^^0^ o5 <5^ — o ,^^ O^ o ^ ^ cp^ oi:;'- ^ %.o^ ^a6< '^:.^' V--s)^..^o.% '%.^ 6 o. s ^ ^ <■' >^ J^ cAq^ ^1 (J ?5 ^. r /.s -a * - *1 %^^' ^^' c4 ^ ■9' s '^> n^ r ^^ V X ft *-^ - oS-' t; >^ ^O. ^ , k <^^ *^u. v^ ^ V^ ^ V^ , r ¥ BUNYAN^S LIFE, TIMES, 8cC, Qlk ^4:\'D 'C^AKACTElRiSTiCS «J @ E r-T B U H If A ^}%w^. W'' THE LIFE, . TIMES, AND CHARACTERISTICS JOHN BUNYAN, AUTHOR OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. BY ROBERT PHILIP, AUTHOR OF THF LIFE AND TIMES OF WHITEFIELD ; THE EXPERIMENTAL GUIDES, &:C. Though thou hast " lien amongst the pots., yet shalt thou be as the wings of a dove, covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold." — David. NEW- YORK: D. APPLETON & CO. 200, BROADWAY M DCCC XXXIX. A'ft^ \^ 1 H. LUDWIG, PRINTER, 72, Vesey-st. 7#/ r TO THOMAS THOMPSON, ESQ. AND THE HONOURABLE MRS. THOMPSON, OF POUNDSFORD PAUK, SOMERSETSHIRE, AND VANBURGH HOUSE, GREENWICH, THIS IS DEDICATED, BY THEIR FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. Newington Green, Jan. 1, 1839. PREFACE. Foreigners have long wondered, that a century and a half should have passed away without producing a Life of Bunyan. We ourselves can hardly explain this anomaly in our biographical literature. It has certainly not arisen, however, from any national indifference to Bunyan. Perhaps, the real reason is, that we identify him with his Pilgrim : for Christian is, in one sense, as Montgomery has well said, "a whole-length Portrait of the Author himself." We thus feel that we can know nothing better of Bunyan ; and therefore we let our curiosity fall asleep. And yet, it ought to occur to us, that he was not likely to tell all the hest^ con- cerning hirr.self, even in an Allegory ; for he was as modest as he was frank. Besides, his Pilgrim never writes Books, nor preaches Sermons ; and thus neither the literary nor the ministerial life of Bunyan has any place in the Allegory. In hke manner, neither Doubt- VIU PREFACE. ing Castle, nor the Cage at Vanity Fair, is any emblem of his own imprisonment in Bedford Jail. These considerations would have weighed with the public, and even led to a defuand for a real Life of Bunyan, long ago, had not every new biographical Sketch, repeated merely the old facts. This repressed curiosity ; especially when neither Dr. Soulhey nor Mr. Conder added any thing to the old facts, but new and beautiful forms. Even Mr. Ivimey, the historian of the Baptists, made but few discoveries, although he threw some valuable hghts upon both "the Pilgrim" and "Grace Abounding." There is neither censure nor sarcasm in these re- marks. No one, perhaps, who had only a literary purpose to answer, "would have prepared an Ark for the saving" of Bunyan's Remains : whereas, the Author of this Volume had to complete the design of his "Ex- perimental Guides for the Perplexed and Doubting," by an explanation of the wondeiful and mysterious expe- rience of John Bunyan. He had thus a motive which compelled him to search diligently. He had also, on both sides of the Atlantic, a circle of readers, large enough for his ambition, and upon whom he could calculate, if his researches were successful. They have been so, beyond even his most sanguine expectations. PREFACE. IX He discovered much that was unknown or unnoticed hitherto, as well as much to enlarge and illustrate what is best known in the history of Bunyan. Whilst, therefore, the Work is partly experimental, it is chiefly biographical^ and intended equally for the world and the Church. It claims, indeed, to be as complete a Life of Bunyan, as his own documents, or the tradi- tions of his country, can furnish, at this late period: for although as the Ark of his Remains, it has more pitch than paint upon it, and is rather Puritanical than fashionable in its shape : it is not ill stored with facts, nor overloaded with priv^ate opinions. There are, indeed, both opinions and principles in it, and not few of them ; but they are neither " creeping things'^ in their form, nor uncathoUc in their spirit. They are not ceremo- nious ; but they are never sectarian, except Protestant- ism be so. This Volume will be followed by a Standard Family Edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, from Bunyan's re- vised text ; and illustrated by old Prints or new Draw- ings of its local Scenery, and with Notes chiefly from his own pen. Some of the Prints were intended for his Life ; but only that of his Cottage could be fin- ished in time. Wiien ready, however, they may be had, separately, to bind up with this Volume. V X PREFACE. The Author has been much facilitated in his re- searches by Librarians especially. As usual, he is not a little indebted to his friend Joshua Wilson, Esq. and to the Rev. Mr. Belcher of Bunyan Chapel, Green- wich. His obligations to friends at Bedford are ac- knowledged in the body of the Work. To his friend Mr. William Dash, of Kettering, he is indebted for the hest of the old editions of the Pilgrim's Progress ; to Mr. Althens, Jun., for the loan of Boetius a' Bolswerts' Pilgrim, of 1627 ; to Mr. R. Baines, for not a few scarce books ; to B. Hanbury, Esq. of the Bank ; and last, though not least, to the Baptist College at Bristol. R. P. CONTENTS, CHAPTER I. Buntan's Boyhood II. BCNTAN IN THE ArMY III. Bunyan's Marriage IV. Bunyan's First Reformation V. Bunyan's Second Reformation VI. Bunyan's Conversion . VII. Bunyan's Conflicts. VIII. Bunyan's Counsellors IX. Bunyan's Relapses X. Bunyan's Temptations XI. Bunyan's Revivals XII. BUNYAN AND LUTHER . XIII. Satan and his Angels XIV. Bunyan's Crisis . . XV. Bunyan's Baptism XVI. Bunyan's Sick Bed XVII. Bunyan's Call to the Ministry XVIII. BuNYAN AND THE ClUAKERS XIX. Bunyan's Example XX. Bunyan's Ministerial Position XXI. Bunyan's Arrest XXII. Bunyan's Trial XXIII. Bunyan'$ Defence , . PAOB 13 24 30 35 45 53 66- 87 94 103 114 124 130 143 179 186 193 201 208 215 227 245 254 Xll CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXIV. Buntan's Second Wife XXV. BUNTAN AND THE PrAYER BOOK XXVI. Buntan's Favourite Sermon XXVII. Buntan's Thunderbolts XXVIII. Buntan's Anecdotes XXIX. Buntan's Jailor XXX. Buntan and the Baptists XXXf. Buntan's Prison Thoughts v XXXIL Buntan's Prison Amusements XXXIII. Buntan's Moral Philosophy v XXXIV. Buntan's Wit . XXXV. Buntan's Conceits XXXVI. Buntan's Church Persecuted XXXVII. Buntan's Pastoral Letters XXXVIII. Buntan's Calvinism .. XXXIX. Buntan's Trinitarianism XL. Buntan's Catholicity / XLI. Buntan's Release XLII. Buntan's Calumniators XLIII. Buntan's Pastorship XLIV. Buntan's Bibliography XLV. Buntan's Last Dats XL VI. Traditions and Relics of Buntan XLVII. Buntan's Genius PAGE 263 270* 275 283 290 304 312 319 332 346 357 371 378 386 401 408 415 422 427 449 457 473 483 491 THE LIFE OF BUNYAN CHAPTER I. BUNYAN S BOYHOOD A STRANGER, who admlres and loves Biinyan, approaches Bedford as a poet or a divine would enter Smyrna ; the form- er thinking only of Homer, and the latter only of Polycarp ; and both trying how vividly they can realize the image of their favourite, amidst the scenes once consecrated by his presence, and still enshrined by his memory. It is no diffi- cult thing, I suppose, for a real poet, if he believes Herodotus, to imagine the rocks of Smyrna vocal yet with the harp of Homer ; nor for a real Christian, if he credits Eusebius, to mistake the evening sun-light upon them, for the last glimmer- ings of Pylycarp's martyr-pile. Even I felt no difficulty, on entering Bedford, and walking around it, to associate every thing with Bunyan, or to enshrine any thing with his Pilgrim, The town, indeed, did not seem to me " the City of Destruc- tion;" and the bridge was too good, and the water too clear, to allow the river to be regarded as "the Slough of Despond:" but it was hardly possible not to see Christian in every poor man who carried a burden, and Christiana in every poor wo- man who carried a market-basket in one hand, and led a child with the other. One sweet-looking peasant girl, also, might have been Mercy's youngest sister. She would have been 2 14 LIFE OF BUNYAN. beautiful anywhere ; but she was enchanting upon the spot where Bunyan's Mercy (that finished portrait of female love- liness) had walked and wept. In like manner, any ragged urchin, if only robust and boisterous enough, and evidently the ringleader of fun or mischief, seemed the boy Bunyan himself, although only a few minutes before a venerable old man had seemed the very personification of the Baptist Minis- ter of Bedford : but no one seemed to be the Glorious Dreamer, although many looked sleepy enough. There is wisdom as well as weakness in such reveries, when the memory that inspires them is really immortal. If Dr. Johnson was warranted to say at Icolmkill, "Far from me be such frigid philosophy as would conduct us indiJEferent or unmoved over any ground dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue : that man is little to he envied whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of lona — that illustrious island, from which savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the blessings of religion ;" any man who can feel may rationally give way to all his feelings at Bedford bridge, where the Glorious Dreamer conceived and wrote The Pilgrim's Progress. That one book has diffused more light over Christendom, than lona ever did over the Hebrides, even when it was "the luminary of the Caledonian regions." lona will never be the light of the North again: but the Pilgrim will be one of the chief lights of the world un- til the end of time. It is strange, but it is true, that the mind, although occu- pied, and even absorbed, with the remote as well as the imme- diate visions of Bunyan's incalculable influence upon the world at large, should yet keep the eye of the musing visitor searching the fields and hedges around Bedford, for spots where the wild tinder-boy was likely to have played at cat, and taken dangerous leaps, and robbed orchards. It is, how- ever, impossible not to pause every now and then, as if the marks of his heels were yet visible on the other side of the ditches, and the marks of his knife upon the old trees. He was such a thorough scapegrace whilst a boy, that all marks of mischief and daring seem left by him alone. Bunyan was born in the year 1628, at Elstow, a village near Belford. His father, although a tinker, and thus, of course, a tramper often, and very poor, does not seem to have had any real connexion with the gypsy tinkers. Bunyan says, indeed, " My father's house (meaning his descent) was LIFE OF BUNYAN. I5 of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the fami- , lies of the land." This implies that they had somewhat iden- tified themselves with the gypsies, or allowed themselves to be classed with them. He does not, however, say, nor insinuate, that his parents were personally despised by their neighbours, or that they were profligate. I have now before me two old Sketches of his Life, which state that they were " honest, and bore a fair character." He himself records with gratitude, that notwithstanding their meanness and inconsiderableness, God put into their hearts " to put me to school, to learn me both to read and write, according to the rate of other poor men's children." — Life by Himself. This is so rarely done by tinkers, even now, that the fact warrants the report of the " fair character" of his parents, at least for honesty and industry. It deserves special notice also, that Bunyan does not ascribe any of his own vices to their ex- ample. He says nothing, indeed, against them. On the other hand, however, he says but little in their favour, except that they sent him to school ; and that most likely, cost them no- thing. The Harpur Grammar School in Bedford, founded in 1556, by Sir W. Harpur, Mayor of London, for teaching " grammar and good manners," was then open to the children of the poor ; and Elstow itself, as the seat of one of the oldest abbeys, may have had some charitable foundation of the same kind. It was then in the possession of the Hildersons, anci continued in that family until WJiifbread purchased it. The abbey was founded in the reign of William the Conqueror, by Judith, his niece, the then Countess of Huntingdon : a fact which had, perhaps, no small influence upon her illustrious successor, Selina, when she consecrated her wealth, as well as her heart, to the glory of God. If Bunyan was educated at the Harpur School, he certainly did not learn "good manners,^' whatever "grammar" he ac- quired there. "From a child," he says, " I have but few equals, (considering my years, which were then but tender and few,) for cursing, swearing, lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God. Yea, so settled and rooted was I in these things, that they became as a second nature to me." Thus the school, whatever it was, had no moral influence upon the pupil. Bunyan says nothing of his master, as having ever interfered by the rod or reproof to check or warn him, when he began his open ungodliness. There is, therefore, gome reason to suspect, that his teacher never tried at all, nor 16 LIFE OF BUNYAN. his parents much, to bring him up in the fear of God. This 4S a painful conclusion : but I know of nothing to soften it ; except we suppose that he drew the picture of his own boy- hood, partly, in the early life of his Badman. He says of him, " From a child he was very bad. He used to be, as we say, the ringleader and master-sinner from a child ; the in- ventor of bad words, and an example of bad actions. When a child, his parents scarce knew when to believe he spake true. He was also much given to pilfer and steal the things of his fellow-children, or any thing at a neighbour's house. Yea, what was his father's could not escape his fingers. All was fish that came to his net. You must understand me, o^ trifles : for being yet but a child, he attempted no great matter, espe- cially at first. He was also greatly given, and that whilst a lad, to grievous cursing and swearing. He counted it a glory to swear and curse ; and it was as natural to him as to eat, drink, and sleep." — Life and Death of Mr, Badmam. This is not only very like what Bunyan says of himself in his own Life ; but it is told with an ease and a point, which experience alone could have reached. Mr. Badman was, no doubt, a real character, whom Bunyan knew and studied : but he certainly studied "the young rogue's" boyhood, because of its resemblance to his own. He either saw himself reflected in that lad ; or he completed Badman's image from his own features, to heighten its effect. This being evidently the fact, it may be equally true that he refers to his own parents, when he says, " To my knowledge," young Badman's " way of Hving was a great grief to his parents ; for their hearts were much dejected at this beginning of their son. Nor did there want counsel or correction from them to him, if that would have made him better. He was told over and over again, in my hearing, that all liars should have their portion in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone." " I dare (to) say, he learned none of his wicked things from his father and mother, nor was he admitted to go much abroad among other children that were vile, to learn to sin of them." If there be any reference here to his own parents, it will ac- count for the fact, that he never blames them for a bad exam- ple ; and it will explain his " fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation," whilst he was but a boy. That is unaccountable, perhaps, otherwise. The following picture of his conscience tells at once, that solemn truths had been LIPEOFBUNYAN. 17 lodged in his memory, and fixed in his imagination, by some human means, whatever they were. " Even in my childhood, the Lord did scare and afTrighten me with fearful dreams, and did terrify me with fearful visions. For often, after I had spent this and the other day in sin, I have in my bed been greatly afflicted while asleep, with the apprehension of devils and wicked spirits, who still, as I then thought, laboured to draw me away with them : of which I could never be rid. " Also I should at these years, be greatly afflicted and trou. bled with the thoughts of the fearful torments of hell-fire : still fearing, that it would be my lot to be found at last among those devils and hellish fiends, who are bound down with the chains and bonds of darkness, unto the judgment of the great day. " These things, I say, when I was but a child, — but nine or ten years old — did so distress my soul, that then in the midst of my many sports and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, I was often cast down and afflicted in my mind therewith : yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was also, then, so overcome with despair of life and heaven, that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil, supposing they were only tormentors ; or that, if it must needs be I went thither, I might rather be a tor- mentor than be tormented myself." All this is somewhat too much, both in vividness and va- riety, even for the mind of Bunyan ; unless we suppose that his parents, or his schoolmaster, or somebody else, had occa- sionally plied him with scriptural arguments against sin. True, the mental elements of the man were in the boy, even then ; and he had evidently read the Scriptures, and remem- bered their haunting visions of the wrath to come. It is im- possible, however, to refer to them his wish to be a devil, that thus he might be a tormentor, instead of being tormented by devils. Tliere is nothing in the Bible to suggest this daring and desperate wish : whereas there is, and always has been, in the vague generalities of popular talk, something akin to the idea, that the devil and his angels inflict more suffering upon the lost in hell than they themselves endure. I am not anxious to arrive at a certain conclusion in this matter, although I thus go into the question of the origin of his " fearful dreams," and of his daring imaginings. All I want to. show is, that whilst his night-dreams may be traced to the Bible, his day-dreams about the work of devils in the 2.* 18 LIFE OF BUNYAN. invisible world must be traced to some other source ; and none is so likely as parental warning. We know from Bun- yan himself, that his father was not unacquainted with the Bible: "I asked my father," he says, " whether we were Israelites or no. For, finding in Scripture, that they were once the peculiar people of God, thought I, if I were one of the race, my soul must needs be happy. My father told me, *No, we were not.'" Now, although this question was put after his marriage, still, it reveals his opinion of his father's knowledge ; for after having pondered the query long, he says, "At last I asked my father." One reason for this was, no doubt, a fancy that there might be some connexion between the Jews and the gypsies : but it is equally evident that he had also some confidence in his father's judgment. Hence, when that was against him, he said, " Then I fell in spirit as to that hope, and so remained." Once also, when he was silenced and put to shame by a reproof from a godless woman, he says, " I wished, with all my heart, that I was a little child again, that my father might learn me to speak without swearing." Even his " fearful dreams and visions" themselves prove, by their effect upon his spirits, and especially by the despair they threw him into when he awoke, that he must have seen and heard others, who had similar views of Eternal Judg- ment. A mere boy was utterly unlikely to apply to himself the fiercest terrors of the wrath to come, if he had never met with any one to point him to them, as deserved by himself. The fear of them haunted him even in the " very midst of his sports and vain companions :" a fact which proved that he knew the opinion of some of his neighbours in regard to him- self. Indeed, nothing is more likely, than that he was often reproved and warned by the Puritans of Elstow and Bedford. His vices were just those, which the godly men and women of that age would most loudly condemn, and most solemnly threa- ten. His very sports were an abomination to them : for the popular games were then associated with principles which the Puritans both hated and dreaded. He would, therefore, have been often warned and reproved on the common, when a Pu- ritan passed by, even if oaths and blasphemies had not been mingled with his sports ; and as they were the very shouts of his gambols, he was as sure to hear a "testimony'' against both, as Scott's " Cuddie Headrig " from his mither, against the popinjay. LIFE OF BUNYAN. 19 Besides, there is good reason to suppose that Banyan, if not invited into the houses of the Puritans, was allowed to be present in more then one or two of them, when they read to their families books of" Christian piety." Accordingly, he says, " It was a prison to me, when I have seen some read these books. In these days, the thoughts of religion were very grievous to me. I could neither endure it myself, nor that any other should." These hints throw some light upon the readiness with which his conscience applied to himself " the terrors of the Lord :" but they leave to the Bible and his incipient genius, all the solemn majesty of his young dreams. These, like his Pilgrim, were his own creations : for, although we may have dreamt of the Day of Judgment, much in the same form as Bunyan, we only dreamt his dream over again. We had his example to help our duller imaginations : whereas the tinker boy had read nothing but his Bible. No Glorious Dreamer had sent him to bed, full of solemn thoughts, or dazzled with glaring visions. He himself knew, and never forgot, that fact ; and hence he ascribed his night vision to God alone : — " I have with soberness considered," he says, " that the Lord, even in my childhood, did scare and affrighten me with fearful dreams." Bunyan's dreams, then, were not always unsoflened in their issue. Ivimey has quoted one, to this effect : " Once he dreamed that he was just dropping into the flames amongst the damned, when a person in white raiment suddenly pluck- ed him as a brand out of the fire." This is the creation of his own mind, from the visions of Zechariah and John : and as "a dream cometh of a multitude of business," a part of his business on that day must have been the perusal of part of two ^ books of the Holy Scriptures. We know also where he must have read on the morning of the day, when he dreamt "that the end of the world and the day of judgment were arrived ; and thought that the earth quaked, and opened her mouth to receive him." — Ivimey^s Life, Indeed, his own versions of such dreams (as we shall see) all manifest an extensive famil- iarity with the Scriptures, and a keen perception, yea, vivid realization, of whatever is most appalling or magnificent in eternal things. He dreamt like a prophet, whilst he was only a boy. The finest illustration of this, Bunyan put into the lips of the man in the " chamber," at the Interpreter's house. That 20 LIFE OF BUN YAN. dream may, indeed, be a compound of many of his own ; but it is all his own, and evidently selected from distinct recollec- tions of his own midnight visions in youth : it belongs, there- fore, to his life, as much as to his allegory ; and is the first grand disclosure of the real power of both his mind and con- science, in boyhood. He himself did not write it for this pur- pose, nor think, perhaps, that it would ever reveal the original elements of his genius. That, however, is no reason why we should not view it in that light. Modesty as much binds us to say, that the boy Bunyan dreamt, as it bound him to say, " the man rising out of bed, in a chamber," said, " This night, as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold, the heavens grew exceeding black ; also it thundered and lightened in such fearful wise, that it put me in an agony. So I looked up in my dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual rate : upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, and saw also a man sit upon a cloud, attended with thousands of heaven. They were all in flaming fire ; also the heavens were in a burning flame. I heard then a voice saying, 'Arise, ye dead, and come to judgment.' And with that, the rocks rent, the graves opened, and the dead that were therein came forth. Some of them were exceeding glad, and looked upward ; and some sought to hide themselves under the mountains. " Then 1 saw the man that sat on the cloud, open the book, and bid the world draw near. Yet there was, by reason af the fierce flame which issued out, and came before him, a con^ venient distance betwixt him and them, as betwixt the judge and the prisoners at the bar. I heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on the man that sat on the cloud, ' Gather together the tares, the chaff, and the stubble, and cast them into the burning lake.' And with that, the bottomless pit opened, just whereabout I stood ; out of the mouth of which there came, in an abundant manner, smoke and coals of fire, with hideous noises. " It was also said to the same persons, ' Gather my wheat into the garner !' And with that, I saw many catchedup and carried away in the clouds ; but I was left behind ! I also sought to hide myself, but I could not ; for the man upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me. My sins also came into my mind, and my conscience did accuse me on every side; for, as I thought, the Judge had always his eye upon me, showing in- dignation in his countenance. But what afl'righted me most was, that the angels gathered up several,, and left me behind : LIFEOFBUNYAN. 21 also, the pit of hell opened her mouth just where I stood." — Pilgrim. ■ Splendid as this painting is, there is not a feature of it, which was not shadowed out in his own first dreams. It only- embodied fully, and emblazons a little, what disturbed the sleep of the lisping blasphemer of Elstow, when neither the fatigue nor the excitement of daring sports could put down the energies of his mind or conscience. These energies, however, are not seen in all their early strength, in the current versions of his young dreams. I therefore subjoin another version of them, from the sketch of his Life, in the British Museum : — " He has often, since his conversion, confest with horror and detestation of himself, that when he was but a child, or at least a stripling youth, he had but few equals for lying, swearing, and blaspheming God's holy name, which became then to him as a second nature ; not considering that he must die, and one day give an account before the dread tribunal of the God of all the earth ; living, as it were, without God in the world ; the thoughts of which, when, by the light of di- vine grace, he came to understand his dangerous condition, drew many showers of tears from his sorrowful eyes, and sighs from his groaning heart. " The first thing that sensibly touched him in this his un- regenerate state, were fearful dreams, and visions of the night, which often made him cry out in his sleep, and alarm the house, as if somebody had been about to murder him ; and be- ing waked, he would start, and stare about him with such a wildness, as if some real apparition had yet remained ; and generally these dreams were about evil spirits, in monstrous shapes and forms, that presented themselves to him in threat- ening postures, as if they would have taken him away, or torn him in pieces : at sometimes they seemed to belch flame, at other times a contagious smoke, with horrible noises and roaring. " This continued for some time, and there came others somewhat of another nature, seemingly more pleasing and al- luring to entice those sweet darling sins that so much bewitch the world, and carry men away to the pit of destruction, as carnal concupiscential desires, thirst after rich and unlawful gain, vain. glory, and pomp, with many others of the same black stamp ; yet, when he began somewhat seriously to con, eider, even these wrought darkness and confusion in his soul, 22 LIFEOFBUNYAN. and took him with unaccountable melancholy. Once h^ dreamt he saw the face of the heavens, as it were, all on fire, the firmament crackling and shivering as with the noise of mighty thunders, and an archangel flew in the midst of heav- en sounding a trumpet, and a glorious throne was seated in the east, whereon sat one in brightness like the morning star ; up- on which he, thinking it was the end of the world, fell upon his knees, and, with uplifted hands towards heaven, cried, ' O Lord God, have mercy upon me ! what shall I do ! the day of Judgment is come, and 1 am not prepared !' when immediately he heard a voice behind him exceedingly loud, saying, * Re- pent;' and upon this he awoke, and found it but a dream. Yet, as he said, upon this he grew more serious, and it remain- ed in his mind a considerable time. " At another time he dreamed that he was in a pleasant place, jovial and rioting, banqueting and feasting his senses, when immediately a mighty earthquake rent the earth, and made a wide gap, oat of which came bloody flames, and the figures of men tossed up in globes of fire, and falling down again with horrible cries, shrieks, and execrations, whilst some devils that ^were mingled with them laughed aloud at their torment ; and whilst he stood trembling at this sight, he thought the earth sunk under him, and a circle of flame in- closed him ; but when he fancied he was just at the point to perish, one in white shining raiment descended and plucked him out of that dreadful place, whilst devils cried after him to leave him with them, to take the just punishment his sins had deserved ; yet he escaped the danger, and leaped for joy when he awoke and found it but a dream. Many others, somewhat to the same purpose, I might mention, as he at sundry times related them ; but, not to be tedious, these for a taste may suffice." Under such circumstances, and in spite of such feelings, Bunyan grew up into a reckless lad ; for, although wicked- ness of any kind in professors of religion would shock him even then, he himself was not afraid of sin : indeed, he feared nothing, when he could forget his dreams. He mentions one remarkable instance of fool- hardiness. " Being in the fields," he says, " with one of my companions, it chanced that an ad- der passed over the highway: so I, having a stick in my hand, struck her over the back ; and having stunned her, I forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her tongue out with vay fingers ; by which act, had not God been mercifiil to LIFEOFBUNYAN. 23 me, I might, by my desperateness, have brought myself to my end." Dr. Southey says, " If this were indeed an adder, and not a harmless snake, his escape from the fangs was more re- markable than he himself was aware of." No one, however, was more likely to know an adder from a snake than Bunyan ; for no one was more amongst the hedges and bosky banks : and although he was never, perhaps, fully aware of all the ve- nom of an adder's fangs, he has certainly made his escape ap- pear as remarkable as if it had been a miracle ; for, what more could any one say of it than he did 1 24 LIFE OF BUNYAN. CHAPTER 11. BrNYAN IN THE ARMY. That a young man of Bunyan's roistering habits and reck- less spirit should have enlisted as a soldier, is only what might be expected; but it is somewhat strange (if true) that he should have preferred the Parliamentary to the Royal army. True ; he seems never to have been a drunkard ; and it is certain he never was licentious ; but still, as he himself could not only " sin with delight and ease," in his own way, but also take " pleasure in the vileness of his companions," the Royalists were most suited to his moral tastes. His blasphemy and blackguardism would have pleased them, and their profligacy would not have offended him. He joined, however, the Par- liamentary troops ; and, whatever cant or hypocrisy, vulgari- ty or vice, was prevalent amongst them, it was not of Bun- yan's kind, nor of the cavalier order and style. There were both sleek and sly villains in Cromwell's army ; and some of them men of no mean rank. Bunyan says, that he himself overheard one of them tempting virtue " in Oliver's days," by proposing to ascribe the fruit of shame to a miracle. " I heard him say this and it greatly afflicted me. I had a mind to have him accused before some magistrate ; but he was a great man, and I was poor, so I let it alone ; but it troubled me very much." — Badman's Life. This revolting at crime, although an anomaly in Bunyan's character, was not a new thing with him, when the criminal professed godliness. Years before he entered the army such in- consistencies shocked him. " I well remember," he says, " that even when I could take pleasure in the vileness of my compa- nions, wicked things by those who })rofessed goodness, would make my spirit tremble. As once, above all the rest, when I was at the height of my vanity, yet hearing one swear that was reckoned godly, it had so great a stroke upon my spirit, that it made my heartache." He was not, of course, often shocked by swearing whilst amongst the Roundheads, whatever vices he may have de- 1 LIFEOFBUNYAN, 26 tected in some of them beneath the mask of religion. Hume himsehf being the judge, the character of the ParUamentary army- was very high when Bunyan joined it in 1645. " The private soldiers," Hume says, " employed their vacant hours in prayer, in perusing the Holy Scriptures, in ghostly conferences, where they compared the progress of their souls in grace, and mutual- ly stimulated each other to further advances in the great work of their salvation. When they were marching to battle, the whole field resounded, as well with psalms and spiritual songs adapted to the occasion, as with instruments of military mu- sic; and every man endeavoured to di*own the sense of pre- sent danger, in the prospect of that crown of glory which was set before him. In so holy a cause, wounds Avere esteemed meritorious; death, martyrdom; and the hurry and dangers of action, instead of banishing their pious visions, rather strove •to impress their minds more strongly with them." — Hume's England, vol. vii. Such, in general, were the men with whom Bunyan associa- ted, when he became a soldier. It was well for him. Had he joined the ranks commanded by Rupert he might have be- come as vile as " desolute Wilmot," or " licentious Goring," as Hume styles them. They are well designated. Such leaders would not have been allowed io follow Cromwell. It is well known that Cromwell's own regiment was com- posed of select men, "most of them freeholders, or freeholders' sons, who, upon matter of conscience, engaged in the quarrel," under him. It is not so well known, however, that he endea- voured to assimilate other regiments to his own, by means of Hampden especially. The following' account of this will be readily recognized as his own. The speech was addressed to the Parliament, when they conferred with him upon their pro- posal, that he should assume the title of king; " From my first being captain of a troop of horse, I did labour as well as I could to discharge my trust; and God blessed me as it pleased him. I had a very worthy friend then — Mr. Hampden; and he was a very noble person; and I know his memory is very grateful to all. At my first going out into that engagement I saw our men were beaten on every hand — I did, indeed; and desired him that he would make some additions to my Lord Essex's army, of some new regiments. And I told him, it would be serviceable to him in bringing such men in as I thought had a spirit that would do something in the work. * Your troops,' said I, ' are most of them old decayed serving 3 26 LIFEOFBUNYAN. men, and tapsters, and such kind of fellows : and their troops are gentlemen's sons, younger sons, and persons of quality. And do you think that the spirit of such base and mean fellows will ever be able to encounter gentlemen that have honour, and courage, and resolution in them? You must get men of a spirit ; and, take it not ill what I say, of a spirit that is likely to go on as far as gentlemen will go : or else, I am sure, you will be beaten still.' I told him so. " He was a wise and worthy person, and he did think that I talked a good notion, but an unpracticable one. I told him, I could do somewhat in it ; and I raised such men as had the fear of God in them, and some conscience of what they did. And from that day forth they were never beaten ; but when- ever they engaged the enemy, they beat continually." — Peck's Cromwell. Thus Sprat, of Oxon, had no occasion to unsay as a bishop what he sang whilst a poet : — " Others, by thee, great things did do; Triumph'dst thyself, and madest them triumph too." Pindaric Ode. This is enough for my purpose, concerning both Cromwell and the Parliamentary army. What they M^ere in relation to law or policy belongs to the historian. I have, of course, my own opinion ; and, as a monarchical man, I devoutly wish that kings would cultivate Cromwell's manliness, without his cant ; and the army the religious habits of his soldiers, with- out their vagaries. I certainly think him a usurper ; but I quite agree with Locke, in thinking him " a mighty prince ; greater far" than "Julius or Augustus." He so ruled in peace, what he gained in war, that his character turned Locke into a poet for the moment. There is understanding, as well as imagination, in the Metaphysician's sonnet to Cromwell : — ** You sure from heaven a finished hero fell, "Who thus alone two pagan gods excel." Banks' Critical Rev. oj CromioeWs Life. That Bunyan was in the Parliamentary, not the Royal army, is not to be learned from himself, so far as I know : and it is not proved by those who say that he was at the siege of Leices- ter, in 1645, except to those who know more than Hume tells. Bunyan himself says, " that he was drawn out to go to a place to besiege it;" but he does not name the place. Now the LIFEOFBUNYAN. 