Preface

Few books have been published in the English Ianguage that have been so well received as the Pilgrim's, Rogress. It has passed through a great number of editions, and has been translated into several languages. Its admirers have been of two classes. Some have read it with raptures, merely as a Novel; or, The Life and Adventures of a Pilgrim. Aj such, the importance and variety of the incidents, the characteristic propriety, the ease of the transitions, and the simplicity of the language, have recommended it to general esteem. Even in this: point of view, Bunyan, considering the disadvantages of his education, appears a great man. Those critics who have represented him as an enthusiast, have admitted, that he was a man of genius. "His original and poetic genius (says one) shines through the coarseness and vulgarity of his.language, and intimates, that if he had been a master of numbers, he might? have composed a pcera worthy of Spenser himself." Another acknowledges, that "his invention was like that of Homer—and that, the Pilgrim's Progress is composed in a style enlivened.i like his, with a proper mixture of the dramatic and nar-. rative;" and therefore admirably adapted to general us«u and esteem*.

*Biog. Brit, 2d edit. vol. iii, p. 11.

But those, who have a taste for evangelical truth, have admired it on another account. They have considered it as a just picture of the christian life, or an epitome of experimental religion, very happily represented under the idea of a pilgrimage, or journey ;—an idea strictly consonant with the holy scriptures, which describe a real christian, as a stranger and a pilgrim in this world—as seeking a better, that is, an heavenly country; and as looking for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. The conviction, conversion, conflict, and comfort of God's people, are depicted with a masterly hand; and demonstrate, to all competent judges, thai the uuthor was no enthusiast, but a scribe well instructed in the mysteries of the kingdom.

"One can scarcely meet with a case or character, amidst the vast variety of persons and incidents, that daily occur to our observation, to which we cannot easily point out a counterpart in the Pilgrim." And we may say of it, what can rarely be said of other books, that those who read it repeatedly, still find something new upon every fresh perusal.

To render the Pi Lgrim's Progress ofstill greater use, this edition is presented to the public in a form entirely new. The woik is divided into distinct sections, of convenient length; the design of which is to oblige the reader to make a trequent pause: for so entertaining is the narrative, that the heart becomes interested in the event of every transaction, and is tempted to proceed with a precipitation that excludes proper reflections: so that it may be justly feared, that thousands have read it with no other advantage than temporary amusement, without the least conctption of its spiritual design.

The reader is then assisted to improve those pause?, by the explanatory Notes. The Editor has availed himself of that assistance towards an explanation of the Author's meaning, which several useful annotators have ottered in their editions of the work; but he has sometimes ventured to differ from them in some particulars, and also to enlarge upon some passages which they have not noticed : for it has been complained of, that in some works of this kind, that has been explained, which needed no explanation, while obscurer parts have been omitted. The Notes are not placed at the bottom of the page, as usual, because some of those readers, whose edification he would study, may either not know how to use them when so disposed, or may entirely pass them over; which, he hopes, the younger sort of readers especially will not be so apt to do, in their present form. As they are now placed, few intelligent persons will refuse to give them a reading.

Several ministers have thought it a pleasing and profitable exercise, lo read and explain the Pilgrim to their people in private meetings. Should any, into whose hands this edition may come, think proper to pursue such a method, they will find some assistance from the division of chapters made ready to their hand, as well as by some hints which possibly might not have occurred to them.

It is also submitted to the consideration of heads of families, whether the PilgrIm, in this form, may not be 'well adapted for the purpose of reading to their children and servants on Lord's-day evenings; as affording a grate* ftil variety between courses of sermons generally used at such times. The subject matter is so entertaining, that the attention of all would be secured; and the practical improvements might tend, by the blessing of God the Spirit, to enlighten their minds in the grand truths of the gospel of Christ.

The serious reader will perceive in this book, what were the religious views of our ancestors; and the important connexion subsisting between evangelical truth and christian experience. Let the proud rationalists of our day brand the former with the title of" The Corruptions of Chr istianity," and the latter with the name of "Enthusiasm;" those who are taught of God will still prefer the good old way, and think it safest to trace the footsteps of the fleck.—True religion is one and the same in every age, however opposed or vilified; one Spirit actuates the church of God, and travellers, to Sion speak the same language. The christian, in perusing this book, will be often surprised to find how his own experience corresponds with the Pilgrim's, and to perceive how remarkably true the pictures of carnal worldlings and mere professors are drawn.

