recalls to our minds. We think of Bunyan writing his immortal allegory in that dark, damp cell in Bedford gaol-a cell in which, if it existed at the present day, we should be ashamed to confine the lowest criminal; and we marvel at the bigotry which kept him for twelve long years in such a dungeon, merely because he claimed the right to worship God according to the dictates of his conscience. What a biting satire upon the futility of attempting to stifle truth by the strong arm of the law is this man's story. Religious intolerance decreed that he should pass those dreary years in prison, in order that he might not preach to a handful of Bedfordshire labourers; the enforced leisure and the sharp experiences were the immediate causes that produced a work which has passed through a greater number of editions than any other book except the Bible, and which has carried the sound of his voice to millions of his fellow-creatures of every race and kindred of mankind. Had those who condemned Bunyan to an imprisonment attained their object, they would have silenced for ever this schismatic tinker; as it was, they made the prison-house of Bedford the cradle of an immortal work.

It seems strange to us, in this year of grace, living in a town where one enjoys so large a measure of freedom-where the clergy of the Church of England (to their honour be it said) are for the most part men who would scorn to oppress anyone on account of his religious opinions -it seems hard to realise that only two hundred years ago Bunyan was kept in a wretched prison for twelve years for no heavier offence than that of "refusing to attend his Parish Church and hear the Common Prayer Service." Yet, according to the State papers still preserved respecting his trial, this was the offence with which he was charged, and for which he suffered punishment. The statute under which he was convicted was an old one of Elizabeth, which had been re-enforced with all its rigour by that pious monarch, Charles II. It set forth :

"That if any person above sixteen years of age shall forbear coming to Church for one month, or persuade any other person to abstain from coming to Divine Service, or come to any unlawful assembly, conventical, or meeting. Every such person shall be imprisoned, without bail, until he conform, and do in some Church make open submission."

The penalties for a second and third offence were transportation and "death without benefit of clergy." Everybody knows how Bunyan was arrested when preaching at a little village called Samsell, in Bedfordshire, how he was thrown into prison after a mockery of a trial; everyone has heard how easily he might have obtained his liberty if he would have promised to give up his preaching, and of his heroic answer to his Judges: "If I was out of prison to-day I would preach the gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God.'

A very interesting account of his trial and imprisonment, written by himself, was published as an appendix to his autobiographical work: "Grace abounding to the chief of sinners;" a book that will amply repay perusal, since it is one of the quaintest and evidently most genuine bits of autobiography ever penned. To a reader unaccustomed to the conduct of State Trials under the beneficent rule of the Stuarts,

his account might appear exaggerated, but when we remember that to many a hapless prisoner of that day a trial was but a formal preliminary to execution or torture, we must conclude that Bunyan was, after all, rather leniently treated in merely losing his liberty for twelve of the best years of his life. Very keenly and trenchantly has he satirised these frequent outrages upon the name of Justice, when in his great work he depicts the trial of Christian and Faithful before Lord Hate-good: "Judge: Thou runagate, heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentlemen have witnessed against thee?

"Faithful: May I speak a few words in my own defence? "Judge: Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservest to live no longer, but to be slain immediately upon the place; yet, that all men may see our gentleness toward thee, let us hear what thou, vile runagate, hast to say."

Every reader of the State Trials of the period knows this is no fancy sketch, but a fair picture of many a disgraceful burlesque upon justice, when the presiding judge usurped the functions of counsel for the prosecution and jury alike.

It is rather singular that nearly all Bunyan's biographers have united in describing him as having been in his early life a positive miracle of wickedness, a terror and a pest to the whole neighbourhood in which he lived. They have grounded these assertions on the language which Bunyan has himself used in describing his early life in his "grace abounding" language, which is just what we should expect to find such a man using at such a period of history. Those writers who have understood Bunyan's words in their literal meaning have signally failed to take into account the temper and spirit of the age in which he lived. It was an age of hysterical excitement and religious fanaticism, and however much our sympathies may revolt from the excesses and vandalisms of the Puritans, we cannot but admire the terrible earnestness which prompted them; nor can we wonder at the vehemence and extravagance with which they denounced the Church of Rome, and everything that belonged to it, or had the faintest connection with it. We must remember that to these men the tyranny and persecution of the Romish Church were no mere memory of a bygone age; old men, still living, remembered that terrible Eve of St. Bartholomew, when the streets of Paris ran with the blood of the Huguenots; the protestants of Germany were still fighting against the temporal forces of the Church, while nearer home Laud and the Star Chamber were but of yesterday.

