will you build out of it!  The question of Prudence is not whether or no you are still a born fool at heart, she does not put unnecessary questions:  hers to you is the more pertinent and particular question, whether, since you left your former life and became a Christian, you feel every day increasing shame and detestation at yourself, on account of the vanity of your inward cogitations.  My brethren, can you satisfy her who is set by her Master to hold particular discourse with all true Christians before supper?  Can you say with the Psalmist,—­could you tell Prudence where the Psalmist says,—­I hate vain thoughts, but Thy law do I love?  And can you silence her by telling her that her Master alone knows with what shame you think that He has such a fool as you are among His people?

Anger, also, sudden and even long-entertained anger, was one of the ’many failings’ of which Christian was so conscious to himself.  His outbursts of anger at home, he bitterly felt, might well be one of the causes why his wife and children did not accompany him on his pilgrimage.  And though he knew his failing in this respect, and was very wary of it, yet he often failed even when he was most wary.  Now, while anger is largely a result of our blood and temperament, yet few of us are so well-balanced and equable in our temperament and so pure and cool in our blood, as altogether to escape frequent outbursts of anger.  The most happily constituted and the best governed of us have too much cause to be ashamed and penitent both before God and our neighbours for our outbursts of angry passion.  But Prudence is so particular in her discourse before supper, that she goes far deeper into our anger than our wives and our children, our servants and our neighbours, can go.  She not only asks if we stamp out the rising anger of our heart as we would stamp out sparks of fire in a house full of gunpowder; but she insists on being told what we think of ourselves when the house of our heart is still so full of such fire and such gunpowder.  Any man, to call a man, would be humbled in his own eyes and in his walk before his house at home after an explosion of anger among them; but he who would satisfy Prudence and sit beside her at supper, must not only never let his anger kindle, but the simple secret heat of it, that fire of hell that is hid from all men but himself in the flint of his own hard and proud heart,—­what, asks Prudence, do you think of that, and of yourself on account of that?  Does that keep you not only watchful and prayerful, but, what is the best ground in you of all true watchfulness and prayerfulness, full of secret shame, self-fear, and self-detestation?  One forenoon table would easily hold all our communicants if Prudence had the distribution of the tokens.