May the Lord, who has so long honoured this book, with his blessing, still continue to own it, and vouchsafe to make this new form of it yet more subservient to the glory of his name, and the good of his church.

THE

LIFE And DEATH

Mr. JOHN BUNYAN.

]v1r. JOHNBUNYAN, the celebrated author of The Pilgrim's Progress, and many other useful works, was born at Elstow, within a mile of Bedford, in the year 1628. His extraction was very mean, his father being a tinker. His parents, however, gave him the best education in their power, bringing him up to -read and write: but such was his extreme depravity, that he almost forgot both, addicting himself, even in childhood, to the basest practices, particularly to cursing and swearing ; to which be was so peculiarly abandoned, that he exceeded the worst of his wicked companions. He wasaTown-swearer, as he calls himself; and soon arrived to such a sad preeminence in vice, that- his. virtuous neighbours shunned him, and he became the ringleader of the lewd and profane.

Yet, amidst all these enormities, God left not himself without a witness in his bosom. He had many severe checks of conscience, and many terrifying fears of hell. After days spent in sin, his dreams were sometimes extremely frightful. The thoughts of death and judgment intruded themselves into his gayest hours of vanity and pleasure. The Lord was also pleased to mingle mercies, with his judgments, by granting him several remarkable deliverances from death. Once he fell into the Rives Ouse, at or near Bedford ; at another time into an arm of the sea, and narrowly escaped being drowned. In the year 164-5, when he was seventeen years of age, he became a soldier in the Parliament's army, and was present at the seige of Leicester; where being drawn out to stand eentinel, and another soldier of the company desiring to lake his place, he consented, and thereby prohably escaped being shot through the head with a musket hall, which took off his comrade.

But neither mercies nor judgments made any durable impressions on his hardened heart. He was not only insensible of the danger and evil of sin, but an enemy to every thing serious. The thoughts of religion, or the very appearance of it in others, were intolerably burdensome to him.

The first step towards his reformation, was his marriage with a woman, whose parents were accounted religious. Though extremely poor, (having, as he says himself, not a dish or a spoon between them) she had two books, left her by her father, The Practice of Piety, and IhePlain Man's Path-Way to Heaven. In these they read together occasionally, and though he was not yet convinced of his lost and undone condition, yet by reading these, and hearing a sermon against Sabbath-breaking, he formed some desires of reformation, and of performing a few religious duties, which he then thought.would be sufficient to carry him to heaven. 1 hese convictions were not sufficient to keep him from his beloved sports, even on the afternoon of that Sabhath he had received them. But being engaged in a game of Cat, a sentence was impressed on his mind so forcibly, that he thought it like a voice from heaven: "Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell?" This excited a dreadful consternation in his mind, which was instantly followed with a suggestion from Satan, That he was an enormous, unparalleled sinner—that it was now too late to seek after heaven—and that his trangressions. were beyond the reach of mercy. Despair seized his mind, and he formed this desperate conclusion—that he must be miserable if he left bis sins, and miserable if he

•ontlnned in his sins, and therefore determined to take bis fill of them, as the only pleasure he was ever likely to have. It may be justly feared that multitudes perish by suck temptations as these. Their language is, "There is no hope. No, for we have loved strangers, and alter them we will go—There is no hope—but we will walk after our own devices, and we will every one do the imagination of his evil heart." Jer. ii. 25. and xviii. 1 2. Fatal resolutions indeed!

Contriving and studying how to sin with pleasure, and grudging that he was not satisfied, he continued about a month longer; when it pleased God to give him a severe check, by means of a woman, who, though a notorious sinner herself, was so shocked at the prodigious oaths which he uttered, as he was standing at a neighbour's thop-window, that she told him, "He was the inigodliest fellow for swearing, that ever she heard in all her life, and that he was enough to spoil all the youth in the town, if they came into his company.'" By this reproof, from the mouth of such a person* he was entirely confounded; and from that moment he refrained in general from swearing, though before he scarcely ever spoke a sentence without an oath *.

About this time he had several remarkable dreams, in which he thought the earth quaked and opened her mouth to receive him—that the end of the world and the day of judgment was arrived. Once he dreamed that he was just dropping into the flames among the damned, and that a person, in white shining raiment, suddenly plui ked him as a brand out of the fire. These dreams made impressions on his riiind never to be forgotten, and perhaps inclined him many years after to publish that masterpiece of all his works, The Pij--gkim's Progress, under the similitude of a dream.

