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And with that he threw a flaming dart at his breast, but Christian had a shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and so prevented the danger of that.

Then did Christian draw, for he saw 'twas time to bestir him and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot. This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon therefore followed his work amain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker. Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian's sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now: and with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life: but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy! when I fall I shall arise; and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved

us.

And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon's wings, and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him no more.

In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight, he spake like a dragon; and on the other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christian's heart. I never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged sword; then indeed he did smile, and look upward; but 'twas the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.

The way then was through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, from which Christian met men flying.

Chr. But what have you seen? said Christian.

Men. Seen! Why, the valley itself, which is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit; we heard also in that valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people under unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons; and over that valley hangs the discouraging clouds of confusion; Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order.

Chr. Then said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what you have said, but that this is my way to the desired haven.

Men. Be it thy way; we will not choose it for ours. So they parted, and Christian went on his way, but still with his sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be assaulted.

I saw then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, there was on the right hand a very deep ditch; that ditch is it into which the blind have led the blind in all ages, and have both there miserably perished. Again, behold on the left hand, there was a very dangerous quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to stand on. Into that quag King David once did fall, and had no doubt therein been smothered, had not He that is able plucked him out.

The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good Christian was the more put to it; for when he sought in the dark to shun the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the other; also when he sought to escape the mire, without great carefulness he would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him here sigh bitterly; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the pathway was here so dark, that oft-times, when he lift up his foot to set forward, he knew not where, or upon what, he should set it next.

About the midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth of hell to be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now thought Christian, What shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such abundance, with sparks and hideous noises (things that cared not for Christian's sword, as did Apollyon before) that he was forced to put up his sword, and betake himself to another weapon, called All-prayer. So he cried in my hearing, O Lord, I beseech Thee deliver my soul. Thus he went on a great while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards him: also he heard doleful voices,

"Poor man! where art thou now? Thy day is night. Good man be not cast down, thou yet art right: Thy way to heaven lies by the gates of hell;

Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall go well;"

and rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles together; and coming to a place where he thought he heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped, and began to muse what he had best to do. Sometimes he had half a thought to go back; then again he thought he might be half way through the valley; he remembered also how he had already vanquished many a danger, and that the danger of going back might be much more than for to go forward; so he resolved to go on. Yet the fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer; but when they were come even almost at him, he cried out with a most vehement voice, "I will walk in the strength of the Lord God;" so they gave back, and came no further.

One thing I would not let slip: I took notice that now poor Christian was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice; and thus I perceived it. Just when he was come over against the mouth of the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up softly to him, and whisperingly suggested many grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian more to it than anything that he met with before, even to think that he should now blaspheme Him that he loved so much before: yet, if he could have helped it, he would not have done it; but he had not the discretion neither to stop his ears, nor to know from whence those blasphemies

came.

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate condition some considerable time, he thought he heard the voice of a man, as going before him, saying, "Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill, for Thou art with me."

The second part of the valley Christian found even more dangerous than the first, being full of snares and pitfalls, and, says Bunyan

Now I saw in my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even of

pilgrims that had gone this way formerly; and while I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a little before me a cave, where two giants, Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time; by whose power and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, ashes, &c., lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place Christian went without much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learned since that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for the other, though he be yet alive, he is by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy, and stiff in his joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his cave's mouth, grinning at pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails, because he cannot come at them.

After overcoming more perils, Christian overtook Faithful, who also had come out from the City of Destruction, and brought news from it, and told in a new form a Pilgrim's Progress in the story of his own adventures on the way. Then they met Talkative, who hath only what lieth on his tongue, and his religion is to make a noise therewith. When they had parted from Talkative, Evangelist overtook and encouraged them, and warned them of the temptations they must face, for they were about to enter Vanity Fair.

Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town before them, and the name of that town is Vanity; and at the town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the town where 'tis kept is lighter than vanity; and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, "All that cometh is vanity."

This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient standing: I will show you the original of it.

Almost five thousand years agone, there were pilgrims walking to the celestial city, as these two honest persons are: and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with their companions, perceiving by the path that the pilgrims made, that their way to the city lay through this town of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a fair; a fair wherein should be sold all sorts of vanity, and that it should last all the year long: therefore at this fair are all such merchandise sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, honours, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures, and delights of all sorts, as whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, and what not.

And moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues, and that of every kind.

Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing, thefts, murders, adulteries, false-swearers, and that of a blood-red colour.

