The Christian Home. JOHN BUNYAN: A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. BY W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS, AUTHOR OF THE STEADY AIM," MEN AT THE HELM," ETC. O thou, whom, borne on Fancy's eager wing May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; F all quiet towns resting in and tranquil as any that ever slumbered on the canvas of a Cuyp or a Paul Potter. Through rich, flat meadows, where sleepy kine are languidly browsing, rolls the sluggish Ouse, bordered here and there by stunted pollards, but mostly unrelieved by any leafy shadow or darkling depth. The eye, soon satiated with corn-field and pasture, with garden and farmstead, vainly looks around for the relief of a bold verdurous hill or deep shadowy hollow. All is fertile, and all is uniform. Every row of cottages shows the same absence of individual character and pictorial effect, and the only sounds which greet the ear on every side are the whirr of birds, the whistle of the hind, and the dull heavy throb of the steam-plough. Yet the good townsmen of Bedford have in all times evinced a character and disposition widely different to the tame and uninteresting country wherein they are situated. That quiet town upon the Ouse has long been a centre of religious energy and zeal, and the seat of a very uncompromising opposition to the men, creeds, and things of the Church of Rome. And chief among its glories, highest among its associations, it counts its connection with the memory and fame of immortal John Bunyan. For John Bunyan suffered much and enjoyed much in Bedford, where they can show you many interesting souvenirs of the great author of the "Pilgrim's Progress." He was born within a mile or so of the town upon the Ouse, at the little village of Elstow, whither, with the reader's permission, we will proceed, as to a shrine of no ordinary interest and importance. The old bridge across the Ouse, at whose foot was situated the jail where Bunyan passed many sad but many useful hours, gave way some years ago to a new structure. Having crossed this modern bridge, you follow for about a mile the well-kept highway, until at length you enter the busy little village of Elstow, chiefly occupied now, as in Bunyan's time, by lace-knitters, and partly built round a "play-stow," or "play-stow," or "village-green," which, on sunny afternoons, is usually sprinkled with groups of merry children. From this welltrodden sward you pass, in the shadow of some venerable trees, to the gray old church and its сс mossy garth. Every spot you now look upon has some association with the glorious dreamer. Here stands the weather-worn belfry-tower, detached from the rest of the edifice, where he was wont to assist the ringers, until his per*urbed conscience persuaded him that he was assisting in a vain and profitless pastime. As the chime swells upon the air, you listen to the very bells which so often made music in Bunyan's ears, and which he feared might fall upon him and crush him in punishment of his sins. Yonder "play-stow" was the scene of a remarkable incident in his early life, when he suddenly discontinued a game at "tipcat," the amusement of a Sabbath afternoon, upon hearing, as he fancied, a voice from heaven :-" Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell ?" In this venerable and time-worn church he was married to his first wife, a worthy and devout woman, whose influence weaned him from evil things, and wakened such a pious enthusiasm in his heart that he began to adore "all things in the high place, priest, clerk, vestments, service, and what else belonged to the church, counting all things holy that were therein contained, and especially the priest and clerk, most happy, and therein greatly blessed." And the church was not unworthy of the enthusiast's reverence. A stately pile, with that peculiar spirit about it which springs from antiquity, with a fine Norman arch to bear witness to its venerable origin, and a large solemn interior, impressive from its very simplicity. It contains, moreover, two good brasses, which Bunyan may often have sought to decipher-memorials of two long-forgotten abbesses of the Abbey of Benedictine Nuns, founded here by Judith, the niece of William the Conqueror. One of these is remarkable as being the only representation extant of an Anglican abbess in her full official robes. birth-place. The actual house, whose sloping roof sheltered his infant head, is no longer standing, but some of its beams and timbers have evidently been employed in the building that now occupies the same site. Not a trace is left, however, of the forge at which he worked worked lustily and with good will, as all men should work who have work to do, even if it be but the mending of pots, pans, and kettles. And this much is to be noted of the whole of Bunyan's career, that it shows him to have been evidently impressed with the dignity of labour, and that he fully lived up to the spirit, though he knew not the letter, of the old homily, Laborare est orare-Work is prayer. Let us now return to Bedford, where, for many years, Bunyan had his home. Bedford county gaol is a bran-new structure, of imposing dimensions and truculent aspect, differing widely from the little dingy building wherein Bunyan was imprisoned, and which stood upon the old bridge, reflected in the slowmoving waters of the Ouse. Just beyond stands the Swan Inn, successor of that ancient hostelry, in whose "best chamber" Bunyan's wife pleaded his cause before gentle Sir Matthew Hale and arbitrary Judge Twisden. He had been imprisoned as a recusant and disobedient Nonconformist preacher. Will your husband leave preaching ?" said Judge Twisden; "if he will do so, then send for him." "My lord," replied the earnest-minded woman, not paltering with the truth as weak souls would have done, "he dares not leave preaching as long as he can speak.” The chapel in Bedford is not interesting in itself, but for the Bunyan relics which it contains. It is supposed to occupy the place of the barn wherein Bunyan first gathered around him a flock of devout disciples, and where he ministered at intervals until death ended his pious labours. The agreement still exists by which John Bunyan, brazier, and his friends, purchased this "barn" and an adjacent piece of ground, from Josias Ruffhead, brushmaker, for £50 (A.D. 1672). The modern chapel is a large, plain, unpretending edifice, capable of accommodating 1200 hearers. In its vestry Bunyan's chair is preserved. His pulpit was purchased by philanthropic John Howard, who gave in exchange a new pulpit and £30. Over the mantelpiece hangs a good engraving of Bunyan; and the minister has in his possession his Church-book, a venerable volume, And last of all we make our way to Bunyan's and his curiously-carved cabinet, or writing Our next point of interest is the "Green House," or house upon the green, a TudorStuart building, probably of the time of James I., which rejoices in a plenty of