of
sin, when by any of these ways it came upon you?

Hope. No, not I, for then they got faster hold of my conscience;
and then, if I did but think of going back to sin, (though my
mind was turned against it,) it would be double torment to me.

Chr. And how did you do then?

Hope. I thought I must endeavour to mend my life; for else,
thought I, I am sure to be damned.

Chr. And did you endeavour to mend?

Hope. Yes; and fled from not only my sins, but sinful company
too; and betook me to religious duties, as prayer, reading,
weeping for sin, speaking truth to my neighbours, &c. These
things did I, with many others, too much here to relate.

Chr. And did you think yourself well then?

Hope. Yes, for a while; but at the last, my trouble came
tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck of all my
reformations.

Chr. How came that about, since you were now reformed?

Hope. There were several things brought it upon me, especially
such sayings as these: All our righteousnesses are as filthy
rags. By the works of the law shall no flesh be justified. When
ye shall have done all those things, say, We are unprofitable;
with many more such like. From whence I began to reason with
myself thus: If ALL my righteousnesses are filthy rags; if, by
the deeds of the law, NO man can be justified; and if, when we
have done ALL, we are yet unprofitable, then it is but a folly
to think

of heaven by the law. I further thought thus: If a man runs a
hundred pounds into the shopkeeper's debt, and after that shall
pay for all that he shall fetch; yet, if this old debt stands
still in the book uncrossed, for that the shopkeeper may sue
him, and cast him into prison till he shall pay the debt.

Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? I thought
thus with myself.

Hope. Why; I have, by my sins, run a great way into God's book,
and that my now reforming will not pay off that score; therefore
I should think still, under all my present amendments, But how
shall I be freed from that damnation that I have brought myself
in danger of by my former transgressions?

Chr. A very good application: but, pray, go on.

Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me, even since my late
amendments, is, that if I look narrowly into the best of what I
do now, I still see sin, new sin, mixing itself with the best of
that I do; so that now I am forced to conclude, that
notwithstanding my former fond conceits of myself and duties, I
have committed sin enough in one duty to send me to hell, though
my former life had been faultless.

Chr. And what did you do then?

Hope. Do! I could not tell what to do, until I brake my mind to
Faithful, for he and I were well acquainted. And he told me,
that unless I could obtain the righteousness of a man that never
had sinned, neither mine own, nor all the righteousness of the
world could save me.

Chr. And did you think he spake true?

Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and satisfied with
mine own amendment, I had called him fool

for his pains; but now, since I see mine own infirmity, and the
sin that cleaves to my best performance, I have been forced to
be of his opinion.

Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested it to you,
that there was such a man to be found, of whom it might justly
be said that he never committed sin?

Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded strangely, but
after a little more talk and company with him, I had full
conviction about it.

Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and how you must be
justified by him?

Hope. Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that dwelleth
on the right hand of the Most High. And thus, said he, you must
be justified by him, even by trusting to what he hath done by
himself, in the days of his flesh, and suffered when he did hang
on the tree. I asked him further, how that man's righteousness
could be of that efficacy to justify another before God? And he
told me he was the mighty God, and did what he did, and died the
death also, not for himself, but for me; to whom his doings, and
the worthiness of them, should be imputed, if I believed on him.

Chr. And what did you do then?

Hope. I made my objections against my believing, for that I
thought he was not willing to save me.

Chr. And what said Faithful to you then?

Hope. He bid me go to him and see. Then I said it was
presumption; but he said, No, for I was invited to come. Then he
gave me a book of Jesus, his inditing, to encourage me the more
freely to come; and he said, concerning that book, that every
jot and tittle thereof stood firmer than heaven and earth. Then
I asked him, What I must

do when I came; and he told me, I must entreat upon my knees,
with all my heart and soul, the Father to reveal him to me. Then
I asked him further, how I must make my supplication to him? And
he said, Go, and thou shalt find him upon a mercy-seat, where he
sits all the year long, to give pardon and forgiveness to them
that come. I told him that I knew not what to say when I came.
And he bid me say to this effect: God be merciful to me a
sinner, and make me to know and believe in Jesus Christ; for I
see, that if his righteousness had not been, or I have not faith
in that righteousness, I am utterly cast away. Lord, I have
heard that thou art a merciful God, and hast ordained that thy
Son Jesus Christ should be the Saviour of the world; and
moreover, that thou art willing to bestow him upon such a poor
sinner as I am, (and I am a sinner indeed;) Lord, take therefore
this opportunity and magnify thy grace in the salvation of my
soul, through thy Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Chr. And did you do as you were bidden?

