And, with that, Guilt with a great club that was in his hand struck Little-Faith on the head, and with that blow felled him to the earth, where he lay bleeding as one that would soon bleed to death.  Yes, yes, all true to the very life.  A man may be the boast and the example of all the town, and yet, unknown to them all, and all but unknown to himself till he is struck down, he may have had guilt enough on his track all the time to lay him half dead at the mouth of Dead-Man’s-lane.  Good as was the certificate that all men in their honesty gave to Little-Faith, yet even he had some bad enough memories behind him and within him had he only kept them ever present with him.  But, then, it was just this that all along was the matter with Little-Faith.  Till, somehow, after that sad and yet not wholly evil sleep, all his past sins leapt out into the light and suddenly became and remained all the rest of his life like scarlet.  So loaded, indeed, was the club of Guilt with the nails and studs and clamps of secret aggravation, that every nail and stud left its own bleeding bruise in the prostrate man’s head.  I have myself, says the narrator of Little-Faith’s story, I have myself been engaged as he was, and I found it to be a terrible thing.  I would, as the saying is, have sold my life at that moment for a penny; but that, as God would have it, I was clothed with armour of proof:  ay, and yet though I was thus harnessed, I found it hard work to quit myself like a man.  No man can tell what in that combat attends us but he that hath been in the battle himself.  Great-Grace himself,—­whoso looks well upon his face shall see those cuts and scars that shall easily give demonstration of what I say.

Most unfortunately there was no good Samaritan with his beast on the road that day to take the half-dead man to an inn.  And thus it was that Little-Faith was left to lie in his blood till there was almost no more blood left in him.  Till at last, coming a little to himself, he made a shift to scrabble on his way.  When he was able to look a little to himself, besides all his wounds and loss of blood, he found that all his spending money was gone, and what was he to do, a stranger in such a plight on a strange road?  There was nothing for it but he must just beg his way with many a hungry belly for the remainder of his way.  You all understand the parable at this point?  Our knowledge of gospel truth; our personal experience of the life of God in our own soul; our sensible attainments in this grace of the Spirit and in that; in secret prayer, in love to God, in forgiveness of injuries, in goodwill to all men, and in self-denial that no one knows of,—­in things like these we possess what may be called the pocket-money of the spiritual life.  All these things, at their best, are not the true jewel that no thief can break through nor steal; but though they are not our best and truest riches, yet they have their place and play their part in sending us up the