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cottage, the owner whereof being a Roman Catholic was known to Careless. He was called up, and as soon as he knew one of them, he easily concluded in what condition they both were, and presently carried them into a little barn, full of hay, which was a better lodging than he had for himself. But when they were there, and had conferred with their host of the news and temper of the country, it was resolved that the danger would be the greater if they stayed together, and therefore that Careless should presently be gone, and should within two days send an honest man to the king, to guide him to some other place of security, and in the meantime his majesty should stay upon the hay-mow. The poor man had nothing for him to eat, but promised him good buttermilk the next morning; and so he was once more left alone, his companion, how weary soever, departing from him before day, the poor man of the house knowing no more than that he was a friend of the captain's, and one of those who had escaped from Worcester. The king slept very well in his lodging, till the time that his host brought him a piece of bread and a great pot of buttermilk, which he thought the best food he ever had eaten.

After he had rested upon this hay-mow, and fed upon this diet two days and two nights, in the evening before the third night, another fellow, a little above the condition of his host, came to the house, sent from Careless, to conduct the king to another house, more out of any road near which any part of the army was like to march. It was above twelve miles that he was to go, and was to use the same caution he had done the first night, not to go in any common road, which his guide knew well how to avoid. Here he new dressed himself, changing clothes with his landlord, and putting on those which he usually wore; he had a great mind to have kept his own shirt, but he considered that men are not sooner discovered by any mark in disguises, than by having fine linen in ill clothes, and so he parted with his shirt too, and took the same his poor host had then on. Though he had foreseen that he must leave his boots, and his landlord had taken the best care he could to provide an old pair of shoes, yet they were not easy to him when he first put them on, and, in a short time after, grew very grievous to him. In this equipage he set out from his first lodging in the beginning of the night, under the conduct of this comrade, who guided him the nearest way, crossing over hedges and ditches, that they might be in least danger of meeting passengers. This was so grievous a march, and he was so tired, that he was even ready to despair, and to prefer being taken and suffered to rest, before purchasing his safety at that price. His shoes had, after the walking a few miles, hurt him so much, that he had thrown them away, and walked the rest of the way in his ill stockings, which were quickly worn out; and his feet, with the thorns in getting over hedges, and with the stones in other places, were so hurt and wounded, that he many times cast himself upon the ground, with a desperate and obstinate resolution to rest there till the morning, that he might shift with

less torment, what hazard soever he might run. But his stout guide still prevailed with him to make a new attempt, sometime promising that the way should be better, and sometimes assuring him that he had but little further to go; and in this distress and perplexity, before the morning, they arrived at the house designed, which, though it was better than that which he had left, his lodging was still in the barn, upon straw instead of hay, a place being made as easy in it as the expectation of a guest could dispose it. Here he had such meat and porridge as such people used to have, with which, but especially with the butter and the cheese, he thought himself well feasted, and took the best care he could to be supplied with other, little better, shoes and stockings; and after his feet were enough recovered that he could go, he was conducted from thence to another poor house, within such a distance as put him not to much trouble; for having not yet in his thought which way, or by what means to make his escape, all that was designed was only, by shifting from one house to another, to avoid discovery.

XIV. JOHN BUNYAN.

JOHN BUNYAN was born at Elstow, a small village near Bedford, in 1628. His father was a gipsy, and followed the humble craft of a tinker, which young Bunyan also practised for some time, with the usual profligacy and immorality of his race. Marrying, however, at an early age, he was reformed by the counsels of his wife, and joined a congregation of Baptists that assembled at Bedford. His ability soon became known, and at the request of the congregation he became a preacher, to the great delight of the common people, who resorted in immense crowds to the ministry of the reformed profligate whose words were so singularly powerful and attractive. Even during the Commonwealth he was threatened with legal proceedings, and after the Restoration, when all nonconforming assemblies were forbidden by Parliament, so conspicuous an offender as Bunyan was of course not allowed long to escape. He was condemned to imprisonment, and was accordingly committed to Bedford jail, where he remained nearly thirteen years. His confinement was not, however, very rigorous, as, through the connivance of his jailor, he was for nearly half the time allowed to itinerate and preach as usual. It was while in Bedford jail that he composed his "Pilgrim's Progress," aided only by the fervour of his own imagination, and the constant perusal of his Bible and Foxe's Book of Martyrs, which formed his whole library. He was at length liberated, and resumed his occupation as an itinerant preacher, but on the proclamation of toleration by James II., a chapel was erected for him at Bedford, where he preached during the rest of his life. While on a visit to some religious brethren in London, he turned suddenly ill and died 1688. Besides the " Pilgrim's Progress," he wrote "The Holy War," an allegorical work of a similar kind, and some minor productions. It is unnecessary to praise the "Pilgrim's Progress;" it is more generally known, not only in England, but all over the

CHRISTIAN AT THE CROSS.