And as in other fairs of less moment, there are the several rows and streets under their proper names, where such and such wares are vended; so here likewise you have the proper places, rows, streets (viz., countries and kingdoms), where the wares of this fair are soonest to be found: here is the Britain Row, the French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row, where several sorts of vanities are to be sold. But as in other fairs some one commodity is as the chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her merchandise is greatly promoted in this fair; only our English nation, with some others, have taken a dislike thereat.

Now, as I said, the way to the celestial city lies just through

this town where this lusty fair is kept; and he that will go to the city, and yet not go through this town, must needs go out of the world. The Prince of Princes himself, when here, went through this town to his own country, and that upon a fair-day too; yea, and as I think, it was Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him to buy of his vanities: yea, would have made him lord of the fair, would he but have done him reverence as he went through the town. Yea, because he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub had him from street to street, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a little time, that he might (if possible) allure that blessed One to cheapen and buy some of his vanities; but he had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon these vanities. This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a very great fair.

Now these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through this fair. Well, so they did; but behold, even as they entered into the fair, all the people in the fair were moved, and the town itself as it were in a hubbub about them; and that for several reasons: for,

First. The pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment as was diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that fair. The people therefore of the fair made a great gazing upon them: some said they were fools, some they were bedlams, and some they are outlandish men.

Secondly. And as they wondered at their apparel, so they did likewise at their speech; for few could understand what they said: they naturally spoke the language of Canaan, but they that kept the fair were the men of this world; so that, from one end of the fair to the other, they seemed barbarians each to the other.

Thirdly. But that which did not a little amuse the merchandisers was, that these pilgrims set very light by all their wares, they cared not so much as to look upon them; and if they called upon them to buy, they would put their fingers in their ears, and cry, "Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity," and look upwards, signifying that their trade and traffic was in heaven.

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of the men, to say unto them, What will ye buy? But they, looking gravely upon him, answered, "We buy the truth." At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men the more; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. At last things came to a hubbub and great stir in the fair, insomuch that all order was confounded.

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So the pilgrims were brought before the great one of the fair, and despitefully used, and put in the cage (as it might be, in Bedford Jail), and some of the men of the fair were won to them, so that they fell to some blows among themselves, and the pilgrims were charged with being the cause of the hubbub. "So they beat them pitifully, and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains up and down the fair, for an example and a terror to others, lest should speak in their behalf or join themselves unto them." Then they were brought before Judge Hategood, and their indictment was (like that of many a fellowlabourer of Bunyan, and Baxter, and George Fox), "that they were enemies to and disturbers of their trade; that they had made commotions and divisions in the town, and had won a party to their own most dangerous opinions in contempt of the law of their prince." Then Faithful answered for himself. Envy

and Superstition and Pickthank bore witness against him, and the judge (clearly a judge versed in Acts of Uniformity) thus charged the jury :—

Gentlemen of the jury, you see this man about whom so great an uproar hath been made in this town: you have also heard what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed against him: also you have heard his reply and confession. It lieth now in your breasts to hang him, or save his life; but yet I think meet to instruct you into our law.

There was an act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, servant to our prince, that lest those of a contrary religion should multiply and grow too strong for him, their males should be thrown into the river. There was also an act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, another of his servants, that whoever would not fall down and worship his golden image, should be thrown into a fiery furnace. There was also an act made in the days of Darius, that whoso, for some time, called upon any god but him, should be cast into the lion's den. Now the substance of these laws this rebel has broken, not only in thought (which is not to be borne), but also in word and deed: which must therefore needs be intolerable.

For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition, to prevent mischief, no crime being yet apparent; but here is a crime apparent. For the second and third, you see he disputeth against our religion; and for the treason he hath confessed, he deserveth to die the death.

Then went the jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blindman, Mr. No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Liveloose, Mr. Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Lyar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hate-light, and Mr. Implacable; who every one gave in his private verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before the judge. And first among themselves, Mr. Blind-man, the foreman, said, I see clearly that this man is an heretic. Then said Mr. No-good, Away with such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said Mr. Malice, for I hate the very looks of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, for he would always be condemning my way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said Mr. High-mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Lyar. Hanging is too good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let us dispatch him out of the way, said Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have all the world given me, I could not be reconciled to him; therefore, let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death. And so they did; therefore he was presently condemned to be had from the place where he was, to the place from whence he came, and there to be put to the most cruel death that could be invented.

They therefore brought him out, to do with him according to their law; and first they scourged him, then they buffeted him, then they lanced his flesh with knives; after that they stoned him with stones, then pricked him with their swords; and last of all they burned him to ashes at the stake. came Faithful to his end.