27 only siege of Leicester described by Hume, in 1645, was by the King's troops. That Bunyan was in the service of the Parliament is, how- ever more than probable. Bedfordshire was one of the first counties to declare against the King. Its Annalist says, the King had " no visible party, or fixed quarters" there. It was, however, in Bedford that Bunyan enlisted : besides, the author of the Sketch of his Life (preserved in the British Museum,) who evidently knew him personally, and, had had many inter- views with him, says expressly, "He often acknowledged, with uplifted hands and eyes, a wonderful providence : for, in June 1645, being at the siege of Leicester, he was called out to be one who should make a violent attack on the town, (then) vi- gorously defended by the King's forces against the Parliamen- tarians." This is decisive; and the fact is worth proving, be- cause it will go far to prove also, that Bunyan was in the battle of Naseby ; and there, as well as at the second siege of Leicester, caught some of those military tactics which enabled him, afterwards to write his " Holy War." This is my chief reason for going into the question. Now, the siege of Leicester, at which Bunyan was present, although it did not exactly begin on the very day after the bat- tle of Naseby, was prepared for on that day, although it was the Sabbath-day. Rush worth says, that Fairfax marched on Sunday to Leicester, with all his army, to besiege it. Naseby was fought on the Saturday : the besiegers of the town were, therefore, the conquerors from that field. It is thus evident, that Bunyan was in the field ; for only the army of that day was at the siege, and he was one of the besiegers. He saw, therefore, on that day, Ireton maintaining his post against the fiery Rupert, even after his thigh was run through with a pike ; and Skippon refusing to quit the field, at the desire of Fairfax, although dangerously wounded ; and Cromwell over- whelming Landale, and routing the King. We shall see, by and by, that he must have been an atten- tive observer of both the men and the manoeuvres of this great field-day. Indeed, he seems to have been a better observer of others than an expert soldier himself. This does not appear from his own account ; but his Jirst biographer says express- ly, " He appearing to the officer to be somewhat awkward in handling his arms, another man voluntarily thrust himself into his place." — Life from the Museum Sketch, I mention this before giving his own account of the matter, 28 LIFE OF BUN YAN. because that is too serious to be interrupted by any expknation. He says, with great emotion, " This, also, have I taken notice of with thanksgiving : — when I was a soldier, I, with others, were drawn out to go to such a place to besiege it, but when I was just ready to go one of the company desired to go, in my room : to which, when 1 had consented, he took my place ; and coming to the siege, as he stood sentinel, he was shot in the head and died. Here were judgment and mercy ; but neither of them did awaken my soul to righteousness ; wherefore I sin- ned still, and grew more and more rebellious against God, and careless of my own salvation." Bunyan's reason for not specifying the side on which he fought, nor the place of this escape is obvious. He was a prison- er for nonconformity when he wrote his Life ; and as such, had but too many enemies, without the addition of political foes. His Book also was dedicated to his flock and friends, who were persecuted for conscience' sake at the time ; and he had too much regard for them, to enable political or ecclesiastical libellers to twit them with the charge of adhering to an old Re- publican. Besides, he was contemplating at this time his " Holy War ;" and, that the Leaders in that Allegory might not be identified with the Generals on either side in the civil wars, he wisely gave no clue to the sources of his knowledge. There was much wisdom in this silence ; as we shall see, when that Allegory comes to be analyzed. The only thing neces- sary here is, to remember his extreme youth when he became a soldier, and the short period of his continuance in the army. He could hardly be seventeen years of age when he enlisted^ and he left before he was nineteen. Now, although there was much to be seen in a short time, where Cromwell and Fairfax led the way, it required no ordinary eyes to trace their move- ments, and appreciate their tactics. Young Bunyan did both, and remembered them all through life, although he had no mo- tive whilst observing them, but the gratification of his own cu- riosity. Nfuther the battle nor the siege suggested to him a single thought, at the time, beyond their political bearings, or their military character ; but both came back upon him in all their " circumstance,^^ as well as " pomp," when he became ^« the prisoner of the Lord." Then he sang : — *' 'Tis strange to me, that they that love to tell Things done of old, yea, and that do excel Their equals in Hislriology, Speak not of Mansotjl's warsj but let them lio LIFEOFBUNYAN. 29 Dead, like old fables, or such worthless things, That to ihe Reader no advantage brings ; When men (let iliem make what they will their own) Till they know this, are to themselves unknown. — I saw the Prince's armed men come down By troops, by thousands, to besiege the town ; I saw the Captains ; heard the Trumpets sound ; And how his forces covered all the ground. Yea, how they set themselves in battle 'ray, I shall remember to my dying day. I saw the Colours waving in the wind ; I saw the Mounts cast up against the town. And how the Slings were placed to beat it down ; I heard the Stones fly lohizziJig by my ears, (What's longer kept in mind, than got in fears?) I heard them fall, and saw what work they made, And how old Mars did cover with his shade." Holy War. 30 LIFEOFBUNYAN CHAPTER III. bunyan's marriage. His moral reformation, such as it was at first, began with his marriage. This interesting fact has been too baldly told hitherto. There was more information to be obtained than the bare fact, that his " career of vice received a considerable check, in consequence of his marriage." — Scotfs Life. Bad as Bunyan was, he had still some friends at Elstow, or in Bedford. This appears from the sketch of his Life in the British Museum. " The few friends he had, thought that changing his condition to the married state might reform him, and therefore urged him to it as a seasonable and comfortable advantage. But the difficult thing was, that his poverty, and irregular course of life, made it very difficult for him to get a wife suitable to his inclination : and because none of the rich would yield to his solicitations, he found himself constrained to marry one without any fortune. " She was very virtuous, loving, and conformably obedient and obliging ; having been born of good, honest, and godly parents, who had instructed her, as well as they were able, in the ways of truth and saving knowledge. Her husband going on at the old rate, she endeavoured to make him see his wicked ways, and laid before his eyes the vanity of sin, and the danger that attended its wages — ^being no less than death, and that not temporal, but eternal death : and having two or three books left her, which, it seems, was all, or the greatest part of her dowry, she frequently enticed him to read in them, and apply the use of them to the reforming his manners and saving his soul." — P. 15. This, as we shall see, may be safely taken for fact, although the author, in the next page, mis-states the time of Bunyan's enlistment, which he places afte?' the marriage. He mistakes, however, more than dates. He assigns, as Bunyan's reason for enlisting, the want of work to " support himself and his small family" during " the unnatural civil wars." He adds, however, his own refutation, although unawares ; for he places LIFEOFBUNYAN. ^1 him at the siege of Leicester in 1645 ; and then, we know, he was only seventeen years of age. Besides, he himself says ex- pressly, " Presently after this, I changed nay condition into a married state." He does not mean, however, presently after the siege; but after quitting the army, which he seems to have done soon. Dr. Southey says, that Bunyan was probably not nineteen when he married. This conclusion is just, al- though not warranted by the premises it is drawn from. " He married presently after his substitute had been killed at the siege of Leicester," the Doctor says. The conclusion from this would be, " probably, therefore, when he was only seven- teen f^ for he was born in 1628, and the siege occurred June 17th, 1645. But, whatever the interval was, between his discharge and his marriage, it was during that interval he made the friends who planned and urged his marriage. And on his return from the army, Bunyan was likely to gain friends, although he re- turned home unimproved in character. He had seen the won- ders of Naseby, and the recapture of Leicester ; and, if he fol- lowed Fairfax to Taunton, he had encamped at Stonehenge by the way, and thus seen the mysterious temple of Druidism, (Rushworth) — scenes which would not be lost upon him. His bold and vivid imagination was sure to be fired by them, and his fluency enabled him to depict them. We have seen that he both observed well when in the army, and remembered well afterwards. It is, therefore, no conjecture, that the soldier of even this single campaign would be welcome at Bedford. The royal cause had few friends there : the parliamentary had many. Thus Bunyan would soon be in request, even amongst men who had formerly shunned his company. Curiosity, at a time of high excitement, can easily invent for conscience an excuse for getting information from any quarter, on a favourite sub- ject. Besides, Bunyan's signal escape at the siege would draw upon him the special notice of godly men then. They were close students of Providence, and firm believers in that sove- reignty of grace which occasionally arrests some of the most reckless. It is, therefore, highly probable, that when the young Blasphemer returned unhurt, some of the aged Believ- ers in Bedford would feel deeply interested in him, under the hope that God had some wise and gracious end in view, for thus wonderfully sparing such a rebel. And thus, between what God had done for him, and what Bunyan had seen and 32 LIFEOFBUNYAN. could say of the campaign, a new class of men were very likely to seek his company, when he resumed his craft. It is on these grounds, I feel warranted to adopt the oldest version of the origin of Bunyan's marriage ; " the few friends he had, thought that changing to the married state might re- form him ; and therefore urged him to it as a seasonable ad- vantage." If this reasoning be valid, he was not, even in his worst state, a cruel or unamiable man. He was boisterous, and perhaps turbulent ; but not harsh, nor vindictive. Had he been so, no decent woman could have been tempted to marry him ; for he had literally nothing in the world but th6 tools of his craft. In like manner, had he been a sensualist, his friends could not have induced " a very virtuous woman, born of good, honest, godly parents," to have him. There must, therefore, notwithstanding all his faults, have been some- thing loveable about him. The very fact, that they had not so much between them " as a dish or a spoon," proves that he must have had some endearing quality. It proves, too, I readily grant, that she had but little prudence, even if she mar- ried him for the express purpose of mending him. That this was her purpose, is evident. Bunyan himself says, " My mercy was, to light upon a wife whose father was counted godly. She would be often telling of me what a godly man her father was, and how he would correct and reprove vice, both in his house and among his neighbours ; and what a strict and holy life he lived in his days, both in words and deeds." Bunyan's second wife was certainly a heroine, well deserv- ing, as we shall see, a comparison with Lady Russel, or with the wife of Grotius : but it required as much, if not more he- roism, although of another kind, to attempt the conversion of the Tinker, as to plead the cause of the Prisoner. And this was done so wisely, by showing him what he should be, in vivid pictures of what her father had been, that 1 must, in spite of the lack of both " dish and spoon " betwixt them, withdraw my charge of imprudence from her memory. Dr. Southey says, " There was no imprudence in this early marriage :" and I will believe him, although not for the first reason he assigns, that " Bunyan had a trade that he could trust ;" but for the second (putting my own sense upon the words), that " she had been trained up in the way she should go." She went the right way to work, in trying to reform her husband. An im- prudent woman would have reproved him ; but Mrs. Bunyan LIFEOFBUNYAN. 33 led him to realize how her father would have called him over the coals, had he been alive. Bunyan was just the man to realize this ; and it was only what he would have expected from a Puritan. It was not, however, what he would have brooked at that time from his wife. She had both the good sense, and the good taste, to perceive this ; and, therefore, in- stead of upbraiding her husband, praised her father, until Bun- yan saw, as in a glass, the contrast between them. I will not say, that she was a " believing wife " at this time ; but she certainly pursued a wiser plan of reclaiming an ungodly hus- band, than some believing wives do. Accordingly, her " chaste conversation, coupled with fear," had a winning influence upon him. His oldest Biographer says, " She frequently enticed and persuaded him to read " the books left her by her father, and " to apply them to himself." These books were only two, " The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven," and "The Practice of Piety." It was, however, to " the relation " (and Bunyan evidently meant by that, what his Vf'i^Q related concerning her fatker's."holy life") as much as to the books, that he ascribed his first desires to amend at all. His own account of the matter is, " In these two books, I would sometimes read with her ; wherein I also found some things that were somewhat pleasing to me ; but all this while I met with no conviction." He then states what she often told him about her father, and adds, " Wherefore these books, with the relation, though they did not reach my heart, to awaken it about my sad and sinful state, yet they did beget within me some desires to reform my vicious life, and to fall in very ea~ gerly with the religion of the times." What these desires led to will be seen in the next chapter. In the meantime, it is evident, that to Mrs. Bunyan must be traced, under God, Bunyan's first steps in the path of duty. She, not the books, won him to reflection. Indeed, but for her, he would not have read the books ; yea, could not have read them. Hence, his oldest biographer says, " To the voice of his wife he hearkened, and by that means recovered his read- ing, which, not minding before, he had almost lost." This is no exaggeration : he himself says, " To my shame, I confess, I did soon lose that little I learnt, — even almost utterly, — and that long before the Lord did work his gracious work of con- version upon my soul." Thus his wife had to make him herjJMpfZ, as if he had been a child : a triumph which none but a wife, and that a wife 34 LIFEOFBUNYAN. combining prudence with sweetness, could have achieved over a ringleader of sports and impiety. True, Bunyan would be an apt scholar, and soon recover his lost learning ; but she also must have been " apt to teach." The difficulty was to keep him within doors after his work was done, and to draw him to her side with a book in his hand, whilst the roisterers on the village green were playing at trap, and his own bat and ball lying dry in the chimney-corner. All this was " tempting fruit" to him. Her voice must, therefore, have sounded sweeter than even the bells of Elstow, and her smile been brighter than the laugh of the merry-makers, whenever she kept him at home to read. I dwell, I confess, upon her influence, with a fondness bor- dering on extravagance. I do not feel, however, that I am exaggerating, in ascribing so much to its instrumentality. He himself calls it a " mercy," and says, " Until I came into the marriage state, I was the very ringleader of all the youth that kept me company, in all manner of vice and ungodliness." Her character, however, will come out more fully, as we trace the progress of the reformation of his character, in the next two chapters. And it is worth bringing out ; for although she was incapable of directing his inquiries, or solving his difficulties, when he entangled himself amongst the thorns and briars of unanswerable questions, she bore with silent meek- ness all the wayward moods of his wounded spirit, and kept his home a sanctuary, where he could weep unseen. LIFEOFBUNYAN. 35 CHAPTER IV bunyan's first reformation. It was some reformation in his case even to go to church at all on the Sabbath. By the influence of his wife, and her father's books and memory, he fell in eagerly with the religion of the times. His own account of this change is equally mi- nute and graphic. " I went," he says, " to church twice a day, and that with the foremost ; and there I would very de- voutly both say and sing as others did, yet retained my wicked life. But withal, I was so overrun with the spirit of supersti- tion, that I adored, and that with great devotion, even all things belonging to the church ; the high place (pulpit), priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what else ; counting all things holy, that were therein contained ; and especially the priest and clerk most happy, and without doubt greatly blessed, because they were the servants of God, as I then thought, and were principal in his temple, to do his work therein. " This conceit grew so strong in a little time upon my spi- rit, that had I but seen a priest (though never so debauched and sordid in his life), I should feel my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and knit to him. Yea, I thought, for the love I did bear unto them (supposing them the ministers of God), I could have laid down at their feet, and have been trampled upon by them ; their name, their garb and work, did so intox- icate and bewitch me." Dr. Southey says of this, "Bunyan describes himself as having a most superstitious veneration " for the servants and service of the church ; and very properly adds, " The service, it must be remembered, was not the Liturgy of the Church of England, but the Directory of the victorious Puritans, substi- tuted for it." — Southey^s Bunyan. Now, I have no objection to this distinction. I even think the Directory ^^ meager,'''' when compared with the Liturgy. What, however, is the design of this contrast here ? Does the meagerness of the Directory account for Bunyan's gross superstition ? Would the Liturgy have prevented " most superstitious reverence," for either priest, service, garb, or S6 LIFEOFBUNYAN. what else ? If it would then, it does not now. Its very excel- lencies — and I think them glories — win, from wiser men than Bunyan then was, veneration for priests who utter nothing evangelical but the liturgy. It is easy to laugh at Bunyan's veneration fur the clerk ; but veneration for Archbishop Laud is far more laughable, and superstitious too, if Bishop Hall's opinion of him was just, or Hume's honest. I have much sympathy for Laud on the scaffold : his dying prayer, as given by Rushworth, I love more than I can express. Its opening petitions breathe a penitential faith of the highest order, be- cause of the humblest character. But Laud on the scaffold, and Laud on his own throne or behind the King's throne, is not the same person. His life was a curse to the Church, whatever ornament his death became. They are more super- stitious than Bunyan, who canonize either Laud or Charles. It was whilst this superstitious fit lasted, that Bunyan con- sulted his father about the Jews. They, like the gypsies, had come out of Egypt originally ; and as tinkers and gypsies were often identified, he fondly hoped that there might be some connexion between the two races. " The Israelites," he says, " were once the peculiar people of God : if I were one of them, thought I, my soul must needs be happy. I found a great longing to be resolved about this question ; but could not tell how I should." He asked his father, and he told him, " No, we were not." He then fell in spirit, as to the hopes of that. The fact seems to be, that he was unhappy in his own mind ; but still wishing for an easier way to heaven, than he had found church-going to be, easy as he made that duty by sport afterwards. He wanted to be one of the "pecw/mr people," that he might have nothing peculiar to do, as he thought. So think many, who conclude their own election from less re- semblance to the elect, than what subsists between Jews and gypsies. « But all this while," he says, " I was not sensible of the danger and evil of sin. I was kept from considering, that sin would damn me, what religion soever I followed, unless I was found in Christ. Nay, I never thought of Him, nor whether there was such a one or no." What must the Directory have been, it may be said, see- ing it left him thus ignorant of the Saviour ? Very inferior, I grant, to the Liturgy, except when filled up by the prayers of eminently devotional men ; I have, however, known of not a few instances of similar ignorance, under the Liturgy. The LIFEOFBUNYAN. 37 sober experimental fact is, that the prayers rarely teach the ignorant the way of salvation, however much they edify the pious. Wherever the Pulpit contradicts the Desk, the pray- ers soon become a dead letter. This is a solemn^ as well as a sober fact; for if any thing human could counteract bad preaching, the Liturgy would do so ; but it is itself counter- acted wherever the Gospel is not preached. Whatever else Bunyan's " parson" was, he seems to have been a Puritan, in reference to the Sabbath. It was well for Bunyan he was so. A sermon against amusements on that day, made him feel what he never felt before — guilty before God. " One day," he says, "amongst all the sermons our par- son made, his subject was, to treat of the Sabbath-day, and of the evil of breaking that, either with labour, sports or other- wise. Now I was, notwithstanding my religion, one that took much delight in all manner of vice ; and especially that was the day I did solace myself therewith. Wherefore I fell in my conscience under this sermon ; thinking and believing that he made that sermon on purpose to show me my evil doing. And at that time I felt what guilt was, though never before, that I can remember : but then I was, for the present, greatly loaden therewith, and so went home when the sermon was ended, with a great burthen upon my spirit. " This for that instant, did benumb the sinews of my best de- lights, and did embitter my former pleasures to me. But hold — it lasted not ! for before I had well dined, the trouble began to go off my mind, and my heart returned to its old course. O, how glad was I, that this trouble was gone from me, and that the fire was put out, that I might sin again without con- trol ! Wherefore, when I had satisfied nature with my food, I shook the sermon out of my mind, and to my old custom of sports and gaming I returned with great delight." Dr. Southey says, " It is remarkable to find a married man engaged in games which are now only practised by boys." This seems to imply that Bunyan was singular, in thus dese- crating the Sabbath. Would he had been so ! But he was not. Married men, and greybeards, as well as boys, then acted up to the letter and the spirit of the Book of Sports. Besides, what else was to be expected from Bunyan ? He was no Pu- ritan, whatever his Minister may have been. If he was any thing, he was now a high-Church bigot, according to the ca- valier style of Churchmanship ; saying or singing any thing within the Church, and doing as he liked when he came out. 4 38 LIFE OF BUNYAN. So far the Doctor's remark is inexplicable. It is preceded^ however, by the following fling at the Puritans : " Notwith- standing the outcry which they have raised against what is called The Book of Sports, they found it necessary to tolerate such recreations on the Sabbath." This is an unfortunate re- mark, in connexion with a sermon against such sports, which had set onflre the conscience of Bunyan. The sermon which did that could not have been very tolerant to Sunday recrea- tions. The preacher may have been obliged to idnJc at such things, from inability to enforce the law against them ; but this was not tolerating them. Bunyan's dinner did not quench the fire which the sermon had kindled. Dr. Southey says well, " The dinner sat easy upon him ; the sermon did not." Bunyan says better, " But the same day, as I was in the midst of a game of Cat, and hav* ing struck it one blow from the hole, — just as I was about to strike it a second time, a voice did suddenly dart from Heaven into my soul, which said, ' Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell V At this, I was put into an exceeding maze. Wherefore, leaving my Cat on the ground,! looked up to heaven, and was as if I had, with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me ; and as if he did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these and other ungodly practices." At this point, as might be expected, Bunyan's biographers differ. Ivimey lets the vision alone. Mons. Suard tells it with a true French sneer. Dr. Southey says, " The voice Bunyan believed to be from Heaven ; and it may be inferred from his relation, that though he was sensible the vision was only seen with the mind's eye, hedeemed it not the less real." J. A. St. John says, " The passage translated into common English, means no more than that the thought arose in his mind ; and being an incitement to good, must, he supposed, pro- ceed from Heaven." Scott of Aston Sandford says, " The con- sciousness of his wicked course of life, accompanied with the recollection of the truths he had read, suddenly meeting in his mind, thus produced a violent alarm, and made such an impres- sion on his imagination, that he seemed to have heard these words, and to have seen Christ frowning and menacing him. But we must not suppose that there was any miracle wrought ; nor could there be any occasion for a new revelation to sug* gest or enforce so scriptural a warning." LIFE OF BUNYAN. 39 This last explanation of the matter is the best, so far as all but Bunyan himself is concerned. It is also the mortality is believed, and accountability acknowledged. In such a world, even Bunyan's rav'mgs are wisdom, compared with either the dumb apathy, or the drivelling inanities of nominal Christians. His " hot fits," are extravagant ; but their cold temperament is revolting. It is painful to hear Bunyan say of his failure, whilst looking for the call of Grace apart from the call of Truth, " The Lord let me go thus many months together, and showed me nothing, either that I was already, or should be called hereafter :" but it is shocking to hear Paley say, "If we press and insist upon Conversion as indispensable to All for the purpose of being saved, we should mislead some who were never, that they knew, either indiffe- rent to religion, or alienated from it." Such persons *' need not be made miserable by the want of a consciousness of such a change." Sermons, p. 123. Paley, I believe, thought more wisely before he died: but thus he wrote when he had most influence upon public opinion. Bunyan's conflict at this time terminated in a dreamy sort of hope that he might eventually be converted ; and, as usual, that hope rested quite as much upon the peculiar manner in which the Text presented itself, as upon what it meant : — " At last after much time spent, and many groans to God, that I might be made partaker of the holy and heavenly calling, that word came in upon me, — ' I will cleanse their blood, that I have not cleansed; for the Lord dwelleth in Zion.' Joel iii. 21. Those words, I thought, were sejit to encourage me to wait still on God ; and signified unto me that, if 1 were not already, yet the time might come when I 7night be in truth, converted unto Christ." What shall we say to these things ? Something ought to be said, and that very plainly. In the present day, few things need more to be rejudged than the remarkable Experience of the good men of former ages. Their experience, because of their eventual goodness, is read and remembered by the pious and the thoughtful : and not unfrequently appealed to, in order to test or explain the religious dilemmas and vicissi- tudes of other minds. It is also confounded with the terror of the Philippian jailor, or with the anguish of the Pentecostal converts, as if it originated in the same causes, or necessari- ly belonged to real conversion. This is neither wise nor fair. Lydia did not tremble like 82 LIFEOFBUNYAN. the Jailor, nor was Timothy cut to the heart like the Jewish converts ; and yet their being " born again of the Spirit" is never questioned, by any one who believes in the necessity of the new birth. We almost take for granted, however, that distressing doubts and fears are inseparable from true piety, at its outset. We are even somewhat inclined to suspect, that their personal religion is very superficial, if not insincere, who have never been deeply exercised with perplexing questions, or with oppressive fears. And we certainly think best, of those who suffer most in this way. This is hardly to be won- dered at : for we have seldom, if ever, seen a Christian who was not in deep waters at first : whereas, we have always seen, that those professors of religion, who have " no changes, fear not God." But still, although it be a very suspicious thing to have no changes from hope to fear, or from faith to doubt, it does not follow that all changes of this kind, are either neces- sary or useful parts of Christian experience. Good may, indeed, come out of the worst of them, in the long run ; but when it does so, not a few of them are seen to be bad in them- selves. This is only too true, in regard to such doubts and fears as Bunyan gave way to. He doubted every thing by turns, and feared the worst always, for years. But he suffer- ed so much, and was so sincere, that we readily, almost instinctively, refer one half of his doubts to his deep humility, and the other half of them to the suggestions of Satan. And Satan, (as we shall see) had, no doubt, not a little to do with what Bunyan well calls, " the fiery force" of his strong temp- tations. That force was too fiery, to be altogether natural. Its rushing flame oi white heat, drove back, and almost quench- ed occasionally, a " very flame" of holy and heavenly desire, which came as truly from both the centre and surface of his heart, as light or heat from the sun. But still, he was to blame. He deserves pity; but he must be blamed, if we would not reflect upon the Word of God. That Word did not war- rant the questions he started, nor countenance the spirit in which they were indulged. Such questions as — Am I elect- ed ? Am I called, or likely to be called ? Is there any room in Heaven, or in the love of Christ for me? Am I a repro- bate, or too guilty to be forgiven, or too late to be welcome? — Such questions are absolutely forbidden by the scriptural fact, that Christ requires us to receive the Kingdom of God as little children. He says expressly and repeatedly, that "whosoever LIFE OF BUNYAN. 83 shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, shall not eater therein." Mark x. 15. When this first requirement of the Gospel becomes the grand maxim of the Church, both curious and racking questions will soon go out of fashion ; or be as promptly avoided or suppress- ed by the serious, as temptations to blasphemy, vice, or athe- ism. Remarkable Experiences, also, which are now made standards of convers o ^, or quoted to explain the discou- ragements of some converts, will be less admired, or appeal- ed to. A Little Child will then be more looked at as the model of true humility, than the Jailor trembling, or Whitefield writing " bitter things against himself," or even than Bunyan at his wits' end. They do not look with the same eyes as Christ did upon a little child, — or they have seen only spoiled children — or look- ed at children too big, who do not see in the simplicity of a little child, the very spirit of that meekness and humility which the Saviour requires of us, in order to our entering into his kingdom on earth or in heaven. He meant of course, not that a child was meek or humble towards God, but that it was so towards men, and especially when set in the midst of strangers and superiors. Then, a little child, if well brought up (and Christ did not refer to the impudent or pee- vish) will believe what he is told, accept what is given him, and do what he is bid. Such a child would never think of starting doubts about the truth of any promise made to him, or of questioning his welcome to any gift offered to him, or of suspecting the good will of those who were good to him. He would not even ask for any explanation of the private rea- sons which influenced all this kindness, nor dream of saying that it could not be meant for him. Or if he did think it too much for so little a boy, the thought would only make his thanks the readier, and his blushes the deeper. It was evidently something of this kind, the Saviour meant when he made a little child the eternal model of true humility. It was, however, of Humility — not of penitence ; and of humi- lity in receivings not in asking nor in employing what is promised in the Gospel. This distinction must not be lost sight of. It is only as an example of receiving aright, that the child is held up by Christ to our imitation. Asking aright, is set before us by Christ in the Publican smiting upon his breast, and standing afar ofTin the temple, and crying for mercy with downcast eyes. In like manner, improving the gifts of G'"^ 84 LIFEOFBUNYAN. aright, is exemplified to us by Christ, in the Parable of the Talents. Thus it is to reflecting men, not to little childrer, we are sent, for the model of prayers and diligence. A child is, however, not a less perfect model of receiving aright, both gifts and promises. He may wonder, and blush to the very ears, and advance with a tottering foot and a timid hand, when good things are held out to him, or great promises made to him ; but he has no suspicions ; he starts no objections ; he gives way to no curious questions nor dark surmises. He is tt)o much pleased to be of a doubtful mind. He lets the gifts and promise's made to him, make all their natural impression upon his heart, even if that make him dance with joy. Now this is just the spirit in which Christ wishes men to receive the glad tidings of Salvation, or the Gospel of the Kingdom ; readily, gratefully, and even joyfully. He does not command or sanction doubts, questions, or hesitation. He throws no serious mind upon the mysteries of either Grace or Providence, except to stir it up to " strive to enter into the Kingdom of God." It is, I am well aware, easier said than done, to receive the offers and promises of that Kingdom like a little child. Very few do so at first. What then? They are glad to do so at last. Not one of those, Bunyan not excepted, who tried other methods, found solid peace or hope, until they embraced the Promises, just as a little child takes his father's word, or his mother's offer. Until they received the Promise of the King, dom thus, they did not enter into the joy, the peace, or the safety, which the Kingdom of God provides for its willing subjects. They looked at them, indeed, with a longing eye, and prayed for them with strong cries and tears, and admired them with a holy esteem ; but they could not appropriate them. They sometimes thought and felt, for a moment, that they had entered into the joy of salvation, and found rest to their souls : but the sweet hope did not last long. It could not. They took it up, not as a little child, because it was set before them in the Gospel of the Kingdom ; but because they allow- ed themselves to take their calling and election for granted then, or because they jfeZi something which seemed to give them a right to believe the promises. The fact is, they wanted from the first to believe the glad tidings of the Gospel, not as great sinners only, nor as little children simply, but as great favour- ites ; or as "chosen and ordained" heirs of the Kingdom. They had no objections to believe it as great sinners, nor to b© LIFEOFBUNYAN. 85 thankful for it as great debtors ; but they wanted to beUeve it ^o. as the elect children, or the adopted children, or the dear children of God, at the same time. If they thought at all of receiving the Gospel of the Kingdom as a little child, they meant not as such a little child as Christ selected and set up as a model, but as a child of God. As, indeed, one of the leasts or even " less than the least," of all the spiritual and special children of the Kingdom ; but still, as one of them and not merely as an ordinary child. It is not easy to expose this mistake, nor to expostulate against it, without seeming to undervalue or overlook what the Scriptures say about sonship, adoption, and election. It must be done however, at all hazards, if Bunyan's mistakes are to be explained, or not to be perpetuated. More than one half of all his difficulties and distractions arose from trying to receive the Kingdom of God as an elect child, instead of ac- cepting its offered blessings as a little child. Besides, these blessings are not offered to men, as elected, or as adopted, or as converted ; but to men as lost sinners, and unworthy crea- tures. Whatever, therefore, the sovereignty of God in show- ing mercy may be, those certainly do not honour it most or best who want to know their election, before they hope in His mercy. They may, indeed, mean well ; but they judge ill, and even presume not a little. The unquestioning silence of a child is better homage to the Divine sovereignty, than this suspicious prying into the divine will. True ; a child is igno- rant, and therefore unsuspecting. Equally true it is, how- ever, that there must be some wrong twist about the knowledge, which leads a man to be suspicious of the love of God. Such knowledge, to say the least of it, is not warranted to despise the child's ignorance. But, it will be said by some, there is an Election of Grace; and, therefore, it is impossible for a man who believes this, not to ask the question Bunyan did — Am I elected? Now there would certainly be some sense in this, if any answer could be got to the question. It is a very natural question, I grant: but it becomes both foolish and unnatural, to push or put it in the face of the notorious fact, that no man can answer it at all, and that God never will answer it beforehand. All that God has promised to do in this matter, is, to enable those who be- lieve and obey the Gospel with child-like simplicity, to make their calling and election sure. What then, it may be said, is the use of the doctrine, or the 8 80 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. design of it, in reference to those who are afraid to believe the Gospel for themselves? It adds to their fears, and hindeite their faith, they say. True ; and something else would just have the same effect upon them, if there were no such doc- trine in the Bible, so long as they do not set themselves to be as little children before God. It is to shut us up to a child- like spirit in asking and hoping for mercy, that God says he will have mercy upon whom he will have mercy. Every man must become a little child at the Mercy-seat, if he would be welcome there. No other temper suits it : and therefore God takes measures to make us child-like; and one of them is, the revelation of His soverignty, — which says to us in plain terms. " You cannot force My will, nor find out My secrets, nor open the Lamb's Book of Life: will you then throw your- selves upon the good pleasure of my will, just as your little child would trust your good-will, when he had your word for what he wanted? You have My word for all the mercy you need ; and until you take my paternal promise as a child would, you will get nothing more to warrant or encourage you to hope for mercy." This is evidently the spirit of the appeal made to us in the Gospel. And it is equally obvious, that we can do nothing better, indeed, nothing else to any good purpose, than just meet God's appeal as a child would. To do so, is real manli- ness, as well as godliness ; real strength of mind, as well as true humility : for it is in this child-like temper, the Cherubim and Seraphim, Angels and Arch-angels, receive the commands and promises of God, at the Eternal Throne. . Their highest reasonings, and noblest principles, and sublimest tastes, all re- solve themselves into the confiding simplicity of a little child. In this connexion, it is not childish to be child-like ! He is childish in the worst sense, who thinks it beneath bim to be- come a little child, when he listens to the Eternal Father. Gabriel does not think it beneath him, nor Michael unworthy of him. It is somewhat curious, as well as lamentable, that neither Wesley nor Whitefield, saw, when they revived the doctrine of Regeneration, that a child-like spirit is what the Saviour chiefly means by the New Birth. The man who shall give currency to this fact, without lessening dependence on the grace of the Holy Spirit, will, like them, do good service to both the world and the Church. How can preachers on Re- generation answer to God or man, for quoting this maxim so seldom ? LIFE OF BUNYAN, 87 CHAPTER VIII. ^ COUNSELLORS. Whilst Bunyan's mind was vibrating between hope and fear, in regard to the probability of his eventual conversion, he wisely resolved to open his mind to some of those Chris- tians upon whom he saw " the broad seal of Heaven." He had not many such to choose amongst. " He imparted his feelings," says Dr. Southey, " to those poor women whose conversation had first brought him into these perplexities and struggles." This was not unnatural nor unwise. Their con- versation had convinced him, " of the happy and blessed con- dition of a truly godly man." Besides, they alone had mani. fested any deep interest in his spiritual welfare. Neither " our Parson," nor any of his flock, had paid any attention to the reformed Tinker, beyond compliments to his reformation, al- though he worshipped only at Church, and must have been seen their from Sabbath to Sabbath, like Hannah in the Ta- bernacle at Shiioh, wearing all the marks " of a sorrowful spirit, and weeping sore." However ilUqualified, therefore, the poor women at Bedford may have been to " Minister to a mind diseased," they alone had manifested sympathy with Bunyan's mind when it was ignorant. They first talked at him, and then to him, whilst he was a self-conceited Pharisee ; and so wisely, that he soon took the place, the prayer, and the position of the Publican in the Temple. And now with equal wisdom, and more modesty, they did not trust themselves to answer his dark questions, when they saw his wounded spirit bleeding ; but acquainted their Minister with his case. " About this time I began," he says, " to break my mind to those poor people in Bedford, and to tell them my condition : which, when they heard, they told Mr. GifTard of me, who him- self also took occasion to talk with ma, and was willing to bo well persuaded of mo, though, I think, from little grounds. 