159

world, than any other English book, and is universally admitted to bo the finest of all allegories. It has been translated into almost every language, and has been found to be equally intelligible and pleasing in every country.

1. CHRISTIAN AT THE CROSS.

("PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.")

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a wall, and that wall was called Salvation. Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, because of the load on his back. He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending; and upon that place stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just as Christian came up with the cross, his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began to tumble; and so continued to do, till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre where it fell in, and I saw it no

more.

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

Thus far did I come loaden with my sin;
Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in,
Till I came hither: what a place is this!
Must here be the beginning of my bliss?
Must here the burden fall from off my back?
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack?
Bless'd Cross! bless'd Sepulchre! bless'd rather be
The Man that there was put to shame for me!

I saw, then, in my dream, that he went on thus, even until he came at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of the way, three men fast asleep with fetters upon their heels. The name of the one was Simple, another Sloth, the third Presumption. Christian then seeing them lie in this case went to them, if peradventure he might awake them; and cried, "You are like them that sleep on the top of a mast; for the Dead Sea is under you, a gulph that hath no bottom; awake, therefore, and come away; be willing also, and I

will help you off with your irons." He also told them, "if he that goeth about like a roaring lion comes by, you will certainly become a prey to his teeth." With that they looked upon him, and began to answer him in this sort: Simple said, "I see no danger;" Sloth said, "yet a little more sleep ;" and Presumption said, "every vat must stand upon its own bottom." And so they laid1 down to sleep again, and Christian went on his way.

2. CHRISTIAN CLIMBS THE HILL DIFFICULTY, AND ARRIVES AT THE

PALACE BEAUTIFUL.

I looked after Christian to see him go up by the hill, where I perceived he fell from running to going, and from going to clambering upon his hands and his knees, because of the steepness of the place. Now, about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant arbour, made by the Lord of the hill, for the refreshment of weary travellers; thither, therefore, Christian got, where also he sat down to rest him. Then he pulled his roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his comfort; he also now began afresh to take a review of the coat or garment that was given to him as he stood by the cross. Thus pleasing himself a while, he at last fell into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which detained him in that place until it was almost night; and in his sleep his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as he was sleeping, there came one to him, and awaked him, saying, "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise;" and with that Christian suddenly started up and sped him on his way, and went apace till he came to the top of the hill.

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

the

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

Then said Christian, "You make me afraid; but whither shall I flee to be safe? If I go back to my own country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish there: if I can get to the celestial city, I am sure to be in safety there. I must venture: to go back is nothing but death; to go forward is fear of death, and life everlasting beyond it; I will yet go forward."

So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill, and Christian went on his way. But thinking again of what he had heard from the men, he felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read therein

1 This use of the active verb lay instead of the neuter verb lie was common in Bunyan's time, and was not by any means considered inaccurate or vulgar, as at present it is.

CHRISTIAN CLIMBS THE HILL DIFFICULTY.

161

and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do; for he wanted that which used to relieve him, and that which should have been his pass into the celestial city. Here, therefore, he began to be much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought himself that he had slept in the arbour that is on the side of the hill; and falling down upon his knees, he asked God forgiveness for that foolish act, and then went back to look for his roll. But all the way he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only for a little refreshment for his weariness. Thus, therefore, he went back, carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way as he went, if happily he might find his roll, that had been his comfort so many times in his journey. He went thus, till he came again within sight of the arbour where he sat and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping into his mind. Thus, therefore, he now went on, bewailing his sinful sleep.

Now, by this time, he was come to the arbour again, where, for a while, he sat down and wept; but at last (as Providence would have it), looking sorrowfully down under the settle,' there he espied his roll, the which he, with trembling and haste, catched up and put into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was when he had gotten his roll again! For this roll was the assurance of his life and acceptance at the desired haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for directing his eyes to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears betook himself again to his journey. But, O how nimbly now did he go up the rest of the hill! Yet, before he got up, the sun went down upon Christian; and this made him again recall the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance, and then he again began to condole with himself. O thou sinful sleep! how, for thy sake, am I like to be benighted in my journey! I must walk without the sun, darkness must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the noise of the doleful creatures because of my sinful sleep. Now, also, he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were frighted with the sight of the lions. Then, said Christian to himself again, "these beasts range in the night for their prey, and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I shift them ?— how should I escape being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on; but while he was thus bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful; and it stood just by the highway side.

So I saw in my dream that he made haste and went forward, that, if possible, he might get lodging there. Now, before he had

1 i.e., stool or seat; the word is still used colloquially.

L

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