Now (what think you?), was it not a very bold thing in John Bunyan, whose own descent was of such a low and inconsiderable generation, his father’s house being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families in the land—­was it not almost too bold in such a clown to take such a gentleman-scholar as Saul of Tarsus, the future Apostle of the Lord, and put him into the Pilgrim’s Progress, and there go on to describe him as a very brisk lad and nickname him with the nickname of Ignorance?  For, in knowledge of all kinds to be called knowledge, Gamaliel’s gold medallist could have bought the unlettered tinker of Elstow in one end of the market and sold him in the other.  And nobody knew that better than Bunyan did.  And yet such a lion was he for the truth, such a disciple of Luther was he, and such a defender and preacher of the one doctrine of a standing or falling church, that he fills page after page with the crass ignorance of the otherwise most learned of all the New Testament men.  Bunyan does not accuse the rising hope of the Pharisees of school or of synagogue ignorance.  That young Hebrew Rabbi knew every jot and tittle of the law of Moses, and all the accumulated traditions of the fathers to boot.  But Bunyan has Paul himself with him when he accuses and convicts Saul of an absolutely brutish ignorance of his own heart and hidden nature.  That so very brisk lad was always boasting in himself of the day on which he was circumcised, and of the old stock of which he had come; of his tribe, of his zeal, of his blamelessness, and of the profit he had made of his educational and ecclesiastical opportunities.  Whereas Bunyan is fain to say of himself in his Grace Abounding that he is “not able to boast of noble blood or of a high-born state according to the flesh.  Though, all things considered, I magnify the Heavenly Majesty for that by this door He brought me into this world to partake of the grace and life that is in Christ by the Gospel.”

As we listen to the conversation that goes on between the two old pilgrims and this smartly appointed youth, we find them striving hard, but without any sign of success, to convince him of some of the things from which he gets his somewhat severe name.  For one thing, they at last bluntly told him that he evidently did not know the very A B C about himself.  Till, when too hard pressed by the more ruthless of the two old men, the exasperated youth at last frankly burst out:  “I will never believe that my heart is thus bad!” There is a warm touch of Bunyan’s own experience here, mixed up with his so dramatic development of Paul’s morsels of autobiography that he lets drop in his Epistles to the Philippians and to the Galatians.  “Now was I become godly; now I was become a right honest man.  Though as yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite, yet I was proud of my godliness.  I read my Bible, but as for Paul’s Epistles, and such like Scriptures,