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tions; that his fervour exceeded his knowledge; and that bis imagination exercised despotic power over his bouy and mind.' When a yourg man, Bunyan served in the army of ive Parliament. After bis first spiritual impulses had been awakened, he continued Jong hanging-to use his own figurative language-- as in a pair of scales, sometimes up and sometimes down; now in peace, and now again in terror.' By degrees his religious impressions acquired strength and . perinanence ; vill, after many doubts respecting his salvation, and the reality of his possession of faith-which last circumstance be was once on the eve of putting to the test by commanding some waterpuddles to be dry--he at length attained a comfortable state of mind ; and, having resolved to lead a moral and pious life, was, about the year 1655, baptised anıl admitted as a member of the Baptist congregation in Bedford. By the solicitation of the other members of that body, he was induced to become a preacher, though not without some modest reluctance on his part. After zealously preaching the gospel for five years, he was apprehended as a maintainer and upholder of assemblies for religious purposes, which, soon after the Restoration, had been declared unlawful. His sentence of condemnation to perpetual banishment was commuted 10 imprisonment in Bedford jail, where le remained for twelve years and a halt. Dur. ing that long period he employed himself partly in writing pious works, and parily in making tagged laces for the support of himself and his family. "His library while in prison consisted but of two books, the Bible and Fox's Book of Martyrs,' with both of which his own prorluctions shew him to have become familiar. Having been liberated through the benevolent endeavours of Dr. Barlow, bishop of Lincoln, he resumed his occupation of itinerant preacher, and continued to exercise it until the proclamation of liberty of conscience by James II. After that event, he was enabled, by the contributions of his friends, to erect a meeting-house in Bedford, where bis preaching attracted large congregations during the remainder of his life. He frequently visited and preached to the Nonconformists in London, and when there in 1688, was cut off by sever in the sixty-first year of

While in prison at Bedford, Bunyan, as we have said, composed several works; of these, The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that which is to come' is the one which bus acquired the most ex. tensive celebrity. Teu editions were published between 1678 and 1683. The second part (now always privted with the first) appeared in 1681. The popularity of the work is almost unrivalled; it has gone through innumerable editions, and been translated into most of the European languages. The object of this remarkable production, it is hardly necessary to say, is to give an allegorical view of the life of a Christian, his difficulties, temptations, encouragements, and ultimate triumph; and this is done with such skill and graphic effect, that the book, though upon the most serious of subjects, is read by

his age.


children with nearly as much pleasure as fictions professedly written for their amusement. The work is, throughout, strongly imbued with the Calvinistic, principles of the anthor. who, in relating the conteutions of his hero with the powers of darkness, and the terrible visions by which he was so frequently appalled, bas loubtless drawn Jargely from what he himselt experienced under the influence of his own fervid imagination. A vein of latent sarcasm and humour also runs through the work, as Bunyan depicts his balting and time-serving characters--the worldly persnages that cumber and obstruct the pilgrim on his way. Of the literary merits of The Pilgrim's Progress,' Mr. Southey speaks in the following terms: “Ilis is it home. spun styl", nit a manufactureri one; and what a diffi-rence is there between its homelin ss and the flippant vulgariiy of the Roger L'Estrange and Tom Brown school! If it is not a well of Englislı undefiled to which the port as weli as the philologist must repair, if they would drink of the living waters, it is a clear stream of current English, the vernacular speech of bis age, sometimes, indeed, in jis rusticity and coarseness, but always in its plairness and its strength. To this natural style Bumyan is in some degree beholden for his general popularity; his language is everywhere level to the most ignorant reader and to the meanest c:up:city; there is a homely reality about it; a nursery tale is not more intelligible, in its manner of narration, to a child. Another cause of his popularity is, that he taxes the imagination as little as the understanding. The vividness of his own, which, as his history shews, sometimes could not distinguish ideal impressions from actual ones, occasioned this. He saw the things of which he was writing as distinctly with leis mind's eye as if they were indeed passing before him in a dream. And the reader perhaps sees them more satisfactorily to himself, because the outline of ihe picture only is presented to him, and the author baving made no attempt to fill up the details, every reader supplies them according to the measure and scope of bis own intellectual and imaginative powers.' By universal assent the inspired tinker is ranked with our English classics and great masters of allegory; yet, so late as 1752, Cowper dared not name him in his poetry, lest ile name should provoke a sneer! Another allegorical proluciion of Bunyan, which is still reall, though less extensively, is • The Loly War male liv King Shaddai upon Diabolus, for the Regaining of the Metropolis of the World, or ile Losing and Retaking of Mansoul' (1682). "The full of man is typified by the capture of the fl urishing city of Mansoully

