3. I find that Holy Writ, in many places, Hath semblance with this method, where the cases Do call for one thing to set forth another; Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother Truth's golden beams; nay, by this method may Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.

And now before I do put up my pen, I'll show the profit of my book, and then Commit both thee and it into that hand

That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.

This book, it chalketh out before thine eyes
The man that seeks the everlasting prize:

It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes:
What he leaves undone, also what he does:
It shows you how he runs and runs,
Till he unto the gate of glory comes.

It shows, too, who set out for life amain,
As if the lasting crown they would obtain:
Here also you may see the reason why
They lose their labour, and like fools do die.
This book will make a traveller of thee,
If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the holy land,
If thou wilt its directions understand;
Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Or wouldst thou see a truth within a fable?
Art thou forgetful? or wouldst thou remember
From new-year's to the last of December?
Then read my fancies; they will stick like burrs,
And may be to the helpless comforters.
This book is wrote in such a dialect,

As may the minds of listless men affect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.

Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy? Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly? Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation? Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?

Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou

see

A man i' th' clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Or wouldst thou lose thyself, and catch no harm
And find thyself again without a charm?
Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know'st not
what,

And yet know whether thou art bless'd or not,
By reading the same lines? Oh then come hither!
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
JOHN BUNYAN.

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den,* and laid me down in that place to sleep: and as I slept I dreamed a dream. I dreamed; and, behold, "I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back." Isa. Ixiv. 6; Luke xiv. 33; Ps. xxxviii. 4; Heb. ii. 2; Acts xvi. 31. I looked, and saw him open

dear

that his trouble increased; wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them: "O my wife," said he, "and you, the children of my bowels, I your dear friend am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me: moreover I am certainly informed that this our city will be burned with fire from heaven: in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miser

he wept and trembled; and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, "What shall I do?" Acts ii. 37.

In this plight, therefore, he went home, and refrained himself as long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress; but he could not be silent long, because

* Mr. Bunyan wrote this precious book in Bedford jail, where he was confined for preaching the Gospel, as a nonconformist, or dissenter. To this he refers when he speaks of the "den." The Lord frequently causes "the wrath of man to praise him." The servants of Christ, when restrained by penal laws, from publishing the word of life from the pulpit, have become more abundantly useful by their writings.

The cry of an awakened sinner, who sees his own righteousness to be as filthy rags, his soul in a state of wrath and wretchedness, exposed to everlasting destruction, feeling the burden of his sins upon his back, he turns his face from his own house, from himself, from all his false hopes and vain confidences, for refuge, and takes his Bible in his band to direct him where he shall flee for safety and salvation. The more a sinner reads therein, the more he is convinced of the wretched state and ruined condition of his precious, immortal soul, and of his necessity of ficeing to Christ for eternal life and salvation. As he

not) some way of escape may be found, whereby we may be delivered." At this his reiations were sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was true, but because they thought some frenzy distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got

reads, he weeps and trembles to think what will become of him. Reader, was this ever your case? Did you ever see your sins, and feel the burden of them, so as to cry out, in the anguish of your soul, What must I do to be saved? If not, you will look on this precious book as a romance, or history, which no way concerns you; you can no more understand the meaning of it, than if it was wrote in an unknown language: for you are yet carnal, dead in your sins, lying in the arms of the wicked one in false security. But this book is spiritual; it can only be understood by spiritually quickened souls, who have experienced that salvation in the heart which begins with a sight of sin, a sense of sin, a fear of destruction, and dread of damnation. Such, and only such, cominence Pilgrims from the city of Destruction to the heavenly kingdom.

Conviction of sin in the heart, will discover itself to those about us, by the outward conduct and beha viour of the life.