88 LIFE OF BUNYAN. But he invited me to his house, where I should hear him con- fer with others about the deahngs of God with their souls." " This course," says Dr. Southey, " was httle likely to com- pose a mind so agitated." But why not? What hkeher course could tde minister have adopted, than introducing Bun- yan to hear the experience of other anxious inquirers, and to share the encouragement addressed to them? It is not fair to judge of this course by its results, in Bunyan's case. It did well for many, although not for him ; and it did not fail with him for the reason which Dr. Southey assigns. He says, that Bunyan's "spiritual Physician, in persuading him that his heart was innately and wholly wicked, had well nigh made him believe that it was hopelessly and incurably so. False notions of that corruption of our nature, which it is almost as perilous to exaggerate as to dissemble, had laid upon him a burthen heavy as that with which his own Christian begins his pilgrimage." Now it is certainly the fact that the inter- views between Bunyan and Gifford led the former to regard his heart as "innately and wholly wicked;" and therefore it is highly probable that the latter said so. What else could he say, if he spoke as the Oracles of God speak on this subject? It is, however, utterly improbable that Gifford said a word which had any tendency to make or lead Bunyan to believe his heart to be " hopelessly or incurably" wicked. Gifford was the last man in the world, to have taught or taken this view of Bunyan's case. Dr. Southey might have seen this to be the fact even from his own picture of Gifford. He had been a far worse man both in heart and life than the Tinker ; and was therefore altogether unlikely, now that he was a good man, to lead him to think himself incurably bad. Like John Newton, it was impossible he could despair of any one, after the change which took place in his own heart. Gifford's history is remarkable ; and as he was, no doubt, the original of Evangelist in the Pilgrim's Progress, it de- serves to be perpetuated. He was a Kentish man, and con- cerned in the rising of that county for the King. He had held the rank of Major in the royal army, and was a thorough cavalier in politics and profligacy. He was, however, soon apprehended, and, with eleven of his companions in arms, sentenced to be hanged. But on the night preceding his in- tended execution, his sister visited him in prison ; and finding the guards without fast asleep, and his fellow-prisoners dead drunk within, she urged him to escape for his life. He LIFEOFBUNYAN. 89 so, and reached the fields in safety. For nearly three days, however, he had to hide himself in a ditch, and to live upon water. Then by the help of his friends, he v/as sent in dis- guise to London. But that was no hiding place then. He therefore made his way into Bedfordshire, and was concealed by some of the few great royalists in that county, until all danger was over. He then exchanged the sword for the lan- cet, and settled in Bedford as a medical man. This bold step may have been, as Dr. Southey thinks, impudent, or without any " scruple concerning qualifications." This was not un- common at the time. Medicine was the only Profession then, into which an old officer could thrust himself. As Giffbrd, however, had been a Major in the King's army, he must have been a man of some education, and ^pay have been a man of some skill. But however this may be, he was a man of no principle, as to religion or morals. Ivimey says, he was " abandoned to vice.'' Southey says, he was " reckless and profligate; a great drinker and gambler; and oaths came from his lips with habitual profaneness. And he hated the Puritans so heartily for the misery they had brought upon the nation, and upon himself in particular, that he often thought of killing a certain Anthony Harrington, for no other provocation than because he was a leading man among persons of that descrip- tion in Bedford." Giffbrd, although an habitaal gambler, was seldom or never successful. One night he lost a large sum. It drove him almost mad. In his frenzy, he uttered daring words against God, and cherished darker thoughts. He was about to dare the worst, wrien his eye fell upon one of Bolton's works, which arrested both his purpose and his conscience effectually. It threw him into great distress for a short time : but eventually it led him to the Cross. The passage in Bolton, which met the case of Giffbrd, was this : — " In the invitation of Christ to all that labour and are heavy laden^ to come to Him for rest to their souls, there is no exception of sins, times, nor places. And if thou shouldst reply, Yea, but alas, I am the unworthiest man in the world to draw near unto so holy a God— to press into so pure a pre- sence — to expect upon the sudden such glorious, spiritual, and heavenly advancement. Most impure, abominable and beastly wretch that I am — readier far to sink into the bottom of hell, by the unsupportable weight of my manifold heinous sins ! I say then, the text tells t-liee plainly, that thou mightily mis- 90 LIFE OF BUNYAN. takest : for therefore only art thou fit, because thou feelest so sensibly thy unfitness, unworthiness, vileness, wretchedness. The sorer and heavier thy burden is, the rather thou shouldst come. It is such as thou, whom Christ here specially aims at, invites and accepts." From such views of Christ's gracious intentions, and especially from clear views of the precious blood of atonement, Gifford was soon led into both joy and peace in believing. So fully did he come to Christ, that the " rest " of his soul was never disturbed afterwards. He entered into such rest, or as Dr. Southey well calls it, " so exalted and yet so happy a state of mind, that from that time till within a few days of his death, he declared — " he lost not the light of God's countenance — no not for an hour." — Southey^ s Bunyan. , One of Gifford's first steps after his conversion, was, to seek the company and fellowship of the Puritans, whom he had " hated so heartily." This is not so wonderful as his betaking himself to read Bolton, whilst that hatred was exasperated by the frenzy of atheistical despair. It was only natural now, that he should bring forth fruits meet for repentance, by bless- ing those whom he had so often and bitterly cursed. Besides, where, but amongst the Puritans, could he have found men suited to his new tastes ? These were now virtuous and holy ; and he sought for their gratification only at " the meetings of the persons whom he had formerly most despised;" a plain proof that he ceased to think, that the Puritans had brought " much misery upon the nation, or on himself in particular." Thus he changed his mind on this point ; and evidently be- cause he saw the utter injustice of his former suspicions. He had hated the Puritans for the reason Dr. Southey assigns ; but now he loved them, because he found that reason to be (what it still is) a mere prejudice of education, or a party- pretence. It was the long and systematic oppression of Puri- tanism by the Crow n and the Mitre, that created the indignant reaction of popular opinion and feeling, which brought misery upon the nation. The Bedford Puritans were very shy of Gifford's first ad- vances to them. Like the disciples at Jerusalem with Saul of Tarsus, "they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was a disciple." But although both shunned and repulsed by them at first, he persevered in courting their fellowship. He seems even to have thrust himself upon them again and again, before he could gain a hearing from them in public or LIFEOFBUNYAN. 91 private. And even when he had convinced them of his sin- cerity, they were very slow in encouraging his wish to preach, and still slower in calling him to be their pastor. He carried his point, however, by perseverance, in both objects ; and wa& remarkably useful. What Izaak Walton says of Dr. Donne, may be said of Gifford, " None was so like St. Augustine before his conversion; nor so like St. Ambrose after it." On his death-bed he could say with Donne, and with equal truth, " I have quieted the consciences of many that groaned' under a wounded spirit." — Preface to Donne's Sermons, by Izaak Walton. Bunyan himself says of" holy Mr. Gifford," as he well calls him, "This man made it his business to deliver the people of God from all those hard and unsound ^^65^5, that by nature we are prone to." So far, therefore, he was evidently an invalu- able friend to Bunyan, although at first his distress increased under him. It would have done so, in some form, under any spiritual guide ; for he was a self-tormentor, as well as a tempted man. Conder says, that " Gifford had not penetration enough to discover the character of the extraordinary man thus brought under his notice." If this mean that he could not discern Bunyan's genius, it is only necessary to say that his genius had not then shown itself; and that Gifford was not looking for gifts, but for marks of grace. If, however, it mean, that he had not penetration enough to discover the extraordi- nary twists of Bunyan's mind, it is only too true; and proves that he was no physician, whatever he may have been as a surgeon. Bunyan's friends, indeed, were all as ignorant of his malady as himself. They neither saw nor suspected anything in his case, but temptation and the power of conscience ; and, ac- cordingly, suggested nothing to him but spiritual consolation. This, of course, he both needed and deserved from them : but he needed also medical treatment, and more interesting em- ployment than tinkering. I do not know that he was as poor a hand at mending old kettles, as Carey was at making new shoes ; but he was as evidently out of his element. His craft gave neither pleasure nor play to his sea-like restlessness of mind, and but little bracing to his nerves, except when he was walking his rounds : and the clink of the hammer, and the rasp of the file, irritated them more than his exercise could counteract. He wanted, although he knew it not, something to do, which would have expended the surplus energy of his 92 LIFEOFBUNYAN. mind, or absorbed his attention during the greater part of every day, or compelled him to think about others as well as himself. Had GifTord set him to teach the poor children of Elstow to read the Bible on the Sabbath evenings or morn- ings, as well as set him to the study of his own heart and ex- perience, Bunyan would have plunged into the work, and thus lost sight of himself for the time, in the pleasure of doing good. But it is useless to regret now, except in order to warn others against thinking of themselves only, and against living only to think. We shall soon see that when Bunyan began to preach and write for the benefit of others, he soon got over his personal fears» One of his counsellors must have been a very weak man : for he gave in at once to the absurd fear, that Bunyan had *' sinned thesin against the Holy Ghost." " I told hitn all my case," he says, " and also, that I was afraid I had 'committed the unpardonable sin.' He said, he thought so too. Here, therefore, I had but cold comfort." And yet, this man was an " antient Christian," by report ! Young as Bunyan was, however, he had sense enough to see that a man, who could take this for granted, so readily and coolly, was anything but a wise man. " Talking a little more with him," he says, "I found him, though a good man, a stranger to much combat with the devil. Wherefore I went again to God for mercy still, as well as I could." His other counsellors, at this time, were both kinder and wiser. " They would pity me," he says, "and would tell me of the promises." What else could they do? The pity of Chris- tians, and the promises of God, had lifted them over their own fears, and would have placed his feet upon a rock too, had his head or his nerves been like theirs. Christian sympathy, and the same promises, did so eventually and effectually, when he became calm enough to appreciate them. Even before that, Gifford's doctrine contributed much to his " stability" in holy principles and habits, although not in hope or peace. He heard also at this time a preacher, who comforted him a little by grafting upon the Canticles, according to the fashion of that day, truths which, as Dr. Southey justly says, " he might have found in every page of the Gospel, had there not been a mist before his understanding." I thus characterize as well as enumerate Bunyan's first guides in the dreary wilderness of temptation, that the reader may not wonder too much at either his mistakes, or his terrors. l\ LIFEOFBUNYAN. 93 There was no Great-Heart, although many a good-hearty amongst his feliow pilgrims then. Besides, he was not always frank with them. I mean, he was equally afraid to tell them all his wo, and to hear all their opinion. Not, however, that he suspected them of any prejudice or want of sympathy : but he imagined at times, that God had said to them, " Pray not for him, for I have rejected him." " I thought," he says, " that God had whispered this to some of them ; — only they durst not tell me, neither durst I ask them of it, for fear ii it should be so, it would make me quite beside myself." Poor Bunyan ! Thy contemporaries, Milton, Owen, Baxter, and Jeremy Tay- lor, ought to have been the friends. And had they known thee, they would. LIFE OF BUNYAN. CHAPTER IX. bunyan's relapses. BuNYAT^'s relapses in religion were neither slight nor short ; but none of them were practical. Even when his heart lost all relish and desire for spiritual things, his conscience was all alive and quivering with the hatred of sin. He himself was struck with this strange anomaly in his character ; and I point it out, to prove that a man may believe his " heart to be in- nately and wholly wicked," and yet hate and avoid sin, only the more on that very account ; — just as a man who believes himself to be radically cansumptive, may avoid stimulants. When Bunyan reviewed this contrast between the hardness of his heart and the tenderness of his conscience, he used a comparison peculiarly his own ; but which none of his biogra- phers have ventured to explain. " My hinder parts," he says, " were inward, all the while." He refers to the position of the twelve oxen of brass, under the molten sea of the temple. *' The sea was set above upon them, and all their hinder parts w^ere inward." 2 Chron. iv. 4. Only their majestic front was seen, under the lily-icreaihed brim of the magnificent laver. This emblem he explains and applies with great point, in his " Temple Spiritualized." Its application to himself he states thus in his "Grace Abounding," " O, how gingerly (cautiously) dia I then go, in all I did or said ! I durst not take a pin, or stick, though not so big as a straw : for my conscience now was sore, and would start at every touch. I could not now tell how to speak my words, for fear I should misplace them, I found myself as in a miry bog, that shook if I did but stir." Such his conscience remained, even whilst the following relapses went on in his heart. " My heart would not be mov- ed to mind that which was good. It began to be careless both of my soul and heaven, and to work at a rate it never did before. Now I evidently found, that lusts and corruptions put forth themselves within me, in wicked thoughts and desires which I did not regard (notice) before. My heart would now continually hang back, both to and in every duty ; and was as a clog on the leg of a bird, to hinder it from flying. Nay, LIFEOFBUNYAN. 95 I thought, — now I grow worse and worse ; now I am farther off from conversion than ever I was before : wherefore I began to sink greatly, and began to entertain such discouragement in my heart as laid me low as hell. If I now should have turned at a stake, I could not believe that Christ had a love for me. Alas, I could neither hear Him, nor see Him, nor feel Him) nor savour any of His things. I was driven as with a tempest ! My heart would be unclean, and the Canaan- ites would dwell in the land. All my sense and feeling were against me. I saw 1 had a heart that would sin, and that lay under a Law that would condemn." " Further, in these days, I would find my heart shut itself up against the Lord, and against his holy word. I have found my unbelief to set, as it were, the shoulder to the door, to keep Him out : and that too even, — when I have with many a bitter sigh cried, Good Lord, break it open. Lord, break these 'gates of brass,' and cut these 'bars of iron asunder.'" The only thing which operated as a check upon this alienation and alarm, was, a vague hope that he might, like Cyrus, be intended for some service in the cause of God : " that word would sometimes create in my heart a peaceable pause, — ' I girded thee, though thou hast not known me.' " We thus find him again taking up with one of the very last Texts, which we should expect him to apply to himself at such a time. The application is not, however, so forced or far-fetched as it seems at first sight. It is, in fact, quite in keeping with the law of his associations: for he linked his ideas together by sounds or sensations. When he did pray at all now, it was that " the fears and aversions which, like gates of brass and bars of iron," shut up his heart against godliness, might be broken. Tins was the form which his prayers took ; and l)eing also the form of the promise made to Cyrus, he tried to class himself, so far, with Cyrus. Bunyan took, however, another view of these sad failings when he wrote the history of them : " These things," he says, " have often made me think of the child, which tlie flither brought to Christ ; who, while he was yet coming to Him, was thrown down by tlie devil, and also so rent and torn by him, that he lay and wallowed, foaming." His distress really came to this soon ; although Satan had, perhaps, less to do with it than with some former and subse- quent temptations of another kind. "My original and inward pollution," he exclaims, « that, that was my plague and afHic 96 LIFE OF BUNYAN. tion ; — that, I saw always putting itself forth within me at a dreadful rate ; — that, I had the guilt of to amazement. By reason of that, I was more loathsome in mine own eyes than a toad ; and I thought I was so in God's eyes too. Sin, and corruption, I said, would as naturally bubble out of my heart, as water would bubble out of a fountain. I thought now, that every one had a better heart than I had. I could have chang- ed hearts with any body. I thought none but the devil himself could equalize me for inward wickedness and pollution of mind." There is extravagance in this, certainly : but there is also much sober truth in it. For although there were worse hearts in Bedford, and anywhere, than Bunyan's, his heart was now both estranged and averse to meditative and devotional piety. " The root of the matter" was in him : but it was overrun with the matted weeds of ignorance, fear, and suspicion. Even this is not all the truth concerning him, at this time. Like Jonah, he was "angry^^ with God, because the Gourds under which he wanted to screen his head, withered as fast as they had sprung up. He did not think the " wee bush" of a simple Promise *' better than nae bield ;" but almost demand- ed that the stately Cedars of Calling and Election, should spring " up in a night," and shelter him forever. This is the real secret of Bunyan's hardness of heart : He could not get what he wanted, in his own way, nor at his own time ; and therefore, he " charged God foolishly," and in no small bitterness as well as grief of spirit. " Sure, thought I," he exclaims, "I am forsaken of God; sure, I am given up to the devil, and to a reprobate mind. Now I was sorry that God had made me man ; for I feared I was a reprobate. Yea, I thought it impossible that ever I should arrive to so much godliness of heart, as to thank God that he had made me a man. I counted myself alone, and above all men unblessed. The beasts, birds, fishes — I blessed their condition ; for they had not a sinful nature, and were not obnoxious to the wrath of God. I could have rejoiced had my condition been as theirs. I counted man — as unconverted — the most doleful of all crea- tures." There is more than self-abasement, or even than self-con- demnation, in this wild reasoning. It breathes much of pride and self-will also. I would not reprehend nor characterize it thus harshly, had it been but the occasional ebullition of his mind. Such dark and daring regrets may flash across the LIFE OF BUNYAN. 97 spirit for a moment, without proving much against its general temperament: but when they last and are indulged for years, they do prove that God is arraigned as well as dreaded. Now this temper did last long. Bunyan himself says, "Thus I continued a long while, even for some years together." The misery he endured whilst indulging this wrong spirit must not, therefore, be allowed to hide or soften its badness. It was proud and peevish as well as despairing. He did all but curse the day of his birth. This is a painful conclusion ; but it is not a rash one ; nor is there any reason to wonder, that Bunyan's heart became thus exasperated against God. The heart of any man is capable of all this, if he once give way to despair. The heart will then harden, just in proportion as it suffers. Be- sides, the very claims of Religion upon it, can exasperate its enmity against God, when they are looked at in all their length and breadth. Such a look of them, Bunyan had taken; and their " Law" not only wrought " wrath," but also, as in the case of Paul, "all manner of concupiscence." He saw what he ought to be in heart and spirit, and he did not like it. He was not unwilling to be moral ; but he was averse to spiritual- ity and heavenly minded ness, when he found that they had to be cultivated by watchfulness and prayer, and to be maintain- ed as duties even when hope was low and feeling languid. Thus it was not " false notions," of his own depravity, which " well nigh made him believe that his heart was hopelessly and incurably" depraved : but it was a clear sight and a deep sense of what his heart ought to be, that offended him at first, and afterwards exasperated him, when he found no way of prying into either the Ark of the divine purposes, or the Lamb's book of life. Disappointments of this kind can mortify as well as alarm ; harden as well as horrify the mind : and the man who can " observe the symptoms whilst in the paroxysms," will inevitably, and not unreasonably, fall in with God's opinion, even to the very letter, that " the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." The Oracle adds the ques- tion, "Who can know it?" Bunyan knew it better than Jeremy Taylor, — who was at this time bending all the force of his genius and erudition against even the qualified creed of his own Church, on the subject of original and inherent sin ; and better too than Anthony Burgess, although he was sustain- ing Augustine against Taylor ; for Bunyan judged from expe- rience, and not from books nor tradition. 9 98 LIFEOFBUNYAN, The difference of opinion on this subject, between Bunyan and Bishop Taylor, is easily accounted for. Both reasoned about the human heart from their own hearts, and in reference to widely different circumstances. Taylor's views of the heart were modified by his consciousness of what his own heart would "indite" upon an episcopal throne, or in the King's Chapel ; and Bunyan, by what tinkering, travelling, and poverty, opposed to watchfulness and devotion. No thinking man can wonder, that those who can rise to affluence or influence by eminent piety, should feel less aversion to it at first, than those who cannot better their worldly circumstances at all. The heart does not writhe nor rise against spiritual religion, until much of it is required, and no temporal advan- tage be seen to accrue from it. I make this remark in con- nexion with Jeremy Taylor, because he is as justly venerated as he is well known, and because he is infinitely beyond all suspicion of direct worldly. mindedness. He retained both his greatness and spirituality, under poverty and suffering. But still, he reasoned and wrote, with Mitres and Palaces in his memory and imagination ; and the prospect of restoring them, although not for himself, made him think too well of human nature, because he saw that it had no great objection to be even " Tioice a saint in lawn." He himself would have been a saint in sackcloth, after his principles were fixed and his character formed : but the ques- tion is, would he not have thought worse of human nature, had he been as like the Tinker in condition and education at first, as he was in genius and mental energy ? Bunyan did not always judge ill at this time, either of him- self or of others. He could see the folly of others in distress- ing themselves about earthly things, even when he was blind to his own folly in vexing himself about "secret things." A sounder judgment of " the course of this world " than the fol- lowing, it would not be easy to quote or conceive : — " While I was thus afflicted with the fears of my own damnation, there were two things would make me wonder. The one was, — when I saw people hunting after the things of this life, as if they should live here always. The other was, — when I found Professors much distressed and cast down when they met with outward losses, as of husband, wife, child, dtc. Lord, thought LIFEOFBUNYAN. 99 Ij — what a-do Is here about such little things as these ! What seeking after carnal things by some, and what grief in others for the loss of them ! " These are not unfair nor unfeeling exclamations. He is no wise man who does not wonder and weep too, to see how all losses, but the loss of the soul, are deprecated and deplored ; whilst that is not avoided nor feared by the generality. Bunyan went too far when he added, " If they so much labour after, and shed so many tears for, the things of this present life, — how am I to be bemoaned, pitied, and prayed for ? My soul is dying ! My soul is damning ! '* This conclusion was rash : but the reasoning is sound. So it is in the following exclamation, " Were my soul but in a good condition, and were I but sure of it, ah! how rich should I esteem myself, though blessed with but bread and water. I should count those but small afflictions, and bear them as little burthens. But a wounded spirit who can bear? " Nothing, however, shows more the general soundness of Banyan's judgment, during the years this despair lasted, than his willingness to bear "a wounded spirit," rather than take up with a false peace, or a superficial cure. He dreaded a seired conscience more than a sad heart. Hence he says, with touching simplicity, and with holy jealousy, and with great wisdom, — " Though I was much troubled, and tossed, and afflicted, with the sight, sense, and terror of my own wick- edness, yet I was afraid to let this sight and sense go quite off my mind : for I found, that unless guilt of conscience was taken otT the right way — by the Blood of Christ — a man grew rather worse for the loss of his trouble of mind. Wherefore, if my guilt lay hard upon me, then would I cry that the blood of Christ might take it off. And if it was going off without IT (for the sense of sin would be sometimes as if it would die and go quite away,) then I would also strive to fetch it upon my heart again, by bringing the punishment of sin in hell-fire upon my spirits ; and would cry, Lord, let it not go off my heart, but in the right way — by the blood of Christ, and the application of Thy mercy, through Him, to my soul. For that Scripture did lay much upon me, * without shedding of blood there is no remission.' Heh. ix. 22. And that which made me more afraid of this, v/as, — -because I had seen some who, though when they were under the wounds of conscience would prav and cry, yet, seeking rather present ease from their trouble than pardon for their sin, cared not how they lost their guilt, so they got it out of their mind. Now having got it O 100 LIFEOFBUNYAN. off the wrong way, it was not sanctified unto them r and (accordingly) they grew harder, and Winder, and more wick- ed after their trouble. This made me afraid, and made me cry to God the more, that it might not be so with me." Much as I admire the heroism of the Martyrs, who would not "accept deliverance" from the stake or the wheel, at the expense of even a nod, or a grain of incense, to the national altars of Rome, I admire still more the heroism of Bunyan, in thus preferring to bear, for years, the agonies of " a wounded spirit," rather than risk the purity or the tenderness of his conscience. This is the very highest homage which faith or patience can pay to the authority of moral Law. Whoever does not feel this, does not know what Job or Bunyan meant by "a wounded spirit." Those who do, will not blame me for asking them to pause here, — to contemplate the holy integrity of John Bunyan, whilst a Tinker, in striving to fetch back upon his heart his overwhelming sense of guilt ; and in crying to God, "let it not go off;" and in bringing "the pains of Hell " around himself, lest it should go off in a wrong way, or in any way, but by the blood of Christ. Even those who cannot sympathize with his distress, must admire his self- denying honesty. We do not wonder that a " comforting time " came to this man, at the close of such an effort to maintain a good con- science towards God. It did come at length, although it tar- ried long, and continued but for a short season. " I heard one," he says, " preach a sermon on these words in the Song, 'Behold thou art fair, my Love.' But at that time, he made these two words, 'My Love,' his chief and subject matter. After he had a little opened the Text, he observed these several conclusions, 1. That the Church, and so every saved soul, is Christ's Love, (even) when loveless. 2. Is Christ's Love without a cause. 8. Christ's Love hath been hated of the world. 4. Is Christ's Love under temptation and utter dis* traction. 5. Is Christ's Love from first to last. "But I got nothing, until he came to Vae fourth particular, (when) this was the word he said,-—' If it be so, that the saved soul is Christ's Love when under temptation and distraction, then Poor Tempted Soul, when thou art assaulted and afflict, ed with temptations and hiding of God's face, yet think on these two words, My Love, still." So as I was going home, these words came again into my thoughts : and I well remem- ber, I said this in my heart as they came in,-— what shall I get LIFEOFBUNYAN. 101 by thinking on these two words ? This thought had no sooner passed through my heart, but the words began to kindle thus in my spirit, twenty times together, — ' Thou art my love, thou art my love ! ' And still as they ran in my mind, they waxed warmer and warmer, and began to make me look up. But being as yet between Hope and Fear, I still replied in my heart, — but is it true ; but is it true? At which that sentence fell upon mc, ' He wist not that it was tme, which was done unto him of the Angel.' Acts, xii. 9. " Then, — I began to give place to the word which, with power, did over and over make this 'joyful sound,' within my soul ; ' Thou art my love, and nothing shall separate thee from my love.' With that mv heart was fiWed full of comfort and hope. And now I could believe that my sins would be for- given me. Yea, I was now so taken with the love and mercy of God, that I remember I could not tell how to contain till I got home. I thought I could have spoken of His love, and told of His mercy to me, even to the very Crows that sat on the ploughed lands before me, had they been capable to have understood me." This wish to speak to the crows is no weakness. It is not unnatural, however unusual it may be. David went lower than Bunyan, and called even on " creeping things,'^ as well as upon " flying foul and all cattle," to praise the Lord with him. Whenever his adoring gratitude became unspeakable to his lips, or unutterable by his harp, he invariably devolved the song of praise, not only upon all the armies of Heaven, but upon all the works of Nature also. He turned the Universe into a vast Orchestra, and tuned all its voices to the melody of his own heart. Not only must all the Angels around the throne assist his mighty joys and grateful feelings, but the sun and moon, and all the stars of light, must join the song. The waters above and beneath the firmament, must roll to music, and even the storms of winter keep time and tune with the harp of Judah. He blended in his Hallelujah Chorus, the hum of the Bee, and the hymn of the Archangel. Bunyan remembered this, when his own harp required help ; and thus wished to tell the crows his joy. The fact is, there is a " ful- ness of heart," which must speak, and yet cannot speak fast enough, nor loud enough. Bunyan wanted to relieve his heart at this time, by writing also. " T said in my soul — with much gladness — Well, would I had a pen and ink here, I would write this down before I go • 9^= 102 LIFEOFBUNYAN. any further." Happy wish, for us and the world ! It was the germ of his authorship. Critics differ about the real germ of his Pilgrim : but the incapacity of the Crows to understand him, originated his love to the pen. This was as happy an accident as the fall of the apple which, it is said, suggested to Newton, the doctrine of Gravitation. Theology owes as much to John Bunyan's pen, as Astronomy to Newton's, His Pilgrim, although it added nothing to the stock of theological knowledge, softened some of its harsh points, and simplified not a few of its mysticisms ; and what is far better, — it has prepared millions of minds to understand sound divinity. But for it, how many would have had no taste at all for reading either Theology or Scripture ? " It will continue," says Montgomery, " to be a Book exercising more influence over minds of every class, than the most refined and sublime genius, with all the advantages of education and good fortune, has !>eeB able to rival, in this respeet.