a pilgrimage. Let us then stand at the Gates of the Celestial City, as they are flung wide open to admit the transfigured pilgrims, and then, with the light shining on us, let us turn to the prayerful patient prosecution of our own earthly pilgrimage, our own work for Christ. Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after them, and behold the City shone like the sun; the streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked many men with crowns on their heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps to sing praises withal. There were also of them that had wings; and they answered one another without intermission, saying, 'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord.' And after that, they shut up the Gates; which, when I had seen, I wished myself among them."

Turn now, dear fellow-pilgrim, animated and encouraged on thy way. Thou hast heard the songs of the redeemed; in the Apocalypse thou hast gone with John into the Celestial City; in the Pilgrim's Progress thou hast wished thyself with Bunyan among the crowned and shining ones, that cry Holy! Holy! Holy! Go then, and be faithful. Live in and upon Christ. Knock and weep, and watch and pray; but in all thy darkness, (and darkness thou mayest have to encounter,) never let the light of this Vision be forgotten.

Hie thee on thy quiet way,

Patient watch the breaking dawn:
For the shadows flee away,

And the night will soon be gone.

Thy pilgrimage lies through the wilderness,—a wilderness indeed; but the dear path to Christ's abode is there, and His light is shining. No pilgrim's rest is in this world, but there is a REST that remaineth for the people of God. Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come, a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. Go, then, on thy way, singing as thou goest,—

How happy is the Pilgrim's lot,

How free from every anxious thought,
From worldly hope and fear!
Confined to neither court nor cell,
His soul disdains on earth to dwell,
He only sojourns here.

This happiness in part is mine;
Already saved from low design,
From every creature-love!
Blessed with the scorn of finite good,
My soul is lightened of its load,

And seeks the things above.

The things eternal I pursue,
A happiness beyond the view

Of those that beastly pant

For things by nature felt and seen;
Their honours, wealth, and pleasures mean,
I neither have nor want.

No foot of land do I possess ;
No cottage in this wilderness;
A poor wayfaring man;

I lodge awhile in tents below,
Or gladly wander to and fro,
Till I my Canaan gain.

Nothing on earth I call my own;
A stranger to the world, unknown,
I all their goods despise :

I trample on their whole delight,
And seek a city out of sight,
A city in the skies.

There is my house and portion fair,

My treasure and my heart are there,

And my abiding home;

For me my elder brethren stay,

And angels beckon me away,

And Jesus bids me come

BLESSING, AND HONOUR, AND GLORY, AND POwer, be untó HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND UNTO THE LAMB FOR EVER AND EVER!

LECTURE XV.

CHRISTIANA, MERCY, AND THE CHILDREN.

Comparison between the First and Second Parts of the Pilgrim's Progress.-Cheerfulness of the Second Part.-Beauty of its delineation of the female character. Its great variety.-Characters of Mr. Greatheart and Standfast.-Character of Mr. Fearing.-Instructive lessons from the Enchanted Ground.— Reigning traits of the Pilgrimage as delineated by Bunyan.-Closing lesson.

IF only the Second Part of the Pilgrim's Progress had been written, it may well be doubted whether it would not have been regarded in a higher light than it is now. The First Part is so superior to the Second, that this loses in the comparison, and gains not so much admiration as it really deserves. Just so, the Paradise Regained would have been esteemed a nobler Poem, had it not stood after the Paradise Lost, the splendour of Milton's genius in the first effort quite eclipsed its milder radiance in the second. Yet the Second Part of the Pilgrim's Progress is full of instruction and beauty, and exhibits varieties of the Christian Life delineated with such truth both to nature and grace, that though there is less elevation both in thought and style, and more familiarity and homeliness, we are still delighted with our journeyings, and love to listen to the voice of our accustomed teacher. There is not such purity and severity of taste, not such glowing fire of sentiment and feeling, not such point and condensation, not such unity and power, in the Second Part as in the First. The conversations do not possess the same richness and fulness of meaning, nor the same deep solemn blissful tones of warning and of heaven; there is sometimes almost all the difference that is found between the garrulity of men at ease, and the earnest, thoughtful talk of men pondering great themes and set upon great enterprises. Not that the journey ever ceases to be the Christian pilgrimage, but it becomes so very sociable, and at times so merry and gossiping, that it almost passes into comedy.

