CHR. Then said Christiana, "Though the highways have been unoccupied

heretofore, and though the travellers have been made in times past to

walk through by-paths, it must not be so now I am risen. 'Now I am risen

a mother in Israel.'"

GRIM. Then he swore by the lions, "But it should," and therefore bid

them turn aside, for they should not passage there.

But Great-heart their guide made first his approach unto Grim, and laid

so heavily at him with his sword, that he forced him to a retreat.

GRIM. Then said he that attempted to back the lions, "Will you slay me

upon mine own ground?"

GREAT. It is the King's highway that we are in, and in His way it is

that thou hast placed thy lions; but these women, and these children,

though weak, shall hold on their way in spite of thy lions.

And, with that, he gave him again a downright blow, and brought him upon

his knees. With this blow he also broke his helmet, and with the next he

cut off an arm. Then did the giant roar so hideously, that his voice

frighted the women, and yet they were glad to see him lie sprawling upon

the ground. Now, the lions were chained, and so of themselves could do

nothing.

Wherefore, when old Grim, that intended to back them, was dead, Mr.

Great-heart said to the pilgrims, "Come now, and follow me, and no hurt

shall happen to you from the lions." They therefore went on; but the

women trembled as they passed by them: the boys also looked as if they

would die; but they all got by without further hurt.

CHAPTER V.

THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL.

Now, then, they were within sight of the Porter's lodge, and they soon

came up unto it; but they made the more haste after this to go thither,

because it is dangerous travelling there in the night. So, when they

were come to the gate, the guide knocked, and the Porter cried, "Who is

there?" But as soon as the guide had said "It is I," he knew his voice,

and came down, for the guide had oft before that come thither as a

conductor of pilgrims. When he was come down he opened the gate; and,

seeing the guide stand just before it (for he saw not the women, for

they were behind him), he said unto him, "How now, Mr. Great-heart! what

is your business here so late to-night?"

"I have brought," said he, "some pilgrims hither, where, by my Lord's

commandment, they must lodge. I had been here some time ago, had I not

been opposed by the giant that did use to back the lions; but I, after a

long and tedious combat with him, have cut him off, and have brought the

pilgrims hither in safety."

PORT. Will you not go in, and stay till morning?

GREAT. No, I will return to my Lord to-night.

CHR. Oh, sir, I know not how to be willing you should leave us in our

pilgrimage: you have been so faithful and so loving to us, you have

fought so stoutly for us, you have been so hearty in counselling of us,

that I shall never forget your favor towards us.

MER. Then said Mercy, "Oh that we might have thy company to our

journey's end! How can such poor women as we hold out in a way so full

of troubles as this way is, without a friend and defender?"

JAMES. Then said James, the youngest of the boys, "Pray, sir, be

persuaded to go with us, and help us, because we are so weak, and the

way so dangerous as it is."

GREAT. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he shall allot me to be your

guide quite through, I will willingly wait upon you. But here you failed

at first; for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you should

have begged me of him to have gone quite through with you, and he would

have granted your request. However, at present I must withdraw; and so,

good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children, adieu.

Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her country and of

her kindred. And she said, "I come from the City of Destruction. I am a

widow woman, and my husband is dead: his name was Christian, the

pilgrim."

"How!" said the Porter, "was he your husband?"

[Sidenote: A JOYFUL RECEPTION]

"Yes," said she, "and these are his children, and this" (pointing to

Mercy) "is one of my townswomen."

Then the Porter rang his bell, as at such times he is wont, and there

came to the door one of the maids, whose name was Humble-mind; and to

her the Porter said, "Go, tell it within that Christiana, the wife of

Christian, and her children, are come hither on pilgrimage."

She went in, therefore, and told it. But oh, what a noise for gladness

was there within when the maid did but drop that word out of her mouth!

So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana stood still at the

door. Then some of those within said unto her, "Come in, Christiana,

come in, thou wife of that good man; come in, thou blessed woman; come

in, with all that are with thee."

So she went in, and they followed her that were her children and her

companions. Now, when they were gone in, they were had into a very large

room, where they were bidden to sit down. So they sat down, and the

chief of the house were called to see and welcome the guests. Then they

came in and understanding who they were did salute each other with a

kiss, and said, "Welcome, ye that bear the grace of God; welcome to us,

your friends!"

Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the pilgrims were weary

with their journey, and also made faint with the sight of the fight, and

of the terrible lions, therefore they desired, as soon as might be, to

prepare to go to rest. "Nay," said those of the family, "refresh

yourselves first with a morsel of meat;" for they had prepared for them

a lamb, with the accustomed sauce belonging thereto, for the Porter had

heard before of their coming, and had told it to them within. So, when

they had supped, and ended their prayer with a psalm, they desired they

might go to rest.

"But let us," said Christiana, "if we may be so bold as to choose, be in

that chamber that was my husband's when he was here."

So they had them up thither, and they lay all in a room. When they were

at rest, Christiana and Mercy entered into discourse about things that

were convenient.

CHR. Little did I think once, when my husband went on pilgrimage, that I

should ever have followed.

MER. And you as little thought of lying in his bed, and in his chamber

to rest, as you do now.

CHR. And much less did I ever think of seeing his face with comfort, and

of worshipping the Lord the King with him; and yet now I believe I

shall.

MER. Hark! don't you hear a noise?

CHR. Yes, it is, as I believe, a noise of music, for joy that we are

here.

MER. Wonderful! Music in the house, music in the heart, and music also

in heaven, for joy that we are here!

[Sidenote: MERCY'S DREAM]

Thus they talked a while, and then betook themselves to sleep. So in the

morning, when they were awake, Christiana said to Mercy, "What was the

matter, that you did laugh in your sleep to-night? I suppose you were in

a dream."

MER. So I was, and a sweet dream it was; but are you sure I laughed?

CHR. Yes, you laughed heartily; but, prithee, Mercy, tell me thy dream.

MER. I was dreaming that I sat all alone in a solitary place, and was

bemoaning of the hardness of my heart. Now, I had not sat there long,

but methought many were gathered about me to see me, and to hear what it

was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on bemoaning the hardness

of my heart. At this, some of them laughed at me, some called me fool,

and some thrust me about. With that, methought I looked up, and saw one

coming with wings towards me. So he came directly to me, and said,

"Mercy, what aileth thee?" Now, when he had heard me make my complaint,

he said, "Peace be to thee;" he also wiped mine eyes with his

handkerchief, and clad me in silver and gold. He put a chain about my

neck, and ear-rings in mine ears, and a beautiful crown upon my head.

Then he took me by the hand, and said, "Mercy, come after me." So he

went up, and I followed, till we came to a golden gate. Then he knocked;

and when they within opened, the man went in, and I followed him up to a

throne upon which One sat; and He said to me, "Welcome, daughter!" The

place looked bright and twinkling, like the stars, or rather like the

sun; and I thought that I saw your husband there. So I awoke from my

dream. But did I laugh?

CHR. Laugh! ay, and well you might, to see yourself so well. For you

must give me leave to tell you, that I believe it was a good dream; and

that, as you have begun to find the first part true, so you shall find

the second at last. "God speaks once, yea, twice, yet man perceiveth it

not; in a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon

men, in slumberings upon the bed." We need not, when abed, to lie awake

to talk with God: He can visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to

hear His voice. Our heart oftentimes wakes when we sleep; and God can

speak to that, either by words, by proverbs, or by signs and

similitudes, as well as if one was awake.

MER. Well, I am glad of my dream; for I hope ere long to see it

fulfilled, to the making of me laugh again.

CHR. I think it is now high time to rise, and to know what we must do.

MER. Pray, if they invite us to stay, a while, let us willingly accept

of the proffer. I am the willinger to stay a while here, to grow better

acquainted with these maids. Methinks Prudence, Piety, and Charity have

very lovely and sober countenances.

CHR. We shall see what they will do.

So, when they were up and ready, they came down; and they asked one

another of their rest, and if it was comfortable or not.

MER. "Very good," said Mercy; "it was one of the best nights' lodging

that ever I had in my life."

Then said Prudence and Piety, "If you will be persuaded to stay here a

while, you shall have what the house will afford."

CHAR. "Ay, and that with a very good will," said Charity.

So they consented, and stayed there about a month, or above, and became

very profitable one to another.

[Sidenote: MR. BRISK VISITS MERCY]

Now, by that these pilgrims had been at this place a week, Mercy had a

visitor that pretended some good-will unto her; and his name was Mr.

Brisk; a man of some breeding, and that pretended to religion, but a man

that stuck very close to the world. So he came once or twice, or more,

to Mercy, and offered love unto her. Now, Mercy was a fair countenance,

and therefore the more alluring.

Her mind also was, to be always busying of herself in doing; for, when

she had nothing to do for herself, she would be making of hose and

garments for others, and would bestow them upon them that had need. And

Mr. Brisk, not knowing where or how she disposed of what she made,

seemed to be greatly taken, for that he found her never idle. "I will

warrant her a good housewife," quoth he to himself.

Mercy then told the matter to the maidens that were of the house, and

inquired of them concerning him; for they did know him better than she.

So they told her that he was a very busy young man, and one who

pretended to serve the Lord, but was, as they feared, a stranger to the

power of that which is good.

