in the supposition, that Bunyan's enthusiasm was " brought on" by the circumstances of the age. No man had hated, or kept more out of the way of religious professors, than he had done. Up to the very day of his arrest upon the village green, he had read no books of a fanatical order, and seems to have taken no counsel but from his wife; and she had been “ trained up," Dr. S. himself says, "in the way she should go." Thus, neither Hypocrites nor Fanatics had anything to do with Bunyan's first mighty impulse. Even the sermon which preceded it seems to have been merely practical. No former sermon of "our Parson's," as Bunyan calls him, had produced any effect of the kind. He says, that he had never thought of Christ before, nor felt what guilt was; no slight proof, that the preacher was not very puritanical. I will suppose, however, that the Sermon against Sabbath-breaking proclaimed Christ to be" the Lord of the Sabbath ;" and even threatened transgression with his hot displeasure; yea, that it closed by the appeal "Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell?"

I am even inclined to think, that it must have run somewhat in this strain. Still, not even all this concession will account for the effect produced on Bunyan, when his recollections of the appeal assumed the aspect of a vision. Then it plunged him into despair; whereas the Sermon, although it had made him feel guilty before God, had not excited the fear of perishing. Its immediate effect was confined to embittering his old pleasures; and that bitterness was soon at an end. Accord ingly, after dinner, he went with "great delight" to his old sports. He was not, therefore, doing much violence to his understanding or conscience, in returning to play. Accordingly, he struck the first blow at Cat, and that in " the midst of the game," without fear or compunction. It was not until he was about to strike the second, that he was startled. This deserves notice. Had he left his house as he entered it, greatly burdened and embittered in spirit, the first stroke would have been the most difficult. Conscience, had not its "fire been put out," would have flashed up at the first outrage offered to it; and his heart, had it not become "glad," would have made his hand tremble. He was not, therefore, doing violence to his better judgment or feelings, when he began to play. He went to Cat with great delight, and struck the first blow with perfect freedom; but the second he could not strike. He left his cat on the ground, and looked up to heaven,

Now, although this arrest may be accounted for, by a happy meeting of Truth and Conscience, that effectual meeting itself remains unaccounted for. They had met before dinner, without producing fear; but now tormenting fear accompanied a sense of guilt. Why? Undoubtedly, because the spirit of all grace brought Truth and Conscience into closer union. It was His striving with the man, that arrested the man. He convinced him of "sin and judgment," although not of "righteousness" also, then: and the conviction falling upon a mind highly imaginative, and but recently excited, was wrought by fancy, into visible forms and audible sounds.

Those who have been afraid to say this, were deterred by what Dr. Southey well calls "the insane reasoning" which followed. It was insane to conclude, as Bunyan did, that he must be damned; that it was now too late to look after heaven; that Christ would not pardon his sins. This reasoning, however, was not founded upon the visionary form which the conviction assumed. The first words which darted into his soul, should have prevented this despair; for they were, "Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to Heaven?" This "good thought" was worthy of the Holy Spirit to suggest, and directly calcu lated to awaken a good hope through grace. And even the succeeding words, "or wilt thou have thy sins and go to Hell ?" awful as they are, presented an alternative.

There is, therefore, no reason for being ashamed or afraid to ascribe to the Holy Spirit the conviction, as it flashed into Bunyan's mind. In its original form, it was in the words of both truth and soberness. It was Bunyan's own spirit that flashed it back into the firmament, in visionary and terrific forms; and thus neither with these, nor with the insane reasonings which followed them, had the Spirit of God anything to do.

It is by overlooking this distinction, that many good men are very shy to acknowledge, or even to recognize, the preThere is, sence of the Holy Spirit in this remarkable event. however, no occasiou for such timidity. What followed the divine conviction, was all a human perversion of both its character and design.

The insane reasoning will prove this. Bunyan says, “I had no sooner conceived thus (the anger of Christ,) in my mind mind, but, suddenly, this conclusion was fastened on my (for the former hint did set my sins again before my face,)

that I had been a great and grievous sinner, and that it was now too late for me to look after heaven; for Christ would not forgive me, nor pardon my transgressions; then I fell to musing on this also;-and whilst I was thinking of it, and fearing it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair; concluding it was too late."-Southey's Life."

