And read these "Blessed are the Read Acts 20. 30; following words meek, for they shall 1 Cor. 1. 10, 13, and of Mr. R. Hook- inherit the earth." 3. 3; Rom. 16. 17, 18; er's, which he "Blessed are the Jam. 3. 13, 14, 15, 16, useth of some peacemakers, for they 17. Study these on part of the his- shall be called the your knees. tory, which out children of God." of Sulpitius I be- "Blessed are they fore mentioned; which are persecuted Eccles. Pol. Epist. for righteousness' Dedic. sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." |

"I deny not

but that our antagonists in these controversies may peradventure have met with some not unlike to Ithacius, who mightily bending himself by all means against the heresy of Priscillian, (the hatred of which one evil was all the virtue he had became so wise in the end, that every man careful of virtuous conversation, studious of the Scripture, and given to any abstinence in diet, was set down in his calendar for suspected Priscillianists: For whom it should be expedient to approve their soundness of faith, by a more licentious and loose behaviour. Such proctors and patrons the truth might spare. Yet is not their grossness so intolerable as on the contrary side, the scurrilous and more than satirical immodesty of Martinism; the first published schedules whereof being brought to the hands of a grave and very honourable knight, with signification given that the book would refresh his spirits; he took it, saw what the title was, read over an unsavoury sentence or two, and delivered back the libel with this answer: 'I am sorry you are of the mind to be solaced with these sports, and sorrier you have herein thought my affection like your own.'"

John Bunyan, born in 1628, at Elstow, within a mile of Bedford, was a tinker's son, and bred to his father's calling. What little reading he learnt at a

free school he had lost till he married at nineteen. Of this he wrote afterwards in a sketch of his own life, called "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners."

Presently after this, I changed my condition into a married state, and my mercy was, to light upon a wife, whose father was counted godly: This woman and I, though we came together as poor as poor might be (not having so much household stuff as a dish or a 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 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.) She also would be often telling of me what a

godly man her father was, and how he would reprove and correct vice, both in his house, and among his neighbours ; what a strict and holy life he lived in his days, both in word and deed.

Bunyan's imagination was fervid, and objects of thought sometimes became as real to his eye or ear. One Sunday he had heard in church a sermon against the sports encouraged on that day by those who opposed the Puritans. He felt guilty until he had dined, then shook the sermon from his mind, and followed his old custom.

But the same day, as I was in the midst of a game of cat, and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to strike it the 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?" At this I was put to an exceeding maze; wherefore, leaving my cat upon the ground, I 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.

After a little time, the religious feeling became very strong, but he says the change could only have been outward, because he was proud of his godliness. It cost him a year to give up dancing, and much struggle to give up his pleasure in bell-ringing.

Now you must know that before this I had taken much delight in ringing, but my conscience beginning to be tender, I thought such practice was but vain, and therefore forced myself to leave it; yet my mind hankered, wherefore I would go to the steeple-house, and look on, though I durst not ring; but I thought this did not become religion neither, yet I forced myself, and would look on still. But quickly after, I began to think, how if one of the bells should fall? Then I chose to stand under a main beam that lay overthwart the steeple from side to side, thinking here I might stand sure; but then I thought again, should the bell fall with a swing, it might first hit the wall, and then, rebounding upon me, might kill me, for all this beam. This made me stand in the steepledoor; and now, thought I, I am safe enough, for if the bell should now fall, I can slip out behind these thick walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding.

So after this I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go any farther than the steeple-door. But then it came into my head, how if the steeple itself should fall? And this thought (it may, for aught I know, when I stood and looked on) did continually so shake my mind, that I durst not stand at the steeple-door any longer, but was forced to flee, for fear the steeple should fall upon my head.

He tells how he was one day in Bedford streets, plying his trade as tinker, when he was moved by hearing some poor women talk of their experiences in religion. He records some of his own struggles to win perfect faith in God:

Wherefore while I was thus considering, and being put to a plunge about it, (for you must know, that as yet I had not in this matter broken my mind to any one, only did hear and

consider), the tempter came in with this delusion, that there was no way for me to know I had faith, but by trying to work some miracles urging those scriptures that seemed to look that way, for the enforcing and strengthening his temptation. Nay, one day, as I was between Elstow and Bedford, the temptation was hot upon me, to try if I had faith, by doing some miracle; which miracle at this time was this: I must say to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, "Be dry;" and to the dry places, "Be you puddles:” And truly one time I was going to say so indeed; but just as I was about to speak, this thought came into my mind, "But go under yonder hedge, and pray first, that God would make you able." But when I concluded to pray, this came hot upon me; that if I prayed, and came again, and tried to do it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then to be sure I had no faith, but was a castaway, and lost; nay, thought I, if it be so, I will not try yet, but will stay a little longer.