"Nay, then," said Mercy, "I will look no more on him; for I purpose

never to have a clog to my soul."

Prudence then replied that "There needed no great matter of

discouragement to be given to him; her continuing so as she had begun to

do for the poor would quickly cool his courage."

So, the next time he comes, he finds her at her old work, a-making of

things for the poor. Then said he, "What! always at it?"

"Yes," said she, "either for myself or for others."

"And what canst thou earn a day?" quoth he.

"I do these things," said she, "that I may be rich in good works, laying

up in store for myself a good foundation against the time to come, that

I may lay hold on eternal life."

"Why, prithee, what doest thou with them?" said he.

"Clothe the naked," said she.

With that, his countenance fell. So he forbore to come at her again. And

when he was asked the reason why, he said that "Mercy was a pretty lass,

but troubled with too much working for others."

[Sidenote: MERCY REJECTS THE SUITOR]

When he had left her, Prudence said, "Did I not tell thee that Mr. Brisk

would soon forsake thee? yea, he will raise up an ill report of thee;

for, notwithstanding his pretence to serve bad and his seeming love to

Mercy, yet Mercy and he are of tempers so different, that I believe they

will never come together."

MER. I might have had husbands afore now, though I spake not of it to

any; but they were such as did not like my ways, though never did any of

them find fault with my person. So they and I could not agree.

PRUD. Mercy in our days is little set by, any further than as to its

name: the practice, which is set forth by thy works, there are but few

that can abide.

MER. "Well," said Mercy, "if nobody will have me, I will die a maid, or

my works shall be to me as a husband; for I cannot change my nature; and

to have one that lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to admit

of as long as I live. I had a sister, named Bountiful, that was married

to one of these selfish people; but he and she could never agree; but,

because my sister was resolved to do as she had begun, that is, to show

kindness to the poor, therefore her husband first cried her down in

public, and then turned her out of his doors."

PRUD. And yet he was a church-member, I warrant you?

MER. Yes, such a one as he was; and of such as he the world is now

full; but I am for none of them at all.

[Sidenote: MATTHEW FALLS SICK]

Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, and his sickness

was sore upon him for he was much pained in his bowels; so that he was

with it, at times, pulled as it were both ends together.

There dwelt also not far from thence one Mr. Skill, an ancient and

well-approved physician. So Christiana desired it and they sent for him,

and he came. When he was entered the room, and had a little observed the

boy, he concluded that he was sick of the gripes. Then he said to his

mother, "What diet has Matthew of late fed upon?"

"Diet!" said Christiana, "nothing but that which is wholesome."

The physician answered, "This boy has been tampering with something that

lies in his stomach undigested, and that will not away without means.

And I tell you he must be purged, or else he will die."

SAM. Then said Samuel, "Mother, what was that which my brother did

gather up and eat, so soon as we were come from the gate that is at the

head of this way? You know that there was an orchard on the left hand,

on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees hung over the wall,

and my brother did pull down the branches and did eat."

CHR. "True, my child," said Christiana, "he did take thereof and did

eat; naughty boy as he was, I did chide him, and yet he would eat

thereof."

SKILL. I knew he had eaten something that was not wholesome food; and

that food, to wit, that fruit, is even the most hurtful of all. It is

the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you of

it: many have died thereof.

CHR. Then Christiana began to cry, and she said, "Oh, naughty boy! and

oh, careless mother! What shall I do for my son?"

SKILL. Come, do not be too much dejected; the boy may do well again, but

he must purge and vomit.

CHR. Pray, sir, try the utmost of your skill with him, whatever it

costs.

SKILL. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable.

[Sidenote: DOCTOR SKILL PRESCRIBES]

So he made him a purge, but it was too weak; it was said, it was made of

the blood of a goat, the ashes of an heifer, and with some of the juice

of hyssop, etc. When Mr. Skill had seen that that purge was too weak, he

made him one to the purpose. It was made [the name was written in Latin]

_ex carne et sanguine Christi_;[8] (you know physicians give strange

medicines to their patients)--and it was made up into pills, with a

promise or two, and a proportionable quantity of salt. Now, he was to

take them three at a time, fasting, in half a quarter of a pint of the

tears of sorrow.

[8] That is, "of the body and blood of Christ."

When this potion was prepared and brought to the boy, he was loth to

take it, though torn with the gripes as if he should be pulled in

pieces.

"Come, come," said the physician, "you must take it."

"It goes against my stomach," said the boy.

"I must have you take it," said his mother.

"I shall vomit it up again," said the boy.

"Pray, sir," said Christiana to Mr. Skill, "how does it taste?"

"It has no ill taste," said the doctor; and with that she touched one of

the pills with the tip of her tongue.

"O Matthew," said she, "this potion is sweeter than honey. If thou

lovest thy mother, if thou lovest thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, if

thou lovest thy life, take it."

So, with much ado, after a short prayer for the blessing of God upon it,

he took it, and it wrought kindly with him. It caused him to purge, it

caused him to sleep and rest quietly; it put him into a fine heat and

breathing sweat, and did quite rid him of his gripes. So, in a little

time he got up, and walked about with a staff, and would go from room to

room, and talk with Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of his sickness, and

how he was healed.

So, when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. Skill, saying, "Sir,

what will content you for your pains and care to and of my child?"

And he said, "You must pay the Master of the College of Physicians,

according to the rules made in that case and provided."

CHR. "But, sir," said she, "what is this pill good for else?"

SKILL. It is an universal pill: it is good against all the diseases that

pilgrims are troubled with; and when it is well prepared, it will keep

good time out of mind.

CHR. Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them; for if I can get these,

I will never take other physic.

SKILL. These pills are good to prevent diseases, as well as to cure when

one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a man will but

use this physic as he should, it will make him live for ever. But, good

Christiana, thou must give these pills no other way than as I have

prescribed; for if you do, they will do no good. So he gave unto

Christiana physic for herself and her boys, and for Mercy; and bid

Matthew take heed how he ate any more green plums; and kissed them and

went his way.

It was told you before, that Prudence bid the boys, if at any time they

would, they should ask her some questions that might be profitable, and

she would say something to them.

MATT. Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, "Why, for the most

part, physic should be bitter to our palates?"

PRUD. To show how unwelcome the Word of God, and the effects thereof,

are to a sinful heart.

MATT. Why does physic, if it does good, purge and cause that we vomit?

PRUD. To show that the Word, when it works effectually, cleanseth the

heart and mind. For look, what the one doth to the body, the other doth

to the soul.

MATT. What should we learn by seeing the flame of our fire go upwards,

and by seeing the beams and sweet influences of the sun strike

downwards?

PRUD. By the going up of the fire, we are taught to ascend to heaven by

fervent and hot desires. And by the sun's sending his heat, beams, and

sweet influences downwards, we are taught that the Saviour of the world,

though high reaches down with His grace and love to us below.

MATT. Where have the clouds their water?

PRUD. Out of the sea.

MATT. What may we learn from that?

PRUD. That ministers should fetch their teaching from God.

MATT. Why do they empty themselves upon the earth?

PRUD. To show that ministers should give out what they know of God to

the world.

MATT. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun?

PRUD. To show that the promise of God's grace is made sure to us in

Christ.

MATT. Why do the springs come from the sea to us through the earth?

PRUD. To show that the grace of God comes to us through the body of

Christ.

MATT. Why do some of the springs rise out of the tops of high hills?

PRUD. To show that the spirit of grace shall spring up in some that are

great and mighty, as well as in many that are poor and low.

MATT. Why doth the fire fasten upon the candle-wick?

PRUD. To show that, unless grace doth kindle upon the heart, there will

be no true light of life in us.

MATT. Why is the wick, and tallow, and all, spent to maintain the light

of the candle?

PRUD. To show that body, and soul, and all, should be at the service of,

and spend themselves to maintain in good condition, that grace of God

that is in us.

MATT. Why doth the pelican pierce her own breast with her bill?

PRUD. To nourish her young ones with her blood, and thereby to show that

Christ the Blessed so loveth His young (His people), as to save them

from death by His blood.

MATT. What may one learn by hearing the cock to crow?

PRUD. Learn to remember Peter's sin and Peter's sorrow. The cock's

crowing shows also that day is coming on: let, then, the crowing of the

cock put thee in mind of that last and terrible day of judgment.

Now, about this time, their month was out; wherefore they signified to

those of the house that it was convenient for them to be up and going.

Then said Joseph to his mother, "It is convenient that you forget not to

send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to grant that Mr.

Great-heart should be sent unto us, that he may be our conductor the

rest of our way."

"Good boy," said she, "I had almost forgot." So she drew up a petition,

and prayed Mr. Watchful the Porter to send it by some fit man to her

good friend Mr. Interpreter, who, when it was come, and he had seen the

contents of the petition, said to the messenger, "Go, tell them that I

will send him."

When the family where Christiana was saw that they had a purpose to go

forward, they called the whole house together, to give thanks to their

King for sending of them such profitable guests as these. Which done,

they said unto Christiana, "And shall we not show thee something,

according, as our custom is to do to pilgrims, on which thou mayest

meditate when thou art upon the way?"