There was nothing to warrant this conclusion, even in the supposed frowns or threatenings of Christ. "Some grievous punishment," was all that they suggested to Bunyan, whilst he gazed on these vivid embodyings of his own fears. It was not until he began to muse on them, that he plunged into despair. They were all quite over and gone before he began to muse. His rash conclusions were, I grant, very rapid not, however, unnaturally so. Such thunder usually follows hard after swift lightning, and rolls both longer and farther than the flash indicates. Penrose understood the rapid movements of Despair, when he sang :

"Drawn by her pencil, the Creator stands,
(His beams of Mercy thrown aside)
With thunder arming his uplifted hands,
And hurling Vengeance wide.

Hope, at the sight aghast, affrighted flies,

And dashed on Terror's rocks, Faith's last dependence dies."

Accordingly, when Bunyan mused until he despaired, he soon became desperate. "Concluding it was too late, I resolved to go on in sin: for, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable; miserable if I leave my sins; (see how he forgets the first words suggested to him by the Holy Spirit!) and but miserable if I follow them." Now he perverts the divine conviction! What, I ask, could be expected but that this process of reasoning should end in the horrid conclusion, "I can but be damned; and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins, as for few." Awful as this is, it is not very uncommon. I have known many instances of it. Bunyan himself, although the recollection of it shocked him to the very end of his life, had ceased to wonder at it before he recorded it. "I am very confident," he says, "that this temptation of the Devil is more usual among poor creatures than many are aware of; even to overrun the spirits with a scurvy and seired frame of heart, and a benumbing of conscience; which frame he stilly and slyly supplieth with such despair, that, though not much guilt attendeth such, yet they have continually a secret conclusion within them, that

there is no hope for them; for they have loved sins, therefore after them they will go." He confirms his opinion by quoting the following texts:-" But thou saidst, There is no Hope: no, for I have loved strangers, and after them I will go.' "And they said, There is no Hope; but we will walk every one after our own devices, and we will every one do the ima gination of his evil heart.”—Jer. ii. 25; xviii. 12.

It is worthy of notice, that Bunyan, although horror-struck by the vision, had pride or self-command enough to keep silence all the time. He was unable to hold his Cat; but he held his peace. Not a word betrayed the cause of his sudden stop from playing. "I stood," he says, "in the midst of my play before all my companions; but yet I told them nothing." They wondered, no doubt, to see their ringleader drop his Cat, and stand stock-still. He saw that wonder in their looks, and was too proud to confess his secret. He could not look so

bold or calm as they did; but he did not own himself crestfallen. He could not brook the idea of seeming a coward or craven, before those who had always seen him the master. spirit of their revels and blasphemy. His expression, “I told them nothing," tells us a great deal!

It was some such considerations, I have no doubt, that kept him silent. He saw at a glance, that his fame would be gone forever, and his leadership lost, if he breathed his fears or his forebodings upon the village green. He knew that he would be twitted and taunted by the only companions he had, for allowing himself to be frightened by "our Parson," in the morning. All this had more weight with him at the time, than he himself suspected when he wrote the emphatic words, "I told them nothing." It was that they might discover nothing, and suspect but little, that he rushed "desperately to his sport again.'

This, also, is no uncommon thing, even amongst young men who have far more literary and social resources to fall back upon than the Tinker had; and much stronger family reasons for quitting the chair of the scorner and the haunts of the wild. Many "keep it up," as they phrase it, because they would be laughed at if they let it down. Oh how

"The world's dread laugh"

can bind young men to the chariot-wheels of some dashing Leader of vice or vanity, although he himself is just as much

bound to his chariot by the same laugh, as they are to its wheels! They are afraid of his jibes, and he is afraid of their scorn and thus both keep it up, although both are often sick of each other. I knew, in early life, an old man, the oracle of a village, who seemed inspired with new life from day to day, as he spread Infidelity among raw lads. I wondered at his apparent hilarity. After a time I heard that he was dying. I went to see him. He had swallowed poison, and was cursing both himself and his dupes for their folly. It was an awful scene! I succeeded however, in saving his life, by forcing him to swallow tar-water. He said, that he would unsay all his old maxims before his young dupes. But he never did. I had to tell them the tale of horror. He recovered, only to drink and speculate. They soon rallied their spirits, to laugh at the tar-water.