^" LIFEOFBUNYAN. lOa CHAPTER X. bunyan's temptations. We come now to that mysterious period in the history of Bunyan, concerning which Philosophy must be silent, or say with Religion, "he was led into the wilderness to be tempted of the Devil." To say any thing else or less would be, as we have partly seen, unphilosophical and impertinent. Philosophy can afford to lose from her ranks, all the " brisk talkers" about the Principle of Moral Evil, as Bunyan would have called the anti-supernaturalists ; especially, as the best of them will not be lost to Literature. Some of them own, as Poets, the Satan they deny as theologians ; and thus prove that their craft cannot dispense with him, however their creed discard him. For, what if Poetry deal in fiction ? She has never been able, in all her dealings with it, to invent a more plausible or pliable agency, than that of Satan, in order to explain the vices or violence of her daring characters. She was glad to speak common sense in common terms, when she had to disown the Byron School. She could not have pillor. led it or its founder, before the Church or the world, had she not uttered those woixis of truth and soberness, " The Satan- ic School." The hearts of all wise and good men respond- ed at once to this descriptive epithet. It will be everlasting, just because it is " the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." It will readily occur to, or be allowed by, every thinking man, that if there be a Devil, John Bunyan was just the per- son he was likely to " sift as wheat." It was worth his while to keep him out of the Church of Christ, if he could. It required no great sagacity to foresee, that such a man would be " a host in himself," whatever side he might espouse in the contest between Truth and Error. Bunyan could be nothino- by halves. Besides, whatever he was or wished to be, he could not conceal it. Out it came, — by day or by night ! He both thought and dreamt aloud. He talked to himself whenever he was alone, and had dreamt of Satan and his 104 LIFE OF BUNYAN. angels from his youth up. Satan had thus no great difficulty to find out either the talents or the taste of Bunyan. He had not to " consider" him, half so long as he studied Job, before hitting upon the likeliest method of betraying him. He saw his weak side at a glance, and poured " fiery darts" into it without delay. Thus it is not necessary to ascribe to Satan any improba- ble degree of intuition or influence, in order to account for his attempts upon Bunyan. A duller eye than the devil's might have foreseen, that the genius of John Bunyan, if once under the power of Divine Truth, would do more for that Truth, than even the Harp of John Milton. Accordingly, Satan was more afraid of the Tinker than of the poet. He let Milton alone ; but came in like a flood upon Bunyan ; well knowing that a real Allegorist was more dangerous to the kingdom of darkness, than even the Prince of epic poetry ; and that the Apollyon of the Pilgrim, would awe more than the Lucifer of the Paradise Lost. I do not mean, of course, that Satan anticipated either picture of himself; but that he could easily guess how the two artists would paint him, and thus calculate their comparative influence upon his own power in the world. It may be unusual to speak in this straightforward way about Satan : but thus he should be spoken of if we would think of him, or resist him, as the Scriptures teach. There is neither extravagance nor levity in their descriptions of the Tempter. I have studied and written the Life of Bunyan, chiefly in order to prove this. And if I allow myself to be somewhat flayful occasionally, it is only because mere theo- logy on this subject would not gain a hearing with many at present. Bunyan himself had no doubts about the reality of Satanic agency, in his own case. How could he, after suffering even what we have already seen ? And that is nothing compared with what we have now to contemplate. I have shown, that I am not inclined to ascribe to Satan too many of Bunyan's distractions. I have been, perhaps, over cautious hitherto : but now I must speak out, if I speak agreeably to the Oracles of God. Bunyan's comfort from the words, "My Love," did not last long. He did not calculate upon this. It was so strong when it " kindled in his spirit," that he exclaimed, " Surely I LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 105 will not forget this — forty years hence." It went away, how- ever, " within less than forty days." This can hardly be wondered at. It gave place, however, to a storm, utterly un- accountable, apart f«om Satan. " In about the space of a month," he says, " a very great storm came down upon me, which handled me twenty times worse than all I had met with before. It came stealing upon me, now by one piece, and then by another. First, all my comfort was taken from me. Then, darkness seized upon me. After which, whole floods of blasphemous thoughts against God, Christ, and the Scriptures, were poured in upon my spirit, to my great confu- sion and astonishment." Thus he was taken by surprise: and Bunyan is too honest to be suspected of tampering with sin or speculation, when he does not say so. Indeed, he had been more than usually prudent, for him, in reasoning about the comfort, when it came, and whilst it lasted. When, lo, a storm of blasphemous thoughts burst upon him, stirring up questions, he says, " against the very being of a God, and of his only beloved Son, and whether there were in truth a God or Christ, and whether the Holy Scriptures were not rather a cunning story, than the pure Word of God." This was not all nor the worst. Happily we do not know the worst. He wisely concealed that, when he wrote his Life. " I may not, and dare not," he says, " utter, by neither word nor pen (even) at this time, other suggestions." Altogether, " they did," he adds, " make such a seizure upon my spirit, and did so overweigh my heart, both with their numbers, continuance, and flery force, that I felt as if there were nothing else but these within me from morning to night, and as though there could be room for nothing else. I also concluded, that God had given me up to them, to be carried away with them as by a mighty whirlwind." When Bunyan himself tried to account for the permission of this whirlwind of temptation, he ascribed it to his neglect of" a 50?/7i(Zsent from Heaven, as an alarm to awaken him to provide for a coming storm." The sound was, " Simon, Si- mon, behold Satan hath desired to have you." These words had probably been addressed to him originally by Gifford, or some pious friend, who foresaw that his sudden comfort was not likely to last either forty years or forty days, upon such a foundation as the isolated words, "My Love." This conjec- ture is not improbable : for the man who wanted to tell the crows his joy, was sure to tell his friends of it ; and they were 106 LIFEOFBUNYAN. equally sure to say, " Simon, Simon" when they heard Bunyan calculating that his heart could " Never lose The relish, all hisd.iys." But, like Peter, he was self-confident, and thus forgot who warned him. The warning itself, however, recurred to him when his joy began to abate. At first, it " sounded loud with- in him" only. In a little, it began to sound loud around him. " Once above all the rest," he says, " I turned my head over my shoulder ; thinking verily that some man behind me, half a mile, had called after me. And although that (Simon) was not my name, yet it jnade me suddenly look behind me, be- lieving that he who called so loud meant me." This made him " muse and wonder, what should be the reason of this Scripture, that at this rate, so often and so loud, should still be sounding and rattling in his ears." Indeed, he never forgot its loud voice, nor doubted its heavenly origin. He said scon after, " I did both see and feel that it was sent from Heaven to awaken me." Subsequently he said, " it came, as I have thought since, to have stirred me up to prayer and watchful- ness. It came to acquaint me, that a cloud and a storm were coming down upon me : but I understood it not." To his dying day he said, " Methinks I hear still, with what a loud voice these words, Simon, Simon, sounded inmine ears." Thus Dr. Southey was fully warranted to say of these sounds, " Real they were to him in the impression which they made, and in their lasting effect ; and even afterwards when his soul w^as at peace, he believed them, in cool and sober reflection, to have been more than natural." Was Bunyan right in this 1 I am inclined to take the very same view of it, as of the Vision at the play-ground. Recol- lected Truth was the basis of both ; a vivid imagination gave sensible forms to both ; but the timely suggestion of the truth itself belongs to the agency of the Holy Spirit, as a Remem- brancer. In both cases, it was neither unworthy of, nor un- like that Guide, to bring before the mind of a man who had so much of Peter's imprudence, the warning addressed to Peter by Christ. With thesounds, whether low or loud, as with the sights, Divine agency had no more to do, than it has when we hear voices during sleep. It is hardly necessary, however, to draw upon Dreams, in order to account for Bunyan's illusion ; for, who has not look- J©MM BlUHTAHo JU-l t^LXL^t "¥ 128 LIFEOFBUNYAN. am with both Luther and Bunyan, to parallehze their mature views of the great doctrines of the Gospel. But my limits forbid. No forbidding, however, shall prevent me from imploring theological Students, to trace out, mark, and remember, the cliordings of these original and mighty minds, with the tuned harps of Inspiration and Heaven. There is, indeed, no polish upon the language of either. They hlurt out, in blunt terms, their opinions of truth and duty : but their Saxon is a talismanic Sesame at all the doors of considera- tion. It is quite possible to yawn, if not to fall asleep, over John Howe, or Robert Hall, when they wire-draw the wedges of Sanctuary Gold, and then festoon the wire in artificial forms of ornate beauty : but Luther and Bunyan make the ground shake again, when they throw down the golden wed- ges ; and never make the metal shine, except when they lay it in thick plates upon the Mercy-seat, or in wide expanse on the walls, of the Temple : and then, they make us hear the unrolling of the sheets, as well as see the unburnished radiance of them. Perhaps the best thing I can do, in closing this brief chap- ter, is, to record the Imprimatur of the Bishop of London, who was contemporary with ihe first translation of Luther on the Galatians. The next Metropolitan, who shall speak in Edwin's style and spirit of that work, will eclipse the only two of the moderns, whom I have studied ; — Louth and Porteus. The Metropolitan of 1575, told the church and the world, that Luther's work being brought to him to peruse and consi- der, " I thought it my part, not only to allow of it to print, but also to commend it to the Reader, as a treatise most comfort- able to all afflicted consciences, exercised in the School of Christ. The kxiihor felt what he spake, and had experience of what he wrote, and thus was able, more lively, to express both the assaults and salving ; the order of the battle, and the means of the victory. "If Christ justify, who can condemn? — saith St. Paul. This most necessary doctrine, the author hath most substan- tially declared in his Commentary. Satan is the enemy : the victory is only by faith in Christ." — Imprimatur. It would seem from the Bishop's Preface, that the first trans- lators of Luther's work stuck fast, either from ignorance or fear, in the midst of it ; and that more learned men, caring for nothing so much as for the " relief of afflicted minds," put LIFE OF BUNYAN. 129 " to their helping hand, from zeal," but kept back their names from modesty. Being thus left in ignorance of the fnlshers of the translation, I say nothing about its beginners, — much as I might say. It deserves notice, that Bunyan improved upon Luther, in speaking of the Law. He did not, like him, rave or stamp, when smashing its " great teeth and strong horn," as a cursing Covenant. He saw how it was abolished, as "the ministry of Condemnation," at the cross of Ciirist. Neither Bunyan nor Luther, however, caught Paul's splendid idea, that the Chirograph of Law was nailed to the Cross, as Christ bin - self was, without losing any thing of its glory or authority as a Rule of life. Both Christ and Law were crucified, in order to be crowned forever. 130 LIFE OF BUNYAN. CHAPTER XIII. SATAN AND HIS ANGELS. Those who study Bunyan will read this Chapter. It will, 1 hope, ^^ provoke'^ some Theologian to grapple with the philo- sophy of Satanic agency. Neither the Bampton nor the Congregational Lectures will be complete, until they take up this subject. Robert Hall, had he been spared, would have become a Lecturer, rather than leave the subject as it now stands. It is much to be regretted, that no commanding mind has girded up its loins, or clothed itself in all the armour of Light, (reason and revelation,) in order to challenge the public mind oil tlie subject of " Satan and his Angels." The question of the existence and agency of Evil Spirits, should not be left unsettled ; nor at issue between the superstitious and the scoffing, or the credulous and incredulous. It should be res- cued from the hands of both, and set at rest, by the "high hand" of Christian Philosophy : for it is a practical question, and fraught with national as w ell as personal interests. The claims of Humanity, as much as the credit of Religion, demand this. If there really be no devil, and thus no danger of being tempted but by each other, or by our own passions, the Laws of the country should no longer speak of " the instigation of the devil ;'' nor the Catechism of Churches, of the devil or his works ; nor Ministers and Parents, of his wiles or snares. But if, on the other hand, there be a devil, who can and does tempt men to sin, and whose angels and agents are actually busy at this demoralizing work, the awful fact should be so awfully proclaimed, that no witling durst laugh at it even over his cups, and no sciolist evade it even by verbal criticisms. True ; the subject is proclaimed in all ways, in the Bible. There, Satan is frequently named, characterized, denounced, and pointed out as the Enemy and the Tempter of man: and yet, the giddy laugh at him, and the busy forget him, and LIFE OF BUNYAN. 131 would-be philosophers resolve the whole affair into figures of speech. In the fashionable slang of modern philosophy, the devil is nothing more than " the personified •principle of evil.^^ — Southey^s Wesley. All this is said and done, in the very face of a Bible teem- ing with descriptions of Satan, and thundering with warnings against his wiles. True ! This, however, is not the only reveal- ed truth, which has been thus treated for ages, and yet after- wards was lodged in the public mind, and chartered into popu- larity, by the commanding influence of a great name. Pub- lie opinion has never played with images or indulgences, since Luther, Knox, and Cranmer fought the battle of the Reforma- tion. Whitefield and Wesley drove baptismal regeneration from all pulpits and all heads, into which the Cross of Christ was admitted. Wardlaw, Magee, and Smith, turned the new Version of Socinianism and the creed of Priestley, into an old bye-word. David Bogue awoke the Church to the claims of the heathen, and John Harris has frightened her at the worship of Mammon. Thus, a great truth can be forced into general notice, and fastened upon so many leading minds, by one influential Champion, that it will work its way through all ranks of society, and tell with effect upon public opinion and practice. There is, therefore, nothing in all the wanton or flippant modes in which Satanic influence is sported with, which may not be checked and put down. Mockery, and fearlessness, and heedlessness, in reference to this spiritual danger, may be rendered as rare and unpopular as blasphe- my or ribaldry. Why has not this been done ? Has it been shunned from a fear of making the devil of too much importance ? Have the Champions of orthodoxy thought that it would be paying him too high a compliment., to challenge him ? Do they suspect that the discussion of the subject would make all that is bad in public opinion, and all that is unhealthy in public feeling, worse 1 I will not suppose this. The world is too old, and the Church too wise, to dream or drivel again about the devils of superstition. These are all gone forever, with the ghosts and hobgoblins of antiquity. Science and common-sense cast out these imps ; and, therefore, no superstition can bring them back. They sunk into derisive contempt ; and nothing recovers from that overthrow. Even in regard to the devil himself, the cloven-foot is almost out of date, and his horns are given up entirely. Thus there is no danfjer of reviving any old fictions or fancies, by drawing public attention to the 132 LIFEOPBUNYAN. revealed facts of Satanic agency ; especially in the case of John Bunyan. Is there, then, any danger of creating a panic^ by bringing home to the public mind the whole truth upon this subject ? Would the devil be too much dreaded by men, if they really believed all that the Scriptures say, or Bunyan believed of him ? This question is not answered by saying, that many who have Scriptural views of Satan, are neither in terror nor in bondage of spirit, by them. Such persons have Scrip- tural views of Grace and Providence also, which prevent dis. may, or counterbalance suspicion. What, however, would be the effect of realizing Saian, just as he is revealed, on a mind unprepared to fall back for relief upon either Grace or Provi- dence ? Such minds abound, alas, everywhere : and, there- fore, much as I regret the want of a Work, which should amount to a demonstration on this subject, I should deprecate a mere demonstration. It might bring as many into boiid- age all their life-time through fear of the devil, as are so through fear of death. There is no tendency of this kind in what the Bible says about Satan ; much as it says. It never introduces him alone, nor apart from some promise or maxim, calculated to balance whatever fear the description of his power or malignity may create. An Infidel might be challenged on this fact. Let him make out the revealed devil as he will, and exaggerate to the uttermost his shocking attributes, and caricature all their tendency to frighten weak minds and enslave susceptible ima- ginations ; still he cannot prove that this is their design. If can- did or honest, he durst not assert it : for in every instance, there stands, at Satan's " right hand," some " Angel of the Lord, to resist him," or to " bind him." I mean, every awful or warn- ing sight of his character and designs, is preceded or followed by some great and precious promise of deliverance, or by some kind advice, directly calculated to alleviate all unnecessary and tormenting fear. He has not, therefore, studied the Bible, who can call Satan a bugbear, to frighten children, or to affront the understandings of men. The most superficial reader even, may see at a glance, that, whenever Satan is brought forward there, he is followed by promises more numerous than his temptations, and confronted by Shields more powerful than his fiery darts. Thus the revealed Satan, however formidable or ferocious, is always placed before us in the Bible, between a double blaze of light, which shows clearly that he will flee LiFEOFBUNYAN. 133 now irresisted, and that God will bruise him shortly, under the feet of all who try to overcome him by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their Testimony. Bunyan found this to be the fact. Such being the connexion in which we are warned ao^ainst the devil, and encouraged to war against him, it is astonishing that any man who acknowledges the Scriptures to be the Word of God, could imagine the devil to be merely a figure of speech, or a personification of the principle of evil. Why ; all that is sweetest in the Promises, all that is greatest in the Prophesies, all that is most inspiring in the prospects of Glory, all that is wonderful in the love of Christ, and in the grace and power of God, is all set against the power of Satan, as that power bears against mankind. Can such Sublimeyaci. ' What have you all been doing ? How are all things out of order ? I am behind hand, — I cannot tell what ! One may see that you have neither wisdom nor prudence to order things, if a man be put a little aside !' But now he doubleth his dili- gence after the world! 'Alas,' he says: — 'but all must not be lost. We must have provident care.' And thus he for- getteth the sorrows of death, and the vows he made to be better. " These things proving ineffectual, God takes hold of his axe again, and sends Death to a wife, to a child, to the cattle. At this, the poor barren professor cries out again, ' Lord I have sinned ; spare me once more ! O take not away the desire of my eyes ; spare my children ; bless my labour ; and I will mend and be better.' 'No,' saith God, 'thou lied to me last time, and I will trust thee no longer :' — and He tumbleth the wife, the child, and the estate into the grave. " On this, the poor creature, like Ahab, walks softly awhile. Now, he renews his promises : — ' Lord try me this one time more. They go far that never turn. Take off thy hand and see !' Well, God sets down his axe again. But still, there is no fruit. Now then the axe begins to^be raised higher ! Yet, before he strike the stroke, he will try one more way at last ; and if that fail — down goes the fig-tree \ "This last way is, to tug and strive with this professor by His Spirit. But now, the mischief is, there is tugging and striving on both sides. The Spirit convinceth ; but the man turns a deaf ear. ' Receive my instruction and live,' he says ; but the man pulls away his shoulder. The Spirit parleyeth again, and urgeth new reasons. ' No,' saith the sinner, ' I have loved strangers, and after them I will go !' At this — God's fury cometh up into his face ! Now, he comes out from his holy place, and is terrible. Now, He sweareth in his WTath that they shall not enter into his rest. ' Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground !'" — P. 1142. Well might Bunyan's clerical biographer say of him, " He laid open before men the saving promises and dreadful denun- ciations of the Scripture, and sent it so home, that it not only created joy, but trembling ; each one on their departure con- fessing, that their hearts were moved at his words." He adds, " I need not tell you that he pretended not to be orthodox, as LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 289 to the Church estabhshed by the law of the nation : but all that knew him will bear witness, that his doctrine was nothing varying from the express word of God, though not complying in some things with the national Church, in manner and forms of worship." — Li/e, p. 22. This was the watchman on the walls of Zion, whose trum- pet was silenced, just as it had begun to alarm the men and women who were " at ease in Zion." It is impossible to tell, or to calculate, the consequences of the check thus given to the progress of even moral reformation in Bedfordshire, by silenc- ing John Bunyan. Such a ministry, in a county which had been highly republican and profane, was worth more to the cause of good order and virtue, than all the canon-law that could be preached or enforced in it. Can any man wonder now — that John Bunyan would not agree to any proposals for giving up his ministry ? The mau who knew that he could preach thus, must have regarded with more than supreme scorn all law and logic which called upon him to desist. He must have pitied as well as despised the men who could call in question his right or his fitness to warn and woo sinners to flee from the wrath to come. For what could they show as credentials of having received " the Holy Ghost," that deserved more credit or deference than his aptness to teach, and his power of persuasion, and his burning zeal to win souls? If these high attributes, and holy aspirations, be not proofs of a divine call to the ministr}^ — alas, for the weight of canonical proofs ! I do not think lightly of education or order. I revere them as, in general, essential to the efficiency of a permanent ministry. But they are ill applied, and worse advocated, when they call in question the right of holy men of talent to preach the gospel. No minister, of any church, can prove his own right to teach, from the Bible, who disputes Bunyan's right, or that of any other man who has Bunyan's spirit. I say, his spirit: for if his talents were necessary, no church could command a supply of them. It is delightful to observe how Providence is now placing the question of holy orders. The Spirit of God is blessing alike the faithful ministers of all Protestant Churches ; and leaving the unfaithful of them all, to stand unmarked by any token of the divine presence. 25 290 LIFE OF BUNYAIelled to worship the Memories he intended to malign. He wondered forsooth ! — that any one could have suspected him of injustice to the Covenanters. So modern Players and Critics wonder how any one could imagine, that Dr. Squintum and Cantwell were ever meant for " that good man, Mr. Whitefield." The fact is, Scott was more under the spell of Dr. Erskine, his father's minister, than he was aware of, or than Lockhart understood, when the Covenanters cowed his spirit, by their ascendency over his heart.) But to return to the Informer : " He would," says Bunyan, " curse the Meeters bitterly, and swear most fearfully what he would do when he found them. Well ; after he had gone on^ like a Bedlam, in his course awhile, and had done some mis- 25* 294 LIFE OF BUNYAN. chiefs to the people, he was stricken by the hand of God, and that in this manner. Although he had had his tongue natu- rally at will ; now, he was taken with a faultering in his speech, and could not for weeks together speak otherwise than just as a man that was drunk. Then he was taken with a drawling and slabbering at his mouth ; which phlegm would sometimes hang at his mouth, well nigh half way down to the ground. Then he had such a weakness in the hack-sinews of his neck, that ofttimes he could not look up before him, unless he clapt his hand upon his forehead, and held up his head that way by the strength of his hand. After this his speech went quite away, and he could speak no more than a swine or a bear. Therefore, like one of them, he would grunt and make an ugly noise, according as he was offended or pleased, or would have anything done. " In this posture, he continued for the space of half a year or thereabouts ; all the while, otherwise, well ; and could go about his business : save once, that he had a fall from the bell, as it hangs in our steeple ; which it was a wonder it did not kill him. But after that, he also walked about until God had made a sufficient spectacle of His judgment for his sin ; and then on a sudden, he was stricken and died miserably : and so there was an end of him and his doings. " I'll tell you of another. About four miles from St. Neot's there was a gentleman had a man, and a lusty young man he was. Well ; an Informer he was, and did much distress some people ; and had perfected his informations so effectually against some, that there was nothing further to do, but for the Constables to make distress on the people, that he might have the money or goods : and, as I have heard, he hastened then much to do it. Now while he was in the heat of his work, as he stood one day by the fire-side, he had, it should seem, a mind to a sop in the pan ; for the spit was then at the fire. So he went to make one. But, behold a dog — some say his favourite dog — took distaste at something, and immediately bit his mas- ter by the leg : the which bite, notwithstanding all the means that was used to cure him^ turned (as was said) into a gan- grene. However, that wound was his death, and that a dread- ful one too : for my relator said, that he lay in such a con- dition by this bite, that his flesh rotted from off him, before he went out of the world." It was in no vindictive spirit, that Bunyan told these anec- dotes. He durst neither overlook nor conceal them ; but he LIFE OF BUNYAN. 295 took no pleasure in recording them. " If it had been the will of God," he says, " I would, that neither I nor anybody else, could tell more of these stories : true stories, that are neither lie nor romance. But what need I instance in particular per- sons, when the judgment of God against this kind of people was made manifest, I think I may say, if not in all, yet in most of the counties of England, where such poor creatures were." It is only too easy to illustrate and verify Bunyan's opinion, in this matter. God did make examples, wherever such trait- ors and trepanners " wore out the saints of the Most High :" and what God does in retribution, ought not to be buried in oblivion. I know that it is now unpopular to revive the memory of such facts. I feel too, that we are prone to call the fearful end of an enemy, a judgment ; and the same end, only a misfortune, when it befals a friend. But still, it is equally wrong and dangerous to forget the signal catastrophes, by which the living conviction " that verily there is a God who judgeth," is kept up in the public mind. I have, therefore, felt it to be an imperative duty to preserve in the sketch of Bunyan^s Times, some of the most remarkable instances of Divine retribution. Bunyan was also an attentive observer, and occasionally a frank recorder, of the Apostacies from godliness, which oc- curred in his neighbourhood. He mentions two, of which he says expressly, " This was done in Bedford : I knew a man that was once, as I thought, hopefully awakened about his con. dition. Yea, I knew tivo that were so awakened. But in (course of) time, they began to draw back, and to incline again to their lusts. Wherefore, God gave them up to the company of three or four men, that in less than three years brought them roundly to the gallows, where they were hanged like dogs because they refused to live like honest men." With almost equal fidelity to time and place, Bunyan ven- tured to give the following account of an Infidel : " There was a man dvvelt about twelve miles from us, that had so trained himself up in his atheistical notions, that, at last, he attempted to write a book against Jesus Christ, and against the divine authority of the Scriptures : but I think it was not published r well ; after many days, God struck him with sickness, whereof he died. So, being sick, and musing upon his former doings, the book he had written came into his mind ; and, with it, such a sense of his evil in writing it, that it tore his conscience as a lion would tear a kid. He lay, therefore, upon his death- 296 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. bed in sad case, and much affliction of conscience. Some of my friends also went to see him ; and as they were in his chamber one day, he hastily called for pen, ink, and paper; which when it was given him, he took it, and writ to this purpose, — ' I (such a one, in such a Town) must go to hell- fire, for writing a book against Jesus Christ, and against the authority of the Holy Scriptures.' He would also have leap- ed out of the window of his house, to have killed himself: but was prevented of that. So he died in his bed ; — such a death as it was. It will be well, if others take warning by this story. The story is as true as it is remarkable. I had it from them that I dare believe, who themselves were eye and ear wit- nesses ; and also caught him in their arms, and saved him^ when he would have leaped out of his chamber-window, to have destroyed himself." Bunyan seems to have had not a few opportunities, even while in prison, of marking both the power and the treachery of conscience. One story on this subject deserves to be known. " When I was in prison," he says, " there came a woman to me, that was under a great deal of trouble. So I asked her (she being a stranger to me,) what she had to say to me. She said, she was afraid she should be damned. I asked her the cause of those fears. She told me, that she had some, times since lived with a shop-keeper at Wellingborough, and had robbed his box in the shop, several times, of money, to the value of more than now I will say. * And pray,' says she, ' tellr me what I shall do.' I told her, — I would have her go to her Master, and make him satisfaction. She said, she was afraid. I asked her. Why ? She said, she doubted he would hang her. I told her, I would intercede for her life, and make use of other friends too to do the like. But she told me she durst not venture that. ' Well,' said I, = shall I send to your Master^ while you abide out of sight, and make your peace with him before he sees you V And with that, I asked her Master's name. But all that she said in answer to this was, — ' Pray, let it alone till I come to you again. So, away she went, and neither told me her Master's name nor her own. This was about ten or twelve years since; and I never saw her again. I tell you this story, for this cause, to confirm your fears, that such kind of servants, too many there be : and that God makes them sometimes like old Todd, to betray themselves, through the terrors He lays upon them. I could tell you of another,. LIFE OF BUNYAN. 297 that came to me with a Hke relation concerning herself, and the robbinir of her Mistress : but at this time, let this suffice. " The story of old Todd, Bunyan himself tells thus : " At a summer Assizes holden at Hartford, while the Judge was sit- ting on the bench, comes this old Todd into the court, clothed in a green suit, with his leathern girdle in his hand, his bosom open, and all dripping of sweat as if he had run for his life. And being come in, he spake aloud as follows : * My Lord,' said he, ' here is the veriest rogue that breathes on the face of the earth. I have been a thief from a child. When I was but a little one, I gave myself to rob orchards, and to do other such like wicked things ; and I have continued a thief ever since. My Lord, there has not been a robbery committed these many years, within so many miles of this place, but I have either been at it, or privy to it. *' The Judge thought the fellow was mad : but after some conference with some of the Justices, they agreed to indict him. And so they did, of several felonious actions : to all of which he heartily confessed guilty ; and so was hanged, with his wife at the same time. *' As for the truth of this story," says Bunyan, " the relator (whom I dare believe) told me, that he was in the court at the same time himself, and stood within less than two yards of old Todd, when he heard him utter the words aloud." Bunyan remembered and published cases of this kind, just for the same reason as he marked the judgments of God on blasphemers. He himself had begun like old Todd. Hence, he says in his Life, " had not a miracle of precious grace pre- vented, I had not only perished by the stroke of Eternal Jus- tice, but had also laid myself open even to the stroke of those Laws, which bring some to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world." Thus, these anecdotes, although they concern Bunyan's contemporaries, disclose his own spirit, when, at the maturity of his mind and piety, he reviewed his early life. " Remem- bering the wormwood and the gall," his soul had them " still in remembrance, and was humbled within" him. He " pos- sessed the iniquities of his youth" to the last, in the sense of never forgetting them, even when he was sure that they were forgiven. Drunkenness also, although a vice he seems never to have been addicted to, was yet one he so narrowly escaped, that he kept his eye very closely npon the consequences of it in others, 298 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. and fearlessly published the facts. " I knew," he says, " one who dwelt not far off our Town, that got a wife, as Mr. Bad- man got his (by hypocritical canting,) but he did not enjoy her long : for one night as he was riding home from his com- panions, where he had been at a neighbouring town,, his horse threw him to the ground, where he was found dead at break of day, frightfully and lamentably mangled with his fall, and besmeared with his own blood." Bunyan's views of Intemperance were, as might be expected, very awful. He had no hope of "an oZtZ drunkard" being ever reclaimed. " Tell me," he asks, " when did you see an old drunkard converted ? No, no ; such a one will sleep till he dies, though he sleeps on the top of a mast. So that if a man have any respect for either credit, health, life, or salvation, he will not be a drunken man." He was, however, no Tee-To- taller, although emphatically, and even rigidly, a temperate man. I judge thus, because he blames Badman for not offer- ing any refreshment to the pious men, who came to visit him on his death-bed, " When they were going, he would scarce bid them drink, or say. Thank you for your good company, and good instruction." Bunyan did not mean, I sm sure, to blame Badman for with- holding drink, which was not required by thirst or fatigue. He meant only, that the common courtesies of life were not shown to godly men, although they had come on foot, or from a distance, and thus needed refreshment. In this matter he distinguished between temperance and total abstinence, as h© did between a Christmas Pie and Christmas. How severely and successfully he could expose drunkenness^ the following anecdote, from his own pen, will show. " It is," he says, " a swinish vanity, indeed : I will tell you another story. There was a gentleman that had a drunken servant to be his groom ; and (he) coming home one night much abused with Beer, his Master saw it. Well (quoth his Master within him^ self,) I will let thee alone to-night ; but to-morrow morning I will convince thee thou art worse than a beast, by the beha-^ viour of my horse. So when morning was come, he bids his man go and water his horse. And so he did : but coming up to his Master, he commands him to water him again. So the fellow rode into the water a second time. But his Master's horse would drink no more. So the fellow game and told his Mas- ter. Then said his Master, ' Thou drunken sot, thou art far worse than my horse. He will drink but to satisfy nature ) LIFE OP BUNYAN. 299 but thou wilt drink to the abuse of nature. He will drink but to refresh himself; but thou to thy hurt and damage. He will drink that he may be more serviceable to his Master : but thou till thou art incapable of serving either God or man. O, thou Beast, how much art thou worse than the horse thou ridest on !' " This story is, I am aware, familiar, in a vague form. Bun- yan's version of it is, however, worth preserving ; it smacks so of his own style. " His," as Dr. Southey well says, " is a home-spun style, not a manufactured one. It is a clear stream of current English — the vernacular of his age; sometimes in- deed in its rusticity and coarseness, but always in its plain- ness and strength. To this natural style, Bunyan is in some degree indebted for his general popularity : his language is every where level to the most ignorant reader, and to the meanest capacity ; there is a homely reality about it : a nurse- ry tale is more intelligible, in its manner of narration, to a child." It can hardly surprise any one, that Bunyan was not wiser than his generation, in regard to old stories about the devil. He gave currency to some of these, without at all qestioning their truth, when they happened to furnish warning against the popular vices of his times. It is, however, curious, that while he would believe almost anything about the devil, if it only showed the evil or the danger of sin, he was very cau- tious in giving an opinion upon the minstry of Angels. Ac- cordingly when he was told of a " godly old Puritan," whose wife heard, as he was dying, " the sweetest music," " like melo- dious notes of angels," which " went farther and farther off from the house," as the spirit departed, Bunyan said, " I can- not say, but that God goes out of his ordinary road with us poor mortals sometimes." He then added, that Badman's wife '• had better music in her heart," when she was dying, " than sounded in this woman's ears." Here he is prudent ; but in the very next breath, he tells old Clarke's most astounding story of the Woman of Oster, in Germany, without comment or query. " This woman," he says, " used in her cursing, to give herself body and soul to the devil. Being reproved for it, she still continued the same ; till, being at a wedding-feast, the devil came in person, and carried her up into the air, with the most horrible outcries and roarings. In that sort, he carried her round about the town, so that the inhabitants were ready to die with fear." I dare not quote 300 LIFE OF BUNYAN. more of the scene ; except, that the devil threw part of the body upon the banqueting table, before the Mayor, telling his worship, " that like destruction awaited him," if he did not " amend his wicked life." This is very unlike the devil : but Bunyan forgot that, in his anxiety to warn swearers, and cursers. Thus his very credulity arose from good motives. Besides, it was not greater than that of more learned men, in these times. Another vice of the age, which he lashed severely, was the indelicate dress of women, who imitated the court bevy of Charles II. " I once talked with a maid, by way of reproof," he says, " of her fond and gaudy garments. But she told me, the Tailor would make it so. Alas, poor proud girl, she gave the order to the Tailor so to make it. Many make parents, husbands, and tailors, the blind to others : but their naughty hearts, and their giving way thereto, — that is the original cause of all these evils. Many have their excuses ready : but these will be but the spider's web, when the thunder of the word of the great God shall rattle from heaven against them, as it will at death and judgment : but I wish it might do it before." I dare not quote his sketches of fashionable dress. Not, however, that they are extravagant or indelicate ; but only too graphic. Bunyan's tastes were chaste, and his mind nobly pure, from the time he became a Christian. Indeed before, he was not a sensualist. Who could keep nearer to truth, or farther from indelicacy, than he does in the following charac- teristic stroke ! " I wonder what it was that of old was called * the attire of a harlot.' Certainly, it could not be more be- witching and tempting, than are the garments of many pro- fessors this day." But this subject is sufficiently touched by others. It was not, however, vain professors only, that he could show up graphically. He pilloried the farmers' wives who "made a prey of the necessity of the poor," as well as the " proud dames " who aped the court. Cobbett, with all his powers of description and exposure, never went beyond the following sketch. It only wants 7iames, in order to be a per- fect story. Even without names, it is all alive, and in motion. — " There is a poor body, we will suppose, so many miles from the market ; and this man wants a bushel of grist, a pound of butter, or a cheese, for himself, his wife, and poor children. But his dwelling is so far from the market, that if LIFEOFBUNYAN. 