So I continued at a great loss; for I thought, if they only had faith, which could do such wonderful things, then I concluded, that for the present I neither had it, nor yet for the time to come were ever like to have it. Thus I was tossed betwixt the devil and my own ignorance, and so perplexed, especially at some times, that I could not tell what to do.

About this time, the state and happiness of these poor people at Bedford was thus, in a kind of vision, presented to me. I saw as if they were on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow and dark clouds: methought also, betwixt me and them, I saw a wall that did compass about this mountain. Now through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass, concluding, that if I could, I would even go into the very midst of them, and there also comfort myself with the heat of their sun.

About this wall I bethought myself to go again and again, still prying as I went, to see if I could find some way or passage by which I might enter therein, but none could I find for some time. At the last I saw as it were a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the wall, through which I attempted to pass. Now the passage being very strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well nigh quite beat out, by striving to get in; at last, with great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after that, by a sideling striving, my shoulders, and my whole body; then I was exceeding glad, went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of their sun.

Now this mountain, and wall, &c., was thus made out to me: The mountain signifieth the church of the living God: the sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of His merciful face on them that were therein; the wall I thought was the world, that did make separation between the Christians and the world; and the gap which was in the wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father. For Jesus said in his reply to Thomas, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no man cometh to the Father but by Me. Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it." But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not, but with great difficulty, enter in hereat, it showed me, that none could enter into life but those that were in downright earnest, and unless also they left that wicked world behind them; for here was only room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin.

His anxieties of mind ended in serious illness, but he recovered, and became robust. In 1657 John

66

Bunyan was made deacon of his church at Bedford, and moved his fellow-worshippers so greatly with his prayers, that he was asked to take his turn in village preaching. That was against the law, and complaint was lodged; but it was not until after the Restoration that he was committed to Bedford jail for preaching in conventicles. He remained in prison until March, 1672; that is to say, from the age of thirty-two to the age of forty-four. At the close of this time Bunyan wrote some "Reflections upon my Imprisonment," in which he said: "1 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 was never more real and apparent than now; here I have seen and felt Him indeed!" Thoughts of his wife, who had laboured in vain for his release, and for the little ones deprived of the breadwinner, one a blind daughter, Mary, frail of frame, whom he outlived, were the sharpest of his sorrows. And here he wrote

The way not to faint is, "To look not on the 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 sig are eternal." And thus I reasoned with myself, If I provid only 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 conclude 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 trist 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, Thon art my father; and to the worm, Thou art my mother and sister:" that is, to familiarise 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 pulling the flesh from the bones, and that not only became I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but sisə because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor family was to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all besir. Oh! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor b one might go under, would break my heart to pieces.

Poor child! thought I, what sorrow art thou like to hav for thy portion in this world! Thou must be beaten, mus beg, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand rais ties, though I cannot now endure the wind should blow ap thee. But yet recalling myself, thought I, I must vers you all with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave va Oh! I saw in this condition I was as a man who was palie down his house upon the head of his wife and children: thought I, I must do it, I must do it: and now I though those two milch kine that were to carry the ark of God another country, and to leave their calves behind them

But that which helped me in this temptation were dum considerations, of which, three in special here I will n the first was the consideration of these two scrat

1 1 Samuel vi. 7-12. The tenderness of deep feeling in the passage enters with singular charm into this application of ch Testament reading. John Bunyan certainly read the Bible ba heart as well as his eyes.

"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 enemy to entreat them well in the time of evil, and in time of affliction."

JOHN BUNYAN. (From a Painting by Saddler.)

It was during this imprisonment, when Christ was "seen and felt indeed," that John Bunyan wrote "The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that which is to come, delivered under the Similitude of a Dream, wherein is discovered the Manner of his Setting out, his Dangerous Journey, and safe Arrival at the Desired Country." It is the heavenward struggle against obstacles and dangers of this world vividly personified by the imagination of a man to whom spiritual life is the reality and earthly life the shadow. To those who questioned the fitness of his method of representing Divine truth, he said of allegory what he might have said of the earthly trial under which it was written: "Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright brings none." In the close to the author's rhymed apology for his book, which was not published until 1678, six years after his imprisonment, he thus indicates its purpose:

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.

