[Illustration: MR. EWART AND MARK.
_Page 22._]
THE
YOUNG PILGRIM.
A Tale
_ILLUSTRATIVE OF “THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.”_
BY
A. L. O. E.,
AUTHOR OF “THE SHEPHERD OF BETHLEHEM,”
“THE SILVER CASKET,” ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1887.
Preface.
It may perhaps be necessary to give a brief explanation of the object
of this little work. It has been written as a CHILD’S COMPANION TO THE
PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. That invaluable work is frequently put into youthful
hands long before the mind can unravel the deep allegory which it
contains; and thus its precious lessons are lost, and it is only perused
as an amusing tale.
I would offer my humble work as a kind of _translation_, the term
which was applied to it by a little boy to whom I was reading it in
manuscript—a translation of ideas beyond youthful comprehension into the
common language of daily life. I would tell the child, through the medium
of a simple tale, that Bunyan’s dream is a solemn reality, that the feet
of the young may tread the pilgrim’s path, and press on to the pilgrim’s
reward.
I earnestly wish that I had been able more completely to carry out the
object set before me; but difficulties have arisen from the very nature
of my work. I have been obliged to make mine _a very free translation_,
full both of imperfections and omissions. This is more especially the
case where subjects are treated of in the Pilgrim’s Progress which
concern the deeper experience of the soul. Of fearful inward struggles
and temptations, such as befell the author of that work, the gloom
and horrors of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the little ones who
early set out on pilgrimage usually know but little. They find the
stepping-stones across the Slough of Despond, and are rarely seized by
Giant Despair. It would be worse than useless to represent the Christian
pilgrimage as more gloomy and painful than children are likely to find it.
There are other valuable parts of the Pilgrim’s Progress, such as the
sojourn in the House Beautiful, which is believed by many to represent
Christian communion, which could hardly be enlarged upon in a design like
mine; while the present altered appearance of Vanity Fair has compelled
me to wander still further from my original, if I would draw a picture
that could be recognized at the present day, and be useful to the rising
generation.
Such as it is, I earnestly pray the Lord of pilgrims to vouchsafe his
blessing on my little work. To point out to His dear children the holy
guiding light which marks the strait gate and the narrow path of life,
and bid them God speed on their way, is an office which I most earnestly
desire, yet of which I feel myself unworthy. I may at least hope to lead
my young readers to a nobler instructor, to induce them to peruse with
greater interest and deeper profit the pages of the Pilgrim’s Progress,
and to apply to their own characters and their own lives the precious
truths conveyed in that allegory.
A. L. O. E.
Contents.
I. THE PILGRIM’S CALL, 13
II. DIFFICULTIES ON SETTING OUT, 25
III. MAN’S WAY OF WORKS, 33
IV. GOD’S GIFT OF GRACE, 44
V. A GLIMPSE OF THE CROSS, 52
VI. THE PILGRIM IN HIS HOME, 62
VII. THE ARBOUR ON THE HILL, 68
VIII. DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND DOUBTS, 79
IX. THE ARMOUR AND THE BATTLE, 90
X. SHADOW AND SUNSHINE, 102
XI. THE TOUCHSTONE OF TRIAL, 111
XII. PILGRIMS CONVERSE BY THE WAY, 122
XIII. DISTANT GLIMPSE OF VANITY FAIR, 132
XIV. VEXATIONS OF VANITY FAIR, 143
XV. CITIZENS OF VANITY FAIR, 151
XVI. NEW AND OLD COMPANIONS, 159
XVII. LIFE IN THE GREAT CITY, 167
XVIII. FOGS AND MISTS, 181
XIX. DISAPPOINTMENT, 189
XX. THE PERILOUS MINE, 197
XXI. GREEN PASTURES AND STILL WATERS, 206
XXII. A FEW STEPS ASIDE, 215
XXIII. REGRETS, BUT NOT DESPAIR, 230
XXIV. A NEW DANGER, 239
XXV. THE LAKE AMONG THE ROCKS, 253
XXVI. COMING TO THE RIVER, 264
XXVII. THE CLOSE OF THE PILGRIMAGE, 271
XXVIII. CONCLUSION, 280
List of Illustrations.
