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CHRISTIAN CLIMBS THE HILL DIFFICULTY.

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and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do; for he wanted that which used to relieve him, and that which should have been his pass into the celestial city. Here, therefore, he began to be much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought himself that he had slept in the arbour that is on the side of the hill; and falling down upon his knees, he asked God forgiveness for that foolish act, and then went back to look for his roll. But all the way he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only for a little refreshment for his weariness. Thus, therefore, he went back, carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way as he went, if happily he might find his roll, that had been his comfort so many times in his journey. He went thus, till he came again within sight of the arbour where he sat and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping into his mind. Thus, therefore, he now went on, bewailing his sinful sleep.

Now, by this time, he was come to the arbour again, where, for a while, he sat down and wept; but at last (as Providence would have it), looking sorrowfully down under the settle,' there he espied his roll, the which he, with trembling and haste, catched up and put into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was when he had gotten his roll again! For this roll was the assurance of his life and acceptance at the desired haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for directing his eyes to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears betook himself again to his journey. But, O how nimbly now did he go up the rest of the hill! Yet, before he got up, the sun went down upon Christian; and this made him again recall the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance, and then he again began to condole with himself. O thou sinful sleep! how, for thy sake, am I like to be benighted in my journey! I must walk without the sun, darkness must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the noise of the doleful creatures because of my sinful sleep. Now, also, he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were frighted with the sight of the lions. Then, said Christian to himself again, "these beasts range in the night for their prey, and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I shift them ?— how should I escape being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on; but while he was thus bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful; and it stood just by the highway side.

So I saw in my dream that he made haste and went forward, that, if possible, he might get lodging there. Now, before he had

1 ie., stool or seat; the word is still used colloquially.

t

gone far, he entered into a very narrow passage, which was about a furlong off of the porter's lodge; and, looking very narrowly before him as he went, he espied two lions in the way. Now, thought he, I see the danger that Mistrust and Timorous were driven back by. (The lions were chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he was afraid, and thought also himself to go back after them; for he thought nothing but death was before him; but the porter at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, perceiving that Christian made a halt as if he would go back, cried unto him, saying, "Is thy strength so small? Fear not the lions; for they are chained, and are placed there for trial of faith where it is, and for discovery of those that have none; keep in the midst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee."

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the lions; but, taking good heed to the directions of the porter, he heard them roar: but they did him no harm. Then he clapped his hands, and went on till he came and stood before the gate where the porter

was.

XV. OWEN FELLTHAM.

Or Owen Felltham's history nothing is known but that he belonged to the county of Suffolk. He is supposed to have been born towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, to have been connected with the family of the Earl of Thomond, to have been educated at Cambridge, and to have died about 1670; but on these and all other points nothing has been ascertained with certainty. He attained some reputation as a poet, but is chiefly known by his "Resolves," one of the most popular books of his day. It was written in the author's youth, and passed through at least nine editions in his lifetime; but an attempt to revive its popularity in modern times has failed. In his best parts we are occasionally reminded of Hall and Fuller, but there is in general a want of knowledge and judgment which, added to a conceited style, has prevented the book becoming a favourite in our day.

1. OF TRUTH AND BITTERNESS IN JEST.

It is not good for man to be too tart in his jests. Bitterness is for serious potions; not for health's merriment, or the jollities of a mirthful feast. An offensive man is the devil's bellows, wherewith he blows up contentions and jars. In wit I find nothing more galling than an offensive truth; for thereby we run into two great errors: one is, we chide that in a loose laughter which should be grave, and savour both of love and pity; the other is, we descend to personality, and by that means draw the whole company to witness the disgrace of him at whose expense the joke is. The soldier is not noble who makes sport with the wounds of his companion. Whosoever will jest should be like him who flourishes at a show; he should not aim more at one than at another. Things like truth,

OF RECONCILING ENEMIES.

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are in this case better than truth itself. Nor is it less improper than unsafe to fling about at random this wormwood of the brain, our wit; for some noses are too tender to endure the smell of it. And though there may be many who, like tiled houses, can admit a falling spark without injury, yet some, again, are covered with such light dry straw, that with the least touch they will kindle and flame about our ears; and when the house is on fire, it is unavailing to wonder from how small a matter it arose. Anger is but a step from rage, and rage is a wild fire which is not to be extinguished. It is true, anger sooner inflames a fool than a man composed in his resolutions. But we are not always sure to meet with discreet ones, nor can we very well hope it while we ourselves are otherwise, in giving the occasion for folly to show itself. Fools are the greater number; wise men are like timber-trees in a wood, here and there one. But when we grow bitter to a wise man, we are then worst; for he sees farther into the offence, and is able to make us feel for it more than the other. Laughter should dimple the cheek, not furrow the brow. A jest should be such that all shall be able to join in the laugh which it occasions, but if it bears hard upon one of the company, like the crack of a string, it makes a stop in the music. Though all have not wit to reject the arrow which is aimed at them, yet most have memory to retain the offence. It is but an unhappy wit which stirs up enemies against the owner of it. A man may spit out his friend from his tongue, or laugh him into an enemy. Gall and mirth is an ill and unnatural mixture, and sometimes truth is bitterness. I would wish every man to be pleasingly merry, but let us beware we bring not truth on the stage like a wanton with an edged weapon.