This book it chalketh out before thine eyes The man that seeks the everlasting prize; It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes, What he leaves undone, also what he does; It also shows you how he runs and runs,

Till he unto the gate of glory comes.

It shows too, who set out for life amain,
As if the lasting crown they would obtain;
Here also you may see the reason why
They lose their labour, and like fools do die.
This book will make a traveller of thee,
f by its counsel thou wilt ruled be;

It will direct thee to the Holy Land,

If thou wilt its directions understand:

Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable?
Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember
From New-year's-day to the last of December?
Then read my fancies, they will stick like burrs,
And may be to the helpless, comforters.

This book is writ in such a dialect

As may the minds of listless men affect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest Gospel strains.

Would'st thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Would'st thou read riddles, and their explanation?
Or else be drownéd in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or would'st thou see
A man i' th' clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Would'st thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm,
And find thyself again without a charm?
Would'st read thyself, and read thou know'st not what,
And yet know whether thou art blest or not,

By reading the same lines? O then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.

And thus begins John Bunyan's vision of the heavenward journey:

As I walk'd through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled; and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, What shall I do?

His city-the world-will be burned with fire. from heaven. To his neighbours his strange trouble became worse and worse, as he cried, "What shall I do to be saved?" Then came Evangelist, and showed him the strait gate to which he was to make his way. He set off with speed; neighbour Obstinate could not persuade Christian to return, and soon turned back from following; but neighbour Pliable was persuaded to go on, talking by the way of everlasting life and crowns of glory.

Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk, they drew near to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the Slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being grievously bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of the burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire.

Pli. Then said Pliable, Ah, Neighbour Christian, where are you now?

Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know.

Pli. At that Pliable began to be offended, and angerly said to his fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me all this while of? If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may we expect 'twixt this and our journey's end? May I get out again with my life, you shall possess the brave

country alone for me. And with that he gave a desperate struggle or two, and got out of the mire on that side of the slough which was next to his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw him no more.

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond alone: but still he endeavoured to struggle to that side of the slough that was still further from his own house, and next to the wicket-gate; the which he did, but could not get out, because of the burden that was upon his back: but I beheld in my dream, that a man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him, What he did there?

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I was bid go this way by a man called Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might escape the wrath to come; and as I was going thither, I fell in here.

Help. But why did you not look for the steps?

Chr. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and fell in.

Help. Then said he, Give me thy hand: so he gave him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his way.

Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the City of Destruction to yonder gate, is it that this plat is not mended, that poor travellers might go thither with more security? And he said unto me, This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended; it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore it is called the Slough of Despond; for still as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settle in this place: and this is the reason of the badness of this ground.

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain so bad. His labourers also have, by the direction of his majesty's surveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years employed about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to my knowledge, said he, here hath been swallowed up at least twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of wholesome instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from all places of the King's dominions (and they that can tell say they are the best materials to make good ground of the place), if so be it might have been mended, but it is the Slough of Despond still, and so will be when they have done what they can.

True, there are by the direction of the law-giver, certain good and substantial steps, placed even through the very midst of this slough; but at such time as this place doth much spue out its filth, as it doth against change of weather, these steps are hardly seen; or if they be, men through the dizziness of their heads, step besides; and then they are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there; but the ground is good when they are once got in at the gate.

The steps over the Slough of Despond are the promises of forgiveness and acceptance to life by faith in Christ. Then Christian met and talked with Mr. Worldly Wiseman from the town of Carnal Policy, who thought a visit to Mr. Legality, who lived in the Village of Morality, would answer their, purpose better than making for the strait gate; and Christian was found by Evangelist on the wrong road, under Mount Sinai. Evangelist taught him, comforted him, and set him again in the right way. So he found the gate, and was admitted by Good

will, and taken to the house of the Interpreter, who taught him spiritual truths by a succession of inpressive figures and emblems.

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Hast thou considered all these things?

Chr. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear. Inter. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they mar be as a goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in the way thou must go. Then Christian began to gird up his lo and to address himself to his journey. Then said the Interpreter, The Comforter be always with thee, good Chris tian, to guide thee in the way that leads to the city. & Christian went on his way, saying,

"Here I have seen things rare and profitable;

Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable
In what I have begun to take in hand;
Then let me think on them, and understand
Wherefore they show'd me was, and let me be

Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee."