MR. EWART AND MARK, _Frontispiece_
AT THE GATE, 14
MARK AND HIS MOTHER, 29
HERDING SHEEP, 39
AT THE CHURCH, 57
MARK’S KINDNESS, 67
MARK’S INDIGNATION AT DECEIT, 76
MARK RESTORING THE LOST BIBLE, 86
MARK DISCOVERED BY LORD FONTONORE, 105
CHARLES’S STRUGGLE, 117
CHARLES AND HIS MOTHER’S PORTRAIT, 140
CLEMENTINA AT THE PIANO, 149
RETURNING FROM CHURCH, 162
THE PARTING WITH MR. EWART, 169
THE CONVERSATION IN THE PARK, 179
DRESSED FOR THE BALL, 188
CLEMENTINA AND ERNEST, 192
CHARLES AND FITZWIGRAM, 204
MR. STAINES AND THE TUTOR, 218
THE DISMISSAL, 228
THE CONFESSION AND ENTREATY, 233
THE NEW TUTOR, 242
THE APOLOGY, 251
THE RESCUE, 260
JACK RECEIVING THE BIBLE, 276
THE WELCOME BOX, 284
THE NEW BOOK, 285
THE YOUNG PILGRIM.
CHAPTER I.
THE PILGRIM’S CALL.
“I dreamed, and, behold, I saw a man clothed with rags standing
in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book
in his hand, and a great burden upon his back.”—_Pilgrim’s
Progress._
“Is this the way to the ruins of St. Frediswed’s shrine?” said a
clergyman to a boy of about twelve years of age, who stood leaning
against the gate of a field.
“They are just here, sir,” replied the peasant, proceeding to open the
gate.
“Just wait a moment,” cried a bright-haired boy who accompanied the
clergyman; “that is your way, this is mine,” and he vaulted lightly over
the gate.
“So these are the famous ruins!” he exclaimed as he alighted on the
opposite side; “I don’t think much of them, Mr. Ewart. A few yards of
stone wall, half covered with moss, and an abundance of nettles is all I
can see.”
[Illustration: AT THE GATE.]
“And yet this once was a famous resort for pilgrims.”
“Pilgrims,—what were they?” inquired the boy.
“In olden times, when the Romanist religion prevailed in England, it was
thought an act of piety to visit certain places that were considered
particularly holy; and those who undertook journeys for this purpose
received the name of pilgrims. Many travelled thousands of miles to kneel
at the tomb of our Lord in Jerusalem, and those who could not go so far
believed that by visiting certain famous shrines here, they could win
the pardon of their sins. Hundreds of misguided people, in this strange,
superstitious hope, visited the abbey by whose ruins we now stand; and
I have heard that a knight, who had committed some great crime, walked
hither barefoot, with a cross in his hand, a distance of several leagues.”
“A knight barefoot! how strange!” cried young Lord Fontonore; “but then
he believed that it would save him from his sins.”
“Save him from his sins!” thought the peasant boy, who, with his full
earnest eyes fixed upon Mr. Ewart, had been drinking in every word that
he uttered; “save him from his sins! I should not have thought it strange
had he crawled the whole way on his knees!”
“Are there any pilgrims now?” inquired Fontonore.
“In Romanist countries there are still many pilgrimages made by those who
know not, as we do, the one only way by which sinners can be accounted
righteous before a pure God. But in one sense, Charles, we all should be
pilgrims, travellers in the narrow path that leads to salvation, passing
on in our journey from earth to heaven, with the cross not in our hands
but in our hearts; pilgrims, not to the tomb of a crucified Saviour, but
to the throne of that Saviour in glory!”
Charles listened with reverence, as he always did when his tutor spoke of
religion, but his attention was nothing compared to that of the peasant,
who for the first time listened to conversation on a subject which
had lately been filling all his thoughts. He longed to speak, to ask
questions of the clergyman, but a feeling of awe kept him back; he only
hoped that the gentleman would continue to talk, and felt vexed when he
was interrupted by three children who ran up to the stranger to ask for
alms.
“Begging is a bad trade, my friends,” said Mr. Ewart gravely, “I never
like to encourage it in the young.”
“We’re so hungry,” said the youngest of the party.
“Mother’s dead, and father’s broke his leg!” cried another.
“We want to get him a little food,” whined the third.
“Do you live near?” asked Mr. Ewart.
“Yes sir, very near.”
“I will go and see your father,” said the clergyman.