2. OF RECONCILING ENEMIES.

It is much safer to reconcile an enemy than to conquer him. Victory deprives him of his power; but reconciliation of his will; and there is less danger in a will which will not hurt, than in a power which cannot. Besides, an enemy is a perpetual spy upon thy actions, a watch to observe thy falls and thy wanderings. When he is free from thy power, his malice makes him nimble-eyed; apt to mark a fault, and publish it: and by a strained construction, to depreciate those things which thy intentions tell thy soul are honest. Like the crocodile, he slimes thy way to make thee fall; and when thou art down, he watches for thy life. Thy ways he strews with serpents and venomous animals. Thy vices he sets like St Paul's,' on high, for the gaze of the world and the wide city; thy virtues, like St Faith's, he places underground, that none may see them. Certainly, it is a misery to have for one's enemies those who are very powerful, or naturally very malicious. If they cannot wound upon

1 i.c.. like old St Paul's in London, very conspicuous; St Faith's is the crypt beneath St Paul's, and therefore is concealed from view.

proofs, they will do it upon likelihoods: and so, by degrees and sly ways, undermine our reputation;-and they have this advantage, that the multitude will sooner believe them than ourselves; for affirmations are apter to win belief than negatives. It was the saying of Machiavel, that a slander once raised, will scarce ever die or fail of finding some, who will allow it both a harbour and trust. The world is of itself desirous to scar the face that is fairer than her own. When Seneca asked the question, what is most hostile to man? he himself answered, another man. But if our enemy be noble-minded, he will scorn to take an advantage of us when it may be in his power. Let his worth persuade thee to a reconciliation. He that can be a worthy enemy, will, when reconciled, be a worthier friend. If thy enemy be unworthy, reconcile him too. Though nothing else be gained by it but the stilling of a scandalous tongue, even that will be worth thy labour. Use him, as a friend, in outward fairness; but beware of him as an enemy, apt to resume his arms. He who is a base foe will hardly be otherwise than false in friendship. If it may be done with honour, I should think it a work of good discretion to regain a violent adversary. But to do it so as to bring a meanness on one's self, though it be safe, is worse than to be conquered in a manful contest. Friendship is not commendable when it arises from dishonourable treaties. But he that, upon good terms, refuses a reconcilement, may be stubborn, but, certainly is neither liberal nor wise. I shall think that endeavour spent to purpose that either makes a friend or unmakes an enemy. In the one, a treasure is won; in the other, a siege is raised. When one said he was a wise king that was kind to his friends and sharp to his enemies: says another, he is wiser that can retain his friends in their love, and make his enemies like them.

3. OF LAW.

Law is the bridle of the human beast, whereby he is held from starting, and from stumbling in his way. It is the hedge on either side the road, which hinders him breaking into other men's property. A man had as well live in Egypt among all the ten plagues, as in the world among the wicked, without law to defend him. It is every man's civil armour, that guards him from the gripes of rapine. And, indeed, it is for this chiefly that laws are in use among men; for the wise and good do not need them as a guide, but as a shield; they can live civilly and orderly though there were no law in the world. And though wise and good men invented laws, they were fools and wicked men that put them upon the study. To rule such wild cattle, there needed both the judgment and the wit of the best and ablest, to find out ways to trammel them, and keep them within orderly bounds. In the beginnings of thriving states, when they are more industrious and simple, they have the fewest laws. Rome itself had, at first, but twelve tables; but, afterwards, how infinitely did their laws increase! Old states, like old bodies, will

MRS HUTCHINSON.

165 be sure to contract diseases; and where the law-makers are many, the laws will never be few. That nation is in the best state which has the fewest laws, and those good. Variety only multiplies snares. And oftentimes, when the law did not intend it, men are made guilty by the pleader's oratory, which is exerted either to display his eloquence, to advance his practice, or, out of mastery, to carry his cause. To go to law is, for two persons to kindle a fire at their own cost, to warm others, and singe themselves to cinders. Because they cannot agree as to what is truth and equity, they will both agree to unplume themselves that others may be stuck with their feathers. The Apostle throws the brand of simple on those who, by striving this way, consume both their peace, their treasure, and their time; and expose a game to the packing and the shuffling of others, when they might soberly cut and deal the cards themselves. Is there none wise enough to compound businesses without calling in the crafty and the cunning? Or is there none who has wisdom sufficient to moderate a little, that he may save a great deal more?

A lawsuit is like a building: we cast up the charge in gross, and under-reckon it; but being in for it we are trained along through several items, till we can neither bear the account, nor leave off, though we have a mind to it. The anxiety, the trouble the attendance, the hazard, the checks, the vexatious delays, the surreptitious advantages against us, the defeats of hope, the falseness of pretending friends, the interests of parties, the negligence of agents, and the designs of ruin upon us, do put us upon a combat against all that can plague poor man; or else we must lie down, be trodden upon, be kicked, and die.

So far law may be compared to war- -that it is a last resort, and ought never to be used but when all other means do fail ;—and then the pleaders ought to hold themselves to that. He who vindicates the law does no man wrong; but he that digresseth to impertinencies or the personal stains of men, is rather a fly that buzzes, and sucks the wound, than a champion for truth, or a helmet to keep the head of justice whole.

XVI. MRS HUTCHINSON.

LUCY HUTCHINSON was the daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, Lieutenant of the Tower, where she was born in 1620. She was educated in strict, or as they were then called, puritanical principles; and her attachment to them was increased by her marriage, in 1638, to Colonel Hutchinson. The Colonel belonged to a respectable family in Nottingham, and was one of the first to take up arms against the King in the civil war, and was a prominent person during the whole period of hostilities. The work of his widow, a "Memoir of her Husband's Life," contains a lively narrative of the civil war, referring especially to those actions in which her husband was concerned; and

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