Yet one of the most recent of Bunyan's biographers has interpreted his words so literally that he tells us Bunyan was "a poor, debauched youth, whose course of life made him a curse to the whole neighbourhood," and "whose case, like a Magdalene, or a thief on the cross, may be exhibited to encourage hope in every returning profligate." The fact is, that there was nothing in Bunyan's early life to justify such language as this. He appears to have been a thoughtless youth, very much given to indulgence in dancing and out-door sports-but with only one prominent fault, that of using profane language. His favourite amuse

ments were bell ringing, tip-cat, and dancing, and his favourite time for indulging in them was Sunday afternoon. Although it may sound very dreadful to modern ears to go to Church in the morning, and spend the rest of the day in dancing or football, yet we must not forget that Bunyan had been brought up to regard this as a meet and proper way of spending the Sabbath. During his boyhood the famous Book of Sports was ordered to be read from the pulpit every Sunday, after divine service, and doubtless Bunyan had regularly heard the minister of his parish church so read it, setting forth, among other things, "that after divine service our good people be not disturbed, letted, or discouraged from dancing, either men or women; archery, leaping, vaulting, or any other such-like harmless recreation; May games, Whitsunales, Morris dances, May-poles, and other sports." We cannot wonder, then, if Bunyan followed the common practice, and indulged in these sports and pastimes with his youthful companions, on the Sabbath afternoon. he seems to have been very far from being the hardened reprobate some of his biographers would have us believe, for he tells us that he was constantly haunted with feelings of remorse, and terrifying dreams, and distressed with great mental conflicts.

But

During the civil war he joined the Parliamentary army, and served against the King in the decisive campaign of 1645, and very probably it was in the ranks of the Puritan forces that he first imbibed those beliefs that eventually induced him to cast in his lot with the Nonconformists -to become a member of the sect called Baptists, and a preacher among them. It is easy, therefore, to understand that he would use very strong language when speaking of his former sinful state, especially as this exaggerated tone of self-depreciation was one of the most common features of the religious men of his day. Yet it is amusing to notice that when charged with a specific offence the old Puritan waxes very wroth, and in good round terms gives the slander a flat denial.

Of Bunyan's personal appearance and characteristics we have the following account, written by an intimate friend, and published about three years after his death :

"He appeared in countenance of a stern and rough temper, but in his conversation mild and affable, not given to loquacity or much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion required it, observing never to boast of himself or his parts, but rather seem low in his own eyes, and submit himself to the judgment of others. He had a sharp, quick eye, accomplished with an excellent discerning of persons, being of good judgment and quick wit. As for his person, he was tall of stature, strong boned, though not corpulent, somewhat of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes, wearing his hair on his upper lip after the old British fashion, his hair reddish, his nose well set, and his mouth moderate large, his forehead something high, and his habit always plain and modest."

Many anecdotes are related of him which illustrate his prominent characteristics of strong common sense and ready wit. One day while in prison a Quaker came to see him with what he professed was a message from

the Lord. "After searching for thee," said the Quaker, "in half the jails of England, I am glad to have found thee at last." "If the Lord sent thee," said Bunyan, sarcastically, "you would not have needed to take so much trouble to find me out, for He knows that I have been in Bedford jail these seven years past."

Once a student asked him: "How dare you preach from the Bible, seeing you have not the original, not being a scholar?" "Have you the original ?" retorted Bunyan. "Yes," said the scholar. "Nay, but," persisted Bunyan, "have you the very self-same original copies that were written by the penmen of the Scriptures and Apostles?" "No," said the scholar, "but we have the true copies of these originals." "How do you know that ?" said Bunyan. How," said his opponent, "why, we believe what we have is a true copy of the original." "Then,' replied Bunyan, "So do I believe our English Bible is a true copy of the original."

