woman! said Hale. But Twisden said poverty was her cloak, for he understood her husband was better maintained by running up and down a-preaching, than by following his calling. Sir Matthew asked what was his calling, and was told that he was a tinker. Yes, observed the wife, and because he is a tinker and a poor man, therefore he is despised and cannot have justice. The scene ended in Sir Matthew's mildly telling her he was sorry he could do her no good; that what her husband had said was taken for a conviction, and that there was no other course for her than either to apply to the king, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error, which would be the cheapest. She urged them to send for Bunyan that he might speak for himself: his appearance however would rather have confirmed those in their opinions who said that there was not such another pestilent fellow in the country, than have moved the Judges in his favour. Elizabeth Bunyan concludes her account by saying, " this I remember, that though I was somewhat timorous at my first entrance into the chamber, yet before I went out I could not but break forth into tears; not so much because they were so hard hearted against me and my husband, but to think what a sad account such poor creatures will have to give at the coming of the Lord!"

No farther steps for procuring his release were taken at this time; either because the means for defraying the legal expences could not be raised; or, which is quite as probable, because it was certain that Bunyan thinking himself in conscience bound to preach in defiance of the law, would soon have made his case worse than it then was. For he had fortunately a friend in the jailor, and was somewhat like a prisoner at large, being allowed to go whither he would, and return when he thought proper. He attended the meetings of the congregation to which he belonged, he was employed by them to visit disorderly members, he was often out in the night, and it is said that many of the Baptist congregations in Bedfordshire owe their origin to his midnight preaching. “I followed my wonted course," he says, "taking all occasions to

visit the people of God, exhorting them to be stedfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, and to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, &c."—an &c. more full of meaning than that which occasioned the dishonest outcry against the &c. oath. So far did this liberty extend that he went " to see the Christians at London," an indiscretion which cost the jailor a severe reproof, and had nearly cost him his place; and which compelled him to withhold any farther indulgence of this kind, "so," says Bunyan," that I must not now look out of the door." "They charged me," he adds, " that I went thither to plot and raise divisions and make insurrections, which God knows was a slander." It was slanderous to charge him with plotting, or with traitorous intentions; but in raising divisions he was, beyond all doubt, actively and heartily engaged. The man who distinguished a handfull of Baptists in London as the Christians of that great metropolis, and who when let out by favour from his prison, exhorted the people of God as he calls them to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, was not employed in promoting unity, nor in making good subjects, however good his intentions, however orthodox his creed, however sincere and fervent his piety. Peace might be on his lips, and zeal for the salvation of others in his heart; but he was certainly at that time no preacher of good will, nor of Christian charity. And without reference to human laws, it may be affirmed that the circumstances which removed this high-minded and hot-minded man from a course of dangerous activity, in which he was as little likely to acquire a tolerant spirit, as to impart it, and placed him in confinement, where his understanding had leisure to ripen and to cool, was no less favourable for his moral and religious nature than it has ultimately proved to his usefulness and his fame.

Nothing is more certain than that the gratification which a resolute spirit feels in satisfying its conscience exceeds all others; this feeling is altogether distinct from that peace of mind which under all afflictions abides in the regenerate heart; nor is it so safe a feeling, for it depends too much upon excitement, and the exaltation and triumph which it produces

áre akin to pride. Bunyan's heart had been kindled by the Book of Martyrs,-cold and insensible indeed must any heart be which could dwell without emotion upon those precious records of religious heroism! He had read in those records with perfect sympathy the passionate epistle which the Italian Martyr Pomponius Algerius addressed from prison to his friends. That Martyr was a student of Padua, and in what in one sense may be called the golden age of literature, had been devoted to study from his childhood with ambitious diligence and the most hopeful success. "To mitigate your sorrow which you take for me," said this noble soldier of the noble Army, "I cannot but impart unto you some portion of my delectation and joys which I feel and find, to the intent that you may rejoice with me and sing before the Lord.-I have found a nest of honey and honey-comb in the entrails of a lion.-Behold He that was once far from me, now is present with me: Whom once scarce I could feel, now I see more apparently: Whom once I saw afar off, now I behold near at hand: Whom once I hungered for, the Same now approacheth and reacheth His hand unto me. He doth comfort me, and heapeth me up with gladness; He ministreth strength and courage; He healeth me, refresheth, advanceth and comforteth me.-The sultry heat of the prison, to me is coldness: the cold winter to me is a fresh spring time in the Lord. He that feareth not to be burnt in the fire, how will he fear the heat of the weather? Or what careth he for the pinching frost, who burneth with the love of the Lord? This place is sharp and tedious to them that be guilty: but to the innocent,―here droppeth delectable dew, here floweth pleasant nectar, here runneth sweet milk, here is plenty of all good things.-Let the miserable worldling say if there be any plot, pasture or meadow, so delightful to the mind of man as here! Here is Mount Sion; here I am already in Heaven itself. Here standeth first Christ Jesus in the front: about him stand the old Patriarchs, Prophets and Evangelists, Apostles, and all the servants of God; of whom some do embrace and cherish me; some exhort, some open the sacraments unto me, some comfort me, other

some are singing about me. How then shall I be thought to be alone, among so many and such as these, the beholding of whom to me is both solace and example!

"This man," says Bunyan, " was when he wrote this letter, in the House of the Forest of Lebanon,-in the Church in the Wilderness,-in the Place and Way of contending for the Truth of God; and he drank of both cups,-of that which was exceeding bitter, and of that which was exceeding sweet: and the reason why he complained not of the bitter, was because the sweet had overcome it. As his afflictions abounded for Christ, so did his consolations by him;-so did I say? they abounded much more. But was not this man, think you a Giant? A pillar in this House? Had he not also now hold of the shield of Faith? Yea, was he not now in the combat? And did he not behave himself valiantly? Was not his mind elevated a thousand degrees beyond sense, carnal reasons, fleshly love, self concerns, and the desire of embracing worldly things? This man had got that by the end that pleased him: neither could all the flatteries, promises, threats or reproaches, make him once listen to, or enquire after what the world, or the glory of it could afford. His mind was captivated with delights invisible, he coveted to shew his love to his Lord by laying down his life for his sake. He longed to be there, where there shall be no more pain, nor sorrow, nor sighing, nor tears, nor troubles!"

Bunyan had thoroughly conformed his own frame of mind to that which he thus admired; but there were times when his spirit failed, and there is not a more characteristic passage in his works than that in which he describes his apprehensions, and inward conflict, and final determination. "I will tell you a pretty business," he says; "I was in a very sad and low condition for many weeks; at which times also, 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 this 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 evidence upon your soul for a better state hereafter?' (for indeed 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 I 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 case 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 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 flinch an hair's breadth from it. I thought also that God might chuse whether He would give me comfort now, or at the hour of death; but I might not therefore chuse, whether I would hold my profession or not.. I was bound, but He was free. Yea it was my duty to stand

e