stout beams, in a quaint roof, and generally in a picturesque and antiquated character. Here Bunyan may often have addressed his earnest, and even passionate exhortations to the Puritans of Elstow. "Have you forgot," he says to the readers of "Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," "have you forgot the close, the milk-house, the stable, the barn where God did visit your souls ?" paper case. In the street opposite the chapel stood Bunyan's dwelling-house, where he resided from 1681 to 1688. And thus we sum up the scanty memorials of the great author of the "Pilgrim's Progress," which exist in the village of Elstow and the Ouse-watered town of Bedford. He closed his career in London, and his dust lies in the old burial-ground of Bunhill Fields. These local reminiscences may fittingly introduce the brief biographical sketch of the immortal dreamer, which we now propose to give. JOHN BUNYAN, the "most popular religious writer in the English language," was born, as we have said, at Elstow, the year of his birth being 1628. His father was a worker in brass, -a brazier or tinker-not far removed from the lowest class of artisan, but yet more reputable than those itinerant members of the fraternity of tinkers, whose rude machines are still to be seen and heard in our country roads. He sprung, he himself says, from a "low, inconsiderable generation; my father's house being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families of this land." But little "learning," therefore, could be afforded to the youthful Bunyan; nevertheless, he was taught to read and write, an acquisition then very unusual for children of his social status; and his parents appear to have zealously laboured in the work of inspiring his young mind with religious principles. At a comparatively early age he became possessed with compunctious visitings of conscience. He wavered between excessive indulgence and exaggerated remorse, sinning easily in the morning and repenting bitterly at night. He was often grievously afflicted in sleep with "apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits;" and his terrible nocturnal visions beset him so, even when but a child of nine or ten years old, that in the midst of his "many sports and childish vanities," he was often much cast down and sorely grieved. "Yea," he exclaimed, "I was also then so overcome with despair of life and heaven, that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil, supposing they were only tormentors; that if it must needs be that I went thither, I might be rather a tormentor than tormented myself." As he acquired a habit of sinning, and advanced towards manhood, the impressions of his early training grew fainter, and the voice of his conscience was less active. One soon becomes accustomed to sin, and every fresh indulgence lessens the repugnance with which we at first regarded it. But he never became so callous as to be insensible to remorse. The memories of youth grow dim in the light of increasing manhood, but they never wholly lose their life, and beauty, and tenderness; and often, like whispers from on high, or the voice of some guardian angel, they seek to draw back the wanderer into the path of his early happiness. During this period of his life he met with several of those remarkable escapes which so often distinguish the opening careers of men destined to greatness, and seem like direct interpositions of Providence. Southey thus relates them: 66 'Once he fell into a creek of the sea, once out of a boat into the river Ouse near Bedford, and each time was narrowly saved from drowning. One day an adder crossed his path; he stunned it with a stick, then forced open its mouth with a stick, and plucked out the tongue, which he supposed to be the sting, with his fingers; by which act,' he says, 'had not God been merciful unto me, I might by my desperateness have brought myself to my end.' If this indeed were an adder, and not a harmless snake, his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than he was aware of. A circumstance which was likely to impress him more deeply occurred in the eighteenth year of his age, when, being a soldier in the Parliament's army, he was drawn out to go to the siege of Leicester, (A.D. 1645): one of the same company wished to go in his stead; Bunyan consented to exchange with him; and this volunteer substitute, standing sentinel one day at the siege, was shot through the head with a musket ball." It was shortly after this event that Bunyan married, and married a devout young woman,— the daughter of "a godly father,"-who brought him as her dowry, two books bequeathed to her by her sire, Bayly's "Practice of Mercy," and the "Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven." The young couple came together as poor as poor might be, not having so much household stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt them both," yet was the marriage a "crowning mercy" to Bunyan, for his wife's influence first awakened his better, purer, and braver selt. 66 The first stage of this actual "Pilgrim's Progress" was a desire to observe at least the decencies of a pseudo-religious life; to attend church regularly; and take a part in the 340 OUR OWN FIRESIDE. ceremonials enjoined. But the hot, eager soul of Bunyan could not long rest contented with form and observance. He longed for something which should satisfy his inappeasable craving. An incident (already briefly noted) curiously illustrative of the strength and fervour of his imagination, occurred, while he was thus weighing between good and evil, to turn the balance in favour of the better inspiration. One Sunday the minister preached against Sabbath-breaking, and Bunyan, who, toiling all the week, was week, was wont to take his andish side lle demade fell into an exceeding maze: wherefore, leaving of his "cat" upon the ground, he "looked up to heaven, and was as if he had with the eyes his understanding seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon him, as being very hotly displeased with him, and as if He did severely threaten him with some grievous punishment for these and other ungodly practices." This mental delusion was accepted by the enthusiast as a reality, and so wrought upon his imagination, that he fell into a condition of the most alarming despondency. He began fad as I dist jon ova CHRISTIAN AT THE CROSS. pleasure on the Lord's day, felt as if every T aching How D to think of himself as abandoned of Heaven; that it was too late for him to turn from his wickedness, because Christ would not forgive was there hope or mercy for him, the chief of him; that neither in this world nor the next sinners. He has shown in his different works that he had a keen relish for the beauties of no pleasure in the gleam of flowers, in the nature, but now his jaundiced eyes could find freshness of green meadows, in the coolsome depths of clustering foliage, or the dimples of lucent pools. He was under deep conviction |