public are indebted for one of Bunyan's ablest treatises, full of the striking sparkles of his extraordinary imagination. It was a subject peculiarly adapted to display his powers—the advent of New Jerusalem, her impregnable walls and gates of precious stones, golden streets, water of life, temple, and the redeemed from all nations flocking into it.[252]
In these times of severe persecution, two of the church members, S. Fenn and J. Whiteman, were ordained joint pastors. Fenn has just been delivered out of prison; yet they ventured to brave the storm, and in this year, although the lions prowled before the porch, a number were added to the church. Thus was their little Jerusalem built 'even in troublous times.'
Bunyan's popularity and fame for wisdom and knowledge had spread all round the country, and it naturally brought him visitors, with their doubts, and fears, and cases of conscience. Among these a singular instance is recorded in the Life of Badman. 'When I was in prison,' says the narrator, 'there came a woman to me that was under a great deal of trouble. So I asked her, she being a stranger to me, what she had to say to me? She said she was afraid she should be damned. I asked her the cause of those fears. She told me that she had, some time since, lived with a shopkeeper at Wellingborough, and had robbed his box in the shop several times of money, and pray, says she, tell me what I shall do? I told her I would have her go to her master, and make him satisfaction. She said she was afraid lest he should hang her. I told her that I would intercede for her life, and would make use of other friends to do the like; but she told me she durst not venture that. Well, said I, shall I send to your master, while you abide out of sight, and make your peace with him before he sees you? and with that I asked her master's name. But all she said in answer to this was, pray let it alone till I come to you again. So away she went, and neither told me her master's name nor her own; and I never saw here again.'[253] He adds, 'I could tell you of another, that came to me with a like relation concerning herself, and the robbing of her mistress.'
To his cruel imprisonment the world is indebted for the most surprising narrative of a new birth that has ever appeared. It was there that he was led to write the Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. He displays in the preface his deep interest in the spiritual welfare of those who had been born under his ministry. He rejoices in their happiness, even while he was 'sticking between the teeth of the lions in the wilderness. I now again, as before from the top of shenir and Hermon, so now from the lions' dens, from "the mountains of the leopards," do look yet after you all, greatly longing to see your safe arrival into the desired haven.'[254] How natural it was that, while narrating his own experience, he should be led to write a guide to pilgrims through time to eternity, and that it should be dated from 'the den!'
'And thus it was: I writing of the way
And race of saints, in this our gospel-day,
Fell suddenly into an allegory
About their journey, and the way to glory.'[255]
Any one possessing powers of imagination, to whom the adventures of Christian are familiar, would, on reading the Grace Abounding, be continually struck with the likeness there drawn of the pilgrim—the more he contemplates the two pictures of Christian experience, so much the more striking is their similarity. The one is a narrative of facts, the other contains the same facts allegorized. Thus, by an irresistible impulse from heaven upon the mind of a prisoner for Christ, did a light shine forth from the dungeon on Bedford bridge which has largely contributed to enlighten the habitable globe. The Pilgrim has been translated into most of the languages and dialects of the world. The Caffrarian and Hottentot, the enlightened Greek and Hindoo, the remnant of the Hebrew race, the savage Malay and the voluptuous Chinese—all have the wondrous narrative in their own languages. Bunyan was imprisoned by bigots and tyrants, to prevent his being heard or known; and his voice, in consequence, reaches to the ends of the earth. Let every wretched persecutor contemplate this instance of God's over-ruling power. You will surely plunge the avenging sword into your own vitals if, by persecution, you vainly endeavour to wound the saints of the living God. You may make hypocrites throw off their disguise. The real Christian may be discouraged, but he perseveres. He feels the truth of Bunyan's quaint saying, 'the persecutors are but the devil's scarecrows, the old one himself lies quat'; while the eye of God is upon him to save the children of Zion.[256] His otherwise dreary imprisonment was lightened, and the time beguiled by these delightful writings. His fellow-prisoners were benefited by hearing him read his pilgrim's adventures. But this has been so fully displayed in the introduction to the Pilgrim that any further notice is unnecessary.[257]
While busily occupied with his Grace Abounding and Pilgrim's Progress, he wrote a poetical epistle in answer to the kind inquiries of his numerous friends and visitors. After thanking them for counsel and advice, he describes his feelings in prison. His feet stood on Mount Zion; his body within locks and bars, while his mind was free to study Christ, and elevated higher than the stars. Their fetters could not tame his spirit, nor prevent his communion with God. The more his enemies raged, the more peace he experienced. In prison he received the visits of saints, of angels, and the Spirit of God. 'I have been able to laugh at destruction, and to fear neither the horse nor his rider. I have had sweet sights of the forgiveness of my sins in this place, and of my being with Jesus in another world.'[258] If his ears were to be pierced in the pillory, it would be only 'to hang a jewel there.' The source of his happy feelings is well expressed in one of the stanzas:—
'The truth and I were both here cast
Together, and we do
Lie arm in arm, and so hold fast
Each other; this is true.'[259]
Yes, honest John Bunyan, the world at large now gives you credit for the truth of that saying.
How strange must it seem to the luxurious worldling, with his bed of down and splendid hangings, but aching heart, to hear of the exquisite happiness of the prisoner for Christ on his straw pallet! 'When God makes the bed,' as Bunyan says, 'he must needs be easy that is cast thereon; a blessed pillow hath that man for his head, though to all beholders it is hard as a stone.'[260] In the whole course of his troubles, he enjoyed the sympathy of his family and friends. his food was brought daily, and such was the veneration in which his memory was embalmed, that the very jug in which his broth was taken to the prison has been preserved to this day.[261]
In the midst of all his sufferings he murmurs not nor for a moment gives way to revenge; he leaves the persecutor in the hands of God. Stand off, Christian; pity the poor wretch that brings down upon himself the vengeance of God. Your pitiful arm must no strike him—no, stand by, 'that God may have his full blow at him in his time. Wherefore he saith avenge not yourself—"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." Give place, leave such an one to be handled by me.'[262]
'There are several degrees of suffering for righteousness—the scourge of the tongue, the ruin of an estate, the loss of liberty, a gaol, a gibbet, a stake, a dagger. Now answerable to these are the comforts of the Holy Ghost, prepared like to like, part proportioned to part, only the consolations are said to abound.'[263] The mind of Bunyan was imbued with these sentiments; baptized into them, and consequently elevated far above the fear of what man could do unto him. Yes, he knew the power of God. 'He can make those things that in themselves are most fearful and terrible to behold, the most delightful and most desirable things. He can make a gaol more beautiful than a palace, restraint more sweet by far than liberty, and the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt.'[264]
The Bible, that heavenly storehouse, was opened to him: 'I never had, in all my life, so great an inlet into the Word of God as now.'[265] 'I have had sweet sights of forgiveness and of the heavenly Jerusalem. I have seen here that which, while in this world, I shall never be able to express.'
About a year before he was set at liberty he received a very popular work, written by Edward Fowler, a Bedfordshire clergyman, who was soon after elevated to the see of Gloucester.