[Sidenote: THE PILGRIMS VIEW CURIOSITIES]

So they took Christiana, her children, and Mercy, into the closet, and

showed them one of the apples that Eve did eat of, and that which she

also did give to her husband, and that for the eating of which they were

both turned out of Paradise, and asked her what she thought that was.

Then Christiana said, "It is food or poison, I know not which."

So they opened the matter to her, and she held up her hands and

wondered.

Then they had her to a place, and showed her Jacob's ladder. Now, at

that time there were some angels ascending upon it. So Christiana looked

and looked, to see the angels go up, and so did the rest of the company.

Then they were going into another place, to show them something else;

but James said to his mother, "Pray bid them stay here a little longer,

for this is a curious sight." So they turned again, and stood feeding

their eyes with this so pleasing a prospect.

After this they had them into a place where did hang up a golden anchor.

So they bid Christiana take it down; "For," said they, "you shall have

it with you, for it is of absolute necessity that you should, that you

may lay hold of that within the veil, and stand steadfast, in case you

should meet with turbulent weather." So they were glad thereof.

Then they took them, and had them to the mount upon which Abraham our

father had offered up Isaac his son, and showed them the altar, the

wood, the fire, and the knife; for they remain to be seen to this very

day. When they had seen it, they held up their hands, and blessed

themselves, and said, "Oh! what a man for love to his Master, and for

denial to himself, was Abraham!"

After they had showed them all these things, Prudence took them into the

dining-room, where stood a pair of excellent virginals;[9] so she

played upon them, and turned what she had showed them into this

excellent song, saying:

"Eve's apple we have showed you--

Of that be you aware;

You have seen Jacob's ladder too,

Upon which angels are.

An anchor you received have:

But let not these suffice,

Until with Abra'm, you have gave

Your best a sacrifice."

[9] An instrument of music, used in the time of John Bunyan, somewhat

like a very small piano.

[Sidenote: GREAT-HEART CONDUCTS THEM]

Now, about this time, one knocked at the door. So the Porter opened, and

behold, Mr. Great-heart was there; but when he was come in, what joy was

there! For it came now fresh again into their minds, how, but a while

ago, he had slain old Grim Bloody-man, the giant, and had delivered them

from the lions.

Then said Mr. Great-heart to Christiana and to Mercy, "My lord has sent

each of you a bottle of wine, and also some parched corn, together with

a couple of pomegranates; he has also sent the boys some figs and

raisins, to refresh you in your way."

Then they addressed themselves to their journey; and Prudence and Piety

went along with them. When they came at the gate, Christiana asked the

Porter if any one of late went by.

He said, "No; only one some time since, who also told me that, of late,

there had been a great robbery committed on the King's highway as you

go. But he saith the thieves are taken, and will shortly be tried for

their lives."

Then Christiana and Mercy were afraid; but Matthew said, "Mother, fear

nothing as long as Mr. Great-heart is to go with us, and to be our

conductor."

Then said Christiana to the Porter, "Sir, I am much obliged to you for

all the kindnesses that you have shown me since I came hither, and also

for that you have been so loving and kind to my children. I know not how

to gratify your kindness; wherefore, pray, as a token of my respects to

you, accept of this small mite."

So she put a gold angel[10] in his hand; and he made her a low

obeisance, and said, "Let thy garments be always white, and let thy head

want no ointment. Let Mercy live and not die, and let not her works be

few." And to the boys he said, "Do you flee youthful passions, and

follow after godliness with them that are grave and wise, so shall you

put gladness into your mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are

sober-minded."

[10] An old English coin, bearing the figure of an angel.

So they thanked the Porter, and departed.

Now I saw in my dream that they went forward until they were come to the

brow of the hill; where Piety, bethinking herself, cried out, "Alas! I

have forgot what I intended to bestow upon Christiana and her

companions: I will go back and fetch it." So she ran and fetched it.

While she was gone, Christiana thought she heard, in a grove a little

way off on the right hand, a most curious melodious note, with words

much like these:

"Through all my life Thy favor is

So frankly showed to me,

That in Thy house for evermore

My dwelling-place shall be."

And listening still, she thought she heard another answer it, saying:

"For why? the Lord our God is good;

His mercy is for ever sure;

His truth at all times firmly stood,

And shall from age to age endure."

So Christiana asked Prudence what it was that made those curious notes.

"They are," said she, "our country birds: they sing these notes but

seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers appear and the sun

shines warm, and then you may hear them all day long. I often," said

she, "go out to hear them; we also ofttimes keep them tame in our house.

They are very fine company for us when we are melancholy; also they make

the woods, and groves, and solitary places, places desirable to be in."

By this time Piety was come again. So she said to Christiana, "Look

here: I have brought thee a plan of all those things that thou hast seen

at our house, upon which thou mayest look when thou findest thyself

forgetful, and call those things again to remembrance for thy teaching

and comfort."

CHAPTER VI.

THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.

Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley of Humiliation. It

was a steep hill, and the way was slippery; but they were very careful,

so they got down pretty well. When they were down in the valley, Piety

said to Christiana, "This is the place where Christian, your husband,

met with the foul fiend Apollyon, and where they had that dreadful fight

that they had: I know you cannot but have heard thereof. But be of good

courage: as long as you have here Mr. Great-heart to be your guide and

conductor, we hope you will fare the better."

So when these two had given the pilgrims unto the care of their guide,

he went forward, and they went after.

GREAT. Then said Mr. Great-heart, "We need not to be so afraid of this

valley, for here is nothing to hurt us, unless we procure it to

ourselves. It is true that Christian did here meet with Apollyon, with

whom he had also a sore combat; but that fray was the fruit of those

slips that he got in his going down the hill; for they that get slips

there, must look for combats here. And hence it is that this valley has

got so hard a name. For the common people, when they hear that some

frightful thing has befallen such a one in such a place, are of an

opinion that that place is haunted with some foul fiend or evil spirit;

when, alas! it is for the fruit of their doing that such things do

befall them there. This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a

place as any the crow flies over; and I am persuaded, if we could hit

upon it, we might find, somewhere hereabouts, something that might give

us an account why Christian was so hardly beset in this place."

Then James said to his mother, "Lo, yonder stands a pillar, and it looks

as if something was written thereon: let us go and see what it is." So

they went, and found there written, "Let Christian's slips before he

came hither, and the battles that he met with in this place, be a

warning to those that come after."

"Lo!" said their guide, "did not I tell you that there was something

hereabouts that would give intimation of the reason why Christian was so

hard beset in this place?" Then turning himself to Christiana, he said,

"No disgrace to Christian, more than to many others whose hap and loss

his was; for it is easier going up than down this hill; and that can be

said but of few hills in all these parts of the world. But we will leave

the good man: he is at rest; he also had a brave victory over his enemy.

Let Him that dwelleth above grant that we fare no worse, when we come to

be tried, than he.

"But we will come again to this Valley of Humiliation. It is the best

and most fruitful piece of ground in all these parts. It is fat ground,

and, as you see, consisteth much in meadows; and if a man was to come

here in the summer-time, as we do now, if he knew not anything before

thereof, and if he also delighted himself in the sight of his eyes, he

might see that that would be delightful to him. Behold how green this

valley is, also how beautified with lilies! I have also known many

laboring men that have got good estates in this valley of Humiliation;

for 'God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble.' Indeed,

it is a very fruitful soil, and doth bring forth by handfuls. Some also

have wished that the next way to their Father's house were here, that

they might be troubled no more with either hills or mountains to go

over; but the way is the way, and there's an end."

Now, as they were going along and talking, they espied a boy feeding his

father's sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, but of a very fresh

and well-favored countenance; and as he sat by himself he sang. "Hark,"

said Mr. Great-heart, "to what the shepherd's boy saith." So they

hearkened, and he said:

"He that is down needs fear no fall

He that is low, no pride;

He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide.

"I am content with what I have

Little be it or much:

And, Lord, contentment still I crave

Because Thou savest much.

"Fulness to such a burden is,

That go on pilgrimage;

Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best from age to age."

Then said their guide, "Do you hear him? I will dare to say that this

boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of that herb called

heart's-ease in his bosom, than he that is clad in silk and velvet. But

we will proceed in our account of this valley.

"In this valley our Lord formerly had His country house: He loved much

to be here. He loved also to walk these meadows, for He found the air

was pleasant. Besides, here a man shall be free from the noise and from

the hurryings of this life. All states are full of noise and confusion,

only the Valley of Humiliation is that empty and solitary place. Here a

man shall not be so let and hindered in his thoughts as in other places

he is apt to be. This is a valley that nobody walks in but those that

love a pilgrim's life. And though Christian had the hard hap to meet

here with Apollyon, and to enter with him into a brisk encounter, yet I

must tell you that in former times men have met with angels here, have

found pearls here, and have in this place found the words of life.

"Did I say, our Lord had here in former days His country house, and

that He loved here to walk? I will add, in this place, and to the people

that love to tread these grounds, He has left a yearly sum of money, to

be faithfully paid them at certain seasons, for their support by the

way, and for their further encouragement to go on their pilgrimage."

SAM. Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great-heart, "Sir, I

perceive that in this valley my father and Apollyon had their battle;

but whereabout was the fight? for I perceive this valley is large."

