TIME'S MAGIC LANTHERN.

No IV.

Bunyanus Obsessus, or a Tift with Apollyon.

Argument. John Bunyan, travelling as an itinerant preacher, comes to a small inn, where he means to spend the night; but is turned out of doors, and after divers disasters, is beset by Apollyon, who tempts him to forsake his calling for the sake of worldly ease and comfort.

Scene I. A Hedge Alehouse.

John Bunyan. Gladly do I lay down my staff. The fire crackles pleasantly. Hostess! some bread and cheese, for here I must tarry this night. My bones ache with weariness.

Hostess. Would you not have some ale to these dry crusts?

Bunyan. I cannot pay for ale, and would not wrong thee, woman, of a farthing, for any bodily comfort.

Hostess. A strange man this. What nails in his shoes, and what a sourness in his countenance! I dare be sworn he has the strength of a horse. How far have you come this day?

Bunyan. Fifty-six miles since I last wrought in the vineyard.

Hostess. Then fall to and eat, for you must stand in need of refreshment. What is the meaning of these white streaks upon your coat?

Bunyan. When I was sore spent, a miller permitted me to ascend his cart; by which means my skirts have been whitened with meal.

Hostess. Whether are you travelling? Bunyan. Hum,-upon no errand of vanity. Inquire no farther.

Enter Two Waggoners. 1 Wag. A sharp night as ever my knuckles remember. Some ale, hostéss-and look to the horses; but first bring the pint-pot. Good liquor makes all even.

2 Wag. Come, Joe, we may lay aside our cutlasses now. We are lucky to have met with no footpads. (Addressing John Bunyan.) Can you tell us any news, friend? Have they caught Ralph Ryegrass, who so much infested this road?

Bunyan. I can tell you nothing of Ralph Ryegrass, but I can tell you of a far greater footpad-one who frequents all roads alike, whether they VOL. III.

lead east, or west, or north, or southand who robs and cheats people, even in day-light, of what is more valuable to them than their purses, or their laced coats, or their gewgaws, or their trinkets.

2 Wag. Who can this be?

Bunyan. An old offender; one who will never be caught till the day of judgment.

1 Wag. Sure, I know the names of all notorious robbers and thieves. Can it be Simon Suregun?

Bunyan. No, friend; it is quite a different person.

2 Wag. How do you describe him? Is he a short and brawny man, and hard-favoured?

Bunyan. Hard-favoured enough. I will answer for that.

1 Wag. Can it be Touzling Thomas?

Bunyan. No, friend; it is the devil. It is he who wanders about, sometimes like a wily fox, and sometimes like a roaring lion, gaping for lost souls; and who lurks, not only in dark woods and solitary bye-paths, but also follows people to ale-houses, and stands behind their benches to sweeten the relish of every draught. No waitingman is half so alert as the devil, nor rejoices more to fetch the dearest and hottest things in the house.

1 Wag. Now I see your drift. But I wish you would let us swallow our liquor in peace. It is time enough to settle with the devil when we have driven our last stage.

Bunyan. Ah, reprobate!

2 Wag. It strikes me that I have heard this man before at Splashdirt fair. Hostess, how many beds have you?

Hostess. Not more than one, besides my own. There can but two folks lodge here.

1 Wag. Friend, we have been always used to have this bed, and we won't be shoved out of our birth, I promise you.

2 Wag. You will find another inn three miles off, or at most five or six, as I am Christian.

Bunyan. Woman,

this

wherefore is

1 Wag. Out with him! vile thief! -I know him.

Bunyan. Thou knave, this is an inn, I will sleep by the fire.

2 Wag. Out with him! Away with him! He will open the door at night to his comrades.

(John Bunyan is beaten out.) Scene II. The High Road. Bunyan. Thus are the servants of the Lord driven forth, and have not where to lay their heads. Yonder is a very black cloud, which will soon pour down upon me, while these carriers remain drinking at the fireside. But hush! John Bunyan, it is not for thee to repine, or to envy their sottish delights. My limbs are stout, and my heart scorns to quail at trifles. I will on sturdily, and count five miles for the half way. Here comes a horseman behind me, if I mistake not. Enter Apollyon, in the shape of a Gentleman on horseback. Apollyon. Good even to you, friend. Heavy roads these.

Bunyan. Heavy, indeed, for man and beast.

Apollyon. You travel late, methinks? A foot-passenger would require moonlight here.

Bunyan. I travel towards next inn. Apollyon. Which is four miles off. When you come to a place where the road branches into two, be sure to keep to the left hand; for, on the other road, no inn is to be found.

Bunyan. I thank you for your ad monition, and will attend to it.