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up w Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a wa and that wall is called Salvation. Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great diffraty, because of the load on his back.

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascendit. and upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below in th bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my dream, that just Christian came up with the cross, his burden loosed from if his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began to tur and so continued to do, till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw it no more.

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with. merry heart, He hath given me rest by His sorrow, and by His death. Then he stood still awhile to look E. wonder; for it was very surprising to him, that the sight the cross should thus ease him of his burden. He le therefore, and looked again, even till the springs that were his head sent the waters down his cheeks. Now as he st looking and weeping, behold three shining ones came to br and saluted him with, Peace be to thee; so the first said him, Thy sins be forgiven: the second stript him of his and clothed him with change of raiment; the third als** mark in his forehead, and gave him a roll with a seal it, which he bid him look on as he ran, and that he sh give it in at the celestial gate. So they went their way.

As Christian went on, he found three men. Simy. Sloth, and Presumption, fast asleep in a valley, fetters on their heels. He roused them, but th slept again. Next there came tumbling over wall two men: the name of the one was Form and the name of the other was Hypocrisy. Th justified the old custom of getting over the wal" save the journey by the strait gate, which was i far about; and, said they—

We see not wherein thou differest from us but by the that is on thy back, which was, as we trow, given the some of thy neighbours, to hide the shame of thy mak

Chr. By laws and ordinances you will not be saved s you came not in by the door. And as for this cost that my back, it was given me by the Lord of the place wh go; and that, as you say, to cover my nakedness with I take it as a token of his kindness to me, for I han

but rags before. And besides, thus I comfort myself as I go: surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the city, the Lord thereof will know me for good, since I have his coat on my back; a coat that he gave me freely in the day that he stript me of my rags. I have moreover a mark in my forehead, of which perhaps you have taken no notice, which one of my Lord's most intimate associates fixed there in the day that my burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you moreover, that I had then given me a roll sealed, to comfort me by reading as I go in the way; I was also bid to give it in at the celestial gate, in token of my certain going in after it; all which things I doubt you want, and want them because you came not in at the gate.

To these things they gave him no answer; only they looked upon each other and laughed. Then I saw that they went on all, save that Christian kept before, who had no more talk but with himself, and that sometimes sighingly, and sometimes comfortably; also he would be often reading in the roll that one of the shining ones gave him, by which he was refreshed.

The dreamer saw them travel on till they came to the foot of the hill Difficulty, where was a spring. Christian drank of the well, and went straight on; his companions, seeing two other ways that seemed to avoid the hill, took them. The name of one of these ways was Danger, and the name of the other Destruction. Then Mistrust and Timorous, who had seen lions in the path, were met rushing back, but Christian, who had slept in an arbour on the hillside, went on till he missed his roll, but he returned for it, and then proceeded, passing the lions; which were chained, though he saw not the chains; and discoursed with Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity, in the House Beautiful. Then they supped, and all their talk at table was about the Lord of the Hill, a great warrior, who had fought and slain him that had power of death, and the Pilgrim then was laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising: the name of the chamber was Peace. Next day his hostesses took him to the armoury, and sent him forth armed. His way next was through the Valley of Humiliation.

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was hard put to it; for he had gone but a little way, before he espied a foul fiend coming over the field to meet him; his name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to go back or to stand his ground: but he considered again that he had no armour for his back, and therefore thought that to turn the back to him might give him the greater advantage with ease to pierce him with his darts. Therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground; for, thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, 'twould be the best way to stand.

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous to behold; he was clothed with scales like a fish (and they are his pride); he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke; and his mouth was as the mouth of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question with him.

Apol. Whence come you? and whither are you bound? Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, which is the place of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion.

Apol. By this I perceive thou art one of my subjects, for

all that country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. How is it then that thou hast run away from thy king? Were it not that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee now at one blow to the ground.

Chr. I was born indeed in your dominions, but your service was hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on, for the wages of sin is death; therefore when I was come to years, I did as other considerate persons do, look out, if perhaps I might mend myself.

Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee: but since thou complainest of thy service and wages, be content to go back; what our country will afford, I do here promise to give thee. Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the King of princes, and how can I with fairness go back with thee? Apol. Thou hast done in this according to the proverb, changed a bad for a worse; but it is ordinary for those that have professed themselves his servants, after a while to give him the slip, and return again to me: do thou so too, and all shall be well.