MERCY

"Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy."--_Our Lord_.

The first time that we see Mercy she is standing one sunshine morning

knocking along with another at Christiana's door. And all that we

afterwards hear of Mercy might be described as, A morning call and all

that came of it; or, How a godly matron led on a poor maid to fall in

love with her own salvation. John Bunyan, her biographer, in all his

devotion to Mercy, does not make it at all clear to us why such a sweet

and good girl as Mercy was could be on such intimate terms with Mrs.

Timorous and all her so questionable circle. Could it be that Mercy's

mother was one of that unhappy set? And had this dear little woman-child

been brought up so as to know no better than to figure in their

assemblies, and go out on their morning rounds with Mrs. Light-mind and

Mrs. Know-nothing? Or, was poor Mercy an orphan with no one to watch

over her, and had her sweet face, her handsome figure, and her winning

manners made her one of the attractions of old Madam Wanton's midnight

routs? However it came about, there was Mercy out on a series of morning

calls with a woman twice her age, but a woman whose many years had taught

her neither womanliness nor wisdom. "If you come in God's name, come

in," a voice from the inside answered the knocking of Mrs. Timorous and

Mercy, her companion, at Christiana's door. In all their rounds that

morning the two women had not been met with another salutation like that;

and that strange salutation so disconcerted and so confounded them that

they did not know whether to lift the latch and go in, or to run away and

leave those to go in who could take their delight in such outlandish

language. "If you come in God's name, come in." At this the women were

stunned, for this kind of language they used not to hear or to perceive

to drop from the lips of Christiana. Yet they came in; but, behold, they

found the good woman preparing to be gone from her house. The

conversation that ensued was all carried on by the two elder women. For

it was often remarked about Mercy all her after-days that her voice was

ever soft, and low, and, especially, seldom heard. But her ears were not

idle. For all the time the debate went on--because by this time the

conversation had risen to be a debate--Mercy was taking silent sides with

Christiana and her distress and her intended enterprise, till, when Mrs.

Timorous reviled Christiana and said, "Come away, Mercy, and leave her in

her own hands," Mercy by that time was brought to a standstill. For,

like a rose among thorns, Mercy was thoughtful and wise and womanly far

beyond her years. So much so, that already she had made up her mind to

offer herself as a maidservant to help the widow with her work and to see

her so far on her way, and, indeed, though she kept that to herself, to

go all the way with her, if the way should prove open to her. First, her

heart yearned over Christiana; so she said within herself, If my

neighbour will needs be gone, I will go a little way with her to help

her. Secondly, her heart yearned over her own soul's salvation, for what

Christiana had said had taken some hold upon Mercy's mind. Wherefore she

said within herself, I will yet have more talk with this Christiana, and

if I find truth and life in what she shall say, myself with all my heart

shall also go with her. "Neighbour," spoke out Mercy to Mrs. Timorous,

"I did indeed come with you to see Christiana this morning, and since she

is, as you see, a-taking of her last farewell of her country, I think to

walk this sunshine morning a little way with her to help her on the way."

But she told her not of her second reason, but kept that to herself. I

would fain go on with Mercy's memoirs all night. But you will take up

that inviting thread for yourselves. And meantime I shall stop here and

gather up under two or three heads some of the more memorable results and

lessons of that sunshine-morning call.

1. Well, then, to begin with, there was something quite queen-like,

something absolutely commanding, about Christiana's look and manner, as

well as about all she said and did that morning. Mercy's morning

companion had all the advantages that dress and equipage could give her;

while Christiana stood in the middle of the floor in her housewife's

clothes, covered with dust and surrounded with all her dismantled house;

but, with all that, there was something about Christiana that took

Mercy's heart completely captive. All that Christiana had by this time

come through had blanched her cheek and whitened her hair: but all that

only the more commanded Mercy's sensitive and noble soul. To be open to

impressions of that kind is one of the finest endowments of a finely

endowed nature; and, all through, the attentive reader of her history

will be sure to remark and imitate Mercy's exquisite and tenacious

sensibility to all that is true and good, upright and honourable and

noble. And then, what a blessing it is to a girl of Mercy's mould to

meet at opening womanhood with another woman, be it a mother, a mistress,

or a neighbour, whose character then, and as life goes on, can supply the

part of the supporting and sheltering oak to the springing and clinging

vine. Christiana being now the new woman she was, as well as a woman of

great natural wisdom, dignity, and stability of character, the safety,

the salvation of poor motherless Mercy was as good as sure. Indeed, all

Mercy's subsequent history is only one long and growing tribute to the

worth, the constant love, and the sleepless solicitude of this true

mother in Israel.