Hope. Yes; over, and over, and over.

Chr. And did the Father reveal his Son to you?

Hope. Not at the first, nor second, nor third, nor fourth, nor
fifth; no, nor at the sixth time neither.

Chr. What did you do then?

Hope: What! why, I could not tell what to do.

Chr. Had you not thoughts of leaving off praying?

Hope. Yes; an hundred times twice told.

Chr. And what was the reason you did not?

Hope. I believed that that was true which had been told me, to
wit, that without the righteousness of this Christ, all the
world could not save me; and therefore, thought I with myself,
if I leave off I die, and I can but

die at the throne of grace. And withal, this came into my mind,
Though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it
will not tarry. So I continued praying until the Father shewed
me his Son.

Chr. And how was he revealed unto you?

Hope. I did not see him with my bodily eyes, but with the eyes
of my understanding; and thus it was: One day I was very sad, I
think sadder than at any one time in my life, and this sadness
was through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of my
sins. And as I was then looking for nothing but hell, and the
everlasting damnation of my soul, suddenly, as I thought, I saw
the Lord Jesus Christ look down from heaven upon me, and saying,
Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.

But I replied, Lord, I am a great, a very great sinner. And he
answered, My grace is sufficient for thee. Then I said, But,
Lord, what is believing? And then I saw from that saying, He
that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on
me shall never thirst, that believing and coming was all one;
and that he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and
affections after salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in
Christ. Then the water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further.
But, Lord, may such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of
thee, and be saved by thee? And I heard him say, And him that
cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out. Then I said, But how,
Lord, must I consider of thee in my coming to thee, that my
faith may be placed aright upon thee? Then he said, Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners. He is the end of the law
for righteousness to every one that believeth. He died for our
sins, and rose again for our justification. He loved us, and
washed us

from our sins in his own blood. He is mediator betwixt God and
us. He ever liveth to make intercession for us. From all which
I gathered, that I must look for righteousness in his person,
and for satisfaction for my sins by his blood; that what he did
in obedience to his Father's law, and in submitting to the
penalty thereof, was not for himself, but for him that will
accept it for his salvation, and be thankful. And now was my
heart full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections
running over with love to the name, people, and ways of Jesus
Christ.

Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed; but
tell me particularly what effect this had upon your spirit.

Hope. It made me see that all the world, notwithstanding all the
righteousness thereof, is in a state of condemnation. It made me
see that God the Father, though he be just, can justly justify
the coming sinner. It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of
my former life, and confounded me with the sense of mine own
ignorance; for there never came thought into my heart before now
that shewed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ. It made me love a
holy life, and long to do something for the honour and glory of
the name of the Lord Jesus; yea, I thought that had I now a
thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all for
the sake of the Lord Jesus.

I saw then in my dream that Hopeful looked back and saw
Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming after. Look, said
he to Christian, how far yonder youngster loitereth behind.

Chr. Ay, ay, I see him; he careth not for our company.

Hope. But I trow it would not have hurt him had he kept pace
with us hitherto.

Chr. That is true; but I warrant you he thinketh otherwise.

Hope. That, I think, he doth; but, however, let us tarry for
him. So they did.

Then Christian said to him, Come away, man, why do you stay so
behind?

Ignor. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even more a great
deal than in company, unless I like it the better.

Then said Christian to Hopeful, (but softly,) Did I not tell you
he cared not for our company? But, however, said he, come up,
and let us talk away the time in this solitary place. Then
directing his speech to Ignorance, he said, Come, how do you?
How stands it between God and your soul now?

Ignor. I hope well; for I am always full of good motions, that
come into my mind, to comfort me as I walk.

Chr. What good motions? pray, tell us.

Ignor. Why, I think of God and heaven.

Chr. So do the devils and damned souls.

Ignor. But I think of them and desire them.

Chr. So do many that are never like to come there. The soul of
the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing.

Ignor. But I think of them, and leave all for them.

Chr. That I doubt; for leaving all is a hard matter: yea, a
harder matter than many are aware of. But why, or by what, art
thou persuaded that thou hast left all for God and heaven.

Ignor. My heart tells me so.