* Similar to this, was a remarkable circumstance in the life of Mr. Perkins, an ahle minister of the gospel. While a young man, and a Scholar at Cambridge, he was devoted to ilruiii^enness. As licwas walking in tiie skirts of the town, he heard a woman say t» a ihild that was :reward and peevish, "Hold your tongue, oi l will give you to drunken Perkins yonder." Finding himself neuronic a by-word auioug the people, his conscience wan deeply impressed, and it lias'thi first step towards hia ionTersivn.

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Soon after, he fell into the company of a poor man, who made a profession of religion, whose discourse of religion and of the scriptures so affected him, that he applied himself to reading the Bible, especially the historical parts of it; but he was yet ignorant of the corruption of his nature, and, by necessary consequence, of the want and worth of Jesus Christ as a Saviour.

However a reformation of manners certainly took place, which was so remarkable, that his neighbours were greatly surprised at it, and often complimented him upon it: By these commendations he was greatly puffed up with pride, and began to think himself a very good Christian; and to use his own words, "That no man in England could please God better than he." But all this was only lopping off the branches of sin, while the root of an unregenerafe nature still remained. With much difficulty, and by slow degrees, he refrained from his accustomed diversions of dancing and ringing; from the latter by the apprehensions that one of the bells, or even the steeple, might fall and crush him to death. But hitherto he remained ignorant of Christ, and was "going about to establish his own righteousness." He was yet of that generation Solomon speaks of, Prov. xxx. 12. "who are pure in their own eyas, and yet are not washed from their iilthiness."

"Not long after, the providence of God so ordered it, that Mr. Bunyan went to Bedford to work at his occupation (which was the same as his father's), and happened there to. hear, three or four women, who were sitting at a door in the sun, talking together about the things of God; his curiosity was excited to listen to them, but he soon found their conversation above his reach. They were speaking of the new birth, and t he work of God on their hearts;—how they were convinced of their miserable stale by nature;—how God had visited their souls with his love in Christ. Jesus; with what promises Ihey b:id been refreshed, comforted, and supported under afflictions, and the temptations of the enemy. They ako talked of the wretchedness of their own hearts, and of their unbelief—their renouncing their own works and righteousness, as insufficient to justify them before God. All this appeared to be spoken in such scriptural language, in such a gracious manner, and with such an air of christian joy and cheerfulness, that he seemed like one who had found a new world.

This conversation was of great service to him. He now saw that his state was nut so good as he had fondly imagined;—ihat among all his thoughts about religion, that grand essential of it had never entered his mind—. the New Birth ;—ihat he had never-taken comfort from the promises of God ;—that he had never known the plague of his own heart, having never taken notice of his s cret thoughts;—and that he was entirely unacquainted with Satan's temptations, and the way to resist them. He therefore frequented the company of those persons, to obtain farther information; his mind was constantly intent upon gaining spiritual knowledge; and his whole soul was so fixed on eternal things, that it was then as difficult to withdraw his mind from heaven to earth, as he often found it afterwards, to raise it from earth to heaven.

He now began to read his Bible with new eyes. The epistle of St. Paul particularly, in which formerly he could see no beauty, became inexpressibly sweet and pleasant to him. They held forth and displayed, what he now felt the want of—a Saviour. Reading, meditation, and prayer to understand the scripture, were his delightful employments.

This was the time for the great enemy of God and souls to set in with his temptations. One of the principal .was, Whether he was elected or not? This question appeared to him at once so difficult and so important, that he was quite at a stand. He had not yet leaped that we are to "give all diligence to make our calling and election sure," 2 Pet. i. TO; that is we are to examine whether we are indeed called by grace, and from thence conclude we are chosen of God. But it pleased God to deliver him out of this (rial, by the application of that scripture, "loek at the generations of old, and see, did eve.r

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any (rusl in God and were confounded?" This gave him muih encouragement, as if it had been said, Begin at the beginning of Genesis, and read to the end of the Revelations, and see^' if you can find there was any that ever trusted in God and was confounded. And if none that trusted in God ever miscarried, then your duty is to trust in God, and not to concern yourself about election, which U a secret thing.