2. Now, it was so, that, wholly unknown to all her companions, young and

old, in her own very remarkable words, Mercy had for a long time been

hungering with all her heart to meet with some genuinely good

people,--with some people, as she said herself,--"of truth and of life."

These are remarkable words to hear drop from the lips of a young girl,

and especially a girl of Mercy's environment. Now, had there been

anything hollow, had there been one atom of insincerity or exaggeration

about Christiana that morning, had she talked too much, had all her

actions not far more than borne out all her words, had there not been in

the broken-hearted woman a depth of mind and a warmth of heart far beyond

all her words, Mercy would never have become a pilgrim. But the natural

dignity of Christiana's character; her capable, commanding, resolute

ways; the reality, even to agony, of her sorrow for her past life--all

taken together with her iron-fast determination to enter at once on a new

life--all that carried Mercy's heart completely captive. Mercy felt that

there was a solemnity, an awesomeness, and a mystery about her new

friend's experiences and memories that it was not for a child like

herself to attempt to intrude into. But, all the more because of that, a

spell of love and fear and reverence lay on Mercy's heart and mind all

her after-days from that so solemn and so eventful morning when she first

saw Christiana's haggard countenance and heard her remorseful cries. My

so churlish carriages to him! Now, such carriages between man and wife

had often pained and made ashamed Mercy's maidenly heart beyond all

expression. Till she had sometimes said to herself, blushing with shame

before herself as she said it, that if ever she was a wife--may my tongue

cleave to the roof of my mouth before I say one churlish word to him who

is my husband! And thus it was that nothing that Christiana said that

morning in the uprush of her remorse moved Mercy more with pity and with

love than just what Christiana beat her breast about as concerning her

lost husband. Mercy used to say that she saw truth and life enough in

one hour that morning to sober and to solemnise and to warn her to set a

watch on the door of her lips for all her after-days.

3. Before Mrs. Timorous was well out of the door, Mercy had already

plucked off her gloves, and hung up her morning bonnet on a nail in the

wall, so much did her heart heave to help the cumbered widow and her

fatherless children. "If thou wilt, I will hire thee," said Christiana,

"and thou shalt go with me as my servant. Yet we will have all things

common betwixt thee and me; only, now thou art here, go along with me."

At this Mercy fell on Christiana's neck and kissed her mother; for after

that morning Christiana had always a daughter of her own, and Mercy a

mother. And you may be sure, with two such women working with all their

might, all things were soon ready for their happy departure.

Mr. Kerr Bain invites his readers to compare John Bunyan's Mercy at this

point with William Law's Miranda. I shall not tarry to draw out the full

comparison here, but shall content myself with simply repeating Mr.

Bain's happy reference. Only, I shall not content myself till all to

whom my voice can reach, and who are able to enjoy only a first-rate

book, have Mr. Bain's book beside their _Pilgrim's Progress_. That

morning, then, on which Mrs. Timorous, having nothing to do at home, set

out with Mercy on a round of calls--that was Mercy's last idle morning

for all her days. For her mind was, ever after that, to be always

busying of herself in doing, for when she had nothing to do for herself

she would be making of hosen and garments for others, and would bestow

them upon those that had need. I will warrant her a good housewife,

quoth Mr. Brisk to himself. So much so that at any place they stopped on

the way, even for a day and a night to rest and refresh themselves, Mercy

would seek out all the poor and all the old people, and ere ever she was

aware what she was doing, already a good report had spread abroad

concerning the pilgrims and their pilgrimage. At the same time, it must

be told that poor Mercy's heart was more heavy for the souls of the poor

people than for their naked bodies and hungry bellies. So much was this

so that when the shepherds, Knowledge, Experience, Watchful, and Sincere,

took her to a place where she saw one Fool and one Want-wit washing of an

Ethiopian with intention to make him white, but the more they washed him

the blacker he was, Mercy blushed and felt guilty before the

shepherds,--she so took home to her charitable heart the bootless work of

Fool and Want-wit. Mercy put on the Salvationist bonnet at her first

outset to the Celestial City, and she never put it off till she came to

that land where there are no more poor to make hosen and hats for, and no

more Ethiopians to take to the fountain.