Perhaps the Second Part of this pilgrimage comes nearer to the ordinary experience of the great multitude of Christians than the First Part; and this may have been Bunyan's intention. The First Part shows, as in Christian, Faithful, and Hopeful, the great examples and strong lights of this pilgrimage; it is as if Paul and Luther were passing over the scene. The Second Part shows a variety of pilgrims, whose stature and experience are more on a level with our own. The First Part is more severe, sublime, inspiring; the Second Part is more soothing and comforting. The First Part has deep and awful shadows mingled with its light, terribly instructive, and like warnings from hell and the grave. The Second Part is more continually and uninterruptedly cheerful, full of good nature and pleasantry, and showing the pilgrimage in lights and shades that are common to weaker Christians.

So there is a sweet tone and measure of gentleness and tenderness, in accordance with that passage, Lift up the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees, and make straight paths for your feet, lest that which is lame be turned out of the way; but rather let it be healed." We have before us a company of the maimed, the halt, the lame, the blind, and a merry party it is, after all, through the magic of faith and Christian sympathy. Here are Mr. Ready-to-halt, Mr. Feeble-mind, Mr. Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid, and others of like frame and mould, as well as old father Honest, resolute Mr. Standfast, discreet Christiana, and the lovely Mercy. Here are canes, crutches, and decrepitude, as well as young limbs, well-set sinews, and fresh, elastic, tripping feet of childhood. The Canterbury Tales themselves have scarcely a greater variety in their

pilgrimage. And all these characters are touched with great originality and power of colouring. They are separate, individual, graphic portraitures of classes.

Perhaps the most delightful portion of the Second Dream of Bunyan, is its sweet representation of the female character. There never were two more attractive beings drawn than Christiana and Mercy; as different from each other as Christian and Hopeful, and yet equally pleasing in their natural traits of character, and, under the influence of divine grace, each of them reflecting the light of heaven in an original and lovely variety. His own conception of what constitutes a bright example of beauty and consistency of character in a Christian woman, Bunyan has here given us, as well as in his first Dream the model of steadfast excellence in a Christian man. The delineation, in both Christiana and Mercy, is eminently beautiful. We have, in these characters, his own ideal of the domestic virtues, and his own conception of a well-ordered Christian family's domestic happiness.

I know not why we may not suppose this picture to have been drawn from the experience of his own household, as well as that the picture of Christian in the First Part was taken from his own personal experience; and if so, he possessed a lovely wife and a lovely family. Wherever he may have formed his own notions of female loveliness and excellence, he has, in the combination of them in the Second Part of the Pilgrim's Progress, presented two characters of such winning modesty and grace, such confiding truth and frankness, such simplicity and artlessness, such cheerfulness and pleasantness, such native good sense and Christian discretion, such sincerity, gentleness, and tenderness, that nothing could be more delightful.

The matronly virtues of Christiana, and the maidenly qualities of Mercy, are alike pleasing and appropriate. There is a mixture of timidity and frankness in Mercy, which is as sweet in itself as it is artlessly and unconsciously drawn; and in Christiana we discover the very characteristics that can make the most lovely feminine counterpart, suitable to the stern and lofty qualities of her husband. The characters of her boys, too, are beautifully delineated, with her own watchfulness over them as a mother. The catechising of the children is full of instruction, and every thing shows the principles of a good Christian education. The boys themselves are children of good sense and affectionate dispositions; and on the whole, this domestic picture of a family travelling towards heaven is one of the most beautiful and instructive delineations drawn by Bunyan's genius.

There are two traits that ought to be particularly noted, which are, first, the uninterrupted Christian cheerfulness of the whole party, so that there is "music in the heart, music in the house, and music in heaven," because of them; and second, the exquisite beauty of affectionate kindness and care exercised towards them, the compassionate and joyful tenderness with which they were received; and the open-hearted hospitality and love with which they are helped forward on their journey. The "meekness and gentleness of Christ," with the "love of the Spirit," and the lowly sweetness of the Gospel, especially in its condescension to the smoking flax and the bruised reed, were never more beautifully and successfully depicted. Mr. Feeble-Mind is gently carried up the Hill Difficulty. At the House of the Interpreter, when Mr. Fearing stands without in the cold, long time trembling and afraid to knock, good father Honest is sent forth by the Lord of the Way to entreat him to come in. In the significant rooms of the House of the Interpreter, there are discovered new varieties to please and instruct the women and children, and beautiful indeed are some of them. Also, the Lord of the Way is constantly sending refreshments to his beloved ones, and he grants them a heavenly Conductor to fight for them all along their pilgrimage. Sweet dreams wait on them, the peace of God keeps them, and when the boys go astray by eating of the fruit of "Beelzebub's orchard," the skill and efficacy of their physician are not greater than his kindness and gentleness.