Scene III. A desolate Common. Enter John Bunyan, bewildered. Bunyan. Whither am I going? Where is this to end? Seven miles at least have I walked, and now I find myself I know not where. This fine dressed spark, upon his roan horse, has been making a mock of me. No appearance of a human dwelling-not even a tree under which to find shelter. Meanwhile, this dainty horseman rides forward with his tinkling trappings and jingling vanities, and chuckles, no doubt, over his jest. My patience is almost out. May the dev

(Enter Apollyon in the shape of a Herdsman.) Herdsman. Who is this cursing and swearing in the dark ?

Bunyan. One who is sore bestraught. Pray you, friend, where am I? Is there not an inn hard by? Herdsman. Alas, no! Have you lost your way?

Bunyan. Some son of mischief has put me on a wrong track.

Herdsman. Your case grieves me. Do you observe yon light about half way up the hill at some distance?

Bunyan. I do. From whence does it proceed?

Herdsman. From our parson's house. He is a very charitable soul, and will not refuse a night's accommodation to an unfortunate traveller. Keep the light steadily in view, and, upon approaching, you will perceive there is before the house a walled garden, through which you must pass. Go boldly in and knock.

Bunyan. This revives my spirits. Give me your hand, mine honest friend. You laugh, I think.

Herdsman. I rejoice to think how kindly you will be received after all your fatigues.

Scene IV. The Parson's Garden.

Enter the Parson, with Servants. Parson. Take your stations among the trees. To have my orchard robbed three nights successively is too much. But I think we shall secure the rogue at last.

1 Serv. Shall we cudgel him tightly? Parson. No; only confine him till to-morrow, and then bring him before Justice Proudpaunch.

2 Serv. If it be the fellow whom I suspect, he wears a broad-brimmed hat, and has something like a respectable appearance.

Parson. Never mind appearances, but do your duty. Hist! here he comes: keep quiet till he mounts a tree.

Enter John Bunyan. Bunyan. Aha!-softly-softly-the good man. Sorely, all night, have I toiled; but now the fruits await me. What a paradise is this, after these bleak heaths! Snug, warm, pleasant. My face feels easy: no more of those windy and rainy blurtings which confound the senses of the traveller. The good man hath planted his garden with goodly trees. Sure he must be rich and beneficent, and I doubt not but I shall come away with some of his leather-coats in my pocket. Now—

Parson. (Rushing out with Servants.) Down with him! Seize him! Pinion him!-A light here, ho!

1 Serv. (Collaring Bunyan.) So, sirrah, what say you now w? You would have a pocketfull of leather-coats, would you?

Bunyan. Gripe not my throat so fast. Wherefore is this?

2 Serv. A big-boned and sturdy thief. His pockets are made to hold a bushel each. Why do you leer so piteously at my master?

Bunyan. An herdsman whom I met upon the common beneath directed me unto him, as being a charitable and bounteous man.

Parson. Oh, impudence! What herdsman? No herdsman ever watches there. Seek to abuse mine ear with falsehoods! You will make nothing by adding one sin to another.

Bunyan. Sin!-Woe's me that I should have trusted to the tongues of sinful men!

Parson. Bring him along. The barn, I think, will be the best place in which to secure him.

Scene V. The Interior of the Barn. Bunyan, solus. What have I done? Am I dreaming? Hard walls, and a door of substantial timber. Nay, this is no vision. And how shall I clear myself to the Justice to-morrow, when these brazen-fronted serving-men shall bear witness against me? I am confounded already. I sought for a charitable man, and I have found a Judas. Instead of bread, he has given me a stone. No more no more. My strength is utterly exhausted. Let me sink among these trusses of straw. Apollyon appears in his own shape. Bunyan. (Starting.) What light is this?-Ha! well met, thou damnable fiend! Thou art come, as usual, to taunt me upon my misfortunes.

Apollyon. A fine dilemma this.What mean you to do, Mr Bunyan?

Bunyan. To sleep till morning; and the sooner thou leavest me the better.

Apollyon. Would you not have been better at home with the sweet Mrs Bunyan? I saw a gallant man, in a red coat, go into her house the other day.

Bunyan. Thou art a cursed liar;

cousin from abroad.

Apollyon. Mrs Bunyan has been a handsome woman in her time.

Bunyan. She is neither more nor less handsome than the Lord hath made her; for which I return most humble thanks.

Apollyon. Women are weak, Mr Bunyan. Why lookest thou not after thine own ewe, instead of other people's flocks? Were the carriers a whit the better of thee?

Bunyan. It is not for me to speak of my fructifications; but here are my tablets.-Sunday. Preached at Eppington, where two weavers seemed deeply smitten, and went away rejoicing. Monday. A deathbed conversation with a village lawyer. Hard wrestling. Upshot uncertain.-Tuesday. Visit to Bridewell. Nothing but foul language.