Chr. The wise man says, He that trusts his own heart is a fool.

Ignor. This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a good one.

Chr. But how dost thou prove that?

Ignor. It comforts me in hopes of heaven.

Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness; for a man's heart
may minister comfort to him in the hopes of that thing for which
he yet has no ground to hope.

Ignor. But my heart and life agree together, and therefore my
hope is well grounded.

Chr. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree together?

Ignor. My heart tells me so.

Chr. Ask my fellow if I be a thief! Thy heart tells thee so!
Except the Word of God beareth witness in this matter, other
testimony is of no value.

Ignor. But is it not a good heart that hath good thoughts? and
is not that a good life that is according to God's commandments?

Chr. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good thoughts, and that
is a good life that is according to God's commandments; but it
is one thing, indeed, to have these, and another thing only to
think so.

Ignor. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a life according
to God's commandments?

Chr. There are good thoughts of divers kinds; some respecting
ourselves, some God, some Christ, and some other things.

Ignor. What be good thoughts respecting ourselves?

Chr. Such as agree with the Word of God.

Ignor. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with the Word of
God?

Chr. When we pass the same judgment upon ourselves

which the Word passes. To explain myself -- the Word of God
saith of persons in a natural condition, There is none
righteous, there is none that doeth good. It saith also, that
every imagination of the heart of man is only evil, and that
continually. And again, The imagination of man's heart is evil
from his youth. Now then, when we think thus of ourselves,
having sense thereof, then are our thoughts good ones, because
according to the Word of God.

Ignor. I will never believe that my heart is thus bad.

Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought concerning
thyself in thy life. But let me go on. As the Word passeth a
judgment upon our heart, so it passeth a judgment upon our ways;
and when OUR thoughts of our hearts and ways agree with the
judgment which the Word giveth of both, then are both good,
because agreeing thereto.

Ignor. Make out your meaning.

Chr. Why, the Word of God saith that man's ways are crooked
ways; not good, but perverse. It saith they are naturally out of
the good way, that they have not known it. Now, when a man thus
thinketh of his ways, -- I say, when he doth sensibly, and with
heart-humiliation, thus think, then hath he good thoughts of his
own ways, because his thoughts now agree with the judgment of
the Word of God.

Ignor. What are good thoughts concerning God?

Chr. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, when our thoughts
of God do agree with what the Word saith of him; and that is,
when we think of his being and attributes as the Word hath
taught, of which I cannot now discourse at large; but to speak
of him with reference to

us: Then we have right thoughts of God, when we think that he
knows us better than we know ourselves, and can see sin in us
when and where we can see none in ourselves; when we think he
knows our inmost thoughts, and that our heart, with all its
depths, is always open unto his eyes; also, when we think that
all our righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and that,
therefore, he cannot abide to see us stand before him in any
confidence, even in all our best performances.

Ignor. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think God can
see no further than I? or, that I would come to God in the best
of my performances?

Chr. Why, how dost thou think in this matter?

Ignor. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in Christ for
justification.

Chr. How! think thou must believe in Christ, when thou seest not
thy need of him! Thou neither seest thy original nor actual
infirmities; but hast such an opinion of thyself, and of what
thou dost, as plainly renders thee to be one that did never see
a necessity of Christ's personal righteousness to justify thee
before God. How, then, dost thou say, I believe in Christ?

Ignor. I believe well enough for all that.

Chr. How dost thou believe?

Ignor. I believe that Christ died for sinners, and that I shall
be justified before God from the curse, through his gracious
acceptance of my obedience to his law. Or thus, Christ makes my
duties, that are religious, acceptable to his Father, by virtue
of his merits; and so shall I be justified.

Chr. Let me give an answer to this confession of thy faith: -- 

1. Thou believest with a fantastical faith; for this faith is
nowhere described in the Word.

2. Thou believest with a false faith; because it taketh
justification from the personal righteousness of Christ, and
applies it to thy own.

3. This faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy person, but
of thy actions; and of thy person for thy actions' sake, which
is false.

4. Therefore, this faith is deceitful, even such as will leave
thee under wrath, in the day of God Almighty; for true
justifying faith puts the soul, as sensible of its condition by
the law, upon flying for refuge unto Christ's righteousness,
which righteousness of his is not an act of grace, by which he
maketh for justification, thy obedience accepted with God; but
his personal obedience to the law, in doing and suffering for us
what that required at our hands; this righteousness, I say, true
faith accepteth; under the skirt of which, the soul being
shrouded, and by it presented as spotless before God, it is
accepted, and acquit from condemnation.