Thus

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a chariot and a couple of horses, waiting for Faithful, who (so soon as his adversaries had dispatched him) was taken up into it, and straightway was carried up through the clouds, with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to the celestial gate. But as for Christian, he had some respite, and was remanded back to prison; so he there remained for a space. But He that overrules all things, having the power of their rage in his

own hand, so wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped them, and went his way.

The dialogues with By-ends, Save-all, Money-love, and Hold-the-world are full of distinct reference to the worldly loss imposed on Nonconformist preachers, and the question of their dissent from some of their own principles that they might comply with what appeared to be imposed conditions of their usefulness. Such talk brought Christian to the Hill of Lucre, and more incidents followed, with more homely dialogues. The Pilgrims became prisoners to Giant Despair in Doubting Castle, but escaped by opening the prison lock with a key called Promise, that was in Christian's bosom. Christian met with Little-faith, was saved by a Shining One from the net of the Flatterer, but also chastised; met with Atheist, Young Ignorance, and talked of Temporary, who dwelt in Graceless, next door to one Turnback, and had been much awakened till he dropped Christian's company for that of Saveself. So Christian at last came with Hopeful to the Gate of Death. There was a deep, unbridged river between them and it. They were told that there was no way but through the river. None but Enoch and Elijah had been spared the passage. Angels were there, who could not help them; but who told them they would find the water deeper or shallower as they believed in the King of the place.

They then addressed themselves to the water; and entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep waters; the billows go over my head, all his waves go over me, Selah.

Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother; I feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah, my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me about, I shall not see the land that flows with milk and honey. And with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him.

"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee." The perils of the river were at last

overcome.

Now upon the bank of the river on the other side, they saw the two shining men again, who there waited for them; wherefore being come out of the river, they saluted them, saying, We are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate. Now you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill, but the pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had these two men to lead them up by the arms; also they had left their mortal garments behind them in the river, for though they went in with them, they came out without them. They therefore went up here with much agility and speed, though the foundation upon which the city was framed was higher than the clouds.

Now, now, look how the holy pilgrims ride,
Clouds are their chariots, angels are their guide:
Who would not here for Him all hazards run,
That thus provides for His when this world's done?

They therefore went up through the regions of the air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, because they

had safely got over the river, and had such glorious companions to attend them.

Now while they were thus drawing towards the gate, behold a company of the heavenly host came out to meet them; to whom it was said by the other two shining ones, These are the men that have loved Our Lord when they were in the world, and that have left all for His holy name, and He hath sent us to fetch them, and we have brought them thus far on their desired journey, that they may go in and look their Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the heavenly host gave a great shout, saying, "Blessed are they that are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb." There came out also at this time to meet them several of the King's trumpeters, clothed in white and shining raiments, who, with melodious noises and loud, made even the heavens to echo with their sound. These trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes from the world, and this they did with shouting and sound of trumpet.

This done, they compassed them round on every side; some went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the left (as 'twere to guard them through the upper regions), continually sounding as they went with melodious noise, in notes on high: so that the very sight was to them that could behold it, as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. Thus therefore they walked on together; and as they walked, ever and anon these trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, by mixing their music with looks and gestures, still signify to Christian and his brother, how welcome they were into their company, and with what gladness they came to meet them. And now were these two men as 'twere in heaven before they came at it, being swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with hearing of their melodious notes. Here also they had the city itself in view, and they thought they heard all the bells therein ring to welcome them thereto. But above all, the warm and joyful thoughts that they had about their own dwelling there, with such company, and that for ever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be expressed! And thus they came up to the gate.

There yet followed the glory of admission through the gate by which they who keep truth shall enter into the joy of their Lord. But Ignorance found a ferryman named Vain-hope, to put him across the river, and came up to the gate without a saving scroll. "Then I saw that there was a way to hell even from the gates of heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold, it was a dream."

John Bunyan was not released from prison by any act of grace of which he was himself the object, but benefited in common with many others by the king's Declaration of Indulgence. Encouraged by the Cabal ministry, formed after the banishment of Clarendon, Charles II. usurped several powers not belonging to the Crown; and one of these was a dispensing power which he claimed as head of the Church, and by virtue of which, on the 15th of March, 1672, he suspended the general laws against nonconformists and recusants, granting " a sufficient number of places in all parts of the kingdom for the use of such as do not conform to the Church of England, to meet and assemble in, in order to their public worship and devotion." To the Roman Catholics he granted exemption from the penal laws, and their own form

of worship if exercised in private houses only. When Bunyan was released, in 1672, he acted as regular pastor to the congregation at Bedford. He came every year to London, and 3,000 persons sometimes gathered about the meeting-house at Southwark on a Sunday, 1,200 on a weekday, or dark winter morning at seven o'clock, to hear him preach. He preached also at Reading. One of his hearers there was about to disinherit his son. The son asked Bunyan to intercede for him he did so, with success; but on his journey on horseback from Reading to London after his labour of love, Bunyan was drenched by heavy rain, which produced a fever, of which he died ten days afterwards. Over his grave in the burial-ground at Bunhill Fields the record ran,

"Mr. John Bunyan, Author of the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Ob. 12 Aug., 1688, æt. 60.