[Sidenote: FORGETFUL GREEN]

GREAT. Your father had that battle with Apollyon at a place yonder

before us, in a narrow passage just beyond Forgetful Green. And, indeed,

that place is the most dangerous place in all these parts. For, if at

any time the pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they forget what

favors they have received, and how unworthy they are of them. This is

the place also where others have been hard put to it. But more of the

place when we are come to it; for I persuade myself, that to this day

there remains either some sign of the battle, or some monument to

testify that such a battle there was fought.

MER. Then said Mercy, "I think that I am as well in this valley as I

have been anywhere else in all our journey: the place, methinks, suits

with my spirit. I love to be in such places, where there is no rattling

with coaches nor rumbling with wheels. Methinks here one may, without

much trouble, be thinking what he is, whence he came, what he has done,

and to what the King has called him. Here one may think and break at

heart, and melt in one's spirit, until one's eyes become like the

fish-pools in Heshbon. They that go rightly through this Valley of Baca,

make it a well; the rain that God sends down from heaven upon them that

are here also filleth the pools. This valley is that from whence also

the King will give to His their vineyards; and they that go through it

shall sing, as Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon."

GREAT. "'Tis true," said their guide; "I have gone through this valley

many a time, and never was better than when here. I have also been a

conductor to several pilgrims, and they have confessed the same. 'To

this man will I look,' saith the King, 'even to him that is poor and of

a contrite spirit, and that trembleth at my word.'"

Now they were come to the place where the afore-mentioned battle was

fought. Then said the guide to Christiana, her children, and Mercy,

"This is the place; on this ground Christian stood, and up there came

Apollyon against him. And look--did not I tell you?--here is some of

your husband's blood upon these stones to this day. Behold, also, how

here and there are yet to be seen upon the place some of the shivers of

Apollyon's broken darts. See also how they did beat the ground with

their feet as they fought, to make good their places against each other;

how also, with their by-blows, they did split the very stones in

pieces. Verily, Christian did here play the man, and showed himself as

stout as could, had he been there, even Hercules himself. When Apollyon

was beat, he made his retreat to the next valley, that is called the

Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come soon. Lo, yonder

also stands a monument, on which is engraven this battle, and

Christian's victory, to his fame throughout all ages."

[Sidenote: VALLEY OF SHADOW OF DEATH]

So, because it stood just on the way-side before them, they stepped to

it, and read the writing, which word for word was this:

"Hard by here was a battle fought,

Most strange, and yet most true;

Christian and Apollyon sought

Each other to subdue.

"The man so bravely played the man,

He made the fiend to fly;

Of which a monument I stand,

The same to testify."

When they had passed by this place, they came upon the borders of the

Shadow of Death. This valley was longer than the other; a place also

most strangely haunted with evil things, as many are able to testify;

but these women and children went the better through it, because they

had daylight, and because Mr. Great-heart was their conductor.

When they were entered upon this valley, they thought that they heard a

groaning, as of dead men--a very great groaning. They thought also that

they did hear words of moaning spoken, as of some in extreme torment.

These things made the boys to quake; the women also looked pale and wan;

but their guide bid them be of good comfort.

So they went on a little farther, and they thought that they felt the

ground begin to shake under them, as if some hollow place was there;

they heard also a kind of hissing, as of serpents; but nothing as yet

appeared. Then said the boys, "Are we not yet at the end of this doleful

place?" But the guide also bid them be of good courage, and look well to

their feet; "lest haply," said he, "you be taken in some snare."

Now James began to be sick; but I think the cause thereof was fear; so

his mother gave him some of that glass of spirits that had been given

her at the Interpreter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. Skill

had prepared; and the boy began to revive. Thus they went on till they

came to about the middle of the valley; and then Christiana said,

"Methinks I see something yonder upon the road before us, a thing of

such a shape as I have not seen." Then said Joseph, "Mother, what is

it?" "An ugly thing, child, an ugly thing," said she. "But, mother, what

is it like?" said he. "'Tis like I cannot tell what," said she, "and now

it is but a little way off." Then said she, "It is nigh!"

[Sidenote: RESIST THE DEVIL]

"Well, well," said Mr. Great-heart, "let them that are most afraid keep

close to me." So the fiend came on, and the conductor met it; but, when

it was just come to him, it vanished to all their sights. Then

remembered they what had been said some time ago, "Resist the devil, and

he will flee from you."

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed. But they had not

gone far before Mercy, looking behind her, saw, as she thought,

something most like a lion, and it came a great padding pace after; and

it had a hollow voice of roaring, and at every roar that it gave it made

all the valley echo, and all their hearts to ache, save the heart of him

that was their guide. So it came up, and Mr. Great-heart went behind,

and put the pilgrims all before him. The lion also came on apace, and

Mr. Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle. But, when he saw

that it was determined that resistance should be made, he also drew

back, and came no farther.

They then went on again, and their conductor did go before them, till

they came to a place where was cast up a pit the whole breadth of the

way; and before they could be prepared to go over that, a great mist and

darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then said the

pilgrims, "Alas! what now shall we do?" But their guide made answer,

"Fear not, stand still, and see what an end will be put to this also."

So they stayed there, because their path was marred. They then also

thought that they did hear more apparently the noise and rushing of the

enemies; the fire also, and the smoke of the pit, were much easier to be

discerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, "Now I see what my poor

husband went through. I have heard much of this place, but I never was

here before now. Poor man! he went here all alone in the night; he had

night almost quite through the way; also these fiends were busy about

him, as if they would have torn him in pieces. Many have spoken of it,

but none can tell what the Valley of the Shadow of Death should mean,

until they come in it themselves. 'The heart knoweth its own bitterness,

and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.' To be here is a fearful

thing."

GREAT. This is like doing business in great waters, or like going down

into the deep. This is like being in the heart of the sea, and like

going down to the bottoms of the mountains. Now it seems as if the

earth, with its bars, were about us for ever. But let them that walk in

darkness and have no light, trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon

their God. For my part, as I have told you already, I have gone often

through this valley, and have been much harder put to it than now I am;

and yet, you see, I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not mine

own saviour; but I trust we shall have a good deliverance. Come, let us

pray for light to Him that can lighten our darkness, and that can

rebuke not only these, but all the Satans in hell.

So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and deliverance; for there

was now no hindrance in their way, no, not there where but now they were

stopped with a pit. Yet they were not got through the valley; so they

went on still; and behold, great stinks and loathsome smells, to the

great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana, "It is not so

pleasant being here as at the gate, or at the Interpreter's, or at the

house where we lay last."

"Oh, but," said one of the boys, "it is not so bad to go through here as

it is to abide here always; and, for aught I know, one reason why we

must go this way to the house prepared for us is, that our home might be

made the sweeter to us."

"Well said, Samuel," quoth the guide; "thou hast now spoke like a man."

"Why, if ever I get out here again," said the boy, "I think I shall

prize light and good way better than ever I did in all my life."

Then said the guide, "We shall be out by-and-by."

So on they went, and Joseph said, "Cannot we see to the end of this

valley as yet?"

[Sidenote: AMONG THE SNARES]

Then said the guide, "Look to your feet, for we shall presently be among

the snares."

So they looked to their feet, and went on; but they were troubled much

with the snares. Now, when they were come among the snares, they espied

a man cast into the ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all rent and

torn.

Then said the guide, "That is one Heedless, that was going this way; he

has lain there a great while. There was one Take-heed with him when he

was taken and slain, but he escaped their hands. You cannot imagine how

many are killed hereabouts; and yet men are so foolishly venturous as to

set out lightly on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor

Christian! it is a wonder that he here escaped; but he was beloved of

his God, also he had a good heart of his own, or else he could never

have done it."

[Sidenote: GREAT-HEART ENCOUNTERS MAUL]

Now they drew towards the end of the way; and just where Christian had

seen the cave when he went by, out thence came forth Maul, a giant. This

Maul did use to spoil young pilgrims by deceiving them; and he called

Great-heart by his name, and said unto him, "How many times have you

been forbidden to do these things?"

Then said Mr. Great-heart, "What things?"

"What things!" quoth the giant; "you know what things; but I will put an

end to your trade."

"But pray," said Mr. Great-heart, "before we fall to it, let us

understand wherefore we must fight."

Now the women and children stood trembling, and knew not what to do.

Quoth the giant, "You rob the country, and rob it with the worst of

thefts."

"These are but random words," said Mr. Great-heart; "tell what robberies

I have done, man."

Then said the giant, "Thou practicest the craft of a kidnapper: thou

gatherest up women and children, and carriest them into a strange

country, to the weakening of my master's kingdom."

But now Great-heart replied, "I am a servant of the God of heaven; my

business is to persuade sinners to turn to God. I am commanded to do my

best to turn men, women, and children from darkness to light, and from

the power of Satan unto God; and if this be indeed the ground of thy

quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt."

[Sidenote: THE GIANT IS SLAIN]

Then the giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to meet him; and as he

went, he drew his sword, but the giant had a club. So without more ado

they fell to it; and, at the first blow, the giant struck Mr.

