PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.

MR. BUNYAN was a wonderful man. Called by divine grace out of a state of ignorance, vice, and obscurity, he became, without the aid of human culture, a most useful minister of the gospel, and a very eminent writer:-a writer so eminent, that though he has been dead more than a century, his works still live, and are deservedly popular; particularly his allegorical works-the Pilgrim's Progress and the Holy War. Few books have ever been so often printed, or so much admired as the former. In that charming work, the christian life is represented under the figure of a journey, and the pilgrim is conducted through a thousand remarkable incidents, from his native city of Destruction, to Heaven, the city of God. In the Holy War, the same subject is treated in a military manner. The fall and recovery of man are represented by two remarkable revolutions in the town of MANSOUL. The human soul is figuratively considered as a beautiful and prosperous town, seduced from its obedience to Shaddai, its builder and governor, by the stratagems of Diabolus, his inveterate enemy; but the town, after a tedious war, is again recovered by the victorious arms of Immanuel, the king's son. This military view of the subject is strictly consonant with the sacred scriptures, which represent the christian life as a warfare, Christ as a captain, the believer as a soldier of Jesus Christ, the preaching of the gospel as the weapons of the holy war, and the graces of the Spirit as so many parts of the heavenly armour. Mr. Bunyan was better qualified than most ministers to treat this subject with propriety, having himself been a soldier; and knowing, by experience, the arts and the hardships of war. Indeed, he has conducted the whole work with singular ingenuity and skill. He displays throughout, his accurate knowledge of the Bible and its distinguishing doctrines; his deep acquaintance with the heart; and its desperate wickedness; his knowledge of the devices of Satan, and of the prejudices of the carnal mind against the gospel. He proyes himself to have had an extensive knowledge of christian experience, of the power of conscience, of the excellency of faith, of the misey arising from doubts and fears, of the danger of carnal

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PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.

security, and of the necessity of crucifying the flesh, with its affections and lusts. The grace and love of our Lord Jesus Christ are sweetly delineated in the character of his Immanuel; and the powerful influences of the Holy Spirit are finely described in the character of the Secretary. A vast fund of experimental religion is treasured up in this book; while the instruction is conveyed in the form of entertainment and amusement; and occasionally, a smile excited by the singular propriety of the unusual names assign ed to the numerous characters introduced.

To render this edition of the Holy War more agreeable than any former one, the same method is pursued as in the Editor's edition of the Pilgrim's Progress. The work is divided into chapters of a moderate length, an improvement which this work certainly wanted. Proper pauses are necessary to relieve the attention of the reader, as well as to allow time for reflection, and to assist the memory. A considerable number of explanatory and practical notes are subjoined, intended to render the author's designs more conspicuous; to impress a useful hint, which might otherwise be passed over too hastily, and to point out some of those latent beauties, which might else escape a cursory reader. In attempting this, the Editor has availed himself of the author's marginal key, with which he has endeavoured to unlock every division of the curious cabinet, and to expose the valuable contents. From the very favourable reception which his edition of the Pilgrim has obtained from the public, he entertains a hope that the present volume may prove equally acceptable and useful.

Coventry, Jan. 30, 1803.

GEORGE BURDER,

ADDRESS TO THE READER.

"TIS strange to me, that they that love to tell Things done of old; yea, and that do excel Their equals in historiology,

Speak not of Mansoul's wars but let them lie
Dead, like old fables, or such worthless things,
That to the reader no advantage brings;

When men like them make what they will their own,
Till they know this, are to themselves unknown.
Of stories I well know there's divers sorts,
Some foreign, some domestic; and reports
Are thereof made, as fancy leads the writers;
(By books a man may guess at the inditers.)
Some will again of that which never was,
Nor will be, feign (and that without a cause)
Such matter, raise such mountains, tell such things
Of men, of laws, of countries, and of kings;
And in their story seem to be so sage,
And with such gravity clothe every page,
That though their frontispiece says all is vain,
Yet to their way disciples they obtain.

But, readers, I have somewhat else to do,
Than with vain stories thus to trouble you;
What here I say, some men* do know so well,
They can with tears of joy the story tell.

The town of Mansoul is well known to many.
Nor are her troubles doubted of by any
That are acquainted with those histories †
That Mansoul and her wars anatomize.
Then lend thine ear to what I do relate
Touching the town of Mansoul, and her state;
How she was lost, took captive, made a slave;
And how against him set, that should her save;
Yea, how by hostile ways she did oppose
Her lord, and with his enemy did close:
For they are true, he that will them deny
Must needs the best of records vilify.
For my part, I myself was in the town,

Both when 'twas set up, and when pulling down;
I saw Diabolus in its possession,

And Mansoul also under his oppression.
Yea, I was there when she own'd him for her lord,
And wallowed in filth as doth a swine:
When she betook herself unto her arms,
Fought her Immanuel, and despis'd his charms ;*
Then I was there, and sorely griev'd to see
Diabolus and Mansoul so to agree.

Let no man, then, count me a fable-maker,
Nor make my name or credit a partaker
Of their derision; what is here in view,
Of mine own knowledge I dare say is true.

I saw the prince's armed men come down
By troops, by thousands, to besiege the town ;
I saw the captains, heard the trumpets sound,
And how his forces cover'd all the ground:
Yea, how they set themselves in battle 'ray,
I shall remember to my dying day.

I saw the colours waving in the wind,

And they within to mischief how combin'd
To ruin Mansoul, and to take away

Her primum mobilef without delay.

I saw the mounts cast up against the town,
And how the slings were plac'd to beat it down.
I heard the stones fly whizzing by my ears;
(What's longer kept in mind, than got in fears?
I heard them fall, and saw what work they made,
And how old Morst did cover with his shade
The face of Mansoul, and I heard her cry,
Wo worth the day, "in dying I shall die!

I saw the battering-rams, and how they play'd
To beat up Ear-gate; and I was afraid,
Not only Ear-gate, but the very town

Would by those battering-rams be beaten down.
I saw the fights, and heard the captains§ shout,
And in each battle saw who fac'd about:

I saw who wounded were, and who were slain,
And who, when dead, would come to life again.
I heard the cries of those that wounded were
(While others fought like men bereft of fear.)
And while the cry, Kill, kill was in mine ears,
The gutters ran not so with blood as tears.

Indeed the captains did not always fight;
But when they would molest us day and night,
They cry, Up, fall on, let us take the town;
Keep us from sleeping, or from lying down.
I was there when the gates were broken ope,

His counsels, † Her soul. + Death.

& Lusts.