Bunyan's wife was a partaker of his own spirit, a heroine, in this trying situation, of no ordinary stamp. This courageous woman, and Lord Chief Justice Hale, and Bunyan, have long since met in heaven, but how little could they recognize each other's character on earth! How little could the distressed, insulted wife have imagined, that beneath the Judge's ermine there was beating the heart of a child of God, a man of humility, integrity, and prayer! How little could the great, learned, illustrious, and truly pious judge have dreamed, that the man, the obscure tinker, whom he was suffering to languish in prison for want of a writ of error, would one day be the subject of greater admiration and praise, than all the judges in the kingdom of Great Britain! How little could he dream, that from that narrow cell where the prisoner was left incarcerated, and cut off apparently from all usefulness, a glory would shine out, illustrating the government and grace of God, and doing more good to man, than all the prelates and judges in the reign of Charles II. put together had accomplished!

Twelve full years Bunyan remained in this prison. He wrote several works while there, besides the Pilgrim's Progress, among which was a work entitled, "A Confession of my Faith, and a Reason of my Practice." In this work, written but a short time before the end of his imprisonment, he makes a more distinct allusion to the sufferings of his incarceration, than he was wont to do. "Faith and holiness," says he, "are my professed principles, with an endeavor, so far as in me lieth, peace with all men. What shall I say?

to be at Let mine

enemies themselves be judges, if any thing in these following doctrines, or if aught that any man hath heard me preach, doth or hath, according to the true intent of my words, savored either of heresy or rebellion. I say again, let they themselves be judges, if aught they find in my writing or preaching, doth render me worthy of almost twelve years imprisonment, or one that deserveth to be hanged, or banished forever, according to their tremendous sentence. But if nothing will do, unless I make my conscience a continual butchery and slaughtershop, unless putting out my own eyes, I commit me to the blind to lead me, as I doubt is desired by some, I have determined, the Almighty God being my help and shield, yet to suffer, if frail life might continue so long, even till the moss shall grow on mine eye-brows, rather than thus to violate my faith and principles."

When John Bunyan was first thrown into prison, he found a great friend in the jailor, through whose kindness his confinement, previous to his last examination, and the petition of his wife, was not at all rigorous. He was permitted to preach, to visit his friends, and even to go to London. It is related of him, that it being known to some of the persecuting prelates that Bunyan was often out of prison, they sent down an officer to talk with the jailor on the subject; and in order to find him out he was to arrive there in the middle of the night. Bunyan was at home with his family, but so restless that he could not sleep. He therefore told his wife that he must return immediately. He did so, and the jailor blamed him for coming in at so un

seasonable an hour. Early in the morning the messenger came, and said, “ Are all the prisoners safe!" "Yes." "Is John Bunyan safe?” “Yes.” “Let me see him." He was called and appeared, and all was well. After the messenger left, the jailor said to Bunyan, "Well, you may go out again when you think proper; for you know when to return, better than I can tell you."

Bunyan made use of his liberty at this time to visit his fellow Christians in London, which, says he, "my enemies hearing of were so angry, that they had almost cast my jailor out of his place, threatening to indict him, and to do what they could against him. They charged me also that I went thither to plot and raise division, and make insurrection, which, God knows, was a slander; whereupon my liberty was more straitened than it was before, so that I must not look out of the door." From this severe imprisonment it was that he wrote his Prison Meditations, dedicated to the heart of suffering saints and reigning sinners. From the character of these stanzas, we should deem it very probable that he had accustomed himself to scribble in verse before his imprisonment, a habit with which he doubtless solaced not a few of the hours in his little cell. Some verses in his meditations upon the four last things, Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell, are not wanting in beauty. His meditation of Heaven sprung from its vivid fore

tastes.

What gladness shall possess our heart,
When we shall see these things!

What light and life in every part

Rise like eternal springs!

O, blessed face; O, holy grace,

When shall we see this day?
Lord, fetch us to this goodly place,
We humbly to thee pray.

Thus, when in heavenly harmony
These blessed saints appear,
Adorned with grace and majesty,
What gladness will be there!
Thus shall we see, thus shall we be,
O, would the day were come!
Lord Jesus, take us up to thee,
To this desired home.

Angels we also shall behold,

When we on high ascend,
Each shining like to men of gold,
And on the Lord attend.

These goodly creatures, full of grace,

Shall stand about the throne,
Each one with lightning in his face,
And shall to us be known.

There cherubim, with one accord,

Continually do cry

Ah, holy, holy, holy Lord,

And heavenly majesty!

These will us in their arms embrace,

And welcome us to rest,

And joy to see us clad with grace,
And of the heavens possest.

Doubtless it was such music in his soul, such visions before him, and such panting desires after heaven, that set him to the composition of the Pilgrim's Progress. He wrote a book of poems entitled, "Divine Emblems, or Temporal Things Spiritualized, fitted for the use of Boys and Girls." Some of them are very beautiful, revealing the true poet; passages there are, which would not dishonor Chaucer or Shakspeare, and which show to what great excellence, as a poet, Bunyan might have attained, had he dedicated himself to the effort. What he wrote, he wrote with the utmost simplicity, and in the same pure, idiomatic language which

is so delightful in the Pilgrim's Progress. Here is a ballad of the child with the bird on the bush, and as a child's ballad, it is one of the sweetest, mos natural things in the language.

And sing amidst so many thorns?

Let me but hold upon thee get,

My love with honor thee adorns.
Thou art at present little worth.

Five farthings none will give for thee:
But prithee little bird come forth,
Thou of more value art to me.

"Tis true, it is sunshine to-day,

To-morrow, birds will have a storm;

My pretty one, come thou away,

My bosom then shall keep thee warm.
Thou subject art to cold o' nights,

When darkness is thy covering;

At day thy danger's great by kites,

How canst thou then sit there and sing?

Thy food is scarce and scanty too,

"Tis worms and trash which thou dost eat,

Thy present state I pity do,

Come, I'll provide thee better meat.

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

I'll cover thee with finest silk,

That from the cold I may thee save.

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.
I'll teach thee all the notes at court,

Unthought-of music thou shalt play,

And all that thither do resort,

Shall praise thee for it every day.

I'll keep thee safe from cat and cur,

No manner o' harm shall come to thee;

Yea, I will be thy succorer,

My bosom shall thy cabin be.

But lo, behold, the bird is gone!

These charmings would not make her yield;

The child's left at the bush alone,

The bird flies yonder o'er the field,