Love, all agreeable as he is, pleases yet more by the manner in which he shows himself.

A man of sense may love like a madman, but never like a fool.

Why have we memory sufficient to retain the minutest circumstances that have happened to us; and yet not enough to remember how often we have related them to the same person?

It is a sign of an extraordinary merit, when those who most envy it are forced to praise it.

Merit has its season, as well as fruit.

Censorious as the world is, it oftener does favor to false merit than injustice to true.

Old age is a tyrant, which forbids the pleasures of youth on pain of death.

Opportunities make us known to ourselves and others.

The duration of our passions is no more in our power than the duration of our lives.

The passions are the only orators that always succeed. They are, as it were, Nature's art of eloquence, fraught with infallible rules. Simplicity, with the aid of the passions, persuades more than the utmost eloquence without it.

In the heart of man there is a perpetual succession of the passions; so that the destruction of one is almost always the production of another.

Passions often beget their opposites; avarice produces prodigality, and prodigality avarice: men are often constant through weakness, and bold through fear.

So much injustice and self-interest enter into the composition of the passions, that it is very dangerous to obey their dictates; and we ought to be on our guard against them even when they seem most reasonable.

Absence destroys small passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes tapers, and kindles fires.

We are by no means aware how much we are influenced by our passions.

While the heart is still agitated by the remains of a passion, it is more susceptible of a new one than when entirely at rest.

Penetration has an air of divination: it pleases our vanity more than any other quality of the mind.

He who is pleased with nobody is much more unhappy than he with whom nobody is pleased.

Pride always indemnifies itself; and takes care to be no loser, even when it renounces vanity.

Pride is equal in all men; and differs but in the means and manner of showing itself.

It seems as if nature, who has so wisely adapted the organs of our bodies to our happiness, had with the same view given us pride, to spare us the pain of knowing our imperfections.

Pride will not owe, and self-love will not pay.

Our pride is often increased by what we retrench from our other faults.

We promise according to our hopes, and perform according to our fears.

Prudence and love are inconsistent; in proportion as the latter increases, the other decreases.

The shame that arises from praise which we do not deserve, often makes us do things we should never otherwise have attempted.

There are reproaches that praise, and praises that reproach. Ambition to merit praise fortifies our virtue. Praise bestowed on wit, valor, and beauty contributes to their augmentation.

It is with some good qualities as with the senses: they are incomprehensible and inconceivable to such as are deprived of

them.

We want strength to act up to our reason.

We never desire ardently what we desire rationally.

Whatever ignominy we may have incurred, it is almost always in our power to reëstablish our reputation.

How can we expect that another should keep our secret, when it is more than we can do ourselves?

We are so prepossessed in our own favor, that we often mistake for virtues those vices that have some resemblance to them, and which are artfully disguised by self-love.

Nothing is so capable of diminishing our self-love as the observation that we disapprove at one time of what we approve at another.

Self-love never reigns so absolutely as in the passion of love : we are always ready to sacrifice the peace of those we adore, rather than lose the least part of our own.

The self-love of some people is such, that, when in love, they are more taken up with their passion than its object.

A desire to talk of ourselves, and to set our faults in whatever light we choose, makes the main of our sincerity.

We commonly slander more through vanity than malice.

The health of the soul is as precarious as that of the body; for when we seem secure from passions, we are no less in danger of their infection than we are of falling ill, when we appear to be well.

There are relapses in the distempers of the soul, as well as in those of the body; thus we often mistake for a cure what is no more than an intermission, or a change of disease.

The flaws of the soul resemble the wounds of the body; the scar always appears, and they are in danger of breaking open again.

The excessive pleasure we find in talking of ourselves ought to make us apprehensive that it gives but little to our auditors. We had rather speak ill of ourselves than not speak at all.

We give up our interest sooner than our taste.

Our self-love bears with less patience the condemnation of our taste than of our opinion.

Our enemies, in their judgment of us, come nearer the truth than we do ourselves.

Perfect valor and perfect cowardice are extremes men seldom

arrive at.

The intermediate space is prodigious, and contains all the different species of courage, which are as various as men's faces and humors. There are those who expose themselves boldly at the beginning of an action; and who slacken and are disheartened at its duration. There are others who aim only at preserving their honor, and do little more. Some are not equally exempt from fear at all times alike. Others give occasionally into a general panic; others advance to the charge because they dare not stay in their posts. There are men whom habitual small dangers encourage, and fit for greater. Some are brave with the sword, and fear bullets; others defy bullets, and dread a sword. All these different kinds of valor agree in this, that night, as it augments fear, so it conceals good or bad actions, and gives every one the opportunity of sparing himself. There is also another more general discretion: for we find those who do most, would do more still, were they sure of coming off safe so that it is very plain that the fear of death gives a damp to courage.

Perfect valor consists in doing without witnesses all we should be capable of doing before the whole world.

Most men sufficiently expose themselves in war to save their honor, but few so much as is necessary even to succeed in the design for which they thus expose themselves.

No man can answer for his courage who has never been in danger.

A wise man had rather avoid an engagement than conquer. It is our own vanity that makes others' vanity intolerable.

If vanity really overturns not the virtues, it certainly makes them totter.

The most violent passions have their intermissions: vanity alone gives us no respite.

The reason why the pangs of shame and jealousy are so sharp, is this vanity gives us no assistance in supporting them.

Vanity makes us do more things against inclination than

reason.

When our vices have left us, we flatter ourselves that we have left them.

Most women yield more through weakness than passion; whence it happens that enterprising, rather than lovable, men commonly succeed best with them,

In their first desires women love the lover, afterwards the passion.

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.

BY JOHN BUNYAN.

[JOHN BUNYAN, the celebrated English writer, was born at Elstow, near Bedford, in 1628. He was brought up to his father's trade of tinker, and spent his youth in the practice of that craft. After a short term of service in the Parliamentary army, he joined a nonconformist body at Bedford and began to preach throughout the midland counties. In 1660 he fell a victim to the persecution then carried on against dissenters, was thrown into Bedford county jail, and during a twelve years' imprisonment wrote "Profitable Meditations," "The Holy City," and "Grace Abounding." After the issuing of James II.'s declaration for liberty of conscience, he again settled at Bedford, and ministered to the congregation in Mill Lane until his death, in London, of fever, August, 1688. Bunyan suffered a second imprisonment (1675), but only for six months, during which time he wrote the first part of "Pilgrim's Progress" (1678; second part issued in 1684). It circulated at first among the poor, but soon became more widely known, and in ten years one hundred thousand copies had been sold. With the exception of the Bible and "The Imitation of Christ," no book has been translated into so many languages and dialects (over eighty in all). Other works include: "The Holy War" and "Life and Death of Mr. Badman."]

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

Now at the end of this valley was another, called the Valley of the Shadow of Death; and Christian must needs go through it, because the way to the Celestial City lay through the midst of it. Now, this valley is a very solitary place. The prophet Jeremiah thus describes it: "A wilderness, a land of deserts and pits, a land of drought, and of the Shadow of Death, a land that no man" (but a Christian) "passeth through, and where no man dwelt." (Jer. 2: 6.)

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see.

I saw then in my dream, that when Christian was got to the borders of the Shadow of Death, there met him two men, chil