there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him; for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than when he was in that valley.

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley, Lam. iii. 27-29. He would now be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in this valley.

Much per-
plexed in the

Valley of the
Shadow of
Death.

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have lost my man: not for that he had any inclination to go back, that he always abhorred; but he was ready to die for fear. Oh, the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have me! cried he; and I could not beat him out on it. He made such a noise and such an outcry here, that, had they but heard him, it was enough to encourage them to come and fall upon us.

But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet when he went through it as I knew it before or since. I suppose those enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command not to meddle until Mr Fearing was passed over it.

His beha

It would be too tedious to tell you of all: we will therefore, only mention a passage or two more. When he was come at Vanity viour at Var Fair, I thought he would have fought with ity Fair.

all the men in the fair. I feared there we should both have been knocked on the head, so hot was he against their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very wakeful. But when he was come at the river where was no bridge, there again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so many miles to behold.

And here, also, I took notice of what was very remarkable; the water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life. So His boldness he went over at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going up to the gate, Mr Greatheart began to take his leave of him, and to wish him

a good reception above. So he said, I shall, I shall Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no more (w). Hon. Then, it seems, he was well at last?

Great. Yes, yes; I never had doubt about him. He was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so troublesome to others, Ps. lxxxviii. He was, above many, tender of sin. He was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful, because he would not offend, Rom. xiv. 21; 1 Cor. viii. 13.

Hon. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all his days so much in the dark?

Great. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One is, the wise God will have it so: some must Reasons why good men are pipe, and some must weep, Matt. xi. 16, 17. so in the dark. Now Mr Fearing was one that played upon this bass. He and his fellows sound the sack-but, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music are; though, indeed, some say the bass is the ground of music. And, for my part, I care not at all for that professor that begins not in heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician usually touches is the bass, when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string first, when he sets the soul in tune for himself. Only here was the imperfection of Mr Fearing, he could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end.

I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripening of the wits of young readers; and because in the Book of Revelation the saved are compared to a company of musicians that play upon their trumpets and harps, and sing their songs before the throne, Rev. v. 8, 9; xiv. 2, 3.

(w) Fearing's Death. - The water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life. A painter of Edinburgh, of our acquaintance, of great piety, was much disturbed by fears of death. Having finished a portrait one day, he complained of fatigue, and lay down on his bed to rest himself a little while. A medical friend coming to see him shortly afterwards, found him sleeping the sleep of death. So gives He his beloved sleep.'

Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by what relation you have given of him. Difficulties, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all; it was only sin, death, and hell, that was to him a terror, because he had some doubts about his interest in that celestial country.

Great. You say right; those were the things that were his troublers: and they, as you have a close about well observed, arose from the weakness of him. his mind thereabout, not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, he could have bit a fire-brand, had it stood in his way; but the things with which he was oppressed no man ever yet could shake off with ease.

Chr. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr Fearing has done me good. I thought nobody Christiana's had been like me. But I see there was sentence. some semblance betwixt this good man and I; only we differed in two things: his troubles were so great, that they brake out; but mine I kept within. His, also, lay so hard upon him, they made him that he could not knock at the houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble was always such as made me knock the louder. Mer. If I might also speak my heart, I must say that

something of him has also dwelt in me. Mercy's For I have ever been more afraid of the sentence. lake, and the loss of a place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation there! It is enough, though I part with all the world to win it.

Matt. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that

made me think that I was far from having that within me that accompanies salvation.

Matthew's sentence.

But if it was so with such a good man as he, why may

it not also go well with me?

James. No fears, no grace, said James. there is not always grace where there is the fear of hell, yet to be sure there is no grace where there is no fear of God.

Though

James's sentence.

Great. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark. For the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom; and, o be sure, they that want the beginning have neither middle nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse of Mr Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell:

Their farewell about him.

Well, Mr Fearing, thou didst fear
Thy God, and wast afraid
Of doing anything, while here,
That would have thee betray'd.

And didst thou fear the lake and pit ?
Would others did so too?

For, as for them that want thy wit,
They do themselves undo.

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk. For after Mr Great-heart had made an end

Of MrSelf-will, with Mr Fearing, Mr Honest began to tell them of another; but his name was Mr Self-will. He pretended himself to be a pilgrim, said Mr Honest; but I persuade myself he never came in at the gate that stands at the head of the way,

Old Honest

Great. Had you ever any talk with him about it? Hon. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself, self-willed. He had talked with neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet example: what his mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could he be got to do.

him.

Great. Pray, what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell.

Hon. He held, that a man might follow the vices as Self-will's well as the virtues of the pilgrims; and opinion. that if he did both, he should be certainly saved.

Great. How! If he had said, it is possible for the best to be guilty of the vices, as well as to partake of the virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been blamed; for, indeed, we are exempted from no vice absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But this, I perceive, is not the thing; but, if I understand you right, your meaning is, that he was of that opinion, that it was allowable so to be.