As to the notable cheerfulness of this part of the pilgrimage, it is to be remarked, that it springs from the prevalence of Hope and Love. There is such constant Christian benevolence, such mutual humility, such each esteeming other better than themselves, such watchfulness for each other's good, such a Christian spirit to each other's failings, such sympathy in each other's joys and sorrows, such unselfish, unworldly hearts are mingled together, that there can hardly be a sweeter example of that Christian conversation which is always instructive, because always with grace, seasoned with salt; and always cheerful, because always singing and making melody in the heart to the Lord. The terrors

of the law are not present in this second pilgrimage, so much as the consolations of the Gospel; there is constant, serene enjoyment, and not by any means so many difficulties in the way as there are pleasures.

And it is observable that all the pilgrimage wears an aspect reflected from the gentle retiring character of the pilgrims. The very dangers that were so frightful in the First Part, have a gentler cast when Christiana and Mercy pass through them; the very fiends lose something of their ugliness and terror; in passing through Vanity Fair they meet with some good men, and are entertained with Christian hospitality in the house of a true pilgrim; and when they come to the close of their pilgrimage, the River of Death itself, for them and for good Mr. Fearing, becomes almost dry. When they pass through the Valley of Humiliation, it is to them a sweet and quiet place, because their own spirit is so sweet and contented; no sight or semblance of Apollyon is there; they could live there and be happy all their life long.

When they pass through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, Christ's rod and his staff do so comfort them, and they so cling together amidst their fears, and encourage each other by their holy conversation, that it is no more the dread valley which Christian passed through alone; it is a place where they are bid stand and see the Lord's deliverance. Their company is constantly increasing as they go, and they are all so ready to bear one another's burdens, they obey so perfectly the Apostle's injunction to put on, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, humbleness of mind, and the gentlest forbearance, that a more alluring picture of the pilgrimage could scarcely be drawn, and yet a most perfectly correct one, wherever the blessed Spirit of Christ vails. The pilgrims all act according to this divine rule, "Let every one of us please his neighbour for his good to edification, for even Christ pleased not himself."

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All this is delightful. It suits the pilgrimage to the walks of humble life, and holds up an example neither too high for the common multitude of Christians, nor in any way restricted to great stations or opportunities, nor at all removed from the familiar occasions and occurrences of our every-day existence. We have here a picture of the pilgrim in society, and how entirely it stands contrasted with the monkish and monastic piety once in fashion, and now again in some quarters beginning to be revered, I hardly need say. There is nothing severe, or stiff, or formal in it, nothing ascetic or morose, but every thing good-natured and sociable, joyful, charitable, and kind. As a picture of the pilgrim in domestic life, of the pilgrim as the mother of a family, and of the pilgrim, though in the world, yet living above the world, the description is as pleasing and attractive as it is true and valuable. It is what the humblest minds can understand, while the most elevated may dwell upon it with profit and delight. Perhaps to the minds of children, the Second Part proves even more attractive than the First; a striking proof of its merits, since Bunyan wrote it for childlike minds and for the common people.

One of its greatest beauties is its rich and vigorous delineation of character, and that not merely in the case of pilgrims, but of opposers and evil-minded persons. The sinful women who beset Christiana and Mercy at the outset to dissuade them from becoming pilgrims, are portraits of the kind of character which those generally bear who oppose and revile any that may be fearing God and seeking the salvation of their souls. Mrs. Timorous, Mrs. Bats-eyes, Mrs. Light-mind, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Know-nothing, and others still worse, make up the character of those, who either do not themselves become pilgrims, or who endeavour to turn friends or acquaintances from the ways of righteousness. But Christiana and Mercy are too much in earnest, too deeply convinced of sin, and too sincerely bent upon securing their salvation to be turned aside in the least by such opposition. So it always is where there is sin in the conscience and the motion of God's Spirit on the heart. Not all that men or devils can do, not all the power either of temptation or persuasion, or ridicule, can have the least effect where the conscience is once thoroughly awakened and burdened with a sense of guilt. To be in earnest on first setting out in this pilgrimage is a great thing, and the explicit promise of God is, "Ye shall find me when ye shall search for me with all the heart."