Diabolus, ihe enemy of iis rightful sovereign, shaddai, or Jehovali; whose son Immanuel recovers it after a tedious sirge. Bunyan's • Grace aboun ing to the Chief of Sinners'--of which the most remarkable portions are given below-is an interesting thougli highly coloureil narrative f liis own life anıl rei jus experience. His other

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• Life of Bunyan preixed to The Pilgrim's Progress, 1931.

works are numerous, but inferior, and collected editions of the whole have often been reprinted. One of the best is that of 1853, in three volumes, edited by George Offor.

Extracts from Bunyan's Autobiography. In this my relation of the merciful working of God upon my soul, it will not be amis3, is, in the first place, I do, in a few words, give you a hint of iny pedigree and inauner of bringing up, that thereby the goodness and beauty of God towards me may be the more advanced and magnified before the sons of men.

For my descent, then, it was, as is well known by many, of a low and inconsidable generation, iny father's house being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families of the land. Wherefore I have not here, as others, to boast of noble blood, and of any high-born state, according to the flesh, though, all things considered, I magnify the heavenly inajesty, for that by this door he brougit me into the world, to partake of the grace and life that is in Christ by the gospel. But, notwithstanding the meanness and inconsiderableness of my parents, it pleased God to put it into their hearts to put me to school, to learn me both to read and write; the which I also attained, according to the rate of other poor men's children, though to my shame, I confess I did soon lose that I had learned, even almost utterly, and that long before the Lord did work his gracious work of conversion upon my soul. As for my own natural life, for the time that I was without God in the world, it was, indeed, according to the course of this world, and the spirit that now worketh in the children of disoba lience, Eph. ii. 2, 3. It was my delight to be taken captive by the devil at his will, 2 Tim. ii. 26, being filled with all myrighteousness; the which did also so strongly work, both in my heart and life, that I had but few equals, both for cursing, swearing, lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God. Yca, 80 settled and rooted was in these things, that they became as a second nature to me; the which, as I have also with soberness con idered since, did so offend the Lord, that even in my childhood he did scars and terrify me with fearful dreams and visions. For often, after I had spent this and the other day in sin, I have been greatly amicted while asleep with the apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits, who, as I then thought, laboured to draw me away with them, of which I could never be rid. Also I should, at thos: years, be greatly troubled with the thoughts of the fearful torments of bell-fira, still fearing that it would be my lot to be fonnd at last among those devils aud bellish fiends, who are there bound down with the chains and bonds of darkness into 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 inany sports, and childish vanities, amidst my vain companioirs, I was often mach cast down and aflicted in my mind therewith. yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was also then so overcome with despair of land haaven), but I should often wish cither that there had been no hell, or ibat I had been a devil, supposing they were only tormentors, that if it must needs be that I went thither. I might be rather a tormentor than be tormented myself.

while after, these terrible dreams dd leave me, which also I soon forgot ; for my pleasures did quickly cut off the remembrance of them, as if they had never been; wherefore, with mor: gradiness, according to the strength of nature, I did still let loose the reins cf my lusts, aud delighted in all transgressions against the law of God; so that, until I came to the state of marriage, I was the very ringleader in all manner of vice and ungodliness. Yea, snch prevalency had the luists of the flesh on my poor soal, that, had not a miracle of precions grace prevented, I had not only perished by the struko of eternal justice, but also laid myself open to the stroke of ihose days which bring some to disgrace and shame before the face of the world.