Great-heart down upon one of his knees. With that, the women and

children cried out. So Mr. Great-heart, recovering himself, laid about

him in full lusty manner, and gave the giant a wound in his arm. Thus he

fought for the space of an hour, to that height of heat, that the breath

came out of the giant's nostrils as the heat doth out of a boiling

cauldron.

Then they sat down to rest them; but Mr. Great-heart betook himself to

prayer. Also the women and children did nothing but sigh and cry all the

time that the battle did last.

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they both fell to it again;

and Mr. Great-heart with a blow fetched the giant down to the ground.

"Nay, hold, and let me recover," quoth he. So Mr. Great-heart fairly let

him get up: so to it they went again; and the giant missed but little of

breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his club.

Mr. Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat of his spirit,

and pierceth him under the fifth rib. With that the giant began to

faint, and could hold up his club no longer. Then Mr. Great-heart

seconded his blow, and smote the head of the giant from his shoulders.

Then the women and the children rejoiced, and Mr. Great-heart also

praised God for the deliverance He had wrought.

When this was done, they amongst them erected a pillar, and fastened the

giant's head thereon, and wrote under it in letters that passengers

might read:

"He that did wear this head, was one

That pilgrims did misuse;

He stopped their way, he spared none,

But did them all abuse;

Until that I, Great-heart, arose,

The pilgrims' guide to be;

Until that I did him oppose

That was their enemy."

Now, I saw that they went to the high ground that was a little way off,

cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims. That was the place from whence

Christiana had the first sight of Faithful his brother. Wherefore here

they sat down and rested. They also here did eat and drink and make

merry, for that they had gotten deliverance from this so dangerous an

enemy. As they sat thus and did eat, Christiana asked the guide if he

had caught no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Great-heart, "No, save a

little on my flesh; yet that also shall be so far from being to my harm

that it is at present a proof of my love to my Master and you, and shall

be a means, by grace, to increase my reward at last."

CHR. But were you not afraid, good sir, when you saw him come out with

his club?

GREAT. "It is my duty," said he, "to mistrust my own ability, that I may

have trust in Him who is stronger than all."

CHR. But what did you think when he fetched you down to the ground at

the first blow?

GREAT. "Why, I thought," replied he, "that so my Master Himself was

served; and yet He it was that conquered at the last."

MATT. When you all have thought what you please, I think God has been

wonderful good unto us, both in bringing us out of this valley, and in

delivering us out of the hand of this enemy. For my part, I see no

reason why we should distrust our God any more, since He has now, and in

such a place as this, given us such proof of His love as this.

[Sidenote: OLD HONEST]

Then they got up and went forward. Now, a little before them stood an

oak; and under it, when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim fast

asleep. They knew that he was a pilgrim by his clothes, and his staff,

and his girdle.

So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him; and the old gentleman, as he

lifted up his eyes, cried out, "What's the matter? what are you, and

what is your business here?"

GREAT. Come, man, be not so hot; here are none but friends.

Yet the old man gets up, and stands upon his guard, and will know of

them what they are. Then said the guide, "My name is Great-heart; I am

the guide of these pilgrims, that are going to the Celestial Country."

HONEST. Then said Mr. Honest, "I cry you mercy: I feared that you had

been of the company of those that some time ago did rob Little-Faith of

his money; but now I look better about me I perceive you are honester

people."

GREAT. Why, what would or could you have done to have helped yourself,

if we indeed had been of that company?

HON. Done! why, I would have fought as long as breath had been in me;

and, had I so done, I am sure you could never have given me the worst

on't, for a Christian can never be overcome unless he shall yield of

himself.

GREAT. "Well said, Father Honest," quoth the guide; "for by this I know

thou art a cock of the right kind, for thou hast said the truth."

HON. And by this also I know that thou knowest what true pilgrimage is;

for all others do think that we are the soonest overcome of any.

[Sidenote: CONVERSES WITH HONEST]

GREAT. Well, now we are so happily met, pray let me crave your name, and

the name of the place you came from.

HON. My name I cannot; but I came from the town of Stupidity; it lieth

about four degrees beyond the City of Destruction.

GREAT. Oh! are you that countryman? then I deem I have half a guess of

you: your name is old Honesty, is it not?

HON. So the old gentleman blushed, and said, "Not Honesty, but Honest is

my name; and I wish that my nature may agree to what I am called. But,

sir," said the old gentleman, "how could you guess that I am such a man,

since I came from such a place?"

GREAT. I had heard of you before by my Master; for He knows all things

that are done on the earth. But I have often wondered that any should

come from your place, for your town is worse than is the City of

Destruction itself.

HON. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are more cold and

senseless. But were a man in a mountain of ice, yet if the Sun of

Righteousness should rise upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw;

and thus it hath been with me.

GREAT. I believe it, Father Honest, I believe it; for I know the thing

is true.

Then the old gentleman saluted all the pilgrims with a holy kiss of

love, and asked them their names, and how they had fared since they had

set out on their pilgrimage.

CHR. Then said Christiana, "My name I suppose you have heard of: good

Christian was my husband, and these are his children."

But can you think how the old gentleman was taken when she told him who

she was? He skipped, he smiled, he blessed them with a thousand good

wishes, saying:

HON. I have heard much of your husband, and of his travels and wars

which he underwent in his days. Be it spoken to your comfort, the name

of your husband rings all over these parts of the world: his faith, his

courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, have made his name

famous. Then he turned him to the boys, and asked of them their names,

which they told him. Then he said unto them, "Matthew, be thou like

Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in virtue. Samuel," said he, "be

thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith and prayer. Joseph," said

he, "be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, pure, and one that flees

from temptation. And James, be thou like James the Just, and like James

the brother of our Lord." Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had

left her town and her kindred to come along with Christiana and with her

sons. At that, the old honest man said, "Mercy is thy name? by Mercy

shalt thou be sustained and carried through all those difficulties that

shall attack thee in thy way, till thou shalt come thither where thou

shalt look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with comfort."

All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very well pleased and

smiled upon his companion.

[Sidenote: THEY DISCUSS MR. FEARING]

Now, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman if

he did not know one Mr. Fearing, that came on pilgrimage out of his

parts.

HON. "Yes, very well," said he. "He was a man that had the root of the

matter in him; but he was one of the most troublesome pilgrims that ever

I met with in all my days."

GREAT. I perceive you knew him, for you have given a very right

character of him.

HON. Knew him! I was a great companion of his; I was with him most an

end: when he first began to think upon what would come upon us

hereafter, I was with him.

GREAT. I was his guide from my master's house to the gates of the

Celestial City.

HON. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one?

GREAT. I did so; but I could very well bear it, for men of my calling

are oftentimes entrusted with the conduct of such as he was.

HON. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, and how he managed

himself under your conduct.

GREAT. Why, he was always afraid that he should come short of whither he

had a desire to go. Everything frightened him that he heard anybody

speak of, if it had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I hear

that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for above a month together;

nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before him, venture, though

they, many of them, offered to lend him their hand. He would not go back

again neither. The Celestial City, he said, he should die if he came not

to it; and yet was discouraged at every difficulty, and stumbled at

every straw that anybody cast in his way. Well, after he had lain at the

Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told you, one sunshine

morning, I don't know how, he ventured, and so got over; but, when he

was over, he would scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of

Despond in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or

else he could never have been as he was. So he came up to the gate (you

know what I mean) that stands at the head of this way, and here also he

stood a good while before he would venture to knock. When the gate was

opened, he would give back, and give place to others, and say that he

was not worthy. For, for all he got before some to the gate, yet many of

them went in before him. There the poor man would stand shaking and

shrinking: I dare say it would have pitied one's heart to have seen him.

Nor would he go back again. At last, he took the hammer that hanged on

the gate in his hand, and gave a small rap or two; then One opened to

him, but he shrank back as before. He that opened stepped out after

him, and said, "Thou trembling one, what wantest thou?" With that, he

fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered to see him so

faint; so He said to him, "Peace be to thee: up, for I have set open the

door to thee; come in, for thou are blessed." With that, he got up, and

went in trembling; and when he was in, he was ashamed to show his face.

Well, after he had been entertained there a while, as you know how the

manner is, he was bid go on his way, and also told the way he should

take. So he came till he came to our house; but as he behaved himself at

the gate, so he did at my master the Interpreter's door. He lay

thereabout in the cold a good while before he would venture to call: yet

he would not go back; and the nights were long and cold then. Nay, he

had a note of need in his bosom to my master, to receive him and grant

him the comfort of his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant

conductor, because he was himself so chicken-hearted a man; and yet, for

all that, he was afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and down

thereabouts, till, poor man, he was almost starved; yea, so great was

his fear, though he had seen several others for knocking get in, yet he

was afraid to venture. At last, I think I looked out of the window, and

perceiving a man to be up and down about the door, I went out to him,

and asked what he was; but, poor man, the water stood in his eyes; so I

perceived what he wanted. I went therefore in, and told it in the

house, and we showed the things to our Lord: so he sent me out again, to

entreat him to come in; but I dare say I had hard work to do it. At last

he came in; and I will say that for my Lord, he carried it wonderful

lovingly to him. There were but few good bits at the table, but some of

it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented the note; and my Lord

looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. So, when he had

been there a good while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a little

more comfortable. For my master, you must know, is one of very tender

heart, specially to them that are afraid; wherefore he carried it so

towards him as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when he had a

sight of the things of the place, and was ready to take his journey to

go to the City, my Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him a

bottle of spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we set

forward, and I went before him; but the man was but of few words, only

he would sigh aloud.