The little rogues, who were accustomed to idle about the ruin to gain
pence from visitors by a tale of pretended woe, looked at each other in
some perplexity at the offer, for though they liked money well enough,
they were by no means prepared for a visit. At last Jack, the eldest,
said with impudent assurance, “Father’s not there, he’s taken to the
hospital, there’s only mother at home.”
“Mother! you said just now that your mother was dead.”
“I meant—” stammered the boy, quite taken by surprise; but the clergyman
would not suffer him to proceed.
“Do not add another untruth, poor child, to those which you have just
uttered. Do you not know that there is One above the heavens who hears
the words of your lips, reads the thoughts of your hearts—One who will
judge, and can punish?”
Ashamed and abashed, the three children made a hasty retreat. As soon as
they were beyond sight and hearing of the strangers, Jack turned round
and made a mocking face in their direction, and Madge exclaimed in an
insolent tone, “We weren’t going to stop for his sermon.”
“There’s Mark there that would take it in every word, and thank him for
it at the end,” said Jack.
“Oh, Mark’s so odd!” cried Ben; “he’s never like anybody else. No one
would guess him for our brother!”
These words were more true than Ben’s usually were, for the bright-haired
young noble himself scarcely offered a greater contrast to the ragged,
dirty children, than they with their round rustic faces, marked by little
expression but stupidity on that of Ben, sullen obstinacy on Madge’s,
and forward impudence on Jack’s, did to the expansive brow and deep
thoughtful eye of the boy whom they had spoken of as Mark.
“Yes,” said Jack, “he could never even pluck a wild-flower, but he must
be pulling it to bits to look at all its parts. It was not enough to him
that the stars shine to give us light, he must prick out their places on
an old bit of paper, as if it mattered to him which way they were stuck.
But of all his fancies he’s got the worst one now; I think he’s going
quite crazed.”
“What’s he taken into his head?” said Madge.
“You remember the bag which the lady dropped at the stile, when she was
going to the church by the wood?”
Madge nodded assent, and her brother continued: “What fun we had in
carrying off and opening that bag, and dividing the things that were in
it! Father had the best of the fun of it though, for he took the purse
with the money.”
“I know,” cried Ben, “and mother had the handkerchief with lace round the
edge, and E. S. marked in the corner. We—more’s the shame!—had nothing
but some pence, and the keys; and Mark, as the biggest, had the book.”
“Ah! the book!” cried Jack; “that’s what has put him out of his wits!”
“No one grudged it him, I’m sure,” said Ben, “precious little any of us
would have made out of it. But Mark takes so to reading, it’s so odd; and
it sets him a thinking, a thinking: well, I can’t tell what folk like us
have to do with reading and thinking!”
“Nor I!” cried both Madge and Jack.
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said the latter, as stretched on the grass he
amused himself with shying stones at the sparrows, “I shouldn’t wonder if
his odd ways had something to do with that red mark on his shoulder!”
“What, that strange mark, like a cross, which made us call him the
Red-cross Knight, after the ballad which mother used to sing us?”
“Yes; I never saw a mark like that afore, either from blow or burn.”
“Mother don’t like to hear it talked of,” said Madge.
“Well, whatever has put all this nonsense into his head, father will
soon knock it out of him when he comes back!” cried Jack. “He’s left off
begging,—he won’t ask for a penny, and he used to get more than we three
together, ’cause ladies said he looked so interesting; and he’ll not so
much as take an egg from a nest,—he’s turned quite good for nothing!”
Leaving the three children to pursue their conversation, we will return
to him who was the subject of it. That which had made them scoff had made
him reflect,—he could not get rid of those solemn words, “There is One
above the heavens who hears the words of your lips, reads the thoughts
of your hearts—One who will judge, and can punish!” They reminded him of
what he had read in his book, _The soul that sinneth it shall die_; he
knew himself to be a sinner, and he trembled.
Little dreaming what was passing in the mind of the peasant, Mr. Ewart
examined the ruin without noticing him further, and Mark still leant on
the gate, a silent, attentive listener.
“I think, Charles,” said the tutor, “that I should like to make a sketch
of this spot, I have brought my paint-box and drawing block with me, and
if I could only procure a little water—”
“Please may I bring you some, sir?” said Mark.
The offer was accepted, and the boy went off at once, still turning in
his mind the conversation that had passed.
“‘Pilgrims in the narrow path that leadeth to salvation,’—I wish that I
knew what he meant. Is that a path only for holy men like him, or can
it be that it is open to me? Salvation! that is safety, safety from
punishment, safety from the anger of the terrible God. Oh, what can I do
to be saved!”
