would not go back: and the nights were long and cold then: nay, he had a note of necessity 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 dejection, that though he saw several others for knocking got 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 loving to him. There were but a few good bits at the table: but some of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented the note; and my Lord looking thereon, 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 comforted. For my master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, especially 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 of few words, only he would sigh aloud. When we were come to 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 while after to be a little comforted. When he came at the hill of Difficulty, he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the lions: for you must know, that his troubles were not about such things as these; his fear was about his acceptance at last.-I got him into 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 afterward, 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 he 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 he was in that Valley. Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this Valley. Lam. iii. 27, 28, 29. He would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in the 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 with fear. O! the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have me! cried he; and I could not beat him off 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 when 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 was passed over it. It would be too tedious to tell you of all; we will therefore only mention a passage or two more. When he was come to 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 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 that time, than ever I saw it in all my life; so he went over at last not much above wet-shod. When he was going up to the gate, I began to take my 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.

Honest. Then it seems he was well at last.

Great-Heart. Yes, yes, I never had doubt about him; he was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low; and that made his life so burthensome to himself, and so very 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.*

Honest. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all his days so much in the dark?

Great-Heart. 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 the bass. He and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than 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 that 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 there was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, he could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end.

(I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, 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. Rev. chap. v. 8, 9; and chap. xiv. 2, 3.)

Honest. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by what relation you have given of him: Difficulties, lions, or Vanity-Fair, he feared not at all; it was only sin, death, and hell, that was to him a terror; because he had some doubts about his interest in that Celestial Country.

Great-Heart. You say right; these were the things that were his troubles; 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 could have bit a fire-brand, had it stood in his way: but those things with which he was oppressed, no man ever yet could shake off with ease.

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 differ in two things: His troubles were so great that they brake 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 troubles were always such as made me knock the louder.

Rom. xiv. 21.-1 Cor. viii. 18.

† Matt. xi. 16, 17.

Mercy. If I might also speak my mind; 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 at the loss of other things. O! 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.

Matthew. Fear was one thing that made me think that I was far from having that within that accompanies salvation; but if it was so with such a good man as he, why may it not also go well with me?

James. No fears, no grace. 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-Heart. 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 his farewell.Whilst, Master Fearing, thou didst fear Thy God, and wast afraid

Of doing any thing, while here,
That would have thee betray'd

And didst thou fear the lake and pit?

Would others do so too!

For as for them that want thy wit,

They do themselves undo."

Now I saw, that they all 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-Heart. Had you ever any talk with him about it? Honest. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared for man, nor argument, nor example; what his mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could he be got to. Great-Heart. Pray, what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell.

Honest. He held, that a man might follow the vices as well as the virtues of the pilgrims; and that if he did both, he would be certainly saved.

Great-Heart. How! if he had said, it is possible for the best to be guilty of the vices as well as partakers in the virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been blamed: for indeed we are exempted from no vice absolutely, but on

*See Prov. i. 7.

condition that we watch and strive: but this 1 perceive is not the thing; but if I understand you right, your meaning is, that he was of that opinion, that it was allowable so to be. Honest. Ay, ay, so I mean; and so he believed and practised.

Great-Heart. But what grounds had he for so saying? Honest. Why; he said he had the Scripture for his

warrant.

Great-Heart. Pr'ythee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars.

Honest. So I will. He said, To have to do with other men's wives had been practised by David, God's beloved; and therefore he could do it. He said, To have more women that one, was a thing that Solomon practised; and therefore he could do it. He said, That Sarah and the godly midwives of Egypt lied, and so did Rabab! 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 dissimulation; and therefore he could do so too.

Great-Heart. Highly base, indeed! And are you sure he was of this opinion?

Honest. I have heard him plead for it, bring scripture for it, bring arguments for it, and so forth.

Great-Heart. An opinion that is not fit to be with any allowance in the world..

Honest. You must understand me rightly: He did not say that any man might do this; but that those that had the virtues of those that did such things, might also do the same.

Great-Heart. But what more false than such a conclusion? For this is as much as to say, that because good men heretofore have sinned of infirmity; therefore he had allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind: 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 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 lust? But what is written must be true: They stumbled at the word, being disobedient; whereunto also they were appointed. His supposing that such may have the godly men's virtues, who addict themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the other. It is just as if the dog should say, "I have or may have, the qualities of the child; because I lick up its stinking'

6

* 1 Pet. ii. 8.