In these days the thonghts of religion were very grievous to me; I could neither endure it myself, nor that any other should; so that when I have seen some read in those books that concernel Christian piety, it would be as it were a prison to me. Then I said unto God: “Doport from me, for I d-sire not the knowledge of thy ways,' Job, xxi. 14. 15. I was now void of all good consideration; heaven and hell were both ont of sight and mind; and as for saving and danming, they were least in my thonghts. O Lord, thou knowest my life, and my ways are not hid from thee.

But this I well remember, that, though I could myself sin with the greatest de light and ease, yet even then, if I had at any time geen wicked things, by those who professed goodness, it would make my spirit treinble. As once, above all the resta when I was in the height of vanity, yet hearing one to swear that was reckoned for a religious man, it had so grat a Atroke 1, on my spirit, that it made my heart ache. But God did not utterly leave me, bui followed me still, not with convictions, but judgments inixed with mercy. For oncI fell into a creuk of the sea, and hardly escaped drowning. Arother time I fell ont of a boat into Bedford river, but meres yet preserved m-; besides, another ume being in the field with my companions, it cha ced that an adder passed over the highway, so I, having a stick, struck her over the back, and having stuued her, I forced opeo her mouth with my stick, and plucked her sting out with muy fingers; by which act, had not God been merciful to me, I might, by my desp rateuers, have brought myself to my end. This, also, I have taken notice of with thauksgiving: when I was a soldier, I with others were drawn out to yo 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 I bad consented, he took my place, and coming to the siege as he stood sentinel, he was shot in the head with a inusket-ball it, and died. Here, as I said, were judgments and mercy, but neither of them did awaken my soul to righteousness : wberefore I sinned still, aud grew more and more rebellious against God, and careless of my own salvation.

Presently after this I changed my couditiou into a married state, and my mercy was to light upon a wife whore father and mother were countes godly; this woman and I, though we caine together as poor as poor might be- not having so much household stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt us both-yet this she had for her part, The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven,' and · The Practice of Piety,' which her father had left her when he died. In these two books I sometimes read, wherein I found some things that were somewhat pleasant to me--but all this while I met with no conviction. She al-0 often would tell me what a godly man her father was, and how he would reprove and correct vice, both in his house and among his neighbours, and what a strict and holy life he lived in his days, both in word and deed. Wherefore these books, though they did not reach my heart to awakeu it about my sad and sinful state, yet ther did biget witbin me ronie desires to reform my vicious life, and full iu vury eag'riy with the religion of the times; to wit, 10 go to church twice a day, and there viry devoutly both say and sing as others did, yet retaining my wicked life; but withal was so overrun with the fpirit of superstition, that I adored, and that with great devotion, even all things both the high-place, priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what else-belonging to the church : counting all things boly that were therein contained, and especially the priest and clerk most happy, and, without doubt, greatly blessed, because they were the servavis, as I then thought, of God, and wer: principal in the holy temple, to do his work therein. This conceit grow so strong upon ny spirit, that had I but seen a priest, though never so sordid and debauched in his life, I should find my spirit fall under hin, reverence him, and knit unto him; yea, I thought for the love I did bear upto them supposing they were the ininistars of God-1 could have lain down at their feet, and have been trampled upon by them-their vame, their garb, and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me. ...

But all this while I was not sensible of the danger and evil of sin; I was kept from considering that sin would damn me, wh:t religiou soever I followed, unless I was found in Christ. Nay, I never thought whether there was such a one or no. Thus inan, while blind, doth wander, for be knoweth not the way to the city of God, Iccles. X. 15.

But one day, amongst all the sermons our pareon made, his subject was to treat of the Sabbath day, and of the evil of breaking that, either with labour, sports, or otherwise; wherefore I fell in my conscience umder bis sermon, thinking and believiug that he made that serinon on purpose to shew me my evil doing. And at that time I felt what guilt was, thougti never before that I can remember ; but then I was for the present greatly loaded therewith, and so went home, when the sermon was ended, with a great burden opon my spirit. This, for that instant, 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; but oh, how glad was I that this trouble was gone from me, and that the fire was put out, that I night sin again without control! 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 gaining I returned with great delight.

