of the light of life already within him, and a resolute purpose never to give over seeking Christ; Pliable, with some slight superficial sympathy and conviction, and somewhat moved with what Christian had told him of the glories of the heavenly inheritance at the end of their pilgrimage, but with no sense of sin, no knowledge of his own heart, no desire after Christ, no feeling of his need of a Saviour. In their talk, Christian speaks really like a Christian already, though he is not one yet; and certainly, his ravishing descriptions of the things that are to be enjoyed in heaven are very instructive, as showing how far the mind may be affected with a merely intellectual and imaginative sense of the beauty and excellency of the Gospel, and the glory of its promises, without regeneration. Nevertheless, it must be remembered, that where a work of grace is really begun in the soul, though as yet it may not have gone farther than genuine conviction of sin, yet the sense of divine things in such a soul is very different, even before regeneration, from the views of the man, whom the Spirit of God is not beginning to teach. Moreover, they are very different in a man who has been accustomed to God's word, and in one who has not. Pliable begs to be told more fully what the glorious things are, and how to be enjoyed. So Christian goes directly to his book. "I cannot describe them," he says to Pliable," so well as I can conceive them, but I will read them to you in my book."

And now you see the difference between a man who has been educated in the precious belief of the

Gospel as the word of God, and has been brought up in the habit of reading it, and the man who has all his life neglected it, and is a stranger to it. You may see what a faint hold the Gospel has over the one, and what a strong hold over the other. Of these two men, neither of them as yet Christians, Pliable is doubtful, Christian is as firm and unshaken as a rock. Christian also, in the very sense of sin within him, begins to have an irresistible proof and sense of the truth of God's word, of which Pliable, without any such inward experience and conviction, is entirely destitute. "I will read of them in my book," says Christian. "And do you think," says Pliable, "that the words of your book are certainly true?" "Yes, verily," says Christian, "for it was made by him that cannot lie." There is a volume in those touches of Bunyan's pencil. What sweet simplicity of faith already in the Pilgrim! True? certainly it is true; for it is God's word, God that cannot lie.

Well said, answered Pliable, and what things are they? There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, said Christian, and everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that kingdom forever. Well said, answered Pliable, and what else?

Chr. There are crowns of glory to be given us, and garments that will make us shine like the sun in the firmament of heaven.

Pli. This is very pleasant, and what else?

Chr. There shall be no more crying nor sorrow; for he that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.

Pl. And what company shall we have there? Chr. There we shall be with Cherubim and Seraphim, creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them. There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands that have gone before us to that place; none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance forever. In a word, there we shall see the elders with their golden crowns; there we shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps; there we shall see men that by the world were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in the seas, for the love they bore to the Lord of the place; all well, and clothed with immortality as with a garment.

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart; but are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers thereof?

Chr. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded that in his book; the substance of which is, if we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely.

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things; come on, let us mend our pace.

Here you have another volume of meaning in a single touch of the pencil. Pliable is one of those who are willing, or think they are willing, to have heaven, but without any sense of sin, or of the labor and self-denial necessary to enter heaven. But now his heart is momentarily fired with Christian's ravishing descriptions, and as he seems to have nothing to trouble his conscience, and no difficul

ties to overcome, the pace of an honest, thorough inquirer, the movement of a soul sensible of its distresses and its sins, and desiring comfort only in the way of healing and of holiness, seems much too slow for him. He is for entering heaven at once, going much faster than that poor Christian can keep up with him. Then, said Christian, I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that is on my back.

Of poor Christian's burden of sin, Pliable was totally ignorant, and doubtless Christian was not a little grieved within himself, to see how lightly Pliable could step forward, while it was with much ado that he could take step after step beneath that great and heavy burden. So sometimes, they who are heartily and conscientiously, with a deep sense of sin, seeking after Christ, do almost look with envy and much surprise upon those others, who seem to run with so little difficulty, and sometimes, moreover, seem to find Christ without having any burden to be taken off by him. But Christian had the burden from his first setting out, and could by no means be rid of it.

However, Pliable's eagerness to get forward did not continue a great while. They were both walking somewhat heedlessly in the midst of their talk, as inquirers are very apt to do, when they converse more than they pray, and missing the steps, or taking that for firm ground which was nothing but mud, they both fell into the Slough of Despond. This was especially sudden and unexpected to Pliable, who was not dreaming of difficulties, and it quenched his eagerness at once; and although

Christian beneath his burden was sinking far deeper than he, yet he was filled with rage and discouragement. Is this the brave country you told me of! You may have it all to yourself for me; let me but get out with my life, and never again will I set out on a pilgrimage.

Now it is not always that the Pliables of this world, who have some transitory sympathy towards heaven, and set out for a season in this pilgrimage, get so immediately tired, and turn back with such open rage and discouragement. And yet this

character, it is a most melancholy truth, is the representative of a class almost innumerable. Almost all men are at some period of their lives inclined to set out on this pilgrimage. Under God's Providence, Word and Spirit, it cannot be otherwise; for men do and will feel that death and the judgment are before them; and all that pleasures and business and cares can do, they cannot utterly stifle the voice of conscience, nor the sense of sin, God and eternity. And when these fires revive a little in the soul, and burst up out of the thick ashes, then men begin to think of this pilgrimage, then they begin to feel that they are inhabiting a City of Destruction, and must be getting out of it; then in fact they do often set out for a little season, but not having much sense of sin, nor any purpose of renouncing it, nor any settled resolution, cost what it may, of becoming the disciples of Christ, they soon become wearied or discouraged, and turn back. Alas for them! Their case is worse when they get back to the City of Destruction than it was even while they