Another great trial aTose from a question that often perplexed his mind, which was—"How if you want iaith?" and, "how can you tell that you have faith r" He knew not then, that faith is to be tried by its proper fruits of love and obedience; but was tempted to think that the only proof of it would be, by performing some miracle; and this he was induced to attempt, by his misunderstanding our Lord's words to the Apostles, who were endued with an extraordinary faith in his power, to enable them to work miracles:—"If you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove: and nothing shall be impossible to ynu." Matt. xvii. 20. By this scripture he thought himself authorised to try what he could do, and therefore, as he was walking between Elstow and Bedford, he was about to say to some puddles of water in the horse road, Be dry! But as he was going to speak, this thought occurred to him, " Pray first, that God would make you ablefrom which, prohably, he perceived that he was not warranted from scripture to ask such help, and therefore not warranted to put his faith to such a trial. He therefore desisted from the vain attempt.

Another temptation that violently assaulted him was, "How if the day of grace should be past and goner" And to aggravate this, the tempter suggested to him, that the good people in Bedford being converted already, they were all that God would save in those parts; and therefore he, like Esau, had come too late, for they had obtained' the blessing before him. But after many days, which on this account he spent in the bitterness of his spirit, he was relieved by that blessed word, Luke xir. S3, 24, "Compel them to come in, that my house may be filled: and yet there is room."

Many, many more were the temptations, with which Mr. Bunyan was assaulted, and which the reader may find a large account of, in a tract written by himself, intitled, " Grace abounding to the Chief of Sinners." But the Lord, who knows how to deliver the godly out ot" temptation, was pleased to deliver him. out of all his spiritual distresses, and at last set his feet in a large place, filling his soul with joy and peace in believing. To tins happy event, under the blessing of the Holy Ghost the Comforter, the conversation he had with experienced christians, and the valuable.ministry of Mr. Gilford, then pastor of the church at Bedford, were chiefly i ondui ive: especially a sermon of his, from Cant. iv. 1. "Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair."

To the Church of Christ, aboye mentioned, Mr. Bunyan was admitted about the year 1655, being then 27 years of age. His natural parts, eminent grace, and remarkable temptations, soon pointed him out as a proper person for the ministry. It was about five or six years after he was awakened, that some of his serious friends prevailed upon him to speak a word of exhortation to them privately, which he did with much reluctance, but yet with great acceptance. Afterwards, he exhorted in a more public manner in some country villages; and at length, by the desire of the church, and by solemn fasting and prayer, he was appointed to the public preaching of God's word. Curiosity naturally excited multitudes to attend his Ministry, and he soon found that his labours were not in vain in the Lord: Such was his diffidence and modesty, that at first, he thought it incredible that God should speak to the hearts of sinners by his means. But he was encouraged by many seals of his ministry. His views of the work, and his method in it, deserve notice and imitation. The Lord gave him much compassion tor perishing-sinners. He studied with great diligence to find out such words as might awaken the conscience. He was led (as he tells us) " to begin where the word of God begins with sinners; that is, to condemn all flesh, and t* open and allege, that the curse of God by the law, doth belong to, and lay hold on all men, as they come into the world, because of sin." But he rested not here; "he laboured much to hold forth Clirist in all his offices, and relations, and to condemn all those false props on which worldly men lean and perish." Such was the love and zeal of his soul, that the prospect of death itself, would not have deterred him from fulfilling his ministry. Much opposition was made by the " Doctors and Priests" of the country, who openly railed against him; but so many were the fruits of his work, that he could say—" These shall answer for me in time to come, when they shall be ilir my hire before their face." Gen. xxx. 33.

Such success could not but rouse the enmity of Satan and his emissaries, and excite their endeavours to put a stop to such useful preaching. He had continued about five years in the ministry, when being desired to preach at Samsell, by Harlington, in Bedfordshire, on November 12, 1660, a justice of the peace (Mr. VVingate) sent a constable to prevent him. He nevertheless persisted in his resolution of preaching, and was next morning taken before the justice, and would have given bond for his appearance at the quarter sessions, but his security would not consent to being bound that Mr. Bunyan should preach no more: he was therefore committed to Bedford jail.