Ignor. What! would you have us trust to what Christ, in his own
person, has done without us? This conceit would loosen the reins
of our lust, and tolerate us to live as we list; for what matter
how we live, if we may be justified by Christ's personal
righteousness from all, when we believe it?

Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art thou;
even this thy answer demonstrateth what I say. Ignorant thou art
of what justifying righteousness is, and as ignorant how to
secure thy soul, through the faith of it, from the heavy wrath
of God. Yea, thou also art

ignorant of the true effects of saving faith in this
righteousness of Christ, which is, to bow and win over the heart
to God in Christ, to love his name, his word, ways, and people,
and not as thou ignorantly imaginest.

Hope. Ask him if ever he had Christ revealed to him from heaven.

Ignor. What! you are a man for revelations! I believe that what
both you, and all the rest of you, say about that matter, is but
the fruit of distracted brains.

Hope. Why, man! Christ is so hid in God from the natural
apprehensions of the flesh, that he cannot by any man be
savingly known, unless God the Father reveals him to them.

Ignor. That is your faith, but not mine; yet mine, I doubt not,
is as good as yours, though I have not in my head so many
whimsies as you.

Chr. Give me leave to put in a word. You ought not so slightly
to speak of this matter; for this I will boldly affirm, even as
my good companion hath done, that no man can know Jesus Christ
but by the revelation of the Father; yea, and faith too, by
which the soul layeth hold upon Christ, if it be right, must be
wrought by the exceeding greatness of his mighty power; the
working of which faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art
ignorant of. Be awakened, then, see thine own wretchedness, and
fly to the Lord Jesus; and by his righteousness, which is the
righteousness of God, for he himself is God, thou shalt be
delivered from condemnation.

Ignor. You go so fast, I cannot keep pace with you. Do you go on
before; I must stay a while behind.

Then they said -- 

      Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be,
      To slight good counsel, ten times given thee?
      And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know,
      Ere long, the evil of thy doing so.
      Remember, man, in time, stoop, do not fear;
      Good counsel taken well, saves: therefore hear.
      But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou wilt be
      The loser, (Ignorance,) I'll warrant thee.

Then Christian addressed thus himself to his fellow: -- 

Chr. Well, come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that thou and I
must walk by ourselves again.

So I saw in my dream that they went on apace before, and
Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Christian to his
companion, It pities me much for this poor man, it will
certainly go ill with him at last.

Hope. Alas! there are abundance in our town in his condition,
whole families, yea, whole streets, and that of pilgrims too;
and if there be so many in our parts, how many, think you, must
there be in the place where he was born?

Chr. Indeed the Word saith, He hath blinded their eyes lest they
should see, &c. But now we are by ourselves, what do you think
of such men? Have they at no time, think you, convictions of
sin, and so consequently fears that their state is dangerous?

Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for you are the
elder man.

Chr. Then I say, sometimes (as I think) they may; but they being
naturally ignorant, understand not that such convictions tend to
their good; and therefore they

do desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptuously continue
to flatter themselves in the way of their own hearts.

Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends much to men's
good, and to make them right, at their beginning to go on
pilgrimage.

Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if it be right; for so says the
Word, The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

Hope. How will you describe right fear?

Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three things: -- 

1. By its rise; it is caused by saving convictions for sin.

2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for salvation.

3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great reverence of
God, his Word, and ways, keeping it tender, and making it afraid
to turn from them, to the right hand or to the left, to anything
that may dishonour God, break its peace, grieve the Spirit, or
cause the enemy to speak reproachfully.

Hope. Well said; I believe you have said the truth. Are we now
almost got past the Enchanted Ground?

Chr. Why, art thou weary of this discourse?

Hope. No, verily, but that I would know where we are.

Chr. We have not now above two miles further to go thereon. But
let us return to our matter. Now the ignorant know not that such
convictions as tend to put them in fear are for their good, and
therefore they seek to stifle them.

Hope. How do they seek to stifle them?

