What? Why, he objected against religion itself. He said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind religion. He said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing; and that for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up himself from that blustering liberty that the brave spirits of the times accustom themselves unto, would make him the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but a few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion; nor any of them neither, before they were persuaded to be fools, and to venture the loss of all for nobody knows what. He, moreover, objected to the base and low estate and condition of those that were chiefly the pilgrims of the times in which they lived; also their ignorance and want of understanding in all natural knowledge. Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate also, about a great many more things than here I relate; as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning under a sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groaning home; that it was a shame to ask my neighbor forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I have taken from any. He said also, that religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of a few vices, which he called by finer names, and made him own and respect the base, because of the same religious fraternity: and is not this, said he, a shame?
Chr. And what did you say to him?
Faith. Say? I could not tell what to say at first. Yea, he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face; even this Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off; but at last I began to consider that that which is highly esteemed among men, is had in abomination with God. And I thought again, this Shame tells me what men are; but he tells me nothing what God or the word of God is. And I thought, moreover, that at last we shall not be judged according to the insolent spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom and the law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God says is indeed best, though all the men in the world are against it.
Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this villain so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has the wrong name: for he is so bold as to follow us in the streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all men: that is, to make us ashamed of that which is good. But if he was not himself audacious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But let us still resist him; for, notwithstanding all his bravadoes, he promoteth the fool, and none else. “The wise shall inherit glory,” said Solomon; “but shame shall be the promotion of fools.”
Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against Shame, that would have us to be valiant for truth upon the earth.
Chr. You say true; but did you meet with nobody else in that valley?
Faith. No, not I; for I had sunshine all the rest of the way through that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Chr. ’Twas well for you; I am sure it fared far otherwise with me. I had for a long season, as soon almost as I entered into that valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend Apollyon; yea, I thought verily he would have killed me, especially when he got me down, and crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces; for, as he threw me, my sword flew out of my hand: nay, he told me he was sure of me; but I cried unto God, and he heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no light for almost half the way through it. I thought over and over I should have been killed there; but at last day brake, and the sun rose, and I went through that which was behind with far more ease and quiet.
Moreover, I saw in my dream, that as they went on, Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man whose name was Talkative, walking at a distance beside them; for in this place there was room enough for them all to walk. He was a tall man, and something more comely at a distance than at hand. To this man Faithful addressed himself in this manner.
Faith. Friend, whither away? Are you going to the heavenly country?
Talk. I am going to the same place.
Faith. That is well; then I hope we may have your good company?
Talk. With a very good will, will I be your companion.
Faith. Come on, then, and let us go together, and let us spend our time in discoursing of things that are profitable.
Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very acceptable, with you or with any other; and I am glad that I have met with those that incline to so good a work; for to speak the truth, there are but few who care thus to spend their time as they are in their travels, but choose much rather to be speaking of things to no profit; and this hath been a trouble to me.
Faith. That is, indeed, a thing to be lamented; for what thing so worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth of men on earth, as are the things of the God of heaven?
Talk. I like you wonderful well, for your sayings are full of conviction; and I will add, What thing is so pleasant, and what so profitable, as to talk of the things of God? What things so pleasant? that is, if a man hath any delight in things that are wonderful. For instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the history, or the mystery of things; or if a man doth love to talk of miracles, wonders, or signs, where shall he find things recorded so delightful, and so sweetly penned, as in the Holy Scripture?
Faith. Well, then, said Faithful, what is that one thing that we shall at this time found our discourse upon?
Talk. What you will. I will talk of things heavenly, or things earthly; things moral, or things evangelical; things sacred, or things profane; things past, or things to come; things foreign, or things at home; things more essential, or things circumstantial: provided that all be done to our profit.
Now did Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping to Christian (for he walked all this while by himself), he said to him, but softly, What a fine companion have we got! Surely, this man will make a very excellent pilgrim.
At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This man, with whom you are so taken, will beguile with this tongue of his twenty of them that know him not.
Faith. Do you know him, then?
Chr. Know him? Yes, better than he knows himself.
Faith. Pray, what is he?
Chr. His name is Talkative: he dwelleth in our town. I wonder that you should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our town is large.
Faith. Whose son is he? And whereabout doth he dwell?
Chr. He is the son of one Saywell. He dwelt in Prating-Row; and he is known to all that are acquainted with him by the name of Talkative of Prating-Row; and, notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but a miserable fellow.
Faith. Well, he seems to be a very nice sort of a man.
Chr. That is to them that have not a thorough acquaintance with him, for he is best abroad; near home he is ugly enough. Your saying that he is a nice man, brings to my mind what I have observed in the work of a painter, whose pictures show best at a distance; but very near, more unpleasing.
Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you smiled.
Chr. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) in this matter, or that I should accuse any falsely. I will give you a further discovery of him. This man is for any company, and for any talk; as he talketh now with you, so will he talk when he is on the ale-bench; and the more drink he hath in his head, the more of these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no place in his heart, or house, or conversation; all he hath lieth