It was at the following quarter sessions that he was tried: and the indictment stated, that " John Bunyan, of the town of Bedford, labourer, had devilishly and perniciously abstained from coming to church to hear divine service, and was a common upholder of several unlawful meetings and conventicle?, to the great disturhance and distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom, contrary to the laws of our Sovereign Lord the King," &c. The facts stated in this ridiculous indictment were not proved: no witnesses were produced against him: bul some words, .which he had dropt in conversation with the justices, acknowledging that he was a dissenter, and had been at meetings for prayer and exhortation, were taken as a conviction, and recorded. Mr. Keeling, the chairman of the sessions, then said: "Hear your judgment. You Mast be had hack again to prison, and there lie for three months following; and at three months end, if you do not submit and go to church, to hear divine service, and leave your preaching, you must be hanished the realm: and if, afler such a tlay as shall be appointed you to be gone, you shall be found in this realm, you must stretch by the neck for it, I tell you plainly r" and then bid the jailor take him away *.

When he had been confined twelve weeks, the clerk of the peace was sent by the justices to advise him to submit himself at the ensuing sessions, and promise to keep no more meetings; but nothing could prevail upon him to make such a promise. He was therefore detained in prison till the August assizes, 1661'.

Several petitions were then presented to the judges by his wife. Mr. Justice Chester and Judge Twisdon, treated her very roughly; the justices of the peace having done all they could to prejudice them against him. But\,Sir Matthew Hale behaved more mildly. He appeared to have known nothing of Mr. Bunyan, but seemed desirous of affording him some relief, if the matter had come judiciously before him.. He advised his wife, either to apply to the King> or sue out his pardon, or procure a writof error, butchiefly recommended the last method. But Mr. Bunyan and his friends were either too poor, or too little acquainted with such matters, to take the necessary steps for his enlargement. Between this and the next assize, his jailor allowed him the liberty of going abroad at times, and once to see his friends in London; but this indulgence had like to have cost the jailor dear, and he was alterwards more strictly confined. He was therefore cruelly, and, indeed, illegally continued in prison more than twelve years in the whole.

* See a curious and full aicount of this matter, written by himself, intitled, A Kelation of the Imprisonment of Mr. John Bunyan, lie. first published in 17S5, and printed for Buckland, PaternosterHew..

During his tedious imprisonment, he was enabled to possess his mind in much paitence. The Lord was very gracious to him. He says himself, that he never had «uch an insight into the scriptures before. He had much sweet communion with God, precious views of the forgiveness of his sins, and foretastes of his eternal bliss. The thoughts of his afflicted family would sometimes press upon his mind, especially the case of one of his four children, wiio was blind. Mr. Bunyan was a man of strong affections, a tender husband, and a very indulgent parent. But he was supported under this affliction, by two scriptures, Jer. xlix. 11. and xv. \l. "Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows, trust in me.—The Lord said, Verily it shall be well with thy remnant; verily I will cause the *nemy to entreat thee well in the time of evil."

Mr. Bunyan was not idle during his long and severe confinement. Hii was a diligent student of his Bible,' which, with the Book of Martyrs, composed his whole library. His own hands also ministered to the necessities of his indigent family, by making many hundred gross of loug tagged thread laces; an employment which he learned in prison.

He was still more usefully employed in preaching to all who could gain access to the jail, and with a spirit and power that surprised his hearers. During part of his confinement, he had many agreeable companions; for Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Dunn, two eminent ministers of that country, were confined with him, as were also sixty dissenters, for being present at a religious meeting at Kaistow.

Above all, it was here that Mr. Bunyan composed several useful Treatises, especially Thb Pilgrim's ProGress; a book which has done more good, perhaps, than any other, except the Bible; and by writi),g which, he has probably been more extensively useful, than if he had enjoyed the unrestrained exercise of the most public ministry.

length the Lord, who has all hearts in his hands, disposed Dr. Barlow, then Bishop of Lmcoln, aud other «hurchmen, to pity his unreasonable sufferings, and to interest themselves in procuring his enlargement—a circumstance that certainly does them honour.

His active spirit soon improved the liberty afforded him. He visited the people of God in various places, especially the afflicted, tempted, and persecuted, to whom he was now welt qualified to speak a word in season. He also took this opportunity of paying his grateful acknowledgments to his friends, whose kind assistance he had experienced in prison. And as occasion offered, preached the gospel boldly, though the laws were still in force against it.