Wednesday evening. Dispute with a blacksmith on the prophecies.-Thursday. Preached at

Apollyon. And on Friday evening you baptized a waxen doll, which was brought you, in the twilight, by two wags, dressed up as father and mother. "The child's name is Martha," says Mr Bunyan.

Bunyan. If I were not aware that thou art altogether made up of gibes and lies, my mind would be troubled.

Apollyon. Troubled or not troubled, what I have told you is a fact. You are a weak man, Mr Bunyan.

Bunyan. My comfort is, that "the devil was a liar from the beginning."

Apollyon. If you had taken the advice which I have so frequently offered, you would have gone home long before now, and lived like a rational person. What has been the result of your whole week's labours, except the affair of the two weavers? The necessity of good works will slip through their minds like a shuttle, and leave nothing but tangled threads of controversy behind.

Bunyan. Peace, envious toad! I have made them new men.

Apollyon. You are quite mistaken. Since the date of their conversion, I have them down in my books for sundry dram-drinkings and misdoings, of which no person has any suspicion.

Bunyan. You may put down what you please in your books, but――

Apollyon. To give you some idea of their contents, I shall read a page or

sticks. You wish to inveigle me into some devilish bargain.

Apollyon. Never fear. Nothing shall be asked of you but what may be safely complied with. Only promise to give over preaching.

two.-Friday evening. Observed Farmer Gilliflower coming home from market quite drunk, and sitting awry upon his horse.--Saturday night. Posted myself within a bed-curtain, and whispered all night in Miss Bridget's ear.-Sunday evening. A dinner of clergymen. After the cloth was removed, some choice anecdotes of a certain description from Dr Warmchair, seconded by the Reverend Mr Touchwood.

Bunyan. Enough-enough.

Apollyon. Monday morning. Went into Dame Plausible's shop to try the weights and measures. A pewter pint pot a good deal squeezed on one side. Sugars very damp.

Bunyan. The time will come, when it will be felt how much a light pound helps to weigh down a heavy soul.

Apollyon Tuesday. Dressed myself in the clothes of a public character, and made a long speech in parliament. Two hours on my legs. Loud cheering.-Wednesday night. Gave a sly push to the elbow of a billiard-player, who presently went home and shot himself. Thursday morning. Little stirring. Accompanied a cart of sloes to the storehouse of a certain winemerchant.

Bunyan. No more-no more. Apollyon-Friday evening. Attended a debating club in the north. Only five atheists present. President expelled because of a Bible having been found in his pocket. David Drearylengths elected in his place. Alexander Antichrist, secretary; Adolphus Utopianus Crackbrain, librarian.

Bunyan. I will hear no more of this; it makes me shudder.

Apollyon. You see what sort of a world you are attempting to reform. And what is the reward of your perseverance? You are locked up here as a fruit-stealer. To-morrow you must answer the charge before Justice Proudpaunch; and what will you say then, Mr Bunyan?

Bunyan. In truth, I know not. Apollyon. You will be put in the stocks, or perhaps in the pillory; and no person will ever listen to your preaching in future.

Bunyan. Alas! I am sore beset. Apollyon. What would you give me to carry you safe home, on a broomstick, to the sweet Mrs Bunyan?

Bunyan. I will mount no broom

Bunyan. Never while I have breath. Apollyon. What then? Must the author of the Pilgrim's Progress appear in the stocks as a common thief? Reflect, Mr Bunyan, reflect a little. Only pledge your word, and the barn door shall immediately fly open. You may either mount the broom or not, as you please.

Bunyan. Tempt me no farther.

Apollyon. Infatuated man! reflect once more, ere I leave you to your fate. Our conversation must speedily close.

Bunyan. The sooner the better; for let me tell you, those puffs of sulphur are none of the pleasantest.

Apollyon. I remember a Scottish preacher who thought otherwise. He said he was fond of a wrestle with me, because he generally felt easier after it. I allude to the Reverend Mr Daniel Fidget, whose celebrity was by no means founded on the whiteness of his linen.

Bunyan. What have I to do with Daniel Fidget? Leave me.

Apollyon. One word more. If you will not promise to give over preaching, I am willing to relieve you from your present embarrassment for a slighter consideration.

Bunyan. What is that?

Apollyon. Only recite the creed, leaving out every fourth word.

Bunyan. It is not for me to make or meddle with the creed.

Apollyon. Come then, I will assist you gratuitously. Put your staff between your legs, and I will change it into a most beautiful griffin, with golden claws, which will carry you out through the roof, in the easiest manner possible.

Bunyan. Claws are still claws, although they be gilded.

Apollyon. The saddle shall be velvet; and you will travel as smooth as a morning's dream, or a pigeon with a love-letter.

Bunyan. (Bitterly.) To what place, thou prince of sharpers? To what place? Do you take me for a dolt?

Apollyon. Why, home, to be sure. What is the matter?

Bunyan. Home ?-Crocodile!