[Sidenote: GREAT-HEART'S REMINISCENCES]

When we were come to the place where the three fellows were hanged, he

said that he doubted that that would be his end also. Only he seemed

glad when he saw the Cross and the sepulchre. There, I confess, he

desired to stay a little to look; and he seemed, for a little while

after, to be a little cheery. When we came at the Hill Difficulty, he

made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the lions, for you must know

that his trouble was not about such things as those; his fear was about

his acceptance at last.

I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think, before he was willing.

Also, when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the damsels that

were of the place; but he was ashamed to make himself much for company.

He desired much to be alone; yet he always loved good talk, and often

would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much to see

ancient things, and to be pondering them in his mind. He told me,

afterwards, that he loved to be in those two houses from which he came

last; to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter; but that he

durst not be so bold as to ask.

When we went also from the House Beautiful, down the hill into the

Valley of Humiliation, he went down as well as ever I saw a man in my

life: for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last.

Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him;

for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than when he was in

that valley.

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers

that grew in this valley. He would now be up every morning by break of

day, tracing and walking to and fro in this valley.

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of

Death, I thought I should have lost my man: not for that he had any

inclination to go back--that he always abhorred; but he was ready to

die for fear. "Oh, the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have

me!" cried he, and I could not beat him out of it. He made such a noise

and such an outcry here, that, had they but heard him, it was enough to

encourage them to come and fall upon us.

But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet

while we went through it as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose

those enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command

not to meddle until Mr. Fearing had passed over it.

[Sidenote: FEARING AT VANITY FAIR]

It would be too tedious to tell you of all, I will therefore only

mention a passage or two more. When he was come at Vanity Fair, I

thought he would have fought with all the men in the fair. I feared

there we should both have been knocked on the head, so hot was he

against their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very

wakeful. But, when he was come at the river where was no bridge, there

again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned

for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so

many miles to behold.

And here also I took notice of what was very remarkable: the water of

that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life: so

he went over at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going up to

the gate, I began to take leave of him, and to wish him a good

reception above. So he said, "I shall, I shall." Then parted we

asunder, and I saw him no more.

HON. Then it seems he was well at last?

GREAT. Yes, yes; I never had a doubt about him. He was a man of choice

spirit; only he was always kept very low, and that made his life so

burthensome to himself and so troublesome to others. He was, above many,

tender of sin: he was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he

often would deny himself of that which was lawful because he would not

offend.

HON. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all

his days so much in the dark?

GREAT. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One is, the wise God will

have it so; some must pipe, and some must weep. Now Mr. Fearing was one

that played upon this bass. He and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose

notes are more doleful than the notes of other music are; though,

indeed, some say the bass is the ground of music. And, for my part, I

care not at all for that profession which begins, not in heaviness of

mind. The first string that the musician usually touches is the bass,

when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string

first, when He sets the soul in tune for Himself. Only here was the

imperfection of Mr. Fearing: he could play upon no other music but this

till toward his latter end.

I make bold to talk thus in figures, for the ripening of the wits of

young readers, and because, in the book of the Revelation, the saved

are compared to a company of musicians, that play upon their trumpets

and harps, and sing their songs before the throne.

HON. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by the relation which you

have given of him. Difficulties, lions, or Vanity Fair he feared not at

all; it was only sin, death, and hell that were to him a terror, because

he had some doubts about his interest in that Celestial Country.

GREAT. You say right: those were the things that were his troublers, and

they, as you have well observed, arose from the weakness of his mind

thereabout, not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a

pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, he would have

bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way; but the things with which he

was oppressed no man ever yet could shake off with ease.

CHR. Then said Christiana, "This relation of Mr. Fearing has done me

good. I thought nobody had been like me; but I see there was some

semblance betwixt this good man and I: only we differed in two things.

His troubles were so great that they broke out; but mine I kept within.

His also lay so hard upon him, they made him that he could not knock at

the houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble was always such as

made me knock the louder."

MER. If I might also speak my heart, I must say that something of him

has also dwelt in me; for I have ever been more afraid of the lake, and

the loss of a place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other

things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation

there, it is enough, though I part with all the world to win it!

MATT. Then said Matthew, "Fear was one thing that made me think that I

was far from having that within me which makes me sure of being saved.

But if it were so with such a good man as he, why may it not also go

well with me?"

JAMES. "No fears, no grace," said James, "Though there is not always

grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be sure, there is no

grace where there is no fear of God."

GREAT. Well said, James; thou hast hit the mark. For the fear of God is

the beginning of wisdom; and, to be sure, they that want the beginning

have neither middle nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse of

Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell:

"Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear

Thy God, and wast afraid

Of doing anything while here

That would have thee betrayed.

"And didst thou fear the lake and pit?

Would others did so too!

For, as for them that want thy wit,

They do themselves undo."

[Sidenote: HONEST TELLS OF MR. SELF-WILL]

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk; for, after Mr.

Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began to tell

them of another, but his name was Mr. Self-will. "He pretended himself

to be a pilgrim," said Mr. Honest, "but I persuade myself he never came

in at the gate that stands at the head of the way."

GREAT. Had you ever any talk with him about it?

HON. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself,

self-willed. He neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet example;

what his mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could

he be got to do.

GREAT. Pray, what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell.

HON. He held that a man might follow the sins as well as the virtues of

pilgrims; and that, if he did both, he should be certainly saved.

GREAT. How! If he had said it is possible for the best to be guilty of

the vices, as well as to partake of the virtues, of pilgrims, he could

not much have been blamed; for, indeed, we are free from no sin

absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But this, I

perceive, is not the thing; but, if I understood you right, your meaning

is that he was of opinion that it was allowable so to be.

HON. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and acted.

GREAT. But what grounds had he for his so saying?

HON. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his warrant.

[Sidenote: HONEST QUOTES SELF-WILL]

GREAT. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars.

HON. So I will. He said, To have to do with other men's wives had been

practiced by David, God's beloved; and therefore he could do it. He

said, To have more women than one was a thing that Solomon practiced;

and therefore he could do it. He said that Sarah lied, and so did Rahab;

and therefore he could do it. He said that the disciples went at the

bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's ass; and therefore he

could do so too. He said that Jacob got the inheritance of his father in

a way of guile and cheating; and therefore he could do so too.

GREAT. Highly base, indeed! And you are sure he was of this opinion?

HON. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for it, bring

argument for it, and so on.

GREAT. An opinion that is not fit to be with any allowance in the world!

HON. You must understand me rightly: he did not say that _any_ man might

do this; but that they who had the virtues of those that did such

things, might also do the same.

GREAT. But what more false than such a conclusion? For this is as much

as to say that, because good men heretofore have sinned through weakness

or forgetfulness, therefore he had an allowance to do it of a purpose;

or if, because a child, by the blast of the wind, or for that it

stumbled at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in the mire,

therefore he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a boar therein. Who

could have thought that any one could so far have been blinded by the

power of sin. But what is written must be true: they "stumble at the

Word, being disobedient; whereunto also they were appointed." His

supposing that such may have the godly man's virtues, who accustom

themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the other. To

eat up the sin of God's people as a dog licks up filth, is no sign of

one that is possessed with their virtues. Nor can I believe that one who

is of this opinion can have faith or love in him. But I know you have

made strong objections against him: prithee, what can he say for

himself?

HON. Why, he says, "To do this openly and by way of opinion, seems

abundantly more honest than to do it and yet hold contrary to it in

opinion."

GREAT. A very wicked answer. For, though to let loose the bridle to

lusts while our opinions are against such things is bad; yet to sin, and

plead a toleration so to do, is worse. The one stumbles beholders

accidentally, the other _pleads_ them into the snare.

HON. There are many of this man's mind, that have not this man's mouth;

and that makes going on pilgrimage of so little esteem as it is.

GREAT. You have said the truth, and it is to be lamented; but he that

feareth the King of Paradise shall come out of them all.

CHR. There are strange opinions in the world. I know one that said it

was time enough to turn from sin when they come to die.

GREAT. Such are not overwise. That man would have been loth, might he

have had a week to run twenty miles in for his life, to have deferred

that journey to the last hour of that week.

HON. You say right; and yet the most of them who count themselves

pilgrims do indeed do thus. I am, as you see, an old man, and have been

a traveller in this road many a day, and I have taken notice of many

things. I have seen some that have set out as if they would drive all

the world afore them, who yet have, in a few days, died as they in the

wilderness, and so never got sight of the promised land. I have seen

some that have promised nothing at first, setting out to be pilgrims,

and that one would have thought could not have lived a day, that have

yet proved very good pilgrims. I have seen some that have run hastily

forward, that again have, after a little time, run just as fast back

again. I have seen some who have spoken very well of a pilgrim's life at

first, that, after a while, have spoken as much against it. I have heard

some, when they first set out for Paradise, say positively there is such

a place, who, when they have been almost there, have come back again,

and said there is none. I have heard some boast what they would do in

case they should be opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled

faith, the pilgrim's way, and all.