On the death of the pastor of the church at Bedford, .which happened during the last year of Mr. Bunyan's' imprisonment, he was chosen to succeed him in that office. To these people, and others in different places, he continued to preach, when he could, till liberty was granted to dissenters by James the 2d, in the year 1687. He, with most other nonconformists, well knew, that this indulger.ce did not proceed from the King's good opinion of dissenters, for the maxims of his religion were totally repug ant to the principles of toleration, but from a d^i»ire lit introduce Popery tne more easily and effectual¹.'. Kooning, l.owe^er, that liberty of conscience is every lulu's b.ui.-nglit, by a divine charter, he did not scruple tuaciepi Lite offered liberty. His friends took this opportu. i ) ui hin u a latge place of worship, at Bedford, by i lu.'.ur, subscription. This was no sooner opened, tlidu sucti i.uuiber- thionged to hear, that it was insuffu ieni to contain Inerti, but his labours were not confiiit-U In one place; he preached occasionally at many Coui ' y towns ami villages; ana once a ^car, or oftener, took a jou.iity to London, wnere he became exceedingly popu.ar.

It is said that the great and good Dr. ffwen sometimes attended his sermons, and countenanced his ministvn'al labours.

If one da\'s notice was given of his preaching,, t! 'a jseeting-house in Southwark, near the Falcon, (where h» more generally preached) would not hold near half the people who came to hear him. Three thousand persons have been gathered together for this purpose, even when lie preached in a remote part of the town—and not less than twelve hundred have been known to attend, at a lecture, at seven o'clock, on a dark winter's morning, and that on a working day.

Amidst all this popularity and success, he was kept humble, and was seldom or ever known to speak of himself. His whole behaviour was exemplary, so that malice herself is defied to find, even on the narrowest inspection, a single stain upon his reputation and moral character.

His valuable life, worn out with sufferings, age, and ministerial labours, closed with a memorable act of christian charity. He was well known under the blessed character of a peace-maker. He Whs therefore desired by a young gentleman in the neighbourhood of Bedford, to interpose as a mediator between himsell and his offended father, who lived at Reading, in Berkshire; this friendly business he cheerfully undertook, and happily effected. But in his return to LonJon, being overtaken with excessive rain, he came to his friend's (Mr. Straddock, a grocer, at the Star, on Snow-hill,) very wet, and was seized by a violent fever, the pair s of which he bore with great patience, resigning himself to the will of God, and desiring to be dissolved, thit he might be with Christ; looking upon life as a delay of that blessedness which his soul was aspiring to, and thirsting after. Iu this holy, longing frame of spirit, after a sickness of ten days, he breathed out his soul into the hands of his blessed Redeemer, following his happy pilgrim from the city of Destruction, to the heavenly Jerusalem. He died the 31st of August, 1688, aged 66 years, and was buried in a vault belonging to a friend, in the dissenters burial place, adjoining the Artillery-ground, Moorfields. He had been married twice ;-J»y his lormer wife, he had foin children, one of whom, named Mary, was blind, and died before him. His second wife, to whom he was married about the year 1658, survived him only four years. His works are collected together in two volumes folio, and were published in 1736, with a preface, by Mr. Wilson, of Hitchin, and Mr. Chandler, oi Bedford, trom whose character ef him, the following is chiefly extracted.

His natural abilities were remarkably great; his fancy and invention uncommonly fertile. His wit was sharp^'" and quick; his memory tenacious, it being customary with him to commit his sermons to writing after he had preached them. His judgment was sound and deep in the fundamentals of the gospel, as his writings sufficiently evince. His piety and sincerity towards God were apparent to all who conversed with him. He constantly maintained that God-like principle of love, resolving to have communion with the saints, as sucn, without respect to lesser differences and opinions; olten bewailing the distinginshing appellations and denominations of christians.. He was a man of heroic courage, resolute for Christ and the gospel, and bold in reproving sin, both in public and private; yet mild, condescending, and affable to all. As to his person, he was tall and robust, but not corpulent. His complexion was ruddy, his eyes sparkling, and his hair reddish, but in his latter days, time had sprinkled it with grey. His countenance was grave and sedate, and discovered such a serious frame of heart, that it struck an awe upon the carnal and irreligious. Thus lived ana died a man, in whose character, conduct,, and usefulness that scripture was remarkably verified:— •* Ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called.—But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world, to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world, to confound the things which are mighty; and hase things of the world, and things which die despised, hath God chosen;—that noflesh should glory in his presence," 1 Cor. i. 26—29.

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THB

AUTHOR'S APOLOGY roit

HIS BOOK.