4. There are not a few young communicants here to-night, as well as not

a few who are afraid as yet to offer themselves for the Lord's table;

and, as it so falls out to-night, Mercy's case contains both an

encouragement and an example to all such. For never surely had a young

communicant less to go upon than Mercy had that best morning of all her

life. For she had nothing to go upon but a great desire to help

Christiana with her work; some desire for truth and for life; and some

first and feeble yearnings over her own soul,--yearnings, however, that

she kept entirely to herself. That was all. She had no remorses like

those which had ploughed up Christiana's cheeks into such channels of

tears. She had no dark past out of which swarms of hornets stung her

guilty conscience. Nor on the other hand, had she any such sweet dreams

and inviting visions as those that were sent to cheer and encourage the

disconsolate widow. She will have her own sweet dreams yet, that will

make her laugh loud out in her sleep. But that will be long after this,

when she has discovered how hard her heart is and how great God's grace

is. "How shall I be ascertained," she put it to Christiana, "that I also

shall be entertained? Had I but this hope, from one that can tell, I

would make no stick at all, but would go, being helped by Him that can

help, though the way was never so tedious. Had I as good hope for a

loving reception as you have, I think no Slough of Despond would

discourage me." "Well," said the other, "you know your sore, and I know

mine; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come to

our journey's end." And soon after that, of all places on the upward

way, Mercy's evil began at the Wicket Gate. "I have a companion," said

Christiana, "that stands without. One that is much dejected in her mind,

for that she comes, as she thinks, without sending for; whereas I was

sent to by my husband's King." So the porter opened the gate and looked

out; but Mercy was fallen down in a swoon, for she fainted and was afraid

that the gate would not be opened to her. "O sir," she said, "I am

faint; there is scarce life left in me." But he answered her that one

once said, "When my soul fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my

prayer came in into Thee, into Thy holy temple. Fear not, but stand up

upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou art come." "I am come, sir,

into that for which I never was invited, as my friend Christiana was. Her

invitation was from the Lord, and mine was but from her. Wherefore, I

fear that I presume." Then said he to those that stood by, "Fetch

something and give it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her

fainting." So they fetched her a bundle of myrrh, and a while after she

revived.--Let young communicants be content with Mercy's invitation. She

started for the City just because she liked to be beside a good woman who

was starting thither. She wished to help a good woman who was going

thither; and just a little desire began at first to awaken in her heart

to go to the city too. Till, having once set her face to go up, one

thing after another worked together to lead her up till she, too, had her

life full of those invitations and experiences and interests and

occupations and enjoyments that make Mercy's name so memorable, and her

happy case such an example and such an inspiration, to all God-fearing

young women especially.

5. John Bunyan must be held responsible for the strong dash of romance

that he so boldly throws into Mercy's memoirs. But I shall postpone Mr.

Brisk and his love-making and his answer to another lecture. I shall not

enter on Mercy's love matters here at all, but shall leave them to be

read at home by those who like to read romances. Only, since we have

seen so much of Mercy as a maiden, one longs to see how she turned out as

a wife. I can only imagine how Mercy turned out as a wife; but there is

a picture of a Scottish Covenanting girl as a married wife which always

rises up before my mind when I think of Mercy's matronly days. That

picture might hang in Bunyan's own peculiar gallery, so beautiful is the

drawing, and so warm and so eloquent the colouring. Take, then, this

portrait of one of the daughters of the Scottish Covenant. "She was a

woman of great worth, whom I therefore passionately loved and inwardly

honoured. A stately, beautiful, and comely personage; truly pious and

fearing the Lord. Of an evenly temper, patient in our common

tribulations and under her personal distresses. A woman of bright

natural parts, and of an uncommon stock of prudence; of a quick and

lively apprehension in things she applied herself to, and of great

presence of mind in surprising incidents. Sagacious and acute in

discerning the qualities of persons, and therefore not easily imposed

upon. [See Mr. Brisk's interviews with Mercy.] Modest and grave in her

deportment, but naturally cheerful; wise and affable in conversation,

also having a good faculty at speaking and expressing herself with

assurance. Being a pattern of frugality and wise management in household

affairs, all such were therefore entirely committed to her; well fitted

for and careful of the virtuous education of her children; remarkably

useful in the countryside, both in the Merse and in the Forest, through

her skill in physic and surgery, which in many instances a peculiar

blessing appeared to be commanded upon from heaven. And, finally, a

crown to me in my public station and pulpit appearances. During the time

we have lived together we have passed through a sea of trouble, as yet

not seeing the shore but afar off."

"The words of King Lemuel, the prophecy that his mother taught him. What,

my son? and what, the son of my womb? and what, the son of my vows? Who

can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. Her

children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth

her. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth

the Lord, she shall be praised."