John Bunyan, who could so easily and so delightfully have done it, has given us no information at all about Mr. Ready-to-halt’s early days.  For once his English passion for a pedigree has not compelled our author’s pen.  We would have liked immensely to have been told the name, and to have seen displayed the whole family tree of young Ready-to-halt’s father; and, especially, of his mother.  Who was his nurse also?  And did she ever forgive herself for the terrible injury she had done her young master?  What were his occupations and amusements as a little cripple boy?  Who made him his first crutch?  Of what wood was it made?  And at what age, and under whose kind and tender directions did he begin to use it?  And, then, with such an infirmity, what ever put it into Mr. Ready-to-halt’s head to attempt the pilgrimage?  For the pilgrimage was a task and a toil that took all the limbs and all the lungs and all the labours and all the endurances that the strongest and the bravest of men could bring to bear upon it.  How did this complete cripple ever get through the Slough, and first up and then down the Hill Difficulty, and past all the lions, and over a thousand other obstacles and stumbling-blocks, till he arrived at mine host’s so hospitable door?  The first surprised sight we get of this so handicapped pilgrim is when Greatheart and Feeble-mind are in the heat of their discourse at the hostelry door.  At that moment Mr. Ready-to-halt came by with his crutches in his hand, and he also was going on pilgrimage.  Thus, therefore, they went on.  Mr. Greatheart and Mr. Honest went on before, Christiana and her children went next, and Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind with his crutches.

   “Put by the curtains, look within my veil,
   Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail,
   There, if thou seekest them, such things to find,
   As will be helpful to an honest mind.”

1.  Well, then, when we put by the curtains and turn up the metaphors, what do we find?  What, but just this, that poor Mr. Ready-to-halt was, after all, the greatest and the best believer, as the New Testament would have called him, in all the pilgrimage.  We have not found so great faith as that of Mr. Ready-to-halt, no, not in the very best of the pilgrim bands.  Each several pilgrim had, no doubt, his own good qualities; but, at pure and downright believing—­at taking God at His bare and simple word—­Mr. Ready-to-halt beat them all.  All that flashes in upon us from one shining word that stands on the margin of our so metaphorical author.  This single word, the “promises,” hangs like a key of gold beside the first mention of Mr. Ready-to-halt’s crutches—­a key such that in a moment it throws open the whole of Mr. Ready-to-halt’s otherwise lockfast and secret and inexplicable life.  There it all is, as plain as a pike-staff now!  Yes; Mr. Ready-to-halt’s crutches are just the divine promises.  I wonder I did not see that