h they have reached. They are respectable, they are right-minded
in common things, they fulfil their every-day duties to their
families and to society with a sufficiency for which the world speaks
well of them, as indeed it ought to speak; and they themselves
acquiesce in the world's verdict. Any passionate agitation about the
state of their souls they consider unreal and affected. Such men may
be amiable in private life, good neighbours, and useful citizens; but
be their talents what they may, they could not write a 'Pilgrim's
Progress,' or ever reach the Delectable Mountains, or even be
conscious that such mountains exist.

Bunyan was on the threshold of the higher life. He knew that he was a
very poor creature. He longed to rise to something better. He was a
mere ignorant, untaught mechanic. He had not been to school with
Aristotle and Plato. He could not help himself or lose himself in the
speculations of poets and philosophers. He had only the Bible, and
studying the Bible he found that the wonder-working power in man's
nature was Faith. Faith! What was it? What did it mean? Had he faith?
He was but 'a poor sot,' and yet he thought that he could not be
wholly without it. The Bible told him that if he had faith as a grain
of mustard seed, he could work miracles. He did not understand
Oriental metaphors; here was a simple test which could be at once
applied.

'One day,' he writes, 'as I was between Elstow and Bedford, the
temptation was hot upon me to try if I had faith by doing some
miracle. I must say to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, "be
dry," and truly at one time I was agoing to say so indeed. But just as
I was about to speak, the thought came into my mind: Go under yonder
hedge first and pray that God would make you able. But when I had
concluded to pray, this came hot upon me, that if I prayed and came
again and tried to do it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then
be sure I had no faith but was a castaway and lost. Nay, thought I, if
it be so, I will never try it yet, but will stay a little longer. Thus
was I tossed between the Devil and my own ignorance, and so perplexed
at some times that I could not tell what to do.'

Common sense will call this disease, and will think impatiently that
the young tinker would have done better to attend to his business. But
it must be observed that Bunyan was attending to his business, toiling
all the while with grimed hands over his pots and kettles. No one