perplexity, he fell into another. He feared that the day of grace
was gone; and so impressed on his mind was this mournful conviction,
that he could do little else than upbraid his own infatuation for
allowing the one propitious season to pass for ever away. But the
words, "Compel them to come in, that my house may be filled;" and
those others, "And yet there is room," brought him relief. Then,
again, he saw that the call of Christ was needful to make a man a
disciple; and he feared that he should never get that call. "But oh!
how I now loved those words that spake of a Christian's calling as
when the Lord said to one, Follow me; and to another, Come after me:
and oh! thought I, that he would say so to me too: how gladly would
I run after him! How lovely now was every one in my eyes, that I
thought to be converted, whether man or woman! They shone, they
walked like a people that carried the broad seal of heaven upon them.
Oh! I saw the lot was fallen to them in pleasant places, and they had
a goodly heritage. But that which made me sick, was that of Christ,-
-'He went up into a mountain, and called to him whom he would, and
they came unto him.' This Scripture made me faint and fear, yet it
kindled fire in my soul. That which made me fear was this: lest
Christ should have no liking to me, for he called whom he would. But
oh! the glory that I saw in that condition did still so engage my
heart, that I could seldom read of any that Christ did call but I
presently wished, 'Would I had been in their clothes! would I had
been born Peter! would I had been born John! or, would I had been
bye, and had heard him when he called them, how would I have cried, O
Lord, call me also. But oh! I feared he would not call me.'"

There was at that time a minister in Bedford whose history was almost
as remarkable as Bunyan's own. His name was Gifford. He had been a
staunch royalist, and concerned in the rising in Kent. He was