borders of Beulah, and should be within all but eye-shot of the Celestial City itself,—­that is something to be thankful for, and something to lay up in the deepest and the most secret place in our heart.  That these pilgrims, after all their feastings and entertainments—­after the Delectable Mountains and the House Beautiful—­should all be plunged upon a land where there was not so much as a roadside inn, where the ways were so dark and so long that the pilgrims had to shout aloud in order to keep together, where, instead of moon or stars, they had to walk in the spark of a small tinder-box—­what an encouragement and assurance to us is all that!  That is no strange thing, then, that is now happening to us, when, after our fine communion season, we have suddenly fallen back into this deep darkness, and are cast into these terrible temptations, and feel as if all our past experiences and attainments and enjoyments had been but a self-delusion and a snare.  That we should all but have fallen fast asleep, and all but have ceased both from watching against sin and from waiting upon God—­well, that is nothing more than Hopeful himself would have done had he not had a wary old companion to watch over him, and to hold his eyes open.  Let all God’s people present who feel that they are nothing better of all they have enjoyed of Scriptures and sacraments, but rather worse; let all those who feel sure that they have wandered into a castaway land, so dark, so thorny, so miry, and so lonely is their life—­let them read this masterpiece of John Bunyan again and again and take heart of hope.

   “When Saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither
   And hear how these two pilgrims talk together;
   Yea, let them hear of them, in any wise,
   Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb’ring eyes;
   Saints’ fellowship, if it be managed well,
   Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell.”

2.  But far worse than all its briars and thorns, far more fatal than all its ditches and pitfalls, were the enchanted arbours they came on here and there planted up and down that evil land.  For those arbours are all of this fatal nature, that if a man falls asleep in any of them it arises a question whether he shall ever come to himself again in this world.  Now, where there are no inns nor victualling-houses, no Gaius and no Mr. Mnason, what a danger all those ill-intended arbours scattered all up and down that country become!  Well, then, the first enchanted arbour that the pilgrims came to was built just inside the borders of the land, and it was called The Stranger’s Arbour—­so many new-comers had lain down in it never to rise again.  The young and the inexperienced, with those who were naturally of a believing, buoyant, easy mind, lay down in hundreds here.  Hopeful’s mind was naturally a mind of a soft and easy and self-indulgent cast; and had he been alone that day, or had he had for a companion a man of a less wary, less anxious, and less urgent mind than Christian was, Hopeful had taken a nap, as he so confidingly called it—­a fatal nap in that arbour built by the enemy of pilgrims, just on purpose for the young and the ignorant, the inexperienced and the self-indulgent.