Now, as they were thus in their way, there came one running to meet

them, and said, "Gentlemen, and you of the weaker sort, if you love

life, shift for yourselves, for the robbers are before you."

GREAT. "They be the three that set upon Little-Faith heretofore. Well,"

said he, "we are ready for them."

[Sidenote: THE PILGRIMS PROCEED]

So they went on their way. Now they looked at every turning when they

should have met with the villains; but whether they heard of Mr.

Great-heart, or whether they had some other game, they came not up to

the pilgrims.

CHAPTER VII.

ENTERTAINED BY GAIUS.

Christiana then wished for an inn for herself and her children, because

they were weary.

Then said Mr. Honest, "There is one a little before us, where a very

honorable disciple, one Gaius, dwells." So they all concluded to turn in

thither, and the rather because the old gentleman gave him so good a

report. When they came to the door, they went in, not knocking, for

folks use not to knock at the door of an inn. Then they called for the

master of the house, and he came to them; so they asked if they might

lie there that night.

GAIUS. Yes, gentlemen, if you be true men, for my house is for none but

pilgrims.

Then were Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the more glad, for that the

Innkeeper was a lover of pilgrims. So they called for rooms, and he

showed them one for Christiana, and her children, and Mercy, and another

for Mr. Great-heart and the old gentleman.

GREAT. "Good Gaius, what hast thou for supper? for these pilgrims have

come far to-day, and are weary."

GAIUS. "It is late, so we cannot conveniently go out to seek food; but

such as we have you shall be welcome to, if that will content."

GREAT. We will be content with what thou hast in the house; forasmuch as

I have proved thee, thou art never without that which is suitable.

Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose name was

Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready supper for so many pilgrims. This

done, he came up again, saying, "Come, my good friends, you are welcome

to me, and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you in; and, while

supper is making ready, if you please, let us entertain one another with

some good talking together."

So they all said, "Content."

GAIUS. "Whose wife is this aged matron? and whose daughter is this young

damsel?"

GREAT. The woman is the wife of one Christian, a pilgrim of former

times; and these are his four children. The maid is one of her

acquaintance, one that she hath persuaded to come with her on

pilgrimage. The boys take all after their father, and wish to tread in

his steps; yea, if they do but see any place where the old pilgrim hath

lain, or any print of his foot, it bringeth joy to their hearts, and

they are eager to lie or tread in the same.

[Sidenote: FAMILY OF THE CHRISTIANS]

GAIUS. "Is this Christian's wife, and are these Christian's children? I

knew your husband's father; yea, also his father's father. Many have

been good of this stock; their ancestors dwelt first at Antioch.

Christian's ancestors, the early fathers from whom he came (I suppose

you have heard your husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They

have, above any that I know, showed themselves men of great virtue and

courage, for the Lord of pilgrims, His ways, and them that loved Him. I

have heard of many of your husband's relations that have stood all

trials for the sake of the truth. Stephen, who was one of the first of

the family from whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head with

stones. James, another of this generation, was slain with the edge of

the sword. To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men anciently of the family

from whence your husband came; there was Ignatius, who was cast to the

lions; Romanus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones; and

Polycarp, that played the man in the fire; there was he that was hanged

up in a basket in the sun for the wasps to eat; and he whom they put

into a sack, and cast him into the sea to be drowned. It would be

utterly impossible to count up all of that family who have suffered

injuries and death for the love of a pilgrim's life. Nor can I but be

glad to see that thy husband has left behind him four such boys as

these. I hope they will bear out their father's name, and tread in their

father's steps, and come to their father's end."

GREAT. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads; they seem to choose heartily

their father's ways.

GAIUS. That is it that I said; wherefore Christian's family is like

still to spread abroad upon the face of the ground, and yet to be

numerous upon the face of the earth. Wherefore let Christiana look out

some damsels for her sons, to whom they may be married, etc., that the

name of their father and the house of his family may never be forgotten

in the world.

HON. 'Tis pity this family should fall and die out of the world.

GAIUS. Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may; but let Christiana take

my advice, and that is the way to uphold it. "And Christiana," said this

Innkeeper, "I am glad to see thee and thy friend Mercy together here, a

lovely couple. And may I advise, take Mercy into a nearer relation to

thee; if she will, let her be given to Matthew, thy eldest son. It is

the way to give you a family in the earth."

So this match was arranged, and in process of time they were married;

but more of that hereafter.

Gaius also proceeded, and said, "I will now speak on the behalf of

women, to take away their reproach. For as death and the curse came into

the world by a woman, so also did life and health: 'God sent forth His

Son, born of a woman.' I will say again, that when the Saviour was come,

women rejoiced in Him before either man or angel. I read not that man

ever gave unto Christ so much as one penny; but the women followed Him,

and ministered to Him of their substance. 'Twas a woman that washed His

feet with tears, and a woman that anointed His body to the burial. They

were women that wept when He was going to the cross, and women that

followed Him from the cross; and that sat over against the sepulchre

when He was buried. They were women that were first with Him at His

resurrection-morn, and women that brought tidings first to His disciples

that He was risen from the dead. Women, therefore, are highly favored,

and show by these things that they are sharers with us in the grace of

life."

[Sidenote: THE SUPPER AT GAIUS'S HOUSE]

Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was almost ready, and sent

one to lay the cloth, the dishes, and to set the salt and bread in

order.

Then said Matthew, "The sight of this cloth, and of this forerunner of

the supper, awaketh in me a greater appetite to my food than I had

before."

GAIUS. So let all teaching truth to thee in this life awaken in thee a

greater desire to sit at the supper of the great King in His kingdom;

for all preaching, books, and services here, are but as the laying of

the dishes, and as setting of salt upon the board, when compared with

the feast which our Lord will make for us when we come to His house.

So supper came up. And first a heave-shoulder and a wave-breast were set

on the table before them, to show that they must begin their meal with

prayer and praise to God. The heave-shoulder David lifted up his heart

to God with; and with the wave-breast, where his heart lay, he used to

lean upon his harp when he played. These two dishes were very fresh and

good, and they all ate heartily well thereof.

The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, red as blood. So Gaius

said to them, "Drink freely: this is the true juice of the vine, that

makes glad the heart of God and man." So they drank and were merry. The

next was a dish of milk, well crumbed; but Gaius said, "Let the boys

have that, that they may grow thereby."

Then they brought up in course of dish of butter and honey. Then said

Gaius, "Eat freely of this, for this is good to cheer up and strengthen

your judgments and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when He was

a child: 'Butter and honey shall He eat, that He may know to refuse the

evil and choose the good.'"

Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and they were very good

tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, "May we eat apples, since they were

such by and with which the serpent deceived our first mother Eve?"

Then said Gaius:

"Apples were they with which we were beguiled;

Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled.

Apples forbid, if ate, corrupt the blood;

To eat such, when commanded, does us good.

Drink of His flagons, then, thou Church, His dove,

And eat His apples who are sick of love."

Then said Matthew, "I made the objection, because I, a while since, was

sick with eating of fruit."

GAIUS. Forbidden fruit will make you sick; but not what our Lord has

allowed.

While they were thus talking, they were presented with another dish, and

it was a dish of nuts. Then said some at the table, "Nuts spoil tender

teeth, specially the teeth of children;" which, when Gaius heared, he

said;

"Hard texts are nuts (I will not call them cheaters),

Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters;

Ope then the shells, and you shall have the meat:

They here are brought for you to crack and eat."

Then were they very merry, and sat at the table a long time, talking of

many things. Then said the old gentleman, "My good landlord, while we

are cracking your nuts, if you please, do you open this riddle;

"A man there was, though some did count him mad,

The more he cast away, the more he had."

Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good Gaius would say: so he

sat still awhile, and then thus replied:

"He that bestows his goods upon the poor

Shall have as much again, and ten times more."

Then said Joseph, "I dare say, sir, I did not think you could have found

it out."

"Oh!" said Gaius, "I have been trained up in this way a great while:

nothing teaches like experience, I have learned of my Lord to be kind,

and have found by experience that I have gained thereby. 'There is that

scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than

is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.' 'There is that maketh himself rich,

yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great

riches.'"

[Sidenote: MERCY AND MATTHEW]

Then Samuel whispered to Christiana, his mother, and said, "Mother, this

is a very good man's house; let us stay here a good while, and let my

brother Matthew be married here to Mercy before we go any farther." The

which Gaius, the host, overhearing, said, "With a very good will, my

child."

So they stayed there more than a month, and Mercy was given to Matthew

to wife. While they stayed here, Mercy, as her custom was, would be

making coats and garments to give to the poor, by which she brought up a

very good report upon the pilgrims.

But to return again to our story. After supper, the lads desired a bed,

for that they were weary with travelling. Then Gaius called to show them

their chamber; but said Mercy, "I will have them to bed." So she had

them to bed, and they slept well; but the rest sat up all night, for

Gaius and they were such suitable company, that they could not tell how

to part.

Then, after much talk of their Lord, themselves, and their journey, old

Mr. Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gaius, began to nod.

Then said Great-heart, "What, sir! you begin to be drowsy? Come, rub up.