Chr. 1. They think that those fears are wrought by the devil,
(though indeed they are wrought of God;) and, thinking so, they
resist them as things that directly tend to their overthrow. 2.
They also think that these fears tend to the spoiling of their
faith, when, alas, for them, poor men that they are, they have
none at all! and therefore they harden their. hearts against
them. 3. They presume they ought not to fear; and, therefore, in
despite of them, wax presumptuously confident. 4. They see that
those fears tend to take away from them their pitiful old
self-holiness, and therefore they resist them with all their
might.

Hope. I know something of this myself; for, before I knew
myself, it was so with me.

Chr. Well, we will leave, at this time, our neighbour Ignorance
by himself, and fall upon another profitable question.

Hope. With all my heart, but you shall still begin.

Chr. Well then, did you not know, about ten years ago, one
Temporary in your parts, who was a forward man in religion then?

Hope. Know him! yes, he dwelt in Graceless, a town about two
miles off of Honesty, and he dwelt next door to one Turnback.

Chr. Right, he dwelt under the same roof with him. Well, that
man was much awakened once; I believe that then he had some
sight of his sins, and of the wages that were due thereto.

Hope. I am of your mind, for, my house not being above three
miles from him, he would ofttimes come to me, and that with many
tears. Truly I pitied the man,

and was not altogether without hope of him; but one may see, it
is not every one that cries, Lord, Lord.

Chr. He told me once that he was resolved to go on pilgrimage,
as we do now; but all of a sudden he grew acquainted with one
Save-self, and then he became a stranger to me.

Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let us a little
inquire into the reason of the sudden backsliding of him and
such others.

Chr. It may be very profitable, but do you begin.

Hope. Well, then, there are in my judgment four reasons for it:
-- 

1. Though the consciences of such men are awakened, yet their
minds are not changed; therefore, when the power of guilt
weareth away, that which provoked them to be religious ceaseth,
wherefore they naturally turn to their own course again, even as
we see the dog that is sick of what he has eaten, so long as his
sickness prevails he vomits and casts up all; not that he doth
this of a free mind (if we may say a dog has a mind), but
because it troubleth his stomach; but now, when his sickness is
over, and so his stomach eased, his desire being not at all
alienate from his vomit, he turns him about and licks up all,
and so it is true which is written, The dog is turned to his own
vomit again. Thus I say, being hot for heaven, by virtue only of
the sense and fear of the torments of hell, as their sense of
hell and the fears of damnation chills and cools, so their
desires for heaven and salvation cool also. So then it comes to
pass, that when their guilt and fear is gone, their desires for
heaven and happiness die, and they return to their course again.

2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do overmaster
them; I speak now of the fears that they have of men, for the
fear of man bringeth a snare. So then, though they seem to be
hot for heaven, so long as the flames of hell are about their
ears, yet when that terror is a little over, they betake
themselves to second thoughts; namely, that it is good to be
wise, and not to run (for they know not what) the hazard of
losing all, or, at least, of bringing themselves into
unavoidable and unnecessary troubles, and so they fall in with
the world again.

3. The shame that attends religion lies also as a block in their
way; they are proud and haughty; and religion in their eye is
low and contemptible, therefore, when they have lost their sense
of hell and wrath to come, they return again to their former
course.

4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to them. They
like not to see their misery before they come into it; though
perhaps the sight of it first, if they loved that sight, might
make them fly whither the righteous fly and are safe. But
because they do, as I hinted before, even shun the thoughts of
guilt and terror, therefore, when once they are rid of their
awakenings about the terrors and wrath of God, they harden their
hearts gladly, and choose such ways as will harden them more and
more.

Chr. You are pretty near the business, for the bottom of all is
for want of a change in their mind and will. And therefore they
are but like the felon that standeth before the judge, he quakes
and trembles, and seems to repent most heartily, but the bottom
of all is the fear of the halter; not that he hath any
detestation of the offence, as is evident, because, let but this
man have his liberty, and

he will be a thief, and so a rogue still, whereas, if his mind
was changed, he would be otherwise.

Hope. Now I have shewed you the reasons of their going back, do
you shew me the manner thereof.

Chr. So I will willingly.

1. They draw off their thoughts, all that they may, from the
remembrance of God, death, and judgment to come.

2. Then they cast off by degrees private duties, as closet
prayer, curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for sin, and the
like.

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm Christians.

4. After that they grow cold to public duty, as hearing,
reading, godly conference, and the like.

5. Then they begin to pick holes, as we say, in the coats of
some of the godly; and that devilishly, that they may have a
seeming colour to throw religion (for the sake of some infirmity
they have espied in them) behind their backs.