In a few minutes Mark returned with some fresh water which he brought in
an old broken jar. He set it down by the spot where Mr. Ewart was seated.
“Thanks, my good lad,” said the clergyman, placing a silver piece in his
hand.
“Good,” repeated Mark to himself; “he little knows to whom he is
speaking.”
“It would be tedious to you, Charles, to remain beside me while I am
sketching,” said Mr. Ewart; “you will enjoy a little rambling about; only
return to me in an hour.”
“I will explore!” replied the young lord gaily; “there is no saying what
curiosities I may find to remind me of the pilgrims of former days.”
And now the clergyman sat alone, engaged with his paper and brush, while
Mark watched him from a little distance, and communed with his own heart.
“He said that he knew the one, only way by which sinners could be
accounted righteous—righteous! that must mean good—before a holy God! He
knows the way; oh, that he would tell it to me! I have half a mind to go
up to him now; it would be a good time when he is all by himself.” Mark
made one step forward, then paused. “I dare not, he would think it so
strange. He could not understand what I feel. He has never stolen, nor
told lies, nor sworn; he would despise a poor sinner like me. And yet,”
added the youth with a sigh, “he would hardly sit there, looking so quiet
and happy, if he knew how anxious a poor boy is to hear of the way of
salvation, which he says that he knows. I will go nearer; perhaps he may
speak first.”
Mr. Ewart had begun a bold, clever sketch,—stones and moss, trees and
grass were rapidly appearing on the paper, but he wanted some living
object to give interest to the picture. Naturally his eye fell upon Mark,
in his tattered jacket and straw hat, but he forgot his sketch as he
looked closer at the boy, and met his sad, anxious gaze.
“You are unhappy, I fear,” he said, laying down his pencil.
Mark cast down his eyes, and said nothing.
“You are in need, or you are ill, or you are in want of a friend,” said
the clergyman with kind sympathy in his manner.
“Oh, sir, it is not that—” began Mark, and stopped.
“Come nearer to me, and tell me frankly, my boy, what is weighing on your
heart. It is the duty, it is the privilege of the minister of Christ to
speak comfort to those who require comfort.”
“Can you tell me,” cried Mark, with a great effort, “the way for
sinners—to be saved?”
“The Saviour is _the Way, the Truth, and the Life_, the Gate by which
alone we enter into salvation. _Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou
shalt be saved. The just shall live by faith._”
“What is faith?” said Mark, gathering courage from the gentleness with
which he was addressed.
“Faith is to believe all that the Bible tells us of the Lord, His glory,
His goodness, His death for our sins, to believe all the promises made in
His Word, to rest in them, hope in them, make them our stay, and love Him
who first loved us. Have you a Bible, my friend?”
“I have.”
“And do you read it?”
“Very often,” replied Mark.
“_Search the Scriptures_, for they are the surest guide; search them with
faith and prayer, and the Lord will not leave you in darkness, but guide
you by his counsel here, and afterward receive you to glory.”
Mr. Ewart did not touch his pencil again that day, his sketch lay
forgotten upon the grass. He was giving his hour to a nobler employment,
the employment worthy of angels, the employment which the Son of God
Himself undertook upon earth. He was seeking the sheep lost in the
wilderness, he was guiding a sinner to the truth.
“I hope that I have not kept you waiting,” exclaimed Charles, as he came
bounding back to his tutor; “the carriage has come for us from the inn;
it looks as if we should have rain, we must make haste home.”
Mr. Ewart, who felt strongly interested in Mark, now asked him for his
name and address, and noted down both in his pocket-book. He promised
that, if possible, he would come soon and see him again.
“Keep to your good resolutions,” said the clergyman, as he walked towards
the carriage, accompanied by Charles; “and remember that though _the
just shall live by faith_, it is such faith as must necessarily produce
_repentance_, _love_, and _a holy life_.”
Mr. Ewart stepped into the carriage, the young lord sprang in after him,
the servant closed the door and they drove off. Mark stood watching the
splendid equipage as it rolled along the road, till it was at last lost
to his sight.
“I am glad that I have seen him—I am so glad that he spoke to me—I will
never forget what he said! Yes, I will keep to my good resolutions; from
this hour I will be a pilgrim to heaven, I will enter at once by the
strait gate, and walk in the narrow way that leadeth unto life!”