301 he goes'thither, he shall lose his day's work, which will be eight-pence or ten-pence damage to him ; and that is some- thing to a poor man. So he goeth to one of his Masters or Dames for what he wanteth, and asks them to help him with such a thing. Yes, say they, you may have it : but, withal, they give him a gripe : perhaps, make him pay as much more for it at home, as they can get when they have carried it five miles to a market ; yea, and that too for a refuse of their commo- dity. In this the women are especially faulty, in the sale of their butter and cheese. But above all your Hucksters, that buy up the poor man's victuals by wholesale, and sell it to him again for unreasonable gains by retail, and as we call it, by piece- meal, they are got into a way, after a stringing rate, to play their game upon (the poor) by extortion. I mean, such who buy up butter, cheese, eggs, bacon, by wholesale, and sell it again (as they call it) by twopenny-worths, penny-worths, a halfpenny. worth, or the like, to the poor, — all the week, after the market is past. These, though I would not condemn them all, do, many of them, bite and pinch the poor, by this kind of evil dealing. Besides, these are Usurers. Yea, they take usury for victuals; which thing the Lord hath forbidden. " Perhaps some will find fault, for my meddling thus, with other folks' matters, and for my prying thus into the secrets of their iniquity. But to such I would say, — since such actions are evil, it is time they should be hissed out of the world." — Works, vol. ii. Even Ebenezer Elliot, the Corn-Law Rhymer, could not wish this better done. It is not an anecdote, I know ; but it has dramatic power, of the highest order. This may be accounted for by Bunyan's opportunities of seeing the mar- kets, whilst travelling as a tinker. There was also a regular Cheese fair at Elstow. Ca?nden^s Brit. Bunyan tells a remarkable story in his Life of Badman, con* cerning the master of an Ale-House, whom he evidently knew something of. I refer to it, for the sake of some incidental facts which throw some light upon his times. The Publican had a half-witted son, whom he encouraged to curse him for the amusement of his guests, when they were too dull. H<3 would even irritate the poor idiot, to consign him to the denl ! In course of time, the wretched man was seized with a disor- der, which was deemed Satanic possession. Something? as ii " a live thing," moved up and down in his body, u-itil his fits came on. Then, it settled like " a hard lump op the soft part of his chest, and so would rend and tear hin'* and make him 26 302 LIFE OF BTJNYAN. roar." This, of course, was nothing but extreme spasms. It was, however, treated as possession. " There was one Free- man — who was more than an ordinary doctor — sent for, to cast out this devil : — and I was there when he attempted to do it ;" says Bunyan, or Bunyan's friend. " The manner was this : they had the possessed man into an outer-room, and laid him on his belly upon a form, with his head hanging over the form's-end. Then they bound him down thereto : which done, they set a pan of coals under his mouth, and put something therein that made a great smoke : by this means (as it was said) to fetch out the devil. There, therefore, they kept the man till he was almost smothered in smoke : but no devil came out of him. At which Freeman was somewhat abashed, the man greatly afflicted, and I made to go away wondering and fearing. In a little time, there- fore, that which possessed the man carried him out of the world, according to the cursed wishes of his son. And this was the end of this ^eZZish mirth !" There was a wiser Doctor in Bedford than Freeman. " We had in our town," says Bunyan, "a little girl that loved to eat the heads of foul tobacco-pipes ; and neither rod nor good word could reclaim her, or make her leave them. So her fa- ther takes advice of a Doctor, to wean her from them. 'Take,' saith the Doctor, ' a great many of the foulest tobacco-pipe heads you can get, and boil them in milk, and make a posset of that milk, and make your daughter drink that posset-drink up.' He did so, and made her drink it up. It made her so sick, that she could never abide to meddle with tobacco-pipe heads any more ; and so she was cured of that disease," Bunyan used to tell this anecdote, in order to illustrate the fact, " that sin may be made an affliction as bitter as worm- wood and gall ;" and to enforce the warning, " Take heed ; God will make thee a posset so bitter to thy soul, that it shall make sin loathsome to thee." — Works, p. 538. This< girl was, probably, the daughter of the Pipe Manufacturer, mentioned in the Chapter, " Bunyan's Church Persecuted." I add only two more anecdotes illustrative of his mode of turning trifles to account. "I heard a story from a soldier, who, vith his company, had laid siege against a Fort, — that so long hs the besieged were persuaded their foes would show them no favour, they fought like mad-men : but when they saw one of tr.oix- fellows taken, and received to favour, they all came tumbling ^own from their fortress, and delivered them- LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 808 selves into their enemy's hands. And I am persuaded that, did sinners believe the grace and wilUngness of Christ's heart to save, as the word imports, they would come tumbling into his arms." — Works, p. 446. " Once being at an honest woman's house, I, after some pause, asked her how she did? She said, 'Very badly.' I asked her if she was sick? She answered, ' No.' ' What then,' said I, ' are any of your children ill ?' She told me * No.' ' What,' said I, 'is your husband amiss, or do you go back in the world V ' No, no,' said she, but I am afraid I shall not be saved !' She then broke out with a heavy heart, saying, ' Ah ! Goodman Bunyan, — Christ and a pitcher ! Had I Christ, it would be better with me than I think it is now, though I went and begged my bread with a pitcher !' This cry, ' Christ and a pitcher,' made a melodious noise in the ears of the very angels. The hells of heaven ring, and angels shout for joy, when the want and worth of Christ" are thus felt and confessed. — Works, p. 526, 544. It will be readily seen from such applications of familiar events, that Bunyan was an attentive observer of men and thingvS, and thus that most of the characters in his Pilgrims were copied from real life. This has been suspected in his Holy War also ; but without reason. The leaders in that war are either too good or too bad, to have had their originals in the royal or the parliamentary army. Besides, Bunyan had not sufficient access to any of them, to copy from them. He may have found some of the new Aldermen and Burgesses of Mansoul in the old Corporation of Bedford ; but his Captains and Standard Bearers, are all pure abstractions, or embodied, passions. 304 LIFEOFBUNYAN CHAPTER XXIX. bunyan's jailor. 1661. BuNYAN, like Joseph in Egypt, found a friend in "the Keeper of the prison ;" — and he equally deserved one. Would we knew his Jailor's name ! But, hke that of Joseph's, it is un- known. It will be said of both keepers, however, until the end of time, that " God gave" their prisoners favour in their sight. Bunyan says of his Jailor, " By him I had some liberty granted me, more than at the first : so that I followed my wonted course of preaching ; taking all occasions that were put into my hand to visit the people of God, exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Christ Jesus, and to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, but to mind the Word of God which giveth direction to Christians in every point ; being ' able to make the man of God perfect in all things through faith in Jesus Christ, and thoroughly to furnish him unto all good work.' " 2 Tim. iii. 17. " Touch not ;" — this seems, at first sight, but a sorry return for the freedom so generously granted by the friendly Jailor. It was, however, like Paul's "Nay, verily let them fetch us out," addressed to the Jailor at Philippi. It was not to peril him, but to main- tain the rights of Roman Citizenship, that Paul spoke thus. So with Bunyan. Had he been silent on the subject of the Prayer Book, out of consideration for his Keeper, he would have stultified his own cause, now that the Prayer Book was made the hinge upon which even citizenship turned. Besides, to give any quarter to the claims of that book then, would have been to concede all the rights of conscience : for not only was no discretionary use of it permitted, but it was employed to enforce attendance upon the ministry of men who, in many instances (judging merely from Bishop Burnet's account of LIFE OF BUN YAN. 805 them,) were unworthy of taking its holy petitions upon their unhallowed lips. Whilst, therefore, it is a melancholy fact in the annals of genius, that Bunyan denounced the book itself as if it had been weak or worthless, it is a glorious fact in the annals of religious liberty, that he dared death, as well as endured bondage, in order to dissuade his own adherents from touching the Common Prayer : for to touch it then, whilst it was both the symbol and shibboleth of Intolerance, would have been homage to Tyranny, and high treason against the first principles of Protestantism. Bunyan felt this, and flung it to the winds at all hazards. This hostility to the Prayer Book had a re-action which did good. It led the thoughtful admirers of the Liturgy to throw their soul into the prayers, and compelled even hirelings to read them with something like devotion ; and thus the prejudices of many were conciliated wherever the service was well con- ducted. This is, happily the case still. Less justice would be done to the Prayers in many Churches, if fewer Chapels rejected the use of them. Bunyan is not to thank, nor are the Nonconforrnists, for this re-action ; for they did not intend to produce it. Nonconformists, however, rejoice in it now. The Churchmen who doubt this, do not know them. They do not indeed, blame Bunyan for teaching "Touch not;" but they bless God on behalf of every devotional man who pours the spirit of prayer into the forms of the Church ; just as they rejoice in the multiplication of evangelical Clergymen. There is no inconsistency on their part in this. It implies no con- cession to Church or State, of even the shadow of a right to impose forms of worship. The whole body of Dissenters agree, on that point, with a clerical Editor of Bunyan's Pil- grim, " that nominal Protestants enacting laws requiring con- formity to their own creeds and forms, and inflicting punish- ments on such as peaceably dissent from them are actually involved in the guilt of the heathen persecutors, and of their anti-Christian s\iccGS,sovs, e,\(in if thfur doctrine and worship be allowed to be scriptural and spiritual. For these methods only serve to promote hypocrisy, and to expose the conscien- tious to t!ie malice, envy, or avarice of the unprincipled." — ScotCs Notes. Bunyan's jailor seems to have been of this opinion. At least, he acted agreeably to it, as far and as long as he could. He not only allowed Bunyan to visit his family and his flock, but even permitted him to go to London. This last step periU 2.6* 306 LIFEOFBUNYAN. led both. It can hardly be called a rash step, however, on the part of Bunyan. He needed more influential friends, in pros- pect of a second trial, than Bedford could furnish. Besides, all the Baptists of the county were not sufficiently his friends, to make a joint and hearty effort on his behalf. His "Open Communion " church and creed shut up some of their sympa- thies ; and most of his brethren had quite enough to do to take care of themselves. It was also the right time, in one sense, to visit London. The King was juggling the Dissenters, and the Mayor harassing the Quakers and Baptists, and the Cabi- net hatching the Act of Uniformity. Thinking men were thus upon the alert to learn from the persecutions in the country, what more might be expected in town. Henry Adis (a Free- will Baptist, as he calls himself,) was also preparing his Thunder against the City Magistrates, and especially against Alderman Brown, in a pamphlet entitled " Thunder to Brown the Mayor, by one of the Sons of Zion, become a Boanerges." Altogether Bunyan found "Fit audience, if few," to listen to his complaints and appeals against his unjust sen- tence. It was also of importance to him to become acquainted with the few Baptists in London, who maintained open com- munion. One of these, Henry Jesse, was a man whose talents, learning, and philanthropy, would have given additional weight to any good cause. Bunyan knew this, and defended himself with Jesse's weapons, when the strict Baptists assailed him. This was wormwood to his opponents : for all these churches knew that Jesse was a convert to immersion, to boast of; because he had prepared a new translation of the Scriptures, and was the almoner of the poor Jews in Jerusalem, as well as the most influential minister of the denomination. Thus, although hazardous, it was not rash in Bunyan to visit London, whilst his jailor allowed him to be a prisoner at large. He won friends there, who, although they could not deliver him, appreciated him, and became both the means and the medium of bringing him before the world as an author. In- deed, but for them, it is impossible to see how his first works in prison could have been published to his advantage, or even published at all. He had no money, and his fellow-prisoners had no influence with the trade ; and thus, instead of pointing old truths with pure Saxon, or setting « apples of gold in frames LIFEOFBUNYAN. 30T of silver," he must have continued as he began, to tag stay- laces with old brass, had not his London friends interfered. With these ultimate consequences of Bunyan's visit to Lon- don before us, it is not difficult to excuse his jailor's dereliction of official duty. Even Dr. Southey says, " He hud fortunately a friend in the jailor." But did not the jailor betray the trust confided to him, and Bunyan sin in accepting freedom ? Now the former certainly went far beyond all the discretionary power which law or custom allowed to jailors. He did not, however, stretch his prerogative farther in Bunyan's favour, than the judges strained theirs against Bunyan. If he vio- lated his office by favouring him, they violated theirs by in- sulting him. The judges went as far beyond law when the prisoner was at the bar, as the jailor stopt short of the law when the prisoner was condemned. Thus one extreme begat another. Undue severity, on the part of the judges, produced an excess of leniency in the jailor. But the man deserves to be acquitted as well as excused. He was paying both King and Law a high compliment, in taking for granted that they were more equitable than KeeUng and Twisdon. Charles had made promises, and issued proclama- tions, in favour of Nonconformists, which it was the jailor's duty to believe, until they were revoked ; and they were not revoked when he mitigated Bunyan's sentence. That sen- tence was in the very teeth of the royal proclamations, and thus it tacitly called the King a liar and a hypocrite : an im-^ plication which, however true, the jailor had no reason to be- lieve at the time. Thus he had no alternative but to disobey the judges, or give the lie direct to the King. He preferred the former until the King gave the lie to himself. There is, I am aware, special pleading in this argument. — Be it so ! It is thus one of the many proofs furnished by ex- perience, that it is impossible to revere the majesty of law, when the administration of justice is either cruel or insulting. In Bunyan's case, an honest man could no more blame the jailor, than he could praise the judges ; for his departure from the letter of the law appears a virtue in the presence of their outrages against the spirit of the law. I once thought, judging from the lengths which the jailor ventured to go, that he must have made up his mind to lose his situation rather than enforce iniquitous sentences. It was, however, only in Bunyan's case that he dared any thing ; al- thougrh there were other prisoners equally innocent. He was, 308 LIFEOFBUNYAN. however, kind to them all ; and peculiarly so to Bunyan, even after he could not allow him to ramble. His confidence in him at first was almost superstitious. " It being known to some of the persecuting prelates," says Ivimey, " that Bunyan was often out of prison, they sent down an officer to talk with the jailor on the subject ; and in order to find him out, he was to arrive there in the middle of the night. Bunyan was at home with his family ; but so i*estless that he could not sleep. He therefore told his wife that he must return immediately. He did so, and the jailor blamed him for coming in at so unreasonable an hour. Early in the morning the messenger came, and said, 'Are all the prisoners safe V ' Yes,' ' Is John Bunyan safe?' 'Yes,' 'Let me see him,' He was called and appeared, and all was well. After the messenger left, the jailor said to Bunyan, ' Well, you may go out again when you think proper; for you know when to return, better than I can tell you.'" Bunyan's return from London did not end so well. His visits among the Baptists excited, suspicion ; because some of that body were Fifth Monarchy men, or such extravagant Mil- lenarians, that the whole body was singled out to be watched with unwinking jealousy. Bunyan was, therefore, soon dis^ covered, whilst moving to and fro amongst them, and soon re- ported to the government as a conspirator from the country, in league with them. Accordingly, another Venner's insurrec- tion was suspected by the weak — and wished for by the strong. Both the hope and the fear ended, however, in the closer con- finement of Bunyan, when he returned to Bedford : for he tcent back. The fact seems to be, that he had moved about in Lon- don, as he well might, with such an air of innocence and sim- plicity, that even informers could not get up a charge against him which would have satisfied even Alderman Brown, although the comedians of the day were in the habit of saying, that the devil had just ceased to be black, and had become Brown. It surprised Btmyan, therefore, as well as pained him, to find on his return, that close imprisonment awaited him. He had not anticipated this result, as he walked back. He had, indeed, pleased himself with the fond hope of being much with his fa- mily, and often amongst his flock, to cheer both with his pre- sence, and to encourage them by the promises of sympathy he had received in the metropolis. No wonder, therefore, that he exclaimed, when his jailor told him, as he entered the prison, that he must no longer look out at the door, "God knows it i«. LIFEOFBUNYAN. 309 a slander, that I went to London to make or plot an insurrec- tion, or to sow divisions." He felt keenly for the jailor also. "My enemies," he says, " were so angry, that they had almost cast my jailor out of his place ; threatening to indict him, and to do what they could against him." All this, however, neither alienated nor alarmed the Jailor, so as to render him indifferent about Bunyan. He could no longer let him slip out of prison ; but he did all he could to obtain a fair hearing for him at the next Assizes, although that " right Judas," Cobb, was opposed to him. Bunyan's account of this is very characteristic. " Because I had a desire to come be- fore the Judge in 1662, I desired my Jailor to put my name into the calender among Felons, and made friends of the Judge and High Sheriff, who promised that I should be called ; so that I thought what I had done might have been effectual for the obtaining of my desire : but all was in vain ; for when the assizes came, though my name was in the calendar, and also though both the judge and sheriff had promised that I should appear before them, yet the justices and the clerk of the peace, did so work it about, that I, notwithstanding, was deferred, and was not suffered to appear : and although I say, I do not know of all their carriages towards me, yet this I know, that the clerk of the peace (Mr. Cobb) did discover himself to be one of my greatest opposers : for, first he came to my Jailor, and told him that I must not go down before the judge, and therefore must not be put into the calendar. To whom my Jailor said, that my name was in already. He bid him put it out again : my Jailor told him that he could not : for he had given the judge a calendar with my name in it, and also the sheriff another. At which he was very much displeased, and desired to see that calendar that was yet in my Jailor's hand, who, when he had given it him, he looked on it, and said it was a false calendar ; he also took the calendar and blotted out my accusation, as my Jailor had written it. (Which accusation I cannot tell what it was, because it was so blotted out.) And he himself put in words to this purpose : ' That John Bunyan was committed to prison ; being lawfully convicted for uphold, ing of unlawful meetings and conventicles, &c.' But yet for all this, fearing that what he had done, unless he added thereto, it would not do, he first ran to the clerk of the assizes ; then to the justices, and afterwards, because he would not leave any means unattempted to hinder me, he came again to my Jailor, and told him, that if I did go down before the judge, and 310 LIFE OF BUNYAN. was released, he would make him pay my fees, which he said was due to him ; and further, told him, that he would com- plain of him at the next quarter-sessions for making of false calendars, though my Jailor himself, as I afterwards learned, had put in my accusation worse than in itself it was by far. And thus was I hindered and prevented at that time also from appearing before the judge : and left in prison. Farewell. John Bunyan." This was a long farewell to Liberty ! For seven years from this time, there is no account of him in the Church Book at Bedford. That, indeed, would not be proof that he was never present at any of the Church Meetings : because prudence required that no record of his presence should appear upon the minutes. There is, however, no reason to suppose that he was ever permitted to go beyond his prison walls once, during seven years. And, be it remembered, Bedford Jail stood then upon the Bridge ; and thus he had not even a yard or court within the walls to walk in for air or exercise. The late Mr. Parry, of Wymondly College, hardly exaggerated, therefore, when he drew the following touching picture of Bunyan's imprisonment. It is not altogether true : but alas, it is only too true ! « Look into that damp and dreary cell, through the narrow chink, which admits a few scanty rays of light, to render visible to the wretched his abode of woe. Be- hold, by the glimmering of that feeble lamp, a prisoner, pale and emaciated, seated on the humid earth, and pursuing his daily task, to earn the morsel which prolongs his existence and con- finement together. Near him, reclined in pensive sadness, lies a hlind daughter, compelled to eat the bread of affliction from the hard earning of an imprisoned father ! Paternal affection binds her to his heart, and filial gratitude has long made her the daily companion of his captivity. No other solace remains to him, save the mournful one arising from the occasional visits of five other distressed children, and an affec- tionate wife, whom pinching want and grief have worn down to the gate of death. More than ten summers' suns have rolled over the stone-roofed mansion of his misery, whose re- viving rays have never once penetrated his sad abode. ' Sea- sons return,' but not to him returns the cheering light of day, the smihng bloom of spring, or sound of human joy ! Unfor- tunate captive ! What is his guilt, what his crimes ? Is he a traitor, or a parricide ? A lewd adulterer, or a vile incen- diary ? No, he is a Christian sufferer! Under all his calam-. LIFE OF BUNYAN. 311 ities peace reigns in his breast, heavenly hope glistens in his eye, and patience sits throned on his pallid cheek. He is none other than honest John Bunyan, languishing through the twelfth year of his imprisonment in Bedford Jail for teaching plain country people the knowledge of the Scriptures and the practice of virtue ! — It requires the energy of Fox, the elo- quence of Burke, and the pathos of Sheridan, to paint the effect of such a scene on the feelings of Humanity. My feeble pen drops from the task, and leaves sensibility to endure those sensations of compassion and sorrow, which it fails to describe." — Parry^s Pamphlets on Tests. This, if overcoloured, is not overdrawn. I venture to say the same of a painting by Harvey, in the possession of Mr. Moon ; which will, I hope, be speedily engraved. It is a noble composition ! Like Bunyan himself, it is equally original and natural ; sublime and simple. Once seen, it can never be forgotten. It may be somewhat criticized, when it appears, by some of my readers ; but none of them, nor any one else, will find fault with it. A reduced Engraving from it, ought to be the frontispiece of all future Editions of the Pilgrim's Progress, 312 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. : CHAPTER XXX. BUNYAN AND THE BAPTISTS. Both the world and the Church are indebted to the Baptists for the ministry of John Bunyan. But for them, he might have "Hved and died a tinker." — Southey. Bunyan himself, however, was not much indebted to them as a body. Individual Ministers and Churches did much for him and his family, and the Calvinistic section of the body duly appreciated his orthodoxy ; But neither the General nor the Particular Baptists cared much about him. Both abetted some of their chief men in lessening his fame and influence. Well might Dr. Southey say, "They neither judged nor spoke so charitably of him (as he did of them.) They called him a Machiavelian, a man devilish, proud, insolent, and presump- tuous. Some compared him to the devil ; others to a Bed- lamite ; others to a sot ; and they sneered at his low origin, and the base occupation from which he had risen." — LifCf p. 76. This is only too true. He was thus attacked by Kiffin and Denne, for advocating and preaching Open Communion. Jessey was not, however, as Dr. Southey states, one of " the eminent Baptists who attacked him" for this. Henry Jessey was both the champion and exemplar of Free Communion, and (from all I can judge) one of Bunyan's best friends. His " JuDGME^T" on this question. " was never answered" by the strict Baptists, Bunyan says. — Works, p. 1204. Bunyan's adherence and attachment to the Baptists, not- withstanding the attacks made upon him, do him great credit. He was also a loser by identifying himself with their name and cause, at the restoration : but he never flinched nor re- pented. And in this, he only did them justice. Their cause was good, and their name bad only by misrepresentation. Mil- ton's and Locke's excepted, there are not nobler appeals on behalf of Toleration, in our annals, than some of those which the Baptists made to the throne and the nation. Even their LIFE OP BUNYAN-o 318 Letter to Charles II., in 1657, when he was at Bruges, al- though somewhat fulsome in its compliments to both his father and himself, and unjust to Cromwell, closes with propositions to the King, which no flatterer or temporizer would have dared to make. They call upon him to pledge his royal word, ** that he will never erect, nor allow to be erected, any such tyi-annical, popish and anti-christian Hierarchy (Episcopalian, Presbyterian, or by what name soever called) as shall assume a power over, or impose a yoke upon, the consciences of others : but that every one of his subjects should be at liberty to worship God in such a way, as shall appear to them agree- able to the mind and will of Christ." — Clarendon, vol. iii. p. 359. They plead also, and all but protest, against being " com- pelled to contribute to the maintenance of that which is called the National ministr)^," and tell the King bluntly that " the whole nation, as well as the people of God, groans under the exaction of tithes." They conclude, by imploring "an am- nesty for all godly persons who may have committed any trea- son or offence, since the beginning of the unhappy wars ; ex- cepting only such as do adhere to that Ugly Tyrant, who calls himself protector." Clarendon, as might be expected, calls these points, " extravagant propositions :" but he honestly records them ; and not the less willingly, because of the fol- lowing tirade against Cromwell : " We have been cheated, cozened and betrayed by that grand Impostor, — that loathsome Hypocrite, — that detestable Traitor, — that prodigy of Nature, — that opprobrium of Mankind, — that landskip of Iniquity, — that sink of Sin, who now calls himself our Protector !" This torrent of abuse " Out-Herods Herod !" It is not, however, inexplicable. The Baptists, like others, were tired of Cromwell. He had never been able to do much for them, and now they expected nothing from him : for they had begun to intrigue with the Royalists for the restoration of the King, and had thus every reason to fear that they would be found out by the vigilant Protector. As they had, there- fore, to humble themselves, and to pay court, somewhere, for their own safety, they abused both Cromwell and themselves, in equally strong language, in their private Letter to the King. — Crosby'' s Appendix. 27 814 LIFEOPBUNYAN. Bunyan was not of sufficient importance in 1657, to be applied to in this business. He was then a Minister and had been indicted for preaching at Eaton : but his influence was not begun. Even if it had, he would hardly have joined in such sweeping abuse of Cromwell. Not, however, that he admired him ; but he was too little of a politician, and too much a philosopher to malign any one. Bishop Fowler would not have said so, I am aware. But although Bunyan handled him too roughly, there was no spite in the hard blows. Bunyan was placed in a dilemma at the Restoration, when the great body of the Calvinistic Baptists published their De- claration of Faith, " to inform all men of their innocent belief and practice in these days of scandal and reproach, when they were falsely called Anabaptists." This Declaration was " owned and approved by more than 20,000" persons. It does not appear, however, that Bunyan was one of the number, al- though there be nothing in the theology or the politics of the document which he could not have signed. It was signed, Henry Adis says, by some of the General Baptists, on public grounds. It contained, however, a clause which, though softly worded, was sharply meant, and thus abhorrent to Bunyan. Baptism by dipping is, it says, " the right and only way of gathering Churches !" " All such as preach not this doctrine, we utterly deny ; forasmuch as we are commanded to have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather to reprove them." — Article XL There is more in the letter of this article than I have quoted : but this is the spirit of it. It was, therefore, a public protest, in fact, against the Open Communion Churches with which Bunyan was identified, as well as against " all those wicked and devilish reports false- ly cast upon" the Body, " as though they would cut the throats of those who were not like minded in matters of religion" with themselves. The authors of this Protest did not see the bearings of it. Bunyan and his party, however, felt the consequences of it. It placed them, though unintentionally, where other Protests had placed the Fifth Monarchy Baptists ; out of the pale of the Associated Churches. This was a serious matter then. The best of their Churches had but a bad name, when Venner's insurrection took place ; and thus, the churches which they did not own come in for a worse. This is both a difficult and delicate subject to touch. LIFE OF BUNYAN. 315 Nothing, certainly, was farther from the design of the men who led on the general Body, than to imply, even, that the Churches or Ministers who held Open Communion, held any disloyal or disorganizing opinions. They did not, however, fraternize with them, nor own them. They did not stand aloof from them exactly as they did from Henry Adis's Free Willers, nor at all for the same reasons : but still, they had no fellowship with them ; and hence, Bunyan was suspected of some connexion with the Fifth Monarchy men, when he was discovered in London among the liberal Baptists. This view of the case has never been taken, that I know of; and I am not sure that it can be fully sustained. It is, however, forced upon me by the light in which the Protests of the general Body placed, " The small Society of baptized believers, under- going the name of the Free Willers, about the city of Lon- don." Henry Adis, Richard Pilgrim, and William Cox, "in behalf of themselves, and those who walk with them," say, that they were more suspected and persecuted than others. They seem to have been high Millenarians ; and thus the Protests against " certain views of the personal reign of Christ on earth," although not aimed at them by the Writers, were applied to them by the magistrates. And the severity of Bunyan's im- prisonment, seems to have arisen from a similar cause. He was not identified with the great body of his brethren, and thus he was even more suspected by the Church and the State than the generality of them. Whatever truth there may be in this view of the matter, will not be altered in its power or position by the fact, that the Baptist Body condemned, by their declaration, all Churches, in common with that of Bunyan. This is true. But it is equally true at this time, that their condemnation of all but Baptist Churches went for nothing. Their condemnation of other Churches passed for praise : whereas, in excepting any of their own order, they subjected them, however undesignedly, to unusual suspicion : for as all Baptists were then deemed Ana- baptists, it was readily supposed that disowned Baptists de- served the name. Neither, indeed, deserved it. It was a mere and vile calumny. But thus it was perpetuated. Ac- cordingly, Jessey was twice arrested and imprisoned at this time. His name, like Bunyan's, was not appended to the Declaration of Faith ; and thus he too felt the consequences of not being recognized by the Body. These, to say the least, are singular coincidences, even 316 LIFEOFBUNYAN. if they do not prove that the Protests against the name Anabaptist created suspicion against those who did not sign them. It is also a curious fact, that Bunyan had so little fear, or care, about the name, that he applies it to the whole Body, just as he does the titles Episcopalian, Presbyterian, and Independent, to other Bodies. — Works, vol. iii. p. 1403. But if Bunyan sustained some accidental injury from the circumstance, that the vindications of themselves, issued by the General Body, left those who did not belong to it, to all the jealousy of the times, he derived much benefit from the noble example of fortitude and patience, which Keach and and Kiffen, Knollys and Vavaser Powel, exhibited. He did not, indeed, see Keach in the pillory, nor Kiffen at the bar, nor KnoUys haled through the streets, nor Dagnall under sentence of death, — nor the equally noble sight of Brandon of Ayles- bury returning, with tears for his momentary recantation, to share DagnalFs sentence if necessary; but he heard of ali this, and caught the inspiration of it, and stood prepared to imitate them all, if called upon to endure more than bonds. Bunyan could forgive Kiffen any thing ; he admired him so much for his prudence and heroism. " I forgive Mr. Kiffen," he says, "and love him never the worse, for what he hath done in the matter of those unhandsome brands that my Bre- thren have laid upon me, for saying that the Church of Christ hath not warrant to keep out of her Communion a visible saint." One reason of this disinterested love was, that KifTea by his influence with the Chancellor, had obtained a reprieve for ten men and two women, who were sentenced to death at Aylesbury for mere nonconformity. — Croshy, vol. ii. p, 184. Keach also stood deservedly high in Bunyan's estimation, although he had often laid "The Axe to the Root" (as he thought) of the Open Communion system. This, Bunyan forgot, as he did the abortive attempts of the good old Tro- pologist to allegorize, and thought only of his martyr-spi- rit at the pillory. No wonder that this commended itself to a spirit of the same order ! A fainter spirit than Bunyan's glows and glories to hear Keach say to his weeping friends, as they followed him to the Pillory, in Aylesbury, " The Cross is the way to the Crown." Crosby says, (and he had the nar- rative of a witness to copy from) that « His head and hands were no sooner fixed in the Pillory, than he began to address himself to the spectators thus : < Good people, I am not LIFE OF BUNYAN. 