Next to the characters of Christiana and Mercy stands that of Mr. Great-heart, their conductor, a man of great faith, a man of the same spirit as Christian, Faithful, and Hopeful. There is a combination of energy and gentleness in his character, a union of the fearless warrior and the kind and careful Shepherd. He can fight with Giant Grim, can talk with the children, can condescend to Mr. Feeble-mind, can carry the Lambs in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young. His portrait is

drawn with remarkable freedom, as a frank, fearless, noble, open character, with neither severity nor prejudice to mar those confiding and attractive qualities.

Mr. Honest, Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and Mr. Standfast, are men of a kindred greatness of spirit. It is a beautiful incident, when they find Mr. Standfast at prayer on the Enchanted Ground, and the manner of his introduction to our knowledge suits well the close of his life, which was very triumphant. There was a great calm at that time in the River of Death, and when Mr. Standfast was about half way over, he stood firm, and spoke to those who had accompanied him to the bank of the River, in language of such glowing love to Christ, and such unshaken faith, as was enough to ravish the hearts of the survivors with joy for the prospect of the glory before him. The deaths of the pilgrims in this Second Part are all either quiet or triumphant, and some, who had passed all their life under a cloud, beheld it break, and the mist to disperse, and the sun to shine brightly at the last hour.

The character of Mr. Fearing is also an admirable portrait. In every country where pilgrims are sojourning, there are just such men as he is to be met with on the pilgrimage. If we all possessed Mr. Fearing's tenderness of conscience, and his dread of sinning against God, it would be well for us; and yet, if all Christians were in all respects like him, there would not be so much good done in the world, though there might be less evil committed. Good Mr. Fearing needed confidence in God, and the spirit of adoption and of freedom in his service. There was in him so great a degree of humility and self-abasement, so great a sense of his own unworthiness, that, being unaccompanied by a corresponding sense of the free mercy of Christ to the chief of sinners, it went over into unbelief and fear. He feared to apply to himself the promises, feared that he was too unworthy even to pray for an interest in them, feared that he should not be accepted of Christ, feared to make a profession of religion, hardly dared show himself among Christians, or permit himself to be considered as one of them. These fears and despondencies went so far in his mind, that they prevented a right view of his duties; they made what are the duties of the Christian appear to him as such great privileges, of which he was altogether unworthy, that he hardly dared take upon himself to perform them.

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Yet, he was ready for difficulty and self-denial, and was sometimes prompt and bold, where pilgrims that were stronger than he found themselves drowsy and fearful. Hill Difficulty he did not seem to mind at all, and in Vanity Fair his spirit was so stirred within him at the sins and fooleries of the place, that father Honest had much ado to keep him within the bounds of prudence, and feared he would have brought the whole rabble of the Fair upon them. Then on the Enchanted Ground, where many are so sleepy, he was wakeful and vigilant; so that he was always giving good evidence to others of being a true child of God, even while he had very little hope for himself, and many, very many fears, lest he should at last be refused admittance at the Gate of the Celestial City.

The humility of Mr. Fearing was good, and a precious, rare grace it is; but it is no part of humility to distrust the mercy of the Saviour, or to shrink from active duty for want of reliance on the strength of Christ, for want of resting on that sweet promise, "My grace is sufficient for thee." Mr. Fearing's unbelief was a source of great distress to him, and deprived him of much enjoyment all the way of his pilgrimage. Persons like him, though truly fearing God, often go under a cloud all their life long, and sometimes even refuse to make a profession of religion, and to join themselves with other Christians, because of their prevailing gloom. Mr. Fearing himself, though he had much comfort in the House Beautiful, was with difficulty persuaded to enter. "I got him in," said father Honest, "at 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.

He had much joy in the Valley of Humiliation, but he was a man of few words, and had a habit of sighing aloud in his dejection. He was very tender of sin, and so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he would often deny himself that which is lawful, because he would not offend. This was a very precious trait, but so extreme in him, that by the lowness of his spirits his life was made burdensome to himself, and not a little trouble