aracter, that
character which they themselves are and will remain. See the variety of
John Bunyan's characters, a richer and a more endless variety than are
the features of their faces. Christian and Christiana, Obstinate and
Pliable, Mr. Fearing and Mr. Feeblemind, Temporary and Talkative, Mr. By-
ends and Mr. Facing-both-ways, Simple, Sloth, Presumption, that brisk lad
Ignorance, and the genuine Mr. Brisk himself. And then Captain Boasting,
Mr. High-mind, Mr. Wet-Eyes, and so on, through a less known (but equally
well worth knowing) company of municipal and military characters in the
_Holy War_.

We shall see, as we proceed, how this and that character in Bunyan was
formed and deformed. But let us ask in this introductory lecture if we
can find out any law or principle upon which all our own characters, good
or bad, are formed. Do our characters come to be what they are by
chance, or have we anything to do in the formation of our own characters,
and if so, in what way? And here, again, Butler steps forward at our
call with his key to our own and to all Bunyan's characters in his hand,
and in three familiar and fruitful words he answers our question and
gives us food for thought and solemn reflection for a lifetime. There
are but three steps, says Butler, from earth to heaven, or, if you will,
from earth to hell--acts, habits, character. All Butler's prophetic
burden is bound up in these three great words--acts, habits, character.
Remember and ponder these three words, and you will in due time become a
moral philosopher. Ponder and practise them, and you will become what is
infinitely better--a moral man. For acts, often repeated, gradually
become habits, and habits, long enough continued, settle and harden and
solidify into character. And thus it is that the severe and laconic
bishop has so often made us shudder as he demonstrated it to us that we
are all with our own hands shaping our character not only for this world,
but much more for the world to come, by every act we perform, by every
word we speak, almost by every breath we draw. Butler is one of the most
terrible authors in the world. He stands on our nearest shelf with Dante
on one side of him and Pascal on the other. He is indeed terrible, but
it is with a terror that purifies the heart and keeps the life in the
hour of temptation. Paul sometimes arms himself with the same terror;
only he composes in another style than that of Butler, and, with