HEN at the first I took my pen in hand, Thus for to write, I did not understand That I at all should make a little Book In such a mode: nay, I had undertook To make another; which, when almost done, Before 1 was aware I thus begun.

And thus it was: I, writing of the way And race of saints in this our gospel-day, Fell suddenly into an allegory About their journey, and the way to glory, In more than twenty things, which I set down: This done, I twenty more had in my crown. And they again began to multiply, Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, I'll put you by y ourselves, lest you at last Should prove ad infinitum, and cat out The book that 1 already am about.

Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think To show to all the world my pen and ink

In such a mode; I only thought to make
I knew not what j nor did I undertake
Thereby to please my neighbour; no, not I;
'I did it mine ownself to gratify.

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend
In this my scribble; nor did I intend
But to divert myself in doing this,
From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss.

Thus I set pen to paper- with delight, Aud quickly had my thoughts in black and white.. For having now my method by the end, Still as I pull'd, it came; and so I penn'd It down, until it came at last to be For length and breadth the bigness which you see

Well, when I had thus put my ends together, I show'd them others, that I might see whether They would condemn them, or them justify 5 And some said let them live ; some let them die; Some said, John, print it; others said not so; Some said it might do good ; others said, no.

Now I was in a strait, and did not see Which was the best thing to be done by me r At last I thought, since you are thus divided, I print it will; and so the case decided.

For, thought I, some I see would have it done, Tho' others in that channel do not run: To prove then who advised for the bestj Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. * I farther thought, if now 1 did deny Those that would have it, thus to gratify; I did not know, but hinderthem I might Of that which would to them be great delight; For those which were not for its coming forth, I said to them, "Offend you I am loath Yet since your brethren pleased with it be, Forbear to judge 'till you do farther see.

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone;
Some love the meat, some love to pick a bone.
Yea, that I might them belter moderate,
I did too with them thus expostulate:

May I not write in such a style as this?
In such a method too, and yet not miss
My end, thy good? Why may it not be done?
Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none.
Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops
Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops,
Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either,
But treasures up the fruit they yield together;
Yea, so commixes both, that in their fruit
None can distinguish this from that; they suit
Her well, when hungry ; but if she be full,
She spews out both, and makes their blessing null.

You see the ways the fisherman doth take
To catch the fish: what engines doth he make!
Behold! how he engagelh all his wits;
Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets:
Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line,
Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine:
They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too,
Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.

How does the fowler seek to catch his game
By divers means ? All which one cannot lume:
His gun, his nets, his lime-twigs, light and bell:
He creeps, he goes, he stands; jea, who can tell
Of all his postures? yet there's none of these
Will make him master of what fowls he please.
Yea, he must pipe and whistle, to catch this,
Yet if he does so, that hird he will miss.
If that a pearl-may in a toad's head dwell,
And may be found too in an oyster-shell;
If things that promise nothing, do contain
What better is than gold; who will disdain,
That have an inkling of it, there to look, J
That they may find it? Now my little book,

(Tho' void of all these paint ings that may mak«
It with this or the oiher man to take)
Is not without those thir.g-: lhat do excel
What do in brave, but empty notions dwell.

Well, yet I am not fully satisfy'd,
That this your book will stand, when soundly tfy'd.

Why, what's the matter? It is dark: What tho'?
But it is feigned: What of that I trow.
Some men, by feigned words as dark as mine,
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine!
But they want solidness: speak, man, thy mind:
They drown the weak ; us, metaphors make blind.

Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen
Of him that writeth things divme to men:
But must I needs want solidness, because
By metaphors I speak? Were not God's law?,
His gospel laws, in older times held forth
By shadows, types, and metaphors? Yet loath.
Will any sober man be to find fault
With them, lest he be found for to assault
The highest wisdom : No, he rather stoops,
And seeks to find out by what pins and loops,
By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams,
By hirds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs,
God speaketh to him; and full happy he
That fmds the light and grace that in them be!

Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude
That I want solidness; that I am rude:
All things solid in show, not solid be;
All things in parables despise not we,
Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive;
And things that good are, of our souls bereave.

My dark and cloudy words they do but hold
The truth, as cahinets enclose the gold.

The prophets used much by metaphors To set forth truth; yea, whoso considers

Christ, his Apostles loo, shall plainly see,
That truths to this day in such mantles be.

I am afraid to say that holy writ,
Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit,
Is every where so full of all these things
(Dark figures, allegories), yet there .spring*
From that same book, that lustre, and those rays
Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days!