6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate themselves with,
carnal, loose, and wanton men.

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton discourses in secret;
and glad are they if they can see such things in any that are
counted honest, that they may the more boldly do it through
their example.

8. After this they begin to play with little sins openly.

9. And then, being hardened, they shew themselves as they are.
Thus, being launched again into the gulf of misery, unless a
miracle of grace prevent it, they everlastingly perish in their
own deceivings.

Now I saw in my dream, that by this time the Pil-

grims were got over the Enchanted Ground, and entering into the
country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and pleasant, the
way lying directly through it, they solaced themselves there for
a season. Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds,
and saw every day the flowers appear on the earth, and heard the
voice of the turtle in the land. In this country the sun shineth
night and day. wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair,
neither could they from this place so much as see Doubting
Castle. Here they were within sight of the city they were going
to, also here met them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in
this land the Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon
the borders of heaven. In this land also, the contract between
the bride and the bridegroom was renewed; yea, here, As the
bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so did their God rejoice
over them. Here they had no want of corn and wine; for in this
place they met with abundance of what they had sought for in all
their pilgrimage. Here they heard voices from out of the city,
loud voices, saying, Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy
salvation cometh! Behold, his reward is with him! Here all the
inhabitants of the country called them, The holy people, The
redeemed of the Lord, Sought out, &c.

Now as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in
parts more remote from the kingdom to which they were bound; and
drawing near to the city, they had yet a more perfect view
thereof. It was builded of pearls and precious stones, also the
street thereof was paved with gold; so that by reason of the
natural glory of the city, and the reflection of the sunbeams
upon it,

Christian with desire fell sick; Hopeful also had a fit or two
of the same disease. Wherefore, here they lay by it a while,
crying out, because of their pangs, If ye find my beloved, tell
him that I am sick of love.

But, being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their
sickness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and
nearer, where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their
gates opened into the highway. Now, as they came up to these
places, behold the gardener stood in the way, to whom the
Pilgrims said, Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are these? He
answered, They are the King's, and are planted here for his own
delight, and also for the solace of pilgrims. So the gardener
had them into the vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves
with the dainties. He also shewed them there the King's walks,
and the arbours where he delighted to be; and here they tarried
and slept.

Now I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their sleep at
this time than ever they did in all their journey; and being in
a muse thereabout, the gardener said even to me, Wherefore
musest thou at the matter? It is the nature of the fruit of the
grapes of these vineyards to go down so sweetly as to cause the
lips of them that are asleep to speak.

So I saw that when they awoke, they addressed themselves to go
up to the city; but, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon
the city (for the city was pure gold) was so extremely glorious
that they could not, as yet, with open face behold it, but
through an instrument made for that purpose. So I saw, that as
I went on, there met them two men, in raiment that shone like
gold; also their faces shone as the light.

These men asked the Pilgrims whence they came; and they told
them. They also asked them where they had lodged, what
difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures they had
met in the way; and they told them. Then said the men that met
them, You have but two difficulties more to meet with, and then
you are in the city.

Christian then, and his companion, asked the men to go along
with them; so they told them they would. But, said they, you
must obtain it by your own faith. So I saw in my dream that they
went on together, until they came in sight of the gate.

Now, I further saw, that betwixt them and the gate was a river,
but there was no bridge to go over: the river was very deep. At
the sight, therefore, of this river, the Pilgrims were much
stunned; but the men that went in with them said, You must go
through, or you cannot come at the gate.

The Pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other way to
the gate; to which they answered, Yes; but there hath not any,
save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been permitted to tread that
path since the foundation of the world, nor shall, until the
last trumpet shall sound. The Pilgrims then, especially
Christian, began to despond in their minds, and looked this way
and that, but no way could be found by them by which they might
escape the river. Then they asked the men if the waters were all
of a depth. They said: No; yet they could not help them in that
case; for, said they, you shall find it deeper or shallower as
you believe in the King of the place.

They then addressed themselves to the water and,

entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good
friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep waters; the billows go
over my head, all his waves go over me! Selah.

Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the
bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah! my friend, the
sorrows of death hath compassed me about; I shall not see the
land that flows with milk and honey; and with that a great
darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not
see before him. Also here he in great measure lost his senses,
so that he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of
those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the way of his
pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake still tended to
discover that he had horror of mind, and heart fears that he
should die in that river, and never obtain entrance in at the
gate. Here also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in
the troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both
since and before he began to be a pilgrim. It was also observed
that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil
spirits, for ever and anon he would intimate so much by words.
Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his brother's head
above water; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, and
then, ere a while, he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful
also would endeavour to comfort him, saying, Brother, I see the
gate, and men standing by to receive us: but Christian would
answer, It is you, it is you they wait for; you have been
Hopeful ever since I knew you. And so have you, said he to
Christian. Ah! brother! said he, surely if I was right he would
now arise to help me; but for my sins he hath brought me into
the snare,

and hath left me. Then said Hopeful, My brother, you have quite
forgot the text, where it is said of the wicked, There are no
bands in their death, but their strength is firm. They are not
in trouble as other men, neither are they plagued like other
men. These troubles and distresses that you go through in these
waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you; but are sent to
try you, whether you will call to mind that which heretofore you
have received of his goodness, and live upon him in your
distresses.

Then I saw in my dream, that Christian was as in a muse a while.
To whom also Hopeful added this word, Be of good cheer, Jesus
Christ maketh thee whole; and with that Christian brake out with
a loud voice, Oh, I see him again! and he tells me, When thou
passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the
rivers, they shall not overflow thee. Then they both took
courage, and the enemy was after that as still as a stone, until
they were gone over. Christian therefore presently found ground
to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the river was
but shallow. Thus they got over. Now, upon the bank of the
river, on the other side, they saw the two shining men again,
who there waited for them; wherefore, being come out of the
river, they saluted them, saying, We are ministering spirits,
sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of
salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate.

      Now, now look how the holy pilgrims ride,
      Clouds are their chariots, angels are their guide:
      Who would not here for him all hazards run,
      That thus provides for his when this world's done.

Now you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill, but
the Pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had these
two men to lead them up by the arms; also, they had left their
mortal garments behind them in the river, for though they went
in with them, they came out without them. They, therefore, went
up here with much agility and speed, though the foundation upon
which the city was framed was higher than the clouds. They
therefore went up through the regions of the air, sweetly
talking as they went, being comforted, because they safely got
over the river, and had such glorious companions to attend them.

The talk they had with the Shining Ones was about the glory of
the place; who told them that the beauty and glory of it was
inexpressible. There, said they, is the Mount Zion, the heavenly
Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of
just men made perfect. You are going now, said they, to the
paradise of God, wherein you shall see the tree of life, and eat
of the never-fading fruits thereof; and when you come there, you
shall have white robes given you, and your walk and talk shall
be every day with the King, even all the days of eternity. There
you shall not see again such things as you saw when you were in
the lower region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness,
affliction, and death, for the former things are passed away.
You are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, and Jacob, and to the
prophets -- men that God hath taken away from the evil to come,
and that are now resting upon their beds, each one walking in
his righteousness. The men then asked, What must we do in the
holy place? To whom it was answered, You must there receive the
comforts of all your toil, and have

joy for all your sorrow; you must reap what you have sown, even
the fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and sufferings for the
King by the way. In that place you must wear crowns of gold, and
enjoy the perpetual sight and vision of the Holy One, for there
you shall see him as he is. There also you shall serve him
continually with praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom
you desired to serve in the world, though with much difficulty,
because of the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall be
delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the pleasant
voice of the Mighty One. There you shall enjoy your friends
again that are gone thither before you; and there you shall with
joy receive, even every one that follows into the holy place
after you. There also shall you be clothed with glory and
majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with the King
of Glory. When he shall come with sound of trumpet in the
clouds, as upon the wings of the wind, you shall come with him;
and when he shall sit upon the throne of judgment; you shall sit
by him; yea, and when he shall pass sentence upon all the
workers of iniquity, let them be angels or men, you also shall
have a voice in that judgment, because they were his and your
enemies. Also, when he shall again return to the city, you shall
go too, with sound of trumpet, and be ever with him.

Now while they were thus drawing towards the gate, behold a
company of the heavenly host came out to meet them; to whom it
was said, by the other two Shining Ones, These are the men that
have loved our Lord when they were in the world, and that have
left all for his holy name; and he hath sent us to fetch them,
and we have brought them thus far on their desired journey, that
they

may go in and look their Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the
heavenly host gave a great shout, saying, Blessed are they which
are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb. There came out
also at this time to meet them, several of the King's
trumpeters, clothed in white and shining raiment, who, with
melodious noises, and loud, made even the heavens to echo with
their sound. These trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow
with ten thousand welcomes from the world; and this they did
with shouting, and sound of trumpet.