317 ashamed to stand here this day, with this Paper on my head ; my Lord was not ashamed to suffer on the Cross. Take no- tice, — it is not for any wickedness that I stand here ; but for writing and pubhshing His truths.' " After he had stood sometime silent, getting one of his hands at Hberty, he pulled his Bible out of his pocket, and held it up to the people saying, 'The things for which I am a spectacle to men and angels this day, are all contained in this book, as I could prove out of the same, if I had an opportuni- ty.' At this, the Jailor interrupted him, and with great anger inquired who gave him the book ? Some said, his wife. She was near him, and frequently spoke in vindication of her hus- band, and the principles for which he suffered. But Mr. Keach replied, that he took it out of his own pocket. Upon this the Jailor took it from him, and fastened up his hand again* and told him he must not speak. But it was almost impossi- ble to keep him from speaking. The Sheriff came in a great rage, and said he should be gagged, if he would not be silent." — Crosby, vol. ii. p. 206. Even after this, he ventured to speak again. At last, find- ing it was of no use to try more, he stood in silence until his two hours were completed ; or only uttering the words, " Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake ; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." When the full time of his sentence was expired, the Underkeeper lifted up the board ; and soon as his head and hands were at liberty, he blessed God with a loud voice for his great goodness to him. This pillory- ing was repeated next week at Winslow, with the additional outrage of iDurning the Book for which he was condemned, be- fore his eyes. This obnoxious Book was, "The Child's In- structor, or a new and easy Primer ;" but it denied Infant Baptism, and Ecclesiastical Domination. It also taught the Personal Reign of Christ on earth, just as the prophetic party in the Church do now ! After a laborious life, and many sufferings, Mr. Keach died in peace at home. His noble-minded wife did not long sur- vive the scenes of the pillory. She sank in the 31st year of her age. Her resemblance to Bunyan's Elizabeth was, no doubt, one reason of his veneration for her husband. I am not conjecturing, in thus ascribing to the example of his suffering Brethren, some of Bunyan's fortitude in prison. His Works are full of proofs, that he knew well what they were enduring, and felt deeply the inspiration of their magna- 27* 318 LIFE OF BUNYAN« nimity. Not that his Baptist Brethren alone had this influence upon his spirit. All sufferers for conscience' sake were dear to him ; and hence he grouped them in his kind appeals to them. And his appeals had weight, after the publication of his Pilgrim. That Book opened many hearts to him amongst the Strict Baptists, although it relaxed none of their strictness. Christian, Faithful, and Hopeful were admitted into full com- munion in all their Churches, although John Bunyan was shut out. LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 319 CHAPTER XXXI. bunyan's prison sermon. BuNYAN little dreamt, glorious dreamer as he was, that his prison would one day give the philanthropy of Howard both an impulse and a direction, which should improve all the prisons of Europe. It was, however, the old Jail on Bedford Bridge, which was almost damp enough to make " the moss grow upon tlie eyebrows" of the prisoners, that fully awoke Howard to his great enterprise. His first act, when appoint- ed High Sheriff of the county, was to improve the Jail. And it derogates nothing from the purity of his motives, or from the catholicity of his spirit, or from the splendour of his fame, to proclaim the fact, that his principles as a Dissenter height, ened all his sympathies as a man and a Christian. Had Bunyan never been in Bedford Jail, nor Howard been a non- conformist, that Jail would indeed have been improved ; but not so promptly, nor with such a bearing upon the prison- houses of the world. Howard's strong sympathies with Bunyan's principles, naturally expanded into universal philanthropy. For although no character could be more unlike Bunyan's, than that of prisoners in general, the vei-y contrast gave power to pity : because if a holy prisoner, with a good conscience and a hope full of immortality, was yet a sad man often, and at times ready to sink, what wretched men must guilty and ungodly prisoners be ! This was the line of Howard's logic ! It is well known that Bunyan was not idle in prison. It is not, however, every one who knows the number and the names of the Books he wrote in Jail, that has an acquaintance with either their origin or progress. None of his biographers have led us into his cell, or enabled us to see him musing, writing, or expounding. Indeed, it was long before I could find out enough of the Chronology of his works to obtain vivid or de- finite glimpses of the student or the study. I have often 320 LIFE OF BUNYAN. wished that Howard had not pulled down the old Jail ; just that we might have seen and shown how Bunyan sat at his table — and how the light fell upon his Bible and papers — and what room he had for walking when his limbs ached with sit- ting — and whether the fire-place was smoky — and how far his bed was out of the draught. Biography is as tedious to write, as it is to read, when we cannot get thus to a man's side, and peep at all his circumstances. It will not, however, be for want of trying to do so, that I shall fail to give life to my picture. Bunyan's first deep thoughts in prison, so far as they did not regard himself and his family, were peculiar, and came very unexpectedly upon him. One Sabbath, when it was his turn to expound the Scriptures to his fellow prisoners, he found himself " so empty, spiritless, and barren," that he verily thought he could not speak five words of edifying truth, with either " life or evidence." But it was his turn ; and he had no alternative ; for his brethren and companions in tribulation for the kingdom of God, " expected to be refreshed" by him. " Providentially it so fell out at last," he says, " that I cast my eye upon the 11th verse of the 20th Chapter of the Revela- tions : upon which when I had considered awhile, methought I perceived something of the Jasper in whose light you there find that this Holy City is said to come and descend. Where- fore, having got in my eye some dim glimmerings thereof, and finding in my heart a desire to see further thereinto, I with a few groans did carry my meditations to the Lord Jesus for a blessing, which he did forthwith grant according to his grace." Such was the origin of his Holy City. That work is often called " The Holy City's Resurrection :" but Bunyan does not give it that title in the first Edition ; which is now before me. I have already hinted that it was a favourite with him, because it burst upon him unexpectedly, and flowed from long cherished recollections of sick-bed meditations. Accord- ingly, he dedicated it to " four sorts of readers." The fourth epistle is addressed to " The Mother of Harlots," thus ; " Mis- tress, I suppose I have nothing here, that will either please your wanton eye, or go down with your voluptuous palate. Here is bread indeed, as also milk and wheat : but here is neither paint to adorn thy wrinkled face, nor crutch to uphold or un- dershore thy shaking, tottering, staggering kingdom of Rome ; but rather a certain presage of thy sudden and fearful final downfall ; and of the exaltation of that Holy Matron whose LIFE OF RUN Y AN. 321 chastity thou dost abhor, because by it she reproveth and con- demneth thy lewd and stubborn life. Wherefore, Lady, — smell thou mayst of this ; but taste thou wilt not. Thou wilt at the sight of so homely a dish as this, snuff, and cry ' Foh f — put the branch to the nose, and say ' Contemptible !' But Wisdom is justified of all her children. The Virgin daughter of Zion hath despised thee and laughed thee to scorn ; Jeru- salem hath shaken her head at thee ; yea, her God hath smit- ten his hands at thy dishonest gains and freaks." This " homely dish," as Bunyan calls the Treatise, must have made his fellow prisoners turn up their eyes in wonder, whether it made the Scarlet Lady turn up her nose in disgust or not. It is really an amazing Commentary, and must have had an electrical effect upon his companions. Even the scholars and theologians amongst them, must have felt that they had no such knowledge of the letter of Scripture, and no such power of assimilating and combining scriptural facts and fi^gures. For in none of his works has Bunyan shown such an acquaintance with the language of the Bible ; or such dexter- ity in harmonizing Old Testament types with New Testament symbols, in the interpretation of prophecy. The old and new imagery of Revelation, almost ceases to be mystical in his hands, and becomes as intelligible as ordinary words. It is, of course, impossible to illustrate this here. It would, however, be wrong not to mention the fact. No reader of the " Holy City" may agree with Bunyan's theory of Apocalyptic visions ; but every reader of it must feel, with all the force of a sensation, that he never saw the man who had such com- mand over sacred phraseology. It was well that Bunyan had no Millenarian vagaries ; for with his power over the harp of prophecy, he would have been a bewitching minstrel in the Vatican of that School. Bunyan's friends did not forget him when he became a prisoner. Some of them visited him, and others remembered his bonds as if they had been bound with him. He felt their kindness ; and as the least suspicious mode of answering the Letters he received, he published a poetical Epistle, dedicated to " The Heart of Sufferino; Saints and Reigning Sinners." There are some verses of this poem deserve preservation ; especially as we have so few specimens of Bunyan's corres- pondence. 322 LIFEOFBUNYAN. " Friend, I salute thee in the Lord, And wish thou may'st abound In faith, and have a good regard To keep on holy ground. Thou dost encourage me to hold My head above the flood ; Thy counsel better is than gold, In need thereof I stood ! *' I take it kindly at thy hand. Thou didst unto me write! My feet upon Mount Zion stand — In that — is my delight. I am indeed in prison now, In body ; but my mind Is free to study Christ, and how Unto me He is kind. " For though men keep my outward man Within their bolts and bars ; Yet by the faith of Christ I can Mount higher than the stars. Their fetters cannot spirits tame. Nor tie up God from me, — My faith and hope they cannot lame : Above them I shall be» " I here am very much refreshed To think — 'When I was out, I preached life, and peace, and rest, To sinners round about.' My business then was souls to save, By preaching grace and faith : Of which the comfort noio I have, And shall have unto death. •' Alas, they little think what peace They help me to : for by Their rage, my comforts do increase — Bless God, therefore, do I ! Though they say, then, that we are fools, Because we here do lie, I answer, jails are Jesus' schools ; In them we learn to die. *"T is not the baseness of this state Doth hide from us God's face : He frequently, both soon and late, Doth visit us with grace. Here come the angels, here come saints, Here comes the Spirit of God, To comfort us in our restraints Under the wicked's rod. LIFEOFBUNYAN. 32 3 " To them that here for evil lie, This place is comfortless : But not to me, because that I Suffer for righteousness. The Truth and I were both here cast TogeUier ; and we do Lie arm m arm, and so hold fast Each other. This is true I " This jail to us is as a hill, From whence we plainly see Beyond this world, and take our fill Of things that tasting be. We change our drossy dust for gold ; From death to life we fly. We let go shadows, and take hold Of immortality. " That liberty we lose for Him, Sickness might take away. Our goods might also, for our sin, By fire or thieves decay. Who now dare say, we throw away Our goods or liberty ? When God's most Holy Word doth say, We gain thus much thereby. "Hark yet again, ye carnal men, And hear what 1 shall say In your oion dialect, and then 1 '11 you no longer stay ! Though you. dare crack a coward's crown, Or quarrel for a pin. You dare not on the wicked frown, Nor speak against their sin. " Know, then, true valour there doth dwell, Where men engage for God, Against the Devil, Death, and Hell, And bear the wicked's rod. These be the men that God doth count Of high and noble mind : These be the men that do surmount What you in nature find. Works, vol iii. p. 1477. This "lights us deep" into the cast of Bunyan's musino-s in prison. They were not, however, always thus bold, or bright. But, bright or dark, he has told them with equal frankness, and for a noble purpose. There is nothing finer, either in sentiment or language, in any writer, than his application of David's words, on contributing to the building of the temple, 324 L I F E O F B U N Y A N. to his own legacy to the church : — " Many more of the divine deahngs towards me (in prison) I might relate : but these, out of the SPOILS won in battle, have I dedicated to maintain the house of God." These spoils, happily, remain for the use of the church. " I have continued with much content, through grace," he says, " in prison : but have met with many turnings and goings upon my heart, both from the Lord, Satan, and my own corruptions. By all which — Glory be to Jesus ! — I have also received, among many things, much conviction, instruc- tion, and understanding : of which, at large, I shall not here discourse : only give you a hint or two ; a word that may stir up the godly to bless God, and to pray for me ; and also to take encouragement, should the case be their own, ' Not to fear what man can do unto them.' " I never had, in all my life, so great an inlet into the word of God as now : those scriptures that I saw nothing in before, were made, in this place and state, to shine upon me ; Jesus Christ also was never more real and apparent than now ; here I have seen and felt him indeed. Oh ! that word, ' We have not preached unto yoa cunningly devised fables ;' and that, * God raised Christ from the dead, and gave him glory, that our faith and hope might be in God,' were blessed words unto me in this my imprisoned condition. " These three or four scriptures, also, have been great re- freshments in this condition to me : ' Let not your heart be troubled ; ye believe in God, believe also in me. — In my Fa- ther's house are many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told you.- — I go to prepare a place for you. — And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to myself, that where I am there ye may be also. — And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. — These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. — In the world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world. — For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God ; when Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory. — But ye are come to Mount Zion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels. To the general assembly and church of the first-born which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all ; and to the spirits of just men made perfect ; and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.' — So that sometimes, when I have enjoyed the savour of them, 1 LIFEOFBUNYAN. 325 have been able to ' laugh at destruction,' and to fear neither the horse nor his rider. I have had sweet sights of the for- giveness of my sins in this place, and of my being vi^ith Jesus in another world. Oh ! < the Mount Sion, the heavenly Jeru- salem, the innumerable company of angels, and God the Judge of all, and the spirits of just men made perfect,' and Jesus, have been sweet unto me in this place : I have seen that here, that I am persuaded I shall never, while in this world, be able to express. I have seen a truth in this scripture, ' Whom, having not seen, ye love ; in whom, though now you see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable, and full of glory.' " I never knew what it was for God to stand by me at all turns, and at every offer of Satan to afflict me, as I have found him since I came in hither: for look, however fears have pre- sented themselves, so have supports and encouragements ; yea, when I have started, even as it were, at nothing else but my shadow, yet God, as being very tender of me, hath not suffered me to be molested, but would, with one scripture or another, strengthen me against all ; insomuch that I have often said. Were it lawful, I could pray ^oy greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake. ' Consider the work of God, for who can make that straight which he hath made crooked ? In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider. God also hath set the one over against the other, to the end that man should find nothing after him. For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth in Christ.' " Before I came to prison, I saw what was coming, and had especially two considerations warm upon my heart ; the first was, how to be able to encounter death, should that be here my portion. For the first of these, that scripture was great information to me, namely, to pray to God < to be strengthen, ed with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and long suffering with joy fulness.' I could seldom go to prayer before I was imprisoned, for not so little as a year together, but this sentence, or sweet petition, would, as it were, thrust itself into my mind, and persuade, me that if ever I would go through long-sui^ering, I must have patience, especially if I would endure it joyfully. " As to the second consideration, that saying was of great use to me, ' But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we might not trust in ourselves but in God that raiseth the dead.' By this scripture 1 was made to see, That if ever 28 326 LIFEOFBUNYAN. I would suffer rightly, I must first pass a sentence of death upon every thing that can properly be called a thing of this life, ] even to reckon myself, my wife, my children, my health, my enjoyments, and all as dead to me, and myself as dead to them. " The second was to live upon God that is invisible, as Paul said in another place ; the way not to faint is, 'To look not on things that are seen, but at the things that are not seen ; for the things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal.' And thus I reasoned with mycelf, If I provide ojily for a prison, then the whip comes at unawares, and so doth also the pillory! Again, if I only provide for these, then I am not fit for banishment. Further, if I con- clude that banishment is the worst, then if death comes, I am surprised : so that I see, the best way to go through sufferings, is to trust in God through Christ, as touching the world to come ; and as touching this world, ' to count the grave my house, to make my bed in darkness ; to say to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worm. Thou art my mother and sister :' that is, to familiarize these things to me. " But notwithstanding these helps, I found myself a man encompassed with infirmities ; the parting with my wife and poor children, hath often been to me in this place, as the pull- ing the flesh from my bones ; and that not only because I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them ; — especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside : Oh ! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces. " Poor child ! thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy portion in this world ? Thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I cannot now endure the wind should blow upon thee ! But yet recalling myself, thought I, I must venture you all with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave you. Oh ! I saw in this condition, that I was as a man who was pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and children ; yet, thought I, — I must do it, — I must do it ! And now I thought on those ' two milch kine that were to carry the ark of God into another country, and to leave their calves behind them.' " But that which helped me in this temptation, were divers 1 ^* LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 327 considerations, of which three in special here I will name : The first was the consideration of these two scriptures, < Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive, and let thy widows trust in me :' and again, ' The Lord said, Verily it shall go well with thy remnant ; verily, I will cause the ene- my to entreat them well in the time of evil, and in time of af- fliction.' " I had also this consideration, that if I should venture all for God, I engaged God to take care of my concernments : but if I forsook him in his ways, for fear of any trouble that should come to me or mine, then I should not only falsify my profes- sion, but should count also that my concernments were not so sure, as if left at God's feet, whilst I stood to and for his name, as they would be if they were under my own care, though with the denial of the way of God. This was a smarting considera- tion, and as spurs unto my flesh. That scripture also great- ly helped it to fasten the more upon me, where Christ prays against Judas, that God would disappoint him in his selfish thoughts, which moved him to sell his master. Pray read it soberly ! * Set thou a wicked man over him, and _let Satan stand at his right ha^d. When he shall jje judged let him be condemned, and let his prayer become sin : Let his days be few, and let another take his office : Let his children be fa- therless, and his wife a widow : Let his children be continually vagabonds and beg ; let them seek their bread also out of their desolate places, &c. Because that he remembered not to show mercy, but persecuted the poor and needy man that he might even slay the broken in heart.' « I had also another consideration, and that was, the dread of the torments of hell, which I was sure they must partake of, that for fear of the cross, do shrink from their profession of Christ, his words and laws, before the sons of men. I thought also of the glory that he had prepared for those that in faith, and love, and patience, stood to his ways before them. These things, I say, have helped me, when the thoughts of the mise- ry that both myself and mine, might for the sake of my pro- fession be exposed io, hath lain pinching on my mind. " When I have indeed conceited that I might be banished for my profession, then I have thought of that scripture, * they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword, they wandered about in sheep-skins, and goat skins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom the world was not worthy,' (for all they thought they were too 328 LIFE OF BUNYA N. ^ bad to dwell and abide amongst them.) I have also thought of that saying, ' the Holy Ghost witnessth in every city, that bonds and afflictions abide me.' I have verily thought that my soul and it have sometimes reasoned about the sore and sad estate of a banished and exiled condition : how they were exposed to hunger, to cold, to perils, to nakedness, to enemies, and a thousand calamities ; and at last may be, to die in a ditch, like a poor and desolate sheep. But I thank God, hitherto I have not been moved by these most delicate reasonings, but have rather, by them, more approved my heart to God. " I will tell you a 'pretty business : I was once, above all the rest, in a very sad and low condition for many weeks ; at which time also, I being but a young prisoner, and not acquainted with the laws, I had this lying much upon my spirits, ^ that my imprisonment might end at the gallows for aught that I could tell.' Now therefore Satan laid hard at me, to beat me out of heart, by suggesting thus unto me : ' but how if, when you come indeed to die, you should be in this condition ; that is, as not to savour the things of God, nor to have any evi- dence upon your soul for a better state hereafter V (for in- deed at that time all the things of God were hid from my soul.) " Wherefore, when I at first began to think of this, it was a great trouble to me ; for I thought with myself, that in the condition I now was, I was not fit to die, neither indeed did I think I could, if I should be called to it ; besides, I thought with myself, if I should make a scrambling shift to clamber up the ladder, yet 1 should either with quaking, or other symptoms of fainting, give occasion to the enemy to reproach the way of God and his people for their timorousness. This therefore lay with great trouble upon me, for methought I was ashamed to die with a pale face, and tottering knees, in such a cause as this ! " Wherefore I prayed to God that he would comfort me, and give me strength to do and suffer what he should call me to ; yet no comfort appeared, but all continued hid. I was also at this time, so really possessed with the thought of death, that oft I was as if I was on the ladder with a rope about my neck : only this was some encouragement to me, I thought I might now have an opportunity to speak my last words unto a multitude, which I thought would come to see me die ; and, thought I, if it must be so, if God will but convert one soul by i0^ LIFEOFBUNYAN. 329 my last words, I shall not count my life thrown away, nor lost, " But yet all the things of God were kept out of my sight, and still the tempter followed me with, ' but whither must you go when you die ? what will become of you ? where will you be found in another world ? what evidence have you for heaven and glory, and an inheritance among them that are sanctified ?' Thus was I tossed for many weeks, and knew not what to do ; at last this consideration fell with weight upon me, — ' that it was for the word and way of God that I was in this condition ;* wherefore I was engaged not to Jiinch a hair's breadth from it. " I thought also, that God might choose whether he would give me comfort now, or at the hour of death ; but I might not therefore choose whether I would hold my profession or no : 1 was bound, but he was free ; yea, it was my duty to stand to his word, whether he would ever look upon me or save me at the last : wherefore, thought I, the point being thus, I am for going on, and venturing my eternal state with Christ, whether I have comfort here or no ; if God doth not come in, thought I, ' I will leap off the ladder even blindfold into eter- nity, — sink or swim, — come heaven, come hell ; Lord Jesus, if thou wilt catch me, do ; — if not, I will venture for thy name!' " I was no sooner fixed in this resolution, but this word dropped upon me, ' Doth Job serve God for nought V As if the accuser had said, ' Lord, Job is no upright man, he serves thee for by-respects : hast thou not made an hedge about him ? But put forth now thine hand, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.' How now ! thought I, is this the sign of an upright soul, to desire to serve God, when all is taken from him ] Is he a godly man that will serve God for nothing, rather than give out ! Blessed be God ; then I hope I have an upright heart, for I am resolved (God give me strength) never to deny my profession, though I have nothing at all for my pains. And as I was thus considering, that scripture was set before me, ' Thou sellest thy people for nought, and dost not increase thy wealth by their price : Thou makest us a reproach to our neighbours, a scorn and derision to those that are round about us : Thou makest us a by-word among the heathen, a shaking of the head among the people : My confusion is continually before me, and the shame of my face hath covered me : For the voice of him that reproachetii and blasphemeth, by the reason of the enemy and avenger : 28* 330 LIFEOFBUNYAN. t* All this is come upon us, yet have we not forgotten thee , neither have we dealt falsely in thy covenant : our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from thy way, though thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.' " Now was my heart full of comfort, for I hoped it was sin- cere. I would not have been without this trial for much. I am comforted every time I think of it ; and I hope I shall bless God for ever, for the teachings I have had by it. Many more of the divine dealings towards me I might relate, ' But these out of the spoils won in battle have I dedicated to main- tain the house of God.' " Bunyan appended to this wonderful document some out- lines of another class of thoughts, which render it even more wonderful than it appears at first sight. There were times, whilst these hopes and fears were chasing each other, when Infidelity, as well as darkness, shook him more in prison than all the temptations he had ever gone through before. " Of all the temptations I ever met with in my life, the worst, and the worst to bear, is," he says, " to question the being of God, and the truth of the Gospel. When this temptation comes, it taketh away my girdle from me, and removeth the foundation from under me. O, I have often thought of that word, ' Have your loins girt about with Truth ;' and of that, ' If the founda- tions be destroyed what can the Righteous do V " When I first read this sad account of his struggles in prison, I felt anxious to know how he got over the temptation. But the document is silent on that subject. It furnishes no clue to the means or the processof his victory. He left a clue, how- ever, in another Work ; and it is an interesting one, although but an incidental remark. In his Commentary on parts of Genesis, he says of the Rainbow and the regularity of seed- time and harvest, " My Reason tells me they are, and have continued a true prophecy; otherwise, the world could not have existed : for, take away seed-time and harvest, and an end is put to the beginning of the universe. These words were some of the first (chief?) that prevailed with me to believe the Scriptures to be the Word of God." — Works, vol. iv. p. 2556. These Prison Thoughts, although somewhat out of place here, will enable the reader to appreciate the Works which were written in Jail ; and thus they will be more valuable as lights upon them, than as details of Bunyan's experience. His hand will be traced with interest, now that his heart is LIFE OF BUNYAN. 331 naked and open before us. As experience, however, these de- tails are highly instructive, as well as interesting. The thorough sifting he now gives to his motives and emotions ; to tokens and impulses ; contrasts finely with his early im- prudences, when he was the creature of circumstances. What he says of Noah, with the olive leaf, may be applied to himself now. " Noah was inquisitive and searching as to how the dove found it. That is, whether she found it dead on the waters, or pluckt it from a tree ? He found by its freshness and greenness as a slip, that she had plucked it off. Where- fore he had good ground to be comforted now : for the waters could not be deep ; especially as the olive tree grows in the bottoms or valleys. So we should say of all Signs and Visions, either inward or outward, — ' See whether they be dead leaves, or plucked from a green tree.' There are lying Visions ; — and not a few have cast up all (religion,) because the seeming truth of some vision hath failed." — Works, vol. i. p. 63. fol. ed. 3j2 LIFEOFBUNYAN. CHAPTER XXXII. BUNYANS PRISON AMUSEMENTS. Bunyan's chief enjoyment in Prison, next to his high commu- nion with God and Heaven, was the composition of his Pil- grim's Progress. That Work was the only one of his joys, which he allowed neither stranger nor friend to intermeddle with. He kept it " a fountain sealed^'' from all his family and fellow-prisoners, until it was completed. Dunn, or Wheeler, or Coxe, or any other companion, might hear a page, or obtain a peep, of any of his other Works, whilst they were planning or in progress ; — but the Pilgrim was for no eye nor ear but his own, until he " awoke out of his Dream." He never once, during all that Dream, ^^ talked in his sleep." This fact has never been noticed, so far as I recollect, by any of his Biographers or Critics, although he himself states it strongly. He says expressly of the Pilgrim's Progress, " Manner and matter too were all my own, Nor was it unto any Mortal knoicn, Till I had done if." Preface. It was thus, most likely, written whilst his companions were fast asleep, or before they got up in the morning. And if so, this will partly account for that passionate love of sunrise, and his grief at sunset, which runs through his poetry, in the " Divine Emblems ; " as well as for his frequent sonnets about his Candles, when a fall or a fly injured them. But however this may be, his prison amusements, as detailed in this chapter, will throw some light upon the process by which he brought and kept himself up to the mark, in composing his Pilgrims ; as well as show how he lightened all his labour by diversifying his pursuits, and humouring the versatility of his mind. It is not from conjecture, that I assign to his prison the origin of the following specimens of his genius and habits. His spiritualizings began to be written there. He took hia LIFEOFBUNYAN. 333 turn too in that Exercise, in the Common Room of the Jail. And as he had no time to write poetry after he was released from prison, his " Divine Emblems" can be traced to no other place. Besides, they bear all the marks of the prison-house ; and were, most likely, prepared to be sold by his wife and chil- dren, along with the Tag-laces upon which their daily bread depended for a time. Bunyan's amusements in Prison were all literary. He had nothing but his pen wherewith to cheat or cheer his sad hours. The only thing in the form of a comfort in his cell, apart from his Bible, Concordance, and Book of Martyrs, was a Rose- Bush ; and of it he was so fond, that it seems to have been sent to him as a memorial of old friendship. "This homely Bush doth to mine eyes expose, A very fair, yea comely, ruddy rose. This rose doth always bow its head to me, Saying, 'Come pluck me ; I thy rose will be.'" But whilst he thus complimented it upon its beauty, and its seeming good-will towards him, he also quarrelled with it play- fully at times, because it pricked his fingers. " Yet, — offer I to gather rose or bud, 'Tis ten to one, but Bush will have my blood. Bush ! — why dost bear a rose, if none must have it ? Why thus expose it, yet claw those that crave it ? Art become freakish 7 Dost the Wanton play ? Or doth thy testy humour tend this way ? This looks like a trepan, or a decoy, To offer, and yet snap, who would enjoy ! " • • Vol. ii. p. 971. When Bunyan wrote this, the word trepan had a very em- phatic meaning. Trepanners was the name of the Olivers and Castles of these times ; and although none of them had tam- pered with him, he knew well what Crowther had done, and what Evan Price had suffered, in Lancashire. Besides his Rose-Bush and Sand-Glass, and a spider he became acquainted with at the window, Bunyan had nothing to divert his lonely hours, except what he could see upon the road or the river, through the iron gratings, on market days. Then, he sometimes enjoyed a laugh at the expense of the Farmers, " There's one rides very sagely on the road ! Showing that he jiffects the ^av^st mode. 334 LIFEOFBUNYAN. Another rides tantivy, or full trot, To show such gravity, he matters not. Lo, here comes one amain : he rides full speed : Hedge, ditch, or miry bog, he doth not heed. One claios it up-hill, without stop or check, Another down, as if he'd break his neck. Then let us, by the methods of his guider, Tell every Horse how he may know his rider." Vol. ii. p. 973. But the study of Solomon's Temple was Bunyan's chief re- laxation : for although his poetry amused him, it also wearied him ; because he could not rhyme so fast as he reasoned. Spiritualizipg in prose was his hohhyy wKen he had done with his hard work. *" We have seen enough of Bunyan's "vein" already, in his accidental and unconscious allegorizing, to whet our curiosity for his deliberate efforts. The man who wrote the Pilgrim and the Holy War, in what Montgomery well calls " Allegory so perfect as to hide itself like light, whilst revealing through its colourless and undistorting medium all beside," was sure to place other truths in the same light. Indeed, it was by trying his hand often at brief spiritualizations, that he became master of lengthened and continuous allegory. He improved him- self by amusing himself. This has never been sufficiently noticed. It is, however, essential to the history of his genius and writings ; and if its development bring out some conceit^, both extravagant and ludicrous, we should remember whilst we laugh, that he needed a hobby, and that the worst and weakest of his conceits may be paralleled in the works of liioth the Fathers and the R&. formers. It was St. Athanasius, not Bunyan, who found the penitent thief of Calvary in Habakkuk's' prophecy, that "the beam (the beetle : Septuagint) out of the wall, shall put forth a voice." It was St. Bernard, who found the origin of Satan's name, Diabolus, in the words ^^duobus bolis," two pockets. Bunyan seldom went further than St. Jerome, who found all the Christian virtues symbolized in the pontificals of Aaron. I need not add, that he never dreamt of applying the prophe- cies of the Agony or the Atonement to the martyrdom of Charles. He did think, however, that the doors of the Temple were made of f,r, because the fir-tree is " the house of the Stork ; an unclean bird ; and thus an emblem of sinners, who find refuge and rest in the gospel." He had no doubt that the ceiling of the temple, as it was studded with precious LIFE OP BUN Y AN. 335 stones, — " here a pearl, and their a diamond ; here a jasper, and there a sapphire ; here a sardius, and there a Jacinth ; here a sardonyx, and there an amethyst," was an emblem of both the diversity and the distribution of the gifts of the Spirit in the church. " I verily think," he says, "• that the ten la- vers" also, in which the burnt sacrifice was washed, " were a figure of the Ten Commandments, by perfect obedience to which, Christ became capable of being an acceptable burnt of- fering to God, for the sins of the people." When Bunyan is not thus quite sure that he has "hit right," and yet cannot agree with current interpretation, nor improve his own, he grows somewhat snappish as well as humble. The thousand charges of silver, and the thirty of gold, in which the passover was served, are too numerous and differ- ent to be easily paralleled in the Christian Church. He finds them, however, in the sacred writers and the sacrament. Still, he felt that the numbers did not tally. But he could not mend the matter. He, therefore, breaks off, not a little hot as well as humble : — saying, " He that will scoff at this, let him scoff! The charges are a type o( something : and he that can show a fitter antitype than is here proposed, let him do it, and I will be thankful to him." Bunyan does not, however, get into this humour often. His conjectures were so often inge. nious and so uniformly pure, that they seldom awoke a suspicion of their truth, in his own mind. The " open flowers," carved upon the doors of the Temple, he regarded as certainly " carved there, to show that Christ, who is the door of gloiy, as well as the door of grace, will be as precious to us when we enter the mansion-house of Heaven, as when we took the first step" into the Church on earth. " The Palm Trees" also, being carved in the Holy Place, as well as upon the doors of the Temple were proofs that glory would follow grace : for, he argues, " as sure as we receive the palm-branch by faith, we shall wear it in our hands in the heaven of heavens for ever." In like manner " he had no doubt," that the " gold upon gold," which " overlaid'^ all the chief types, proved the same point. " Gold spread upon gold !" he exclaims ; " Grace is gold in the leaf, and Glory is gold in plates, Grace is thin gold : Glory thick gold." Ihus there was some sarcasm as well as much compliment in Addison's remark, when he called Bunyan as great a Fa- ther as any of the Fathers, in the art of spiritualizing. He did not, however, say the same of either Wordon's Types Un- 336 LIFEOFBUNYAN. veiled, or Keache's Metaphors. Addison felt that Bunyan was chaste, even when most fanciful. Bunyan was, however, fondest of the finery. Accordingly, whilst he makes a great deal of the golden Nails in the Temple, he says, " I shall not concern myself with those Nails made with irony Iron nails were associated in his mind with his own craft ; and thus not very inspiring to him : but he weighed, and almost counted, the golden ones. His finest guess is, I think, at the reason why the height of the Mercy-seat was not to be measured. The length and breadth are given, he says, "but the height was without measure, to show that, would God extend mercy, it could reach anywhere." He is hardly less happy, when he says, that the golden chains which divided the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies, were real chains, to show us that even in Heaven there will be a distinction, or, " an infinite dispropor- tion, between the creature and the Creator for ever. The partition made in this House by these glorious chains, was not so much to divide the holy place from the most holy, as to show that there is in the Holiest House, that which is still more worthy than it. True, they are in chains of gold ; but even these — will keep creatures in their place, that the Crea- tor may have all the glory." Thus, whilst he revelled amidst the golden splendours of the Temple, as types of heavenly glory, he maintained what one of the old Covenanters (Andrew Grey) well calls, " that solid apprehension of the highness of God, which keeps the Christian from trespassing on these ways and coverings that are fixed between the Infinite Majes- ty, and those who are but the dust of his feet." This holy awe, however, had nothing of the spirit of bondage in it. Like the High Priest, Bunyan felt himself quite at home in the Temple. He found its shadows realized in the Gospel, and said with triumph, " We have a golden door to go to God by, and golden angels to conduct us through the world, and golden palm trees as tokens of our victory, and golden ' open flowers ' to smell all the way to heaven !" He was very fond of the " Winding stairs " of the Temple. He liked to go " up them, and up them, and up them, till he came to a view of Heaven." "I went," he says, "up the turning stairs, till I came to the highest chambers. A strait pair of stairs are like the ladder by which men ascend to the Gallows : they are turning stairs that lead us to the heavenly mansion-houses. They are, therefore, types of a two-fold Re- pentance : that, by which we turn from nature to Grace ; and L I F E O F B U N Y A N . 