Come, let ray carper to his life now look,
And find there darker lines than in my book.
He findeth any: yea, and let him know,
That in his best things, there are worse lines tot).

May we but stand before impartial men,
To his poor one I dare adventure ten,
That they will take my meaning in these line*
Far better than his lies in silver shines.
Come, truth, altho' in swaddling clouts, I find
Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind;
Pleases the understanding, makes the will
Submit, the memory also it doth fill
With what doth our imagination please;
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.

Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use,
And old wives' fables he is to refuse;
But yet grave Paul him no where did forhid
The use of parables; in which lay hid
That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that wera
Worth digging for, and that with greatest care.

Let me add one word more. O man of God,
Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had
Put forth thy matter in another dress?
Or, that I had in things been more express i
To those that are ray betters, as is fit,
Three things let me propound, then I submit.

r.

I find not that I am denied the use
Of this my method, so I no abuse
Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude
In handling figure, or similitude,
In application; but all that I may,
Seek the advance of truth, this or that way:
Denied, d^d I say? nay, I have leave,
(Examples too, and that from them that have
Got better pleased by their words and ways
Than any man thai breatheth now a-days)
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare
Thmgs unto thee that excellentest are.

II. .

I find that men (as high as trees) will write
Dialogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight,
For writing so: indeed if they abuse
Trutb, cursrd be they, and the craft they use
To that intent; but yet let truth be free
To make her sallies upon thee and me.
Which way it pleases God: for who knows how
Better than he that taught us first to plow,
To guide our minds and pens for his design?
Ana he makes base things usher in divine.

I IF.

I find that holy writ, in many places, Hath semblance with this method, where the casesDo call for one thing to set forth another; Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother: Truth's golden beams; nay, by (his method may Make it cast forth its-rays as light as day.

And now, before I do put up my pen,

I'll show the profit of my book, and then

Commit both thee and it unto that hand

That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.

This book it chalketh out before thine eyes

The man that seeks the everlasting prize:

It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes;

What he leaves undone; also what he does;

It also shows you, how he runs, and runs,

.'Till he unto the gate of glory comes.

It shows too who set out for life amain,
As if the lasting crown they would obtain:
Here also you may see the reason why
They lose their labour, and like fools do die.

This book will make a traveller of thee,
If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the holy land,
If thou wilt its directions understand:
Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable >
Or wouldst thou see a truth within a fable?
Art thou forgetful? or wouldst thou remember
From New-year's day to the last of December >
Then read my fancies, they will stick like burs.
And may be to the helpless comforters.

This book is wrote in such a dialect,
As may the minds of listless men affect.
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest gospel-strains.

Wou'dst thou divert thyself from melancholy*
Wou'dst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly »
Wou'dst thou read riddles and their explanation i
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or wou'dst thou see
A man i' th' clou Js, and hear him speak ta thee?

FART THE SECOND.

Chap. I.—Christiana, with her four Sons, and a Neighbour, set out on Pilgrimage I

Chap. II.—Christiana, Mercy, and the Children, pass the Slough with safety, and are kindly received at the Wicket-gate 18

Chap. Hi.—The Pilgrims are assaulted, but relieved—Are entertained at the Interpreter's house 2<J

Ch A P.I V.—The Pilgrims, conducted by Great-heart, proceed on their journey « 42

Chap, v.—The Pilgrims ascend the Hill Difficulty, pass the lions, and arrive at the house Beautiful... 52

Chap Vi.—Mr. Brisk pays his addresses to Mercy— Matthew taken ill, but recovers, &c 67

Chap Vii.—The Pilgrims pursue their journey, and v pass through the Valleys of Humiliation, and of / the Shadow of Death 70

Chap. Vim.—The Pilgrims overtake Mr. Honest, who relates his own experience, and that of Mr. Fearing , 92

Chap, Ix.—The Character of Mr. Self-will 103

Chap, X —The Pilgrims arrive at thebouse of Gaius, where they are hospitably enlertained 107

Chap. xr.—The Pilgrims continue at the house of Gaius ; from whence they sally out, and destroy Giant Slay-good, a cannibal; and rescue Mr. Feeblemind ... U*

Chap. Xii.—The Pilgrims are joined bv Mr. Readyto-halt: and proceed to the town of Vanity, where they are agreeably lodged by Mr. Mnason, and meet with agreeable company—They encounter

a formidable monster 172