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And when Bunyan was appealed to for his opinion on the propriety of ministers saluting the female members of their congregation, his sense of humour creeps out in his answer, "I made my objection to it," he says, "and when they have answered me that 'it was but a piece of civility,' I have told them it is not a comely sight. Some, indeed, have urged the holy kiss, but then I have asked why they make baulks. they did salute the most handsome and let the ill-favoured go?"

Why

Of the superlative merits of his great work it is quite unnecessary to speak. Its popularity is universal and complete. It has attained a circulation surpassed only by that of the Bible itself; it has excited the admiration of the most cultivated intellects, and extorted eulogies from the most eminent critics. "Though there were many clever men in England," says Macaulay, "during the latter half of the seventeenth century, there were only two minds which possessed the imaginative faculty in a very eminent degree. One of those minds produced the Paradise Lost, the other the Pilgrim's Progress." In truth, Bunyan possessed many of the highest qualifications of the poet, and though it must be confessed that most of his verse is sad doggrel, yet much of his prose is true poetry. Every now and then, as we read his book, we come upon descriptive passages of most suggestive beauty, full of poetic feeling and graceful fancy. For instance, after Christain has climbed the hill Difficulty, how exquisitely are we told of the rest that follows his well-doing.

"The pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sunrising. The name of the chamber was Peace,

where he slept till break of day."

Then with what wealth of expression and felicity of language does he convey the picture of the pleasant land of Beulah, "where the air was very sweet and pleasant, yea, they heard continually the singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth. In this country the sun shineth night and day; wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair; neither could they so much as see Doubting Castle."

Some of his later pieces of verse, couched in language remarkable for its purity and simplicity, are not unworthy of the author of the Pilgrim's Progress. I take the following from his poem of the Child and the Bird, contained in his "Divine Emblems :"

My little bird, how canst thou sit

And sing among so many thorns?
Let me a hold upon thee get;

My love with honour thee adorns.

I'll feed thee with white bread and milk,
And sugar plums, if them thou crave;
I'll cover thee with finest silk,

That from the cold I may thee save.

I'll keep thee safe from cat and cur,

No manner o' harm shall come to thee;
Yea, I will be thy succourer,

My bosom shall thy cabin be.

My Father's palace shall be thine;

Yea, in it thou shalt sit and sing;
My little bird, if thou'lt be mine,

The whole year round shall be thy spring.

That last line has surely the ring of true poetry in it.

In addition to his great work, and the autobiography already alluded to, Bunyan also wrote an allegory, entitled "The Holy War," and a large number of doctrinal works. The latter are now but little read, and the merits of the "Holy War" have been overshadowed by those of its greater companion. Had the "Pilgrim's Progress" never been written, Bunyan would still have given us the finest allegory in the English language, for the "Holy War" is second only to that immortal work.

It is, of course, on the Pilgrim's Progress that Bunyan's fame as a writer rests, and rests securely. The vigor of its narrative, the freshness and pungency of the style, and the homely simplicity of the language employed, have invested it with a charm which has fascinated the keenest as well as the rudest intellects. As we lay the book aside how, to everyone of us, its incidents come home with living force. It is the map of our life's story, whereon we look back over our past pilgrimage, and recall the dangers and difficulties of the way. Some of us, perhaps, are fallen into the hands of Giant Despair, and some of us are dwelling in the booths of Vanity Fair; some perchance, sorely put to with the troubles of the way, are even now in the Valley of Humiliation, while others have reached the happy land of Beulah.

But as we look back we grow for the time young again, and feel once more the flush of our young enthusiasm, for we see, as well as many trials, many mercies; besides sad defeats, some victories; we behold not a few sweet resting places, where the waters of life were not bitter, and our hearts grow braver as we look into the dim and uncertain future with a trustful hope that "He who ruleth all things" will "glorify for us the western world, make bright for us the setting sun."

ERNESTUS.