This done, they compassed them round on every side; some went
before, some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the
left, (as it were to guard them through the upper regions,)
continually sounding as they went, with melodious noise, in
notes on high: so that the very sight was, to them that could
behold it, as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. Thus,
therefore, they walked on together; and as they walked, ever and
anon these trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, by mixing
their music with looks and gestures, still signify to Christian
and his brother, how welcome they were into their company, and
with what gladness they came to meet them; and now were these
two men, as it were, in heaven, before they came at it, being
swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with hearing of their
melodious notes. Here also they had the city itself in view, and
they thought they heard all the bells therein to ring, to
welcome them thereto. But above all, the warm and joyful
thoughts that they had about their own dwelling there, with such
company, and that for ever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen
can their glorious joy be expressed! And thus they came up to
the gate.

Now, when they were come up to the gate, there was written over
it in letters of gold, Blessed are they that do his
commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and
may enter in through the gates into the city.

Then I saw in my dream that the Shining Men bid them call at the
gate; the which, when they did, some looked from above over the
gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, &c., to whom it was
said, These pilgrims are come from the City of Destruction, for
the love that they bear to the King of this place; and then the
Pilgrims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which they
had received in the beginning; those, therefore, were carried in
to the King, who, when he had read them, said, Where are the
men? To whom it was answered, They are standing without the
gate. The King then commanded to open the gate, That the
righteous nation, said he, which keepeth the truth, may enter
in.

Now I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the gate:
and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had
raiment put on that shone like gold. There was also that met
them with harps and crowns, and gave them to them -- the harps
to praise withal, and the crowns in token of honour. Then I
heard in my dream that all the bells in the city rang again for
joy, and that it was said unto them, Enter ye into the joy of
your Lord. I also heard the men themselves, that they sang with
a loud voice, saying, Blessing and honour, and glory, and power,
be unto him that sitteth Upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for
ever and ever.

Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the men, I looked
in after them, and, behold, the City shone like the sun; the
streets also were paved with gold, and in

them walked many men, with crowns on their heads, palms in their
hands, and golden harps to sing praises withal.

There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one
another without intermission, saying, Holy, holy, holy, is the
Lord. And after that they shut up the gates; which, when I had
seen, I wished myself among them.

Now while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned my head
to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the river side; but
he soon got over, and that without half that difficulty which
the other two men met with. For it happened that there was then
in that place, one Vain-hope, a ferryman, that with his boat
helped him over; so he, as the other I saw, did ascend the hill,
to come up to the gate, only he came alone; neither did any man
meet him with the least encouragement. When he was come up to
the gate, he looked up to the writing that was above, and then
began to knock, supposing that entrance should have been quickly
administered to him; but he was asked by the men that looked
over the top of the gate, Whence came you, and what would you
have? He answered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the
King, and he has taught in our streets. Then they asked him for
his certificate, that they might go in and shew it to the King;
so he fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. Then said
they, Have you none? But the man answered never a word. So they
told the King, but he would not come down to see him, but
commanded the two Shining Ones that conducted Christian and
Hopeful to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind him
hand and foot, and have him away. Then they took him

up, and carried him through the air to the door that I saw in
the side of the hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that
there was a way to hell, even from the gates of heaven, as well
as from the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold it was
a dream.

                              Conclusion

Now, reader, I have told my dream to thee;
See if thou canst interpret it to me,
Or to thyself, or neighbour; but take heed
Of misinterpreting; for that, instead
Of doing good, will but thyself abuse:
By misinterpreting, evil ensues.

Take heed, also, that thou be not extreme,
In playing with the outside of my dream:
Nor let my figure or similitude
Put thee into a laughter or a feud.
Leave this for boys and fools; but as for thee,
Do thou the substance of my matter see.

Put by the curtains, look within my veil,
Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail,
There, if thou seekest them, such things to find,
As will be helpful to an honest mind.

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold
To throw away, but yet preserve the gold;
What if my gold be wrapped up in ore? -- 
None throws away the apple for the core.
But if thou shalt cast all away as vain,
I know not but 'twill make me dream again.

[End.]
.