Bit the same day, as I was in the midst of a name of cat, and having struck it one blow from the liole, just as I was about to strike it the cond time, a voic. did sudd: uy dart from heaven into niy soul, which cail: 'Juilt thou love thy siis and go to leaven, or have thy sins and go to hell? At this Is put to an ending maz; wherefore, leavinz my cut upon the ground, I look duptoarn, and was as if i hed, with the esce of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus louk vlown npon me, as bying vry botly disple:s d with me, and as if he did sevirily threaten me with some grievous puu:shment for those and other wody practics.

But quickly after this, I fell into company with on : pour son that made profession of religion, who, as I then thought, di talk pleasantly of the Scriptures and of religion; wherefore, liking what he said, I betook me to my Bible, and be to take great pleasure in rrading.

Wherefore I 1- to some outwurd reormation both in my words and life, and did get the commandinents before me für iny way to heaven; which commandments I also did strive to keep, 111:4), as I thought, did keep them pretty well sometimes, and then I should have confort; yet now and then should break one, and so aflict my conscience; but then I should repent, and sey I was sorry for it, and promis. Gol to do better next time, and there got help again ; for th: 'n It'onght I pleased God as well as any man in England.

This I continu d about a year. all which time our i ichbours did take me to be a very goily and religious man, and did marvel much to Fuch great alteration in my life and manners; and, indeed, so it was, thouch I knew not Christ, nor yrace, nor faith, nor hope; for, as I have since seen, had I thin di d, my state had ben most feirful. But, I say, my neighbours were amaz dat this my great conversion -irom prodigious profaneness to something like a moral life and sober mon. Now, therefore, they begin to praise, to commend, and to spak well of me, both to my face and behind my back. Now I was, as they said, b.come god'y; now I 1.3 become a right bonest znan. But oh! when I understood those were thuir words and opinions of me, it pleasud me mighty well; for trong'i ag yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite. yet I lovel to be taked ef as one that was truly godly. I was prond of any godliness, and, indeed, I did all I did either to be ch of or well spoken of by men; and thus I coulion d for about a twelvemon th or more.

Voir yon inust know, that before this I had taken much delight in ziging, bat my consci nce beginning to be tender, I thought such pricic: was hut vain. ad therefore forc: mysli to have it; y tmy mind laker d; wr forI wond go to the steeple-horis- and look 01, t'o'ith Idirst not ring; but I thought this denot becoin: religion peither; y tlforeid wayself, and would look on stiil. But quickly alter, I be van 10 think, Low, is one of the bells should allo: Then I chose to stand und a main ham thalliy ovorthwart the steeple, from side to side, thinking here I inigiit st.1 sur'; but then I thought again, should the bell fall with a swing, it inight first hit the wall, and then rebonding upon me, night kill me for all this bean. This made me stand in this steeple-door; and now, tho I, I am eaf) enough; for if the bell should then fall, I can slip out b'hind these thick walls, and 80 b preserved notwithstanding. So after this I would you go to see them ring, but wonld not go any further than the steep'r-coor; but then it came into my lieral, • How. if the steeple itself shon!d fall?' And this thought-it my,for acht llinow, when I stood and looked 011-lid continually to share my mind, that I durat pot stand at the ste p!-oor any longer, but was forced to 112, for fear the staple should fall upon my head.

Another thing was my dancing: I was a full year before I could quite leave that. But all this whic, when ironshit Ikapt that or this commandant or did by word or de d anything I thought in food, I lia: gr. ut pae. in my conscience, and would thigk with myself, Gori cannot choos, but be now plesel will me; Via, to relate it in iny own way. I thonght no manin England conlp! 18! God better than I. But, poor writch as I rras. I was all this while imorant of Jesus Chri t, and going about to establish my own righteousness; and had perished therein, had not God in his mercy shewed me more of my state by nature.

The Golden City.-- From The Pilgrim's Progress' Nay I saw in my dream that by this time the pilgrims wer: got over the Enchanted Ground, and intering into the country of Dealul, whoss air was very sweet and

E. L. v, iii,


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