Now, here's a riddle for you."

Then said Mr. Honest, "Let us hear it."

Then said Mr. Great-heart:

"He that will kill, must first be overcome;

Who live abroad would, first must die at home."

"Ha!" said Mr. Honest, "it is a hard one; hard to explain, and harder to

do. But come, landlord," said he, "I will, if you please, leave my part

to you: do you expound it, and I will hear what you say."

"No," said Gaius, "it was put to you, and it is expected you should

answer it." Then said the old gentleman:

"He first by grace must conquered be,

That sin would mortify;

And who that lives would convince me,

Unto himself must die."

Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now, when the family were up,

Christiana bade her son James read a chapter; so he read the fifty-third

of Isaiah.

"Well," said Gaius, "now you are here, and since, as I know Mr.

Great-heart is good at his weapons, if you please, after we have

refreshed ourselves we will walk into the fields, to see if we can do

any good. About a mile from hence there is one Slay-good, a giant, that

doth much annoy the King's highway in these parts; and I know

whereabout his haunt is. He is master of a number of thieves: 'twould be

well if we could clear these parts of him."

So they consented and went; Mr. Great-heart with his sword, helmet, and

shield, and the rest with spears and staves.

[Sidenote: SLAY-GOOD DESTROYED]

When they were come to the place where he was, they found him with one

Feeble-minded in his hands, whom his servants had brought unto him,

having taken him in the way. Now the giant was picking his pockets, with

a purpose after that to pick his bones; for he was of the nature of

flesh-eaters.

Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends at the mouth of

his cave with their weapons, he demanded what they wanted.

GREAT. We want thee, for we are come to revenge the quarrel of the many

that thou hast slain of the pilgrims, when thou has dragged them out of

the King's highway; wherefore come out of thy cave.

So he armed himself and came out; and to battle they went, and fought

for above an hour, and then stood still to take wind.

SLAY. Then said the giant, "Why are you here on my ground?"

GREAT. To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I told thee before.

[Sidenote: FEEBLE-MIND RESCUED]

So they went to it again, and the giant made Mr. Great-heart give back;

but he came up again, and in the greatness of his mind he let fly with

such stoutness at the giant's head and sides, that he made him let his

weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote him, and slew him, and cut off

his head, and brought it away to the inn. He also took Feeble-mind, the

pilgrim, and brought him with him to his lodgings. When they were come

home, they showed his head to the family, and then set it up as they had

done others before, for a terror to those that should attempt to do as

he hereafter.

Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind how he fell into his hands.

FEEBLE. Then said the poor man, "I am a sickly man, as you see; and

because death did usually once a day knock at my door, I thought I

should never be well at home: so I betook myself to a pilgrim's life,

and have travelled hither from the town of Uncertain, where I and my

father were born. I am a man of no strength at all of body, nor yet of

mind, but would, if I could, though I can but crawl, spend my life in

the pilgrims' way. When I came at the gate that is at the head of the

way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely; neither objected He

against my weakly looks, nor against my feeble mind, but gave me such

things as were necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the end.

When I came to the house of the Interpreter, I received much kindness

there; and because the Hill Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was

carried up that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have found much

relief from pilgrims: though none were willing to go so softly as I am

forced to do, yet still as they came on they bid me be of good cheer,

and said that it was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given

to the feeble-minded, and so went on their own pace. When I was come to

Assault Lane, then this giant met with me, and bid me prepare for an

encounter. But, alas! feeble one that I was, I had more need of a

cordial; so he came up and took me. I believed not that he should kill

me. Also when he got me into his den, since I went not with him

willingly, I believed I should come out alive again; for I have heard

that not any pilgrim that is taken captive by violent hands, if he keeps

heart-whole towards his Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to die by

the hands of the enemy. Robbed I looked to be, and robbed to be sure I

am; but I have, as you see, escaped with life, for the which I thank my

King as author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also look for; but

this I have resolved on--to wit, to run when I can, to go when I cannot

run, and to creep when I cannot go. As to the principal thing, I thank

Him that loves me, I am fixed: my way is before me, my mind is beyond

the river that has no bridge, though I am, as you see, but of a feeble

mind."

HON. Then said old Mr. Honest, "Have not you some time ago been

acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim?"

FEEBLE. Acquainted with him! yes; he came from the town of Stupidity,

which lies four degrees northward of the City of Destruction, and as

many off of where I was born; yet we were well acquainted, for indeed he

was my uncle, my father's brother. He and I have been much of a temper:

he was a little shorter than I, but yet we were much of a complexion.

HON. I perceive you know him, and I am apt to believe also that you are

related one to another; for you have his whitely look, a cast like his

with your eye, and your speech is much alike.

FEEBLE. Most have said so that have known us both; and besides, what I

have read in him I have for the most part found in myself.

GAIUS. "Come, sir," said good Gaius, "be of good cheer: you are welcome

to me and to my house. What thou hast a mind to, call for freely; and

what thou wouldst have my servants do for thee, they will do it with a

ready mind."

Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, "This is an unexpected favor, and as the sun

shining out of a very dark cloud. Did Giant Slay-good intend me this

favor when he stopped me, and resolved to let me go no farther? Did he

intend that, after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to Gaius, mine

host? Yet so it is."

Now, just as Feeble-mind and Gaius were thus in talk, there came one

running, and called at the door, and said, that "About a mile and a half

off there was one Mr. Not-right, a pilgrim, struck dead upon the place

where he was, with a thunderbolt."

FEEBLE. "Alas!" said Mr. Feeble-mind, "is he slain? He overtook me some

days before I came so far as hither, and would be my company-keeper. He

also was with me when Slay-good, the giant, took me; but he was nimble

of his heels, and escaped; but it seems he escaped to die, and I was

taken to live.

"What, one would think, doth seek to slay outright,

Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight,

That very Providence, whose face is death,

Doth ofttimes to the lowly life bequeath.

I was taken, he did escape and flee;

Hands crossed gives death to him, and life to me."

[Sidenote: PHOEBE AND JAMES]

Now, about this time, Matthew and Mercy were married; also Gaius gave

his daughter Phoebe to James, Matthew's brother, to wife; after which

time, they yet stayed about ten days at Gaius's house, spending their

time and the seasons like as pilgrims use to do.

When they were to depart, Gaius made them a feast, and they did eat and

drink and were merry. Now, the hour was come that they must be gone,

wherefore Mr. Great-heart called for the bill of charges. But Gaius told

him that at his house it was not the custom of pilgrims to pay for their

entertainment. He boarded them by the year, but looked for his pay from

the Good Samaritan, who had promised him, at His return, whatsoever

charge he was at with them, faithfully to repay him.

Then said Mr. Great-heart to him,

GREAT. Beloved, thou doest faithfully, whatsoever thou doest to the

brethren and to strangers, which have borne witness of thy liberal

giving before the Church; whom if thou yet bring forward on their

journey after a godly sort, thou shalt do well.

Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and his children, and

particularly of Mr. Feeble-mind. He also gave him something to drink by

the way.

Now, Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of the door, made as if

he intended to linger. The which when Mr. Great-heart espied, he said,

"Come, Mr. Feeble-mind, pray do you go along with us: I will be your

conductor, and you shall fare as the rest."

FEEBLE. Alas! I want a suitable companion. You are all lusty and strong,

but I, as you see, am weak; I choose, therefore, rather to come behind,

lest, by reason of my many weaknesses, I should be both a burden to

myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind, and

shall be injured and made weak at that which others can bear. I shall

like no laughing; I shall like no gay attire; I shall like no

unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man as to be harmed with

that which others have a liberty to do. I do not yet know all the truth;

I am a very ignorant Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear any rejoice in

the Lord, it troubles me, because I cannot do so too. It is with me as

it is with a weak man among the strong, or as with a sick man among the

healthy, or as a lamp despised. "He that is ready to slip with his feet

is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease;" so that I

know not what to do.

GREAT. "But, brother," said Mr. Great-heart, "I have it in my work to

comfort the feeble-minded and to support the weak. You must needs go

along with us: we will wait for you; we will lend you our help; we will

deny ourselves of some things, for your sake; we will not enter into

doubtful questions before you! we will be made all things to you, rather

than you shall be left behind."

Now, all this while they were at Gaius's door, and, behold, as they were

thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr. Ready-to-halt came by, with his

crutches in his hands; and he also was going on pilgrimage.

FEEBLE. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind to him, "How camest thou hither? I was

but now complaining that I had not a suitable companion, but thou art

according to my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Ready-to-halt; I hope

thou and I may be some help."

READY. "I shall be glad of thy company," said the other; "and, good Mr.

Feeble-mind, rather than we will part, since we are thus happily met, I

will lend thee one of my crutches."

FEEBLE. "Nay," said he, "though I thank thee for thy good-will, I am not

inclined to halt before I am lame. Howbeit, I think, when occasion is,

it may help me against a dog."

READY. If either myself or my crutches can do thee a pleasure, we are

both at thy command, good Mr. Feeble-mind.

Thus, therefore, they went on. Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Honest went

before, Christiana and her children went next, and Mr. Feeble-mind came

behind, and Mr. Ready-to-halt with his crutches. Then said Mr. Honest,