337 that, by which we tarn from grace to grace, or from imper- fection to glory. This turning, and turning still," (from good to better,) he says, " displeases some much. They say, it makes them giddy : but I say, — there is no way like this, to make a man stand steady in the Faith, or at the day of judgment. Many in Churches, who seemed to be turned from nature to grace, have not the grace to go up turning still ; but rest in a show of things, and so die below." There is so much fact, as well as fancy, in these Interpreta- tions, that we can hardly wonder that Bunyan sits down, now and then, amidst the mystic arcana of the Temple, exclaim- ing, " O, what speaking things are types, shadows, and para- bles, if we had but eyes to see, and ears to hear !" He saw, be it remembered, with his own eyes only, " I have not fished," he says, " in other men's waters for these things. My Bible and Concordance are my only Library, in my writings. Much of the glory of our gospel-matters lies wrapt up in a man- tle, by Solomon ; and therefore I have made this book as well as I could, by comparing spiritual things with spiritual." — Works, p. 1971. The Molten Sea, as may be supposed, was not left under Solomon's mantle. Bunyan uncovers it from brim to brim ; and finding that it was just "ten Cubits" wide, he concludes that the Ten Commandments had not more power to condemn, than the Gospel has to save. Even the hrim of the Laver must preach. It was like a cup, and therefore " intended to invite us to drink of its grace, as well as to wash in its water." And as its brim was wreathed with Lilies, or " like a lily- flower, it was to show how those who were washed in, and did drink of this Holy Water, should grow and flourish ; and with what beautiful robes they should be adorned ; and that God would take care of them as he did of Lilies." We have seen already, that all the lily- work about the Temple was enchant- ing to Bunyan. Even Solomon would have said of him, "he feedeth amongst the lilies." It deserves notice that he did not seek for Baptism in the Molten Sea ; tempting as the great Laver, with its "three thousand baths" of water, was. But although it was quite an Enon, he was silent. Not so, however, when he saw the Ten smaller Lavers in which the Sacrifices were washed. Their wheels, he says, " signify walking feot. Obedience is typified by the Lavers walking on their wheels." His views of holy Obedience were, he knew, common to all Christians ; and 29 S38 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. therefore he grafted them upon any type : but he respected both his own views of Baptism, and the consciences of those v/ho differed from him, too much, to graft the mode of that or- dinance upon even the Laver " to wash the worshippers." — ^ Works, p. 1996. The frankincense scattered upon the Shew Bread even when the cakes were laid fresh upon the Golden Table, suggested to him the necessity of the " perfumes and sanctifications of the Holy Spirit," to purify the best works of a Christian ; and the removal of the cakes when they became at all " musty or stale," taught him to bring new and warm service to the House of God. The incense being compounded of " three sweet spices, called Stacte, Onycha, and Galbanum, it answers," he says, " to the three parts of Devotion ; prayer, supplication, and intercession. The spices were gummy, and so apt to burn with a smoke ; to show that not cold and flat, but hot and fervent, is the prayer that flows from the Holy Spirit. Even this Incense was to be offered upon the Golden Altar, to show that no prayer is accepted but through Christ." — Works, p. 2004. Bunyan rises to the sublime in the Holy of Holies. " The most holy place was dark. It had no windows. Things were only seen by the light of the fire of the altar : to show that God is altogether invisible but io faith. The Holiest was built to show us how different our state in heaven will be from our state on earth. We walk here by one light, the Word : but that place will shine more bright than if all the lights of the world were put together. Even on the vail of the temple were figures of cherubim, to show that as the angels wait on us here, so they will wait for us at the door of their heavens." — P. 2012. It was thus Bunyan cheered many of his lonely hours in jail, and learnt to build and beautify his own Interpreter's House. That house is not, indeed, very magnificent. As a house for pilgrims, it ought to be plain. Still, I cannot help suspecting that the prison, by reflecting none of the bright visions of the temple, and by disturbing them all as they shone, made the Interpreter's house plainer than keeping required. But however this may be, these specimens of Bunyan's spirit- ualizing will explain a little his cheerfulness in prison, and account for many of his " witty inventions." He could not pursue such thoughts, without both forgetting and improving himself at the same time. It is, however, hardly less pleasing LIFE OF BUNYAN. 839 to remember that many did both, without Bunyan's talents. Thus it would be difficult to say, which is the more instructive fact ; whether a Bunyan possessing his mighty " soul in pa- tience," or an ordinary man " rejoicing in tribulation." Both Paul and Silas sang in the same prison. So did Bunyan and Kelsey. Kelsey, one of the Lincolnshire Baptists, seems to have been seventeen years in prison. Little else is known of him, ex- cept that he was a good man, and " sang this song :" " I hope the more they punish me, that I shall grow more bold ; The furnace they provide for me, will make me finer gold. My Friends, my God will do me good, when they intend me harm ; They niciy suppose a prison cold, but God can make it loarm. They double my imprisonment, whale'er they mean thereby: My God in it gives me content; and then, what loss have I ? What if my God should suffer them on me to have their will, And give me Heaven instead of Earth ? I am no loser still." Taylor''s General Baptists. When Bunyan lifted his eyes from his Bible in prison, he saw little, of course, to sharpen his wits, or to give play to his fancy. He could, however, make much of a little. His cell overhung the river, and thus he could look down upon the gliding stream, and forth upon the aspects of the sky. A leaping fish, or a skimming swallow, was both an event and a sermon to him, when he could spare a few moments at the grated window, from the labours of his pen and pincers. But it was not often he could do so. He had to work hard with his pincers, in order to tag the stay -laces which his wife and his poor blind daughter made and sold for the support of the fa- mily. He had also to study hard, in order to bring his writ- ings up to something like the scheme and scale of other theo- logians. His pen was thus heavier to him than his pincers ; for he had nothing to lighten its labour but his Concordance. When he did escape, however, from his chair to the window, he was all eve and ear to whatever was stirring in the heavens above, or in the waters beneath. And if nothing presented it- self outside the window, he could learn much from the spiders and flies inside. It was whilst watching them one day, that he drew the striking picture of an entangled and struggling Christian. " The fly in the spider's web," he says, " is an emblem of a soul which Satan is trying to poison and kill. The fly is en- tangled in the web. At this, the spider shows hiixiself. If the 340 LIFE OF BUNYAN. fly stir again, down comes the spicier, and claps a foot upon her. If the fly struggle still, he poisons her more and more. What shall the fly do now ? Why, she dies, if somebody do not quickly release her. This is the case with the tempted. Their feet and wings are entangled. Now, Satan shows him- self. If the soul struggleth, Satan laboureth to hold it down. If it maketh a noise, then he bites it with a blasphemous mouth, more poisonous than the gall of a serpent. If it strug- gle again, he then poisons it more and more ; insomuch, that it must needs die, if the Lord Jesus help not. But though the fly is altogether incapable of looking for relief, this tempted Christian is not. What must he do therefore ? If he look to his heart, there is blasphemy. If he look to his duties, there is sin. Shall this man lie down in despair? No. Shall he trust in his duties 1 No. Shall he stay away from Christ until his heart is better ? No. What then ? Let him look to Christ crucified ! Then shall he see his sius answered for, and death dying. This sight destroys the power of the first temp^ tation, and both purifies the mind, and inclines the heart to all good things." — Works, vol. iv. p. 2340. Thus, if Bunyan built the Interpreter's House by spiritualizing the temple, he interpreted the sights in that house by making the most and the best of what he saw in his own cell, Bunyan was so pleased with this parallel between Satan and a spider, that away went pincers and laces, until he rhymed the fact. He makes the spider say, " Thus in my ways, God, wisdom doth conceal, And by my ways, that wisdom 1 reveal. I hide myself, when I for flies do wait ; So doth the devil, when he lays his bait. If I do fear the losing of my prey, I stir me^ and more snares upon her lay. This way, and that, her wings and legs I tie, That sure as she is catclied, so she must die. And if I see she 's like to get away. Then,, with my venom, I her journey stay." Works, vol. ii. p. 964, Bunyan studied and talked with this spider so much at the window, that it became a favourite with him at last. He abuses it in " good set terms," through half a long poem ; but it taught him so much sound wisdom, that he withdrew his sarcasms, and sang, ** V/ell, my good spider, I my errors see ; I was a fool in. railing thus at tb,ee» LIFE OF BUNYAN. 341 Thy nature, venom, and thy fearful hue, But show what sinners are, and what they do. Well, well, I will no more be a derider, I did not look for such things from a spider. O Spider, I have heard thee, and do wonder^ A spider thus should lighten, and thus thunder., Spider, lliou delight'st me with thy skill, 1 pray thee spit this venom at me still !" It was not without reason he thus ended with high compli- ments to his weh-weaving neighbour : for he studied her habits and instincts, until he found her to be the best philosopher he had ever met with. He has not, in fact, written any thing more ingenious or profound, in one sense, than his poem of " The Sinner and the Spider."^ It is dehghtful to find, that neither the dust nor the bars of his prison window could prevent Bunyan from enjoying sun- rise. He had often sat under its first rosy light, reading Lu- ther and the Bible, whilst a wandering tinker ; and when a prisoner, he could welcome the sun thus : " Look yonder ! O, methinks, mine eyes do see Clouds edged with silver, as fine garments be ! They look as if they saw thy golden face. That makes black clouds most beautiful with grace. Unto the Saints' sweet incense of their prayer, These smoky curling clouds, I do compare ; For as these clouds seem edged or laced with gold, Their prayers return, with blessings manifold." Works, vol. ii. p. 963. All weathers were not alike to the prisoner. He felt the weight of a close or damp atmosphere. It made him so ner* vous in his cell, that he was often ready* he says, " to start and tremble at his own shadow" on the walls and the floor. He could, however, turn all weathers to account. On one " low- ering morning," he laid aside his pin.cers, and wrote thus : — '• Well, with the day, I see the clouds appear. And mix the light with darkness everywhere. This threatens those who on long journeys go, That they shall meet with slobby rain or snow. Else, while I gaze, the sun doth with his beams Belace the clouds, as 't were with bloody streams. Then, suddenly, these clouds do watery grow, And weep, and pour their tears out, as they go. Thus 'tis when gospel-light doth usher in To us, both sense ot grace, and sense of sin; •29* 342 LIFE OF BUN YAK, And when it makes sin red with Jesu's blood, Then we can weep till weeping does us good ! " Works, vol. ii. p. 959. Except Bunyan attempted to write poetry before he was a prisoner, — of which I have found no proof — he seems to have seen from his window, in the bed of the river, a bright stone, which interested him, and at length instructed him. The fol- lowing lines prove at least, that he could " find sermons in stones, and books in running brooks,^ and good in every thing." " This flint, time out of mind, hath there abode, Where crystal streams make their continual road ; Yet it abides a flint as much as 'twere Before it touched the water, or came there» Its hardness is not in the least abated, 'T is not at all by water peneirated. Though water haih a softening virtue in 't, It can't dissolve the stone ; for 't is a flint. Yea, though in the water it doth still remain, Its fiery nature it doth still retain. If you oppose h with its opposite, Then in your very face its fire will spit. This flint an emblem is of those that lie Under the Word, like stones, until they die : Its crystal streams do not their nature change, They are not from their lusts by grace estranged." Works, vol. ii. p. 958. I have mentioned Bunyan's Sand-Glass. He could not be so playful with it as with his rose, or with his spider. It had measured too many sad and slow hours to suggest any but solemn thoughts. Its sands were never golden, nor too swift, but when his great works were in hand ; and then, he had no time to count them. But when he did count them, it was done like himself. " This glass, when made, was, by the workman's skill, The sum of sixty minutes to fulfil. Time, more or less, by it will not be spun ; But just an hour, and then its sands are run. Man's life we will compare unto this glass : The number of his months he cannot pass." Works, vol. ii. p. 976. Bunyan must have been not a little pleased, at times, with his own poetry, although it cost much labour. And, no wonder ; for it is sometimes very happy. No one has ever LIFE OF BUNYAN. J^43 sung " The Fly and the Candle" better than he did. True, he could ill afford to have his small candles set a running by flies. They wasted too soon of themselves, and were always too few for his purpose. He scolds the Fly, however, in the gentlest terms he well could. " What ails this fly, thus desperately to enter A combat with the candle ? Will she venture To clash at light ? Away, thou silly fly ! Thus doing, tkou wilt burn thy wings and die. But 't is a tolly — her advice to give : She'll kill the candle ; or, she will not live. ' Slap !' says she, ' at it !' Then she makes retreat. So wheels about, and doth her blows repeat. Nor doth the candle let her quite escape. But gives some little check unto the ape ; Throws up her nimble heels, till down she falls Where she lies sprawling, and for succour calls. When she recovers, up she gets again. And at the candle comes, with might and main ! But now, behold, the candle takes the fly. And holds her till she doth, bj?^ burning, die !" Works, vol. ii. p. 976". But it is time to draw this long chapter to a close, although it certainly has not been made long for the sake of length ; but that we may see how Bunyan diversified his literary pursuits ; and thus realize his very position and spirit whilst he was thinking for the world, and writing for all time. In fact, no- thing but such quotation as I have indulged in, could explain the plodding habits of such a mind as Bunyan^s. He could not have worked out his theological system, through the me- dium of a Concordance, without the reliefs he found in rhyming and spiritualizing. These were both air and exercise to his mind, after being long bent at hard study. It was by giving play to his fancy, and by indulging the whims of his taste, when tired of pondering, that he kept his understanding so clear, and his judgment so cool. In a word, it was by having " so many irons in the fire at once," and by humouring the inclination of the moment in the selection of owe, that he wrought them all so well. I have included his Book of Martyrs amongst his few com- forts in prison, although he himself does not name it along with his Bible and Concordance. There are, however, references to it in some of his Works written in prison, which indicate its presence there. There is also a quotation from it in his 344 1^1 FE OF BUJXYAN. " House of the Forest of Lebanon," too long and accurate to be made from memory. One of his own signatures also in it, bears date in 1662. It must, therefore, have been in prison with him. I cannot close this chapter, without bringing up again the interesting fact, that Bunyan retained and cherished all his love of Nature, even when most shut out from the sight of the heavens and the earth. To his sanctified imagination. Nature had been a Bethel Ladder, whilst he was a prisoner at large : and when he was in " Durance vile,'' and could see only a step or two of that Ladder through his bars, his spirit sprung out upon it at once. I must illustrate this fact. He exclaims, at sun-rise, "Look, look ! brave Sol doth peep up from beneath ; — Shows us his golden face ;— doth on us breathe : Yea, he doth compass us around witli glories, Whilst he ascends up to his highest stories, Where he his banner over us displays, And. gives us light !" WorkSf vol. ii. p. 968. He was so fond of sun-light, as well as scarce of candles to write by, that he remonstrated with the sun one night thus, " AVhat, hast thou run thy race ? Art going down? Why as one angry, dost thou fade and frown ? Why wrap thy head with clouds, and hide thy face, As threatening to withdraw from us thy grace ? O, leave us not ! When once thou hid'st thy head, Our whole horizon will be overspread ! Tell, who hath thee offended ? Turn again ! Alas, too late ! Entreaties are in vain." Works, vol. ii. p. 971. His prison window seems to have commanded the view of an Orchard, This delighted him, although it must have re- minded him of his thievish pranks whilst he was a sin-breeder in Elstow and Bedford. " A comely sight, indeed, it is to see A world of blossoms on an apple-tree. Yet far more comely would, this tree appear^, If all its dainty blossoms, apples were,. LIFEOFBUNYAN. 345 But how much more might one upon it see, If all would hang there until ripe they be ! But most of all its beauty would abound, If all that ripened were but truly sound !" Works, vol ii. p. 968. "The twittering swallow" wheeling around the prison, and skimming the river, did not escape his notice, nor move in vain. *' This pretty bird, O, how she flies and sings ! But could she do so, if she had not loings ? Her wings bespeak my faith ; her songs, my peace ! When I believe and sing, my doublings cease." Works, vol. ii. p. 959. Such was Banyan's spirit in prison : such were his sympa- thies, associations, longings and amusements. And those who sympathize with his joys and sorrows, whilst an Ambassador in bonds, and an author in purpose, will not laugh at my at- tempts to get and give a sight of him. They may be fail- ures ; but they have been eftbrts, honestly and patiently made ; and which, perhaps, no one else would have made, unless he had 7nore in view than mere biography, and other than literary motives. But whilst I have forgotten neither of these, I have been chiefly influenced and regulated by the great moral lesson which the life and talents of Bunyan teach. I want those who admire the Pilgrim, and marvel at *' The Grace Abound* ing," to study the whole character of the Author. 346 L I F E- O F B U N Y AN . CHAPTER XXXIir. MORAL PHILOSOPHY. In a list of eminent Protestant Bishops lately published i» Ireland to confront the Popish Bench, the name of Bunyan appears as one of the stars of the British Episcopate. This may be an Irish hull, but it is not a moral blunder. Bishop Bunyan was the Tinker's first title, when he ceased to be a tinker ; and Whitefield gave currency to it in Ireland. In this way, the worthy Clergyman who drew up the list was misled. It is, however, neither a mistake nor a misnomer to call Bunyan a moral Philosopher, if a high relish for virtue, and a deep insight into its elements and excellence, constitute a great Moralist. He could also apply^ as well as explain, its principles. He knew human nature as well as divine law. He was both a mental and moral Philosopher ; and could do what few of either class have ever attempted, — close with the consciences of his readers, and pursue both the stubborn and the treacherous through all the labyrinths of resistance and evasion. His genius, like the magnetized chariot of the Chi- nese emperor, which enabled him to make conquests by show- ing him in what direction to pursue the enemy, both fitted and inclined Bunyan to fight for victory^ in battling with the vi- cious and the compromising. This cast of his mind has never been sufficiently illustrated or noticed. His Pilgrims are, indeed. Ethics in motion; — Morals in action ; but they are so, because his general principles were profound, and his tact and insight intuitive. Nothing is more distinguishable in his character, than his keen discernment of " the beauties of Holiness." He was emphatically " of quick understanding in the fear of the Lord." No painter or poet ever had a finer eye for the beauties and sublimities of Nature, than he had for the graces, virtues, and proprieties of Christian character. He understood them, as well as exemplified them. He could define or depict them all LIFE OF BUNYAN. 347 in words, as well as imitate them in his practice and spirit. This is more than could be expected from him, when his edu- cation, condition, and associations are remembered. For even when these became most favourable to the improvement of his taste and character, they did not amount to much that was eitiier inspiring or instructive ; nor do they explain his moral discernment. He never saw good society, in the conventional sense of that phrase, until some of his best treatises on the " things which are pure, lovely, and of good report," were written. He had met, indeed, good men, and mixed a little with pious families, before his imprisonment : but they were all in the lower ranks of life, and more influenced in their virtues by the rules of virtue, than by the reasons of it. I mean, that they had more principle than sentiment, or more conscience than taste in their well-doing. " From whence then had this man knowledge'^ of the foundations, refinements, and secrets of high-toned morals and courtesy ? Now it is certain that Bunyan did not learn general princi- ples from ethical books. He had none to consult ; except Bish- op Fowler's " Design of Christianitj'^," can be considered such ; aiid he hated its theology too much to admire its ethics. Be- sides, he had written his Pilgrim before he read that book ; and there he had evinced both his knowledge and tact as a moralist, as well as a divine. This remark applies equally to his acquaintance with some of the writings of Campian the Jesuit, and William Penn. He read them in 1671, in order to prove that Fowler " falleth in with the Quakers and Ro- manists against the 10th, llth, and 13th of the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England." As Bunyan had no Books in prison from which he could derive his profound and delicate views of the beauty of Ho- liness, so he had no instructive companions in it. He had examples of personal holiness before him there, in his brethren and companions in tribulation ; but no moral philosophers, that we know of. Wheeler and Dunn were good men ; but not Masters in Israel. Besides, even if there were, now and then, some men of learning and talent, amongst the Nonconformist prisoners in Bedford Jail, Bunyan had proved himself a phi- losopher whilst he was a tinker. He made Edward Burroughs feel this, when he reduced all his sophism about the Inward Light, to absurdities. The Quaker found that he had a Meta- physician to deal with, and therefore called him a liar. In like manner, Dr. Fowler, whilst he affected to despise him, was 348 LIFEOFBUNYAN. glad to shelter himself from Bunyan's generalizing logic, der Baxter's special pleading. Baxter, indeed, defended the work better than its author did : but Bunyan foiled them both on the question of Justification by Faith. This would be no great achievement now ; but it was a victory then. We are thus shut up to the Bible, for the origin of Bunyan's pure taste and general principles ; and never was there a finer illustration or proof of its being " able to furnish the man of God, thoroughly unto every good work and word." Its one maxim, — " Let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity," — became in Bunyan's hands a perfect system of Moral Philosophy ; embracing at once the princi- ples and details of duty. " The design of this exhortation," he says, " was, and is, that naming the name of Christ should be accompanied with such a life of holiness as shall put additional lustre upon that name, whenever it is named in a religious way." Such a lustre he himself determined to shed upon the name of Christ. *' For my part," he says, " I had rather be a pattern and exam- ple of piety ; rather my life should be instructing to the saints, and condemning to the world, with Noah and Lot, than hazard myself amongst the multitude of the drossy. I know that many professors will fall short of eternal life ; and my judg- ment tells me they will be of the slovenly sort, that so do : and for my part, I had rather run with the foremost^ and win the prize, than come behind and lose my labour. Not that works do save us : but faith which layeth hold of Christ's righteous- ness for justification, sanctifieth the heart, and makes men desirous to live in this world to the glory of that Christ who died to save us from death." This was his mode of applying the maxim to himself. And he exemplified it so, that he could look round wherever he had " gone preaching the Gospel," and say, without faltering or blushing, " For my part, I doubt the faith of many ; and fear that it will prove no better than the faith of devils, in the day of God ; for it standeth in bare speculation, and is without life and soul to that which is good. For where is the man that walketh with the Cross on his shoulder ! Where is the man zealous of moral holiness? For those things, indeed, which have nothing of the cross of the purse — or the cross of the helly — or the cross of the hack — or the cross of the vanity of household affairs, I find many busy sticklers : but self-denial, charity, purity in life and conversation, are almost turned LIFE OF BUNYAN. 349 quite out of doors amongst professors. But, Man of God do tliou be singular ! Singularity in godliness, if it be in godliness, no man should be ashamed of. Holiness is a rare thing now in the world. Did we but look back to the Puri- tans, and especially to those that suffered for the Word of God in the Marian days, we should see another life than is now among men. But hope to be with Christ hereafter, will make lyie strive to be like him here. Hope of being with Angels then, should make a man strive to live like an Angel here. Alas, alas, there is a company of Jialf. priests in the world, and they cannot, dare not, teach the people the whole counsel of God. Where is that minister to be found now, that dare say to his people, ' look on me, and walk as you have me for an ex- ample .'' " It is needless to say, that Bunyan was not boasting, when he spoke thus of himself. He was emphatically a humble man, although proverbially a holy man. The fact is, he wanted to stand committed and pledged before the world, to he all that he professed. He had also a deep conviction, that peculiar times required « a peculiar people, zealous of good works." " I have often thought," he said on his death-bed, " that the best Cristians are found in the uw^st times." This led him {strange as it may appear !) to regret that he had not been " counted worthy to suffer " more for the name of Christ. Hence he said also, on his death-bed, « I have thought again, that one reason why we are not better, is, because God puro-es us no more (by the furnace.) Noah and Lot; — who so holy as they, in the time of their affliction? And yet, who so idle as they, in the time of their prosperity?" Bunyan's views on the subject of suffering for Christ's sake, deserve the highest veneration. They ought not be confounded with the thirst of Polycarp for martyrdom, or with the longings of Whitefield and Wesley for tiie scorn of the world. Bunyan was wiser tlian the latter in early life, and than the former in old ao-e. " It is not every suffering," he says, " that makes a man a martyr ; but suffering for the word of God after a right man- ner : that is, not only for righteousness, but for righteousness' sake ; not only for truth, but out of love to truth ; not only for God's Word, but according to it : viz,, in that holy, humble, meek manner, the Word of God requireth. It is a rare thino- to suffer aright ; (or so as) to have my spirit, in suffering, bent against God's enemy. Sin ; — sin in doctrine, sin in worship, sin in life, and sin in conversation." — Death Bed Sayings, 30 * ^ 350 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. Dr. Southey stated a great truth, although Bunyan was not the man to connect it with, when he said, " Nothing is more certain than that the gratification which a resolute spirit feels in satisfying its conscience, exceeds all others. This feeling (however) is altogether distinct from that peace of mind which, under all afflictions, abide in the regenerate heart : nor is it so safe a feeling ; for it depends too much upon ex- citement, and the exaltation and triumph it produces are akin to pride." — Life, p. 66. This is true : but Bunyan is neither a proof nor an illustration of its truth. Dr. Southey goes deep into the heart here : but Bunyan (we have seen) went deeper. But whilst he cherished both solemn and sublime views of personal holiness, and was sentimental as well as conscientious in his love to holiness, he was no visionary, nor theoretical perfectionist. He distinguishes wisely, between indwelling sin, and outstanding iniquities. " The nature and being of sin in us, cannot be so plucked out up by the roots, and cast clean away from us, as to have no stirring in us. (Indwelling) sin is one of the most quick and brisk things, and will have mo- tions according to its life. It is impossible to separate our- selves from our persons ; yet we should withdraw our minds and affections from sin within us, A man may thus depart from that, which will depart from him. Yea, a man may, in mind, depart from that which yet will dwell with him so long as he lives. For instance, there are many diseases cleave to men, from which in their minds, they willingly depart. Yea, their greatest disquietment is, that so bad a distemper will abide by them. Might they have their own desire, they would be as far from it as the ends of the earth are asunder. Even whilst they continue together, the mind departs from it, and gone to God or to physicians for help and deliverance from it. And thus it is with the saint : with his mind he serves the law of God, and departs from all iniquity." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1369. Thus Bunyan thought and wrote, years before Dr. Owen published his work on Indwelling Sin. That Work came out in the year Bunyan died. But he, like Owen, could search the heart as " with lighted candles," on this subject. In answer to the question, how may I know that I depart from the iniqui- ty which is in my flesh ? he says, " How is iniquity in thine eye, when severed from the guilt and punishment that attend it? Is it, as separate from the beauteous, or iZZ-favoured ? LIFEOFBUNYAN. 351 I ask thee, how it loohs — how thou likest it, suposing there were no guilt or punishment attending the commission of it 1 For if in its own nature it be desirable to thy mind, thou art like the thief that refuseth to take his neighbour's horse, not from hatred of theft, but for fear of the gallows. Again ; how dost thou like thyself, as possessed of a body of sin 1 Doth this yield thee a kind of secret sweetness 1 There is nothing more odious to a sanctified mind ! It makes a good man blush and abhor himself. How look thy duties in thine eyes ? They catch the stain of sin as coming from thee. Art thou, through the ignorance that is in thee, unaffected with this ] Again ; why wouldst thou go to heaven ? Because it is a holy place, or because it is remote from the pains of hell ?" Bunyan was practical as well as penetrating, on this sub- ject. " There are," he says, " occasions given, and occasions taken to sin against the Lord Jesus ; and a good man will de- part from both. He that hath set himself to depart from sin in himself will not seek occasions abroad to sin. There may be occasions where there are no examples. He that hankers after enticings and opportunities, is not departing from iniqui- ty. Departing from it is not the work of an hour, or a day, or a week, or a month, or a year ; but it is the work of a life- time, and there is greatness and difficulty in it. With many, it is like the falling out of two neighbours : they hate each other for a while, and then renew their friendship again. But remember, — that a profession is not worth a pm, if they that make it depart not from iniquity." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1472. It would be a mistake to suppose, from the bluntness of these illustrations, that Bunyan dealt only in pithy maxims, when inculcating pure morals. He could and did embellish, as well as explain and expostulate. The beautiful ideal of Holiness was equally familiar to his thoughts, and frequently on his lips. What could be more exquisitely chaste and lovely than his comparison of a holy Minister, to the lily-wreathed pillars of the temple ? " A lily-life is the glory of an Apostle. Judas had none of this lily-work. Even covetousness makes a Minister''sme\\ frowish. It is he that grows as a lily, that shall smell as Lebanon, and have his beauty as the Olive tree. It is brave when the world is made to say of the lives and conver- sation of saints, as they were made to say of the adorning and beauty of the Temple, ' What manner of stones are here V 352 LIFE OF BUN YAK I say, it is brave, when our light so shines before men, that they are forced to glorify our Father, which is in heaven."-— Works, vol. iv. p. 1981. The following comparison is of the same kind. " It is ami- able and pleasant to God, when Christians keep their rank, station, and relation, doing all as becomes their quality and calling. When they stand every one in their places, and do the work of their relation, they are like flowers in the garden, that grow where the Gardener planted them, and thus do him and it honour." " From the hyssop on the wall, to the Cedar on Lebanon, their fi'uit is their glory. And seeing the Stock into which we are planted is the fruitfulest Stock ; and the sap conveyed out thereof, the fruitfulest sap ; and the Dresser, the wisest husbandman, — how contrary to nature, to example — to expectation should we be, if we be not rich in good works ! Wherefore, take heed of being painted fire, wherein is no warmth ; and painted flowers, which retain no smell ;; and painted trees, whereon is no fruit."- — Works, vol. iv. p. 2092* It would not be easy to find a parallel to the following illus- tration of the mutual influence of holy Christians. " Whilst the Doctrine of the gospel is like the dew and the small rairi which distilleth on the tender herb, — Christians are like the several flowers in a garden, that have on each of them the dew of Heaven, which, being shaken by the wind, they let fall on each other's roots ; w hereby they are nourished, and become nourishers of one another. For to communicate savourly to each other of God's matters, is as if they opened to each other's nostrils Boxes of perfume." — Works, vol. iv* p. 2119. When Bunyan had such visions of the beauty of Holiness before him, the ugliness of sin, as he called its deformity, ex- torted from him tremendous rebukes to drossy professors. " O the confusion and shame that will cover their faces, when God is discovering to them what a nasty, uncomely, unreason- able life they have led in the world ! They will blush until the blood is ready to burst through their cheeks. God will cover with shame all such bold and brazen faces." — Works, vol. ii. p. 666. " Such a professor is like a man that comes out of a Pest House, with all his plague-sores running. He poisons the air around him. This man hath the breath of the dragon. He slays his children, his kinsmen, his friends, and himself. I remember Philpot used to tell the Papists, that they danced naked in a net, because t)f their evil ways : and the Lord bids I LIFE OF BUNYAN. 353 professors have a care, the shame of their nakedness do not appear. Whatever they may think of themselves, they are seen of others." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1391. '< One black sheep is quickly espied among five hundred white ones ; and one mangy sheep will soon infect many." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1386. " Hypocrite ! even the gain of thy religion, thou spendest it as tiiou gettest it. Thou wilt not have one farthing overplus at death and judgment. Even what thou hast, thou hast stolen it from thy neighbour, like Judas from the bag. Thou camest as a thief into thy profession, and as a thief thou shalt go out of the same. Jesus Christ hath committed to thee none of his jewels to keep." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1567. " Such professors pestered the Churches of old. Who on earth can help it ? Jades there be, of all colours ! We may say to such, as the Prophet spake to their like, ' Go ye, serve every man his idol.' Go, Professors, go : leave off profession. Better never profess, than make profession a stalking-horse to deceit, sin, the devil, and hell. A Professor, and defraud! Away with him." — Works, vol. ii. p. 893. But whilst Bunyan thus flung false Professors to the winds, it was not to abandon them. This may easily be supposed from his Favourite Sermon. In trying, however, to reclaim them, he did more than prove that there was mercy for the biggest sinners. His maxim was. " Let them depart from their Constitution-Sin, or if you will, the sin that their temper most inclines them to." His plying and pleading this turning point, evince his philosophy. " So long as thy constitution- sin remains, or is winked at, thou art a Hypocrite before God, let thy profession be what it will. If a man will depart from iniquity, he must depart from his darling sin first : for as long as that is entertained, others, most suiting his darling, will always be haunting him. There is a man that has such and such Haunters of his house, who spend his substance. He would be rid of them, but cannot. But now, let him rid him- self of that for which they haunt his house, and he shall with ease be rid of them. Thus it is with sin. There is a man plagued with many sins, because he embraceth one. Let him turn that one out of doors. That is the way to be rid of the rest. The casting away of that, is death to the rest, and ordinarily makes a change throughout." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1:394. This is the real philosophy of moral reformation. Bunyan knew this, and scouted all compromise. To no maxim did he 30* 354 LIFEOFBUNYAN. give more currency than this, — " Take heed thou deceive not thyself, by changing one bad way for another bad way. This was a trick Israel played of old ; hopping like the Squirrel from bough to bough, but not willing to forsake their tree. Many times men change their darling sins, as some change their servants. Hypocrisy would do awhile ago, but now de- bauchery. Profaneness was the fashion, but now a deceitful profession. Take heed thou throw not away tliine old darling for a new one. Men's tempers alter. Youth is for pride and wantonness : middle age for cunning and craft : old age for the world and covetousness." The following maxim is equally profound. " Take heed lest thy departing from iniquity be but for a time. Persons in wrangling fits depart from each other ; but when the quarrel is over, by means of some inter- cessor, they are reconciled again. O, Satan is the intercessor between the soul and sin ! The breach may seem irreconcile- able; but he can w?aA:e wp the difference between them. There is danger in this. The height of danger is in it ! He makes use of those sins again which jump with the temper of thy soul. These are,^ as I may call them, thy master-sins. They suit thy temper. These, as the little end of a wedge, enter with ease, and so make way for those which come after ; with which, Satan knows he can rend thy soul in pieces." — Works^ vol. iii. p. 1395, It was not merely by exposing the deceit fulness of sin or the wiles of the devil, however, that Bunyan fought the battles of Holiness. He strove equally to define and endear, one by one, the virtues, graces, and duties of Christian character. He was emphatically a Family Instructor. Whilst allowed to preach, he taught from house to house, that " God sees within doors as well as without, and will judge the iniquity of the house as well as that which is more open :" and when he could only write, he tore the roofs off ill managed houses, as it were, to make them ashamed of their " hugger-mugger iniquity," as he calls family sins. Bunyan's maxim, like Philip-Henry's, was, " What a man is at Home, that he is indeed. My house and my closet show most what I am, to my Family and to the Angels, though not to the world." — Works, vol. iii, p. 1400. " The Husband that carrieth it indiscreetly to his wife, doth not only behave himself contrary to the rule, but also crosseth the mystery of the relation. Be such a husband, that thy wife may say, ' He preacheth to me every day the carriage of Christ to his Church.' If thy wife be unbelieving or carnal, thou art LIFE OF BUN YAN. 355 under a double obligation to do so ; for she lieth liable every moment to eternal danger. If she behave herself unseemly and unruly, being graceless and Christless, then labour thou to overcome her evil with thy goodness ; her frowardness by thy patience and meekness. It is a shame for thee, who hast ano- ther principle, to do as she! Let all be done without rancour, or the least appearance of anger." — Worhs, vol. iv. p. 2103. Bunyan goes so far, and so minutely, into conjugal duty, in his treatise on ' Christian Behaviour,' that he seems to have had a public reason for speaking so explicitly. There is, of course, always too much reason for enforcing this duty : but it so happened, that, in 1657, his Brethren had discussed at the Association, the question, " Whether a man in any case of ruling over his wife, may lawfully strike her ?" Their de- cision on this cardinal point was, " He ought to preserve the point of Rule, if it 7nay be, without striking ; that having no precept nor example in Holy Scripture." — Tiverton Minutes. Signed, Thos. Collier ! I need neither say that Bunyan was no party in this discussion, nor that the decision was too cold and equivocal for his taste ; and I will not say, that he struck at this fact. He did, however, strike hard blows at some of the Resolutions of the Western Association, as I shall have occasion to show, and as they richly deserved. Bunyan had, however, sturdy, although not stern notions of the Hus- band's authority. He does not mince the matter of obedience or subjection on the part of a wife ; but he puts the claim well. He does more than say, " it is odious in wives to be like parrots, not bridling their tongue :" he appeals also to their good sense, and asks, " Do you think it seemly for the Church to parrot it against her Husband 1 The wife should know, as I said before, that Her husband is her Lord, as Christ is over the Church. And now I say also, that if she walk with her husband as becomcth her, she shall preach to him the obedience of the Church." This is the great general principle on which Bunyan reasons and remonstrates. But he knew the heart as well as the Law, and said to the Ladies, " Now for the right-timing of thy intentions ! Consider thy Hus- band's disposition, and take him when he is farthest off from the passions which are thy afflictions. Abigail would not speak a word to her churlish husband, until his wine was gone from him, and he in a sober temper again. Tiie want of this observation is the cause why so much is spoken, and so little effected. Take him also at those times, when he is most taken 356 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. with thee, and when he showeth tokens of love and deHght in thee. Thus did Esther with her husband, and prevailed. Take heed also that what thou doest, goes not in thy name, but his ; not to thy exaltation, but Ms ; carrying all things so by thy dexterity and prudence, that not one of thy husband's weak- nesses be discovered to others by thee. Do it, and the Lord prosper thee !" — Works, vol. iv. p. 2108. If all this be not moral Philosophy, it is something better. It certainly comes home to the business of life, and to the bosom of nature. And yet, although good, it is not the best that might have been selected from Bun- yan's Works : for my object has been rather to develop his mind and taste, than to elucidate his Ethical system. As a System, worked out without Books or Models, or any but spiritual Motives, that is wonderful ! And in this point of view, his Theology is equally so. Of him only is it literally true, that "he was a man of One Book." Accordingly, in enforcing Morals, he is not afraid to go ail the lengths of the Bible, in proclaiming the rewards of virtue. He can crucify Works as merit, and crown them as obedience, with an equally steady and impartial hand. He throws the best of them into the bottomless pit without ceremony, when they are put for- ward as a claim for mercy, or a price for salvation ; but as fruits of the Spirit, and as conscientious efforts to glorify God, he brings them out at Death and Judgment, enshrined with what he calls " a spangling reward." " A dying bed is made easy^ ^^^ says, "by good works. "^ "An unchristian walk makes it as uncomfortable, as if the man lay on nothing but the cords of his bed. Mounts Ebal and Gerrizim, I take to be a type of the Judgment. He whom mount Ebal smiteth, misseth heaven. Mount Gerrizim is sure to bless the good man. He shall enter into rest, and his works shall follow him." — Works, vol. ii. p. 1106. I need not add, that Bunyan made the lone of Christ the motive of all holy obedience : but I must add his own illus-. tration of this : — delight in holy things, wrought by Redeem- ing Love, *' Like live-honey runs, And needs no pressing from the honey-combs ! " Works, vol. iv. p. 2648. LIFEOFBUNYAN. 357 CHAPTER XXXIV. B U N Y A N ' S WIT. So few specimens of Bunyan's wit have obtained currency, that a whole Chapter of it will excite surprise at first. And yet it ought not. The man must have been not a little wag- gish as well as witty, who invented such happy names for the Judge and Jury that tried and burnt Faithful, at Vanity Fair. Indeed, most of the names which Bunyan gives to recreant or pretended Pilgrims, are happy hits, and speak volumes. Many of the characters in his Holy War also, as well as the manoeu- vres of it, are rich in masterly strokes of shrewdness and pi- quancy. His coinage, like old Fuller's or Donne's, " rings like good metal." It is not, however, upon this fund, that I am now about to draw. I merely refer to it, as suggesting, if not warranting, the idea, that he who struck out such names and characters in his Allegories, must also have thrown out in his other writings, and in conversation, many smart things. This has, hitherto, been overlooked ; owing, perhaps, to the impression left upon his modern Critics, by the gravity ascribed to him by his an- cient Biographers. The latter saj-, " He was mild and affable in conversation ; not given to loquacity, or much discourse, unless some urgent occasion required. It was obverved, he never spoke of himself, or of his talents ; but seemed low in his own eyes. He was never heard to reproach or revile any, whatever injury he received ; but rather rebuked those who did so. It is well known, that he managed all things with such exactness, as if he had made it his study, above all other things, not to give offence." After this account of his temperament, wit seems out of the question ; and humour^ a contradiction in terms. Both exist, however, where they would never be suspected, except by a reader who was searching for them. Besides, it is not to wit, as mere waggery, humoin*, or playfulness ; but as a vein of point and power, that I refer : and, unless I mistake that vein 358 LIFE OF BUNYAN. egregiously, the following specimens of it, will justify the title of this Chapter ; and place Bunyan before the world in a light equally new and true. I must first, however, apply a stroke of his own wit to himself. He says that the thought of a Surgeon or a Bone-setter, if he have a hard heart, or fingers like iron, can make us quake for fear ; and he adds, " He that handleth a wound, had need have fingers like feathers, or like down. To be sure, the Patient wisheth they were so ! " —Vol. i. p. 157. fol. ed. Bunyan did not always recollect his own maxim, in hand- ling wounds. His heart is never hard ; but his hand is some- times rather too heavy. It was not iron ; but its " nails were as Eagles' claws," when strict Baptists, or extravagant Qua- kers, came under it. Then, his fingers are not feathers, nor his thumbs down. They are, indeed. Porcupine's quills, when- ever Bigotry or Cant falls in his way. When the strict Baptists assailed Bunyan for admitting and advocating open Communion, they told him, that " some of the sober Independents" disliked his Book on that subject. He archly asked, " What then ? I can say without lyin^, that several Baptists have wished your Book burnt, before it had come to light. Is your Book ever the worse for that ? " " The sober Dr. Owen," as he calls him, had promised to write " an Epistle," in favour of Bunyan's liberal views on this subject ; but afterwards declined to do so. Bunyan was pub- licly twitted with this "waiving" on the part of Owen. He nobly and promptly replied, " What if the sober Dr. Owen, though he told me and others, he would write an epistle to my book, yet waived it afterwards ? This also is to my advan- tage ; because it was through the earnest solicitations of seve- ral of you, that his hand was stopped at that time. And, per- haps, it was more for the glory of God, that Truth should go naked into the world, than seconded by so mighty an armour- bearer." — Worlcs, vol. iii. p. 1257. When Dr. Fowler, afterwards Bishop of Bristol, published his work on " The Design of Christianity," he gave this chal- lenge to the advocates of the great principle of the Reforma- tion — Justification through faith in Christ; — "What pretence can there be, that faith is the condition or instrument of justi- fication, as it complieth only with the precepts of relying on Christ's merits ? It is evident as the sun at noon-day, that obedience to the other precepts must go before obedience to this ; that is, before faith in Christ." Bunyan dryly and LIFEOFBUNYAN. 359 adroitly answered, — " This you say : but Paul said to the ignorant jailor, who knew nothing of the mind of God in the doctrine of Justification, that he should first believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and so should be saved. Again, when he preached unto the Corinthians, i\\Q first doctrine he delivered unto them was, that Christ died for their sins, according to the Scriptures." Bunyan did not treat the Dignitary with less ceremony, on this occasion, than he did the Sectaries, who made light of sin, in order to give weight to new-fangled notions of Re- demption. " It is a poor shift," he said, " when the Enemies of Truth are forced to diminish sin, and to enlarge the borders of their Fig-leaf garments : they thus deny, as much as in them lies, one of the attributes of God ; — his justice." — Wroks, vol. i. p. 172. fol. ed. Bunyan could employ his ignorance dexterously, as well as any smattering of learning he had picked up, when occasion required. On one occasion the strict Baptists charged him with using against them the very " arguments of the Paedo- Baptist : " and as he had nothing to concede in favour of in- fants, and nothing to retract in favour of strict Communion- ists, he slyly slipt out of the dilemma, by saying truly, I in- geniously tell you, I know not what P^do means ; and how then should I know his arguments ? " He had also used a word or two of Latin (picked up, most likely, from some of his fellow-prisoners ; some of whom were scholars;) for which Danvers and Paul (his assailants) had "mocked " him. They "took nothing by their motion." "Though you mock me for speaking a word in Latin, you have not one word of God that commands you to shut out your Brethren for want of water-baptism, from your communion." They had said, " you would have it thought that you go away with the garland, un- less we bring positive Scriptures that your (plan) is forbidden." Garland, indeed : unhappy word for them ! Bunyan knew of no garlands but those which the priest of Jupiter hung around the necks of the oxen he wished to sacrifice to Paul and Bar- nabas ; and, with his knowledge of the Bible, he was sure to think of them. He did. " I know of no garlands,'''' he said, " but those in the Acts : — Take you them /" But nothing provoked Bunyan's sarcastic power, more than selfishness in the Clergy ; whether Episcopalian or Presbyte- rian. He makes his " teeth meet at every bite," upon bene- fice-hunters. " Would the people learn to be covetous," he 260 LIFE OF BUN Y AN. says ; « they need but look to their Ministers, and they shall have a lively, or rather a deadly resemblance set before them, —in their riding and running after great Benetices and Par- sonages, by night and by day. Nay ; they amongst them- selves will scramhle for the same. I have seen, — that so soon as a man is departed from his Benefice (as he calls it,) either by death, or out of covetousness for a bigger ; we have had one Priest from this town, and another from that, so run after these tithe-cocks and handfuls of barley, as if it were their proper trade to hunt after the same." " I hope," he adds, " God will give me opportunity and a fair call, that I shall, a second time in this world, give testimony against your filthy conversation." He did so, and in poetry, addressed to Girls and Boys. TO THE CUCKOO. " Thou Booby, say'st thou nothing but Cuckoo ? The Robin and the Wien can thee outdo. They play to us, from out their httle throats, JNot one, but sundry, pretty tuneful notes. But thou hast Fellows ! Some like thee can do Nothing but suck our egg?^ and cry, Cuckoo /" Divine Emhlems. With not less severity could he lash another kind of wolves in sheep's clothing : — pretenders to supernatural visions and messages. " There are a company of dumb dogs crept into the nation, and they are every one for his gain from his quarter : and there are a company of wolves also crept out, wrapping themselves about with sheep's clothing." His promptness, as well as power, in repartee, never failed him upon emergencies. When Anne Blackly, the sister of Burroughs, the Quaker, called upon him to throw away the Scriptures, whilst preaching, " No," said he ; " for then the Devil would be too hard for me." Thus he complimented Anne's talents, and identified the use of them with the devil's, at the same time. Interruptions of this kind were often given to him in the pulpit. The Quakers, he sa5^s, " have told me to my face, that I use conjuration and witchcraft, because what I preached was according to the Scriptures. I myself have heard them blaspheme, with a grinning countenance, the doctrine of that Man's second coming from heaven above the stars, who was born of the Virgin Mary." Anne Blackly was the leader of these public interruptions. Bunyan was LIFEOFBUNYAN. 361 unwilling, for a time, to expose her to the world : but when Burroughs denied that any Quaker would condemn him for preaching according to the Scriptures, he published sister Anne's ravings, " as a warning to others." A friendly Quaker visiting him one day in Jail, introduced himself thus, " Friend Bunyan, the Lord hath sent me with a message to thee, and I have been searching for thee every- where." "Nay, Friend," said Bunyan, "if thy message to me had been from the Lord, he would have told thee where to find me ; for I have been long here." This reply gave rise probably to the similar one of Caffin. He was a farmer as well as a preacher, and thus suspected of paying tithes. A Quaker, therefore, came to him and said, " Matthew Caffin, I have a message from the Lord to thee : I am come to reprove thee for paying tithes to the priests, and to forbid thy doing so any more." " Thou art not sent of the Lord, but deceived,'' said Matthew, " for I never did pay tithes, nor am I likely to be charged with any." The farm was tithe -free to him. — Taylor^ s Gen. Baptists. One chief fund of Bunyan's wit lies where it has never been suspected ; in his " Divine Emblems for the use of Boys and Girls." There are whole sheaves of "polished shafts" hid in that little Book. He placed them there, he says, on the principle, " That 'tis the arro\'»^ out of sight Does not the Sleeper or the Watcher fright." He could not, however, keep his own secret. At least, he told too much in his Preface, not to forewarn, and thus fore- arm, some of the grown-up children of his times. He says, ♦•The Title Page will show, if thou wilt look, Who arc the proper subjects of this book. They're boys and girls, of aW sorts and degrees, From those of a^^e, to children on the knees. Thus comprehensive am I in my notions. They tempt me to it, by their childish motions! We now have boys with beards, and girls that be Huge as old women, wanting gravity. Our bearded men, do act like beardless boys, Our tvomen please themselves with childish toys." It was, perhaps, necessary that he should be thus explicit, in order to sustain his own character amongst the wise and the 31 36^ LIFE OF BUNYAN. grave, when he played " the very Dotril," and cast his " beard behind a bush," to gain the ear of the heedless and trifling. Becoming all things, in order to gain some of the gay and foolish, was a hazardous attempt for a Minister, and hardly in keeping with the solemnities of imprisonment for conscience' sake. Bunyan felt this, and explained his motives thus ; "Our Ministers, long time, by word and pen, Dealt with them, counting them not boys^ but men. They shot their thunders at them and their toys ; But hit them not : for they are girls and boys. The better charged, the xvider stiW they shot; Or else so high, such Dwarfs they touched not. Instead of 7nen, they found them girls and boys, To nought addicted but their childish toys. Wherefore, Dear Reader, that I save them may, I now with them the very Dolril play ; And since at gravity they make a tush, My very beard I cast behind a bush. Paul seemed to play the fool, that he might gain Those that were Fools indeed, if not in grain. A noble act, and full of honesty ! " Preface to Emblems. In imitating this noble act, Bunyan often indulges his wit, as well as his fancy, and is grave and gay by turns. Of the Legalist, he says, ' Our Legalist is like a nimble Top : Without a tohip, he will not duty do. Let Moses whip : he will both skip and hop ! Forbear to whip : he'll neither stand nor go ! " The Hypocrite, as may be supposed, finds no quarter from our sharp-shooter, in the Emblems. " The Frog, by nature, is both damp and cold. Her mouth is large ; her belly much can hold. She sits somewhat ascendirig : loves to be Croaking in gardens, though unpleasantly. The Hypocrite is like unto this Frog : As like — as is a puppy to a dog. He is of nature cold; his mouth is loidCy To prate, and at true goodness to deride. He mounts his head, as if he lived above. Although the iborld is that which has his love. And though he seeks in Churches for to croak, He neither loveth Jesus, nor his yoke." LIFE OF BUN YAN. 353 The author of Mammon would not be ashamed of Bunyan's hits at mammonized professors, homely as they are. *' Those Saints whose eyes are always in their pocket, And Candles that do blink within the socket, Are much alike. Such Candles make us fumble ; And at sxich saints, good men and bad do stumble! Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes ; Nor hurt, unless it be the silly Flies." The Ostentatious fare no better than the niggardly, in the Emblems. " Some professing men, If they do aught that's good, they, like a Hen, Cannot but cackle on't, where'er they go ; And what their right hand doth, their left must know." Emblems, vol. ii. Bunyan's wit, although not much blunted by his rhyme, tells best in his prose. The most daring stroke of it, that I know is terrific. He had been asked, if it was likely that a funeral Sermon would be preached on the death of Badman ? ** I doubt not," he said, " that some one will be found to burj' even Gog himself thus, in the valley of Hamon-Gog ! " It is a curious coincidence that, soon after, Dr. Tenison preached a funeral Sermon on the death of the notorious Nell Gwynn, one of the Mistresses of Charles II. The Earl of Jersey, very properly, started this fact, as a reason against Tenison's nomination to the Archbishopric of Canterbury. The Queen, however, overruled the objection, on the ground that the Dr. was too good a man to have spoken well of " the Protestant Courtezan," if she had not deserved it by her penitence. Tenison was so twitted for this Sermon by the Papists, (an exaggerated report of which was hawked through London. Biog. Brit.f) that he apprized the public of the incorrectness of the first printed report of it. I have never seen the Ser- mon in any form : but Nell's Will contains the appointment of Tenison as the preacher. She bequeathes a pulpit-cloth and cushion to his Church, St. Martin's-in-the-Fields ; and places at his disposal 150/. for the poor of the parish : fifty pounds of which are for the benefit of those from whom she diflfered in her religion, — the Romanists ! She was interred "with great solemnity," at St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. — Netc Monthly J 1838. The fact is, funeral Sermons were fashionable then. One Dignitary saved his conscience in preaching one 364 LIFE OF BUNYAN. for a worse character than Nell. He said, she was born well — lived icell — and died well; and then preached a sermon on Death. The fact is, the names of the towns in which she lived and died — ended in the syllable well! The Archbishop was not so fortunate as his contemporary. He had to take Nell Gwynn as he found her. Bunyan said of Badman's children, " They had, like Esau, to join in affinity with Ishmael ; to match, live, and die with Hypocrites : the Good would not trust them, because they were had in their lives ; and the Bad would not trust them, because they were good in their words. Their Father did not like them, because they had their Mother's tongue ; and their Mother did not like them because they had their Father^s heart and life : and thus they were not fit company for good or bad."— WorA;5, vol. ii. p. 876. When Bunyan borrowed a sharp arrow from another man's quiver, he shot it well. "As Luther says, ^ In the name of God,^ — ^begins all mischief; for Hypocrites have no other way to bring their evils to maturity, but by mixing the name of God and Religion with them. So Master Cheat stands for a right honest man. Some are arch-villains in this way. They use the white of Religion to hide the dirt of their actions." — WorkSf vol. ii. p. 900. " He is ' penny wise and pound foolish,' they say, * who loseth a good ship for a halfpenny worth of tar : ' what then is he who loseth his soul for a little of tliis world?" — Worksy. vol. ii. p. 901. " The Holy War " abounds with sparkling Wit, as well as with profound metaphysics. It is, altogether, " a witty inven- tion," which verifies the proverb, that " Wisdom dwells with Prudence." Mr. Conscience^ the Recorder of Mansoul, was " put out of place by Diabolus," Bunyan says, " because he was a seeing man : wherefore he darkened him, not only by taking from him his office, but by building a high and strong Tower between the sun, and the windows of the Recorder's house." Lord Will-he-will also, was, he says, " as high-horny. and even more a freeholder than many ; having privileges peculiar to himself in Mansoul. Now together with these, he was a man of great strength, resolution, and courage ; nor in his occasion could any turn him. A headstrong man he was! He was the frst to listen to Diabolus at Eargate, and to weK come him into the town. Diobolus, therefore, made him Keeper of all the Gates, and Qovernpr of the Wall ; and then, A LIFE OF BUN Y AN. 365 next to the Devil himself, — who but my Lord Will-be-will, in all the town of Mansoul ! When this power was put into his hands, he flatly denied that he owed any suit or service to his former Prince. He maligned the Recorder to death, and would shut his eyes when he happened to see him, and his ears when he heard his voice. He could not endure that so much as a fragment of the Laws of Shaddai should be seen any. where in all the town. Mr. Mind, his Clerk, had some old parchments of the Law ; but Will-be-will cast them behind his back. He also tried to come at some old scraps of the Law, which Mr. Conscience had in his study ; but he could not get them, owing to the windows of the old Lord Mayor's house. These windows, he thought by far too light for the profit of Mansoul. He would also make himself aJ/ec^ amongst any base and rascally crew, to cry up Diabolus. His Deputy, Mr. Affection^ he married to Miss Carnal : < like to like,' quoth the Devil to the Collier. And when he appointed thirteen men Aldermen for Mansoul, Mr. Incredulity was the oldest, and Mr. Atheism the youngest. As for the Common Council Men, they were all cousins or nephews of the Aldermen." It is needless to say that this is wit of the highest order ; and the more remarkable, inasmuch as it is struck out from abstract qualities and personified passions. Montgomery says of such impersonations, that there arises from their very con- stitution " one grand disadvantage ; — the reader almost cer- tainly ybre^ees what such typical beings will do, say, or suffer, according to the circumstances in which they are placed." This is only too true of *' most of the creatures of imagination, that figure away in formal Allegories." — Essay on the Pilgrim's Progress. Some of Bunyan's impersonations of both Powers and Passions are, however, exceptions to this remark. « The Poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling," may \\z.Ye foreseen all the freaks of Lord Will-be-will, and all the fits of Mr. Conscience, when Diabolus got into Mansoul ; but ordinary eyes are agreeably surprised at some of both. Bunyan himself ^^won. dered to see Lord Will-be-will take neither the one side nor the other in the quarrel between Lord Understanding and Old Incredulity, when Mr. Prejudice was kicked in the streets, and Mr. Anything had one of his legs broken. His Lordship even smiled to see old Prejudice tuml)Ied up and down in the mud ; and took but little notice when Captain Anything came limping up to him. It made me laugh,^* says Bunyan, " to see how old Mr. Prejudice was kicked and tumbled about by the 31» 366 LIFE OF BUNYAN. mob, when they had got him under their feet. He had his crown cracked, to boot, by some of Lord Understanding's party." — Holy War, p. 91. Bunyan's readers laugh with him, at not a few of the turns of popular feeling in Mansoul, as well as at the caprices of Lord Will-be-will. Both tears and smiles await his Lordship, whilst he is keeping Lent. Not until Lent was almost outy did he venture to hire Lasciviousness as a lacquey ; and then only under the name of Harmless-Mirth ! — Holy War, p. 231. Mr. Godly Fear also wins much sympathy from the reader. He hired the masked Diabolian, Lord Anger, under the name of Good-Zeal ; but soon found him out. " The old gentleman took pepper in the nose, and turned him out of the house^ and would have hanged him for his labour had he not run away." Young Captain Experience also is a favourite. The Hell-drum could not daunt him, until Captain Credence stum- bled and fell, in the great battle with the Doubters. He fought as by instinct, even when he supposed Credence to be dead ; and only quitted the field through loss of blood. Accord- ingl)'-, although his wounds were not half healed when the next battle came on, the moment he heard the Trumpets sound, and saw Captain Credence at the head of the Prince's- army again, '< what does he but, calling for his crutches with haste, gets up and away to the battle ? But when the enemy saw the man come with his crutches, they were daunted ; for, thought they, what spirit possessed these Mansoulians, that they fight upon their very crutches ? " — Holy War, p. 297. Some of Bunyan's finest siroJces occur in the Trial of old Questioning, who harboured the four Doubters in his " tot- tering cottage," in Mansoul, after the rout of their army. The first was an Election-Doubter : the second, a Vocation- Doubter ; the third, a Salvation-Doubter : the fourth, a Grace- Doubter. These were all welcome to him. « Be of what Shire ye may," (Blind-maw-shire or Blind-2;e«Z-shire!) he said, "you are town-hoys ; you have the length of my foot, and are one with my heart. I would there were ten thousand well-armed Doubters now in Mansoul, and myself at the head of them f I would see what I could do. But, be quiet and close, or you will be snapt, I assure you. If Will-be-will, who is now Keeper of the Gate, light upon you, down you go, if your heads were gold." Old Questioning was "indicted by the name of Evil-Quea- tioiiiDg," He took his first objection to this, as a misnomer :— - LIFE OF BUNYAN. 367 " which name," he said, " I deny to be mine : mine being Honest Inquiring. Your Lordships know that between these two there is a wide difference. I hope a man may make honest inquiry even in the worst of times, and that too among the worst men, without running the danger of death." Lord Will, be-will defeated this shift, by telling the Court, with deep shame, that the prisoner and he had been " great acquaintance for thirty years ; " and that in the time of the Rebellion, Evil. Questioning had " lain at his house not so little as twenty nights together," talking as he had lately with tlie four Doubt, ers. This settled his identity. He then pleaded, that it was not lawful to condemn a man on the testimony of owe witness. Mr. Diligence, therefore, proved that he had been on watch in Bad-Street, where Questioning's tottering cottage stood, and had overheard all the conversation which took place with the Doubters. " Then, said Evil-Questioning, ' the men that came into my house were Strangers, and I took them in. And is it now become a crime in Mansoul, for a man to entertain strangers ? That I nourished them is true : but why should my charity be blamed ? I also bid them take heed that they fell not into the Captain's hands : but that inight be — because I am unwilling that any man should be slain, and not because I would have the King's enemies, as such, escape. I might too mean tcell to Mansoul, for aught any one knows yet, when I wished there were ten thousand Doubters in it.' These evasions only hurried on his sentence. They proved him to be, beyond ail doubt, a Diabolian. And he completed tho proof by saying, < I see how the game will go. I must die for my name, and for my charity ! ' And so held his peace. He was hanged at the top of Bad-Street, just over his own door." —Holy War, p. 321. Bunyan's stroke at Spira is too solemn to be called wit ; but it is power of a peculiar kind. I know not what to call it. " The burden of Spira's complaint was," he says, *♦ * I cannot repent ; O, now, I cannot do it f This man sees what he hath done — what would help him — what will become of him ; but he cannot repent. He had pulled away his shoulder,, and shut his eyes before ; — and in that very posture God left him, and so he stands to this day ! " He adds, <' I have a fancy that Lot's wife was looking over her shoulder towards Sodom, when she was turned into a pillar of salt : — as the Judgment caught her, so it bound her." — Works, vol. ii. p. 1147. He can be somewhat playful with a serious subject, without 368 LIFE OF BUNYAN. the least approach to levity. Thus ; *• no man could tell so well as Jonah what he saw and felt in the Whale's belly : for no man else was ever there, and came out ajjain. So the returning Backslider can tell strange stories ; and yet such as are very true!" — Works, vol. ii. p. 671. Again, "the old way to Paradise is hedged and ditched up by the flaming sword of Cherubim ; and there is no hack door." — Works, vol. iii. p. 1675. Even of Heaven, he could say with an innocent smile, " I see no reason why we should be idle there. The fishes in the sea drink ; but they drink and swim,''^ at the same time. " And what if our work in heaven be, to receive, and bless? But for further discourse of that, — let it alone till we come thither." — Woi-ks, vol. iii. p. 1748. Some of his strokes at Antichrist are as beautiful as others of them are bold. The following one is inimitably fine : " The signs of Antichrist's y«Z/ are terrible and amazing ! But what of that ? The wrinkles in his face threaten not us, but him. Our cold blasts are but ihe farewell notes of a piercing Win- ter. They bring with them signs and tokens of a comfortable Summer. His are like cold blasts in November ; worse than colder in March and April. The Church is now at the rising (the Spring) of the year. We should, therefore, look through these paper windows, and espy in all that we fear, the terrible judgments which are following at his heels." — Works, vol. iv. p. 1912. The covetousness and ambition of Popery put Bunyan upon his mettle. He says, " Money, money, ' broken or whole,^ as the Pedlar cries, is the sinews of their religion. For that, they have kicked off the crowns of Princes, and set them on again with their toes!^^ — WorA:*, vol. iv. p. 1908. Again; " Antichrist is the adversary of Christ : an adversary really ; a friend pretendedly. He is one that is against Christ ; and for Christ ; and contrary to Christ. This is the Mystery of Iniquity ! Against Him in deed ; for Him in word ; contrary to Him in practice. He is so proud as to go before Christ ; so humble as to pretend come after Christ ; and so audacious as to say that himself is Christ. Antichrist will cry up Christ ; cry down Christ ; proclaim himself one with Christ. But the dogs who eat the crumbs of Christ's table shall so hunt and scour Antichrist about, even although the tushes of his chops tear them, that they will have his life." — Works^ vol. iv. p. 1858. Some of Bunyan's guesses about the fall of Antichrist, were LIPEOFBUNYAN. 369 almost prophetic, as well as witty. "The Protestants in France," he says, " had more favour with their Prince for- merly, than they have at this time. Yet I doubt not, that God will make that Horn hate the whore. Antichrist shall not doiim, but by the hand of Kings. The Preacher kills her soul, and the King kills her body. Spirit can only be slain by spirits." — Works y vol. iv. p. 1858. I make no apology for prolonging this Chapter. Bunyan's wit has hitherto been overlooked, except by hooh-worms like myself; or illustrated only from the Pilgrim's Progress. It ought, however, to have currency. It is calcuated to do much good. " The men of Hezekiah " would have " copied out," as I have done, many of his Proverbs, just as they did Solo- mon's, for public usefulness. What is there, in any language, more delicate or delicious than Bunyan's offered reward for the arrest and death of Carnal-Sense, in Mansoul ? This enemy of the city had, somehow, escaped from prison, and like a ghost, was haunting " honest men's houses a-night.'* " Wherefore a Proclamation was set up in the market-place, signifying that whosoever should discover Carnal-Sense, and apprehend him, and slay him, should be admitted daily to the Prince's Table, and made Keeper of the treasure of Man- soul." He was o//e?i discovered; "but slay him they could not," although " many Lent themselves to do this thing." They laid Mr. Wrong-thoughts-of- Christ in prison, so that " he died of a consumption," and kept Live-by -Feeling and Legal- Life in durance, which killed them ; but Carnal. Sense, like Mr. Unbelief, " was a nimble jack they could never lay hold of, though they attempted to do it often." — Holy "War, p. 328. This is almost equalled by the following : " Self-Love was taken and committed to custody : but there were many allied to him in Mansoul ; so his judgment was deferred. But at last, Mr. Self-Denial stood up and said, * If such villains as these may be winked at in Mansoul, — I will lay down my Com- mission ! ' He also took him from tlie crowd, and had him among his soldiers ; and there he was brained. Some in Mansoul muttered at this ; but none durst speak plainly, be- cause Emmanuel was in the town. This brave act came to the ears of the Prince ; so he sent for Self-Denial and made him a ZiOr