The Pilgrim's Progress now is finished,
And Death has laid him in his earthly bed."

In 1671, the year before John Bunyan's release from prison, John Milton published, in one volume, two poems, "Paradise Regained" and "Samson Agonistes." Milton's "Paradise Lost," published in 1667, will be described in the volume of this Library which is set apart for illustration of the larger works in English Literature, and "Samson Agonistes" will have a place of its own in the volume illustrating English Plays. But there was significance in the joining of "Paradise Regained" with "Samson Agonistes" in one volume, produced at a time when many earnest men, who had thought their leaders under the Commonwealth solemnly elected to some great work, God's glory and the people's safety, which in part they effected, were cast into questioning of God's providence towards man. Why was it that in the noontide of their success the hand of God was changed towards those who had laboured for His glory? Why were they thrown lower than they had been exalted high, left to the hostile sword,

(6 -their carcases To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd,

Or to the unjust tribunals under change of times."

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If others, who seemed to be living in the midst of a triumphant mockery of their best hopes, felt that what they regarded as "the good old cause was become as Samson shorn of his power, blind, captive, the sport of the Philistines, betrayed into their hands by Delilah-as many Independents felt that they had been given up by their yoke-fellows the Presbyterians-Milton took up for their encouragement the parable of Samson. Applying it to their case as an encouragement to trust in God, he expressed in the chorus, God of our Fathers, what is man," the questionings he made it his last care to meet, and, while suggesting that

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"Patience is more oft the exercise Of saints, the trial of their fortitude,

Making them each his own deliverer,

And victor over all

That tyranny or fortune can inflict,"

he ended his play, and his life as a poet, with the lesson of a firm and absolute reliance upon God, however evil seem the days on which we fall.

"All is best, though we oft doubt
What the unsearchable dispose
Of Highest Wisdom brings about,
And ever best found in the close.
Oft He seems to hide His face,

But unexpectedly returns,

And to His faithful champion hath in place

Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns

And all that band them to resist

His uncontrollable intent:

His servants He, with new acquist

Of true experience, from this great event,
With peace and consolation hath dismiss'd,
And calm of mind, all passion spent."

While "Samson Agonistes" thus pointed directly to those ills of which some were impatient, the other poem published with it, "Paradise Regained," drew in a kindred spirit from the pattern of Christ one lesson, applied to all temptations of man's life, the lesson of a firm and quiet trust. The spirit of the thirty-seventh Psalm pervades "Samson Agonistes," and its tenderest thoughts are in "Paradise Regained," which breathes everywhere a placid music to one burden, "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him." The poem is a miniature epic, in four books, calm as its theme. In "Paradise Lost" there was a temptation yielded to, in "Paradise Regained" there is a temptation overcome; and the tempting of Christ in the wilderness is so told as to teach, through Christ, how, under all trials and temptations of life, and all suggestion of doubt, the one safeguard is an abiding faith and quiet trust in our Father who is in heaven.

In "Paradise Regained" the epic treatment of the theme is subdued in every feature to the tone of its main thought. There is the opening statement of the subject, and the invocation of the Holy Spirit by which this glorious eremite was led into the desert. Then the narrative opens with the baptism of Christ, where

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Easily canst thou find one miserable,
And not enforced oft-times to part from truth,
If it may stand him more in stead to lie,
Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure?
But thou art placed above me, thou art Lord;
From thee I can, and must submiss, endure
Check or reproof, and glad to 'scape so quit.
Hard are the ways of Truth, and rough to walk,
Smooth on the tongue discoursed, pleasing to the ear,
And tuneable as sylvan pipe or song.

What wonder then if I delight to hear

Her dictates from thy mouth? most men admire
Virtue, who follow not her lore. Permit me
To hear thee when I come-since no man comes-
And talk at least, though I despair to attain.
Thy Father, who is holy, wise, and pure,
Suffers the hypocrite or atheous priest
To tread His sacred courts, and minister
About His altar, handling holy things,

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