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THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN.

FOURTH PERIOD-OR HIS IMPRISONMENT.

Bunyan was now fairly a prisoner. Remonstrance-appealeloquent womanly pleading-were alike in vain. His home was henceforth to be a prison. No longer at liberty to preach to his people, and visit his neighbours; no longer permitted to gaze with rapture on God's glorious works, or to hold free intercourse with his yet more glorious though fallen creatures; the current of his thoughts took a new turn, and life became altogether a new and strange thing. The room in which he was imprisoned was dark, and damp, and dismal; and though he might at times hear the sound of human voices without, he could never catch sight of his fellow-men. This to any other man would have been a sore privation, inducing dejection and a broken heart, terminating perhaps in an early grave. But Bunyan was by no means of fragile mould. His soul was robust in health-he could endure, as well as do. A load which to other men would have been insupportable, he sustained nobly and well. The cruel wrong done him did not make him peevish or discontented; did not embitter the milk of human kindness in his heart. Instead of retaliating upon his persecutors, he pitied them—instead of turning misanthropist because he had received evil at the hands of men, he sought out new methods of benefitting his race. His mind, too, seemed like an elastic spring, whose power increases with pressure. But for his imprisonment we had never known the greatness of his strength-the self-sustaining energy of his soul: perhaps, had never heard his name. Labouring peacefully as a "preacher of righteousness," he might have done much good; but in all probability he never would have produced those works by which, though dead, he yet speaks-and is likely to speak to all time.

We must not forget, however, that in the early part of his imprisonment Bunyan met with a friend in his jailor, who not only treated him humanely, but allowed him at times to go at large. The prisoner's word was a`sufficient guarantee that he would return. Bunyan has recorded the fact in his own words. By him," he says, "I had some liberty granted me, more than at the first: so that I followed my wonted course of preaching;

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taking all occasions that were put into my hand to visit the people of God, exhorting them to be stedfast in the faith of Christ Jesus, and to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, but to mind the word of God, which giveth directions to christians in every point; being able to make the man of God perfect in all things through faith in Jesus Christ, and thoroughly to furnish him unto all good works." "

It was during this period that Bunyan visited London, and gained some friends there, who were afterwards the means of enabling him to appear before the world as an author. All honour to the memory of the jailor! His name has not been handed down to us, but we will ever think of him as a merciful "keeper of the prison," and class him with the Egyptian jailor, in whose sight the imprisoned Hebrew found favour. He incurred much risk by his kindness, and eventually was compelled to limit the special privilege which Bunyan enjoyed.

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Ivimey records an interesting anecdote respecting this period, which is worthy of being noted. "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 unreasonable 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.'

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Another attempt was made by Bunyan about this time to obtain a hearing of his case at the assizes; but such was the strange way in which justice was administered in those days, that he failed even in this. The following is his own account of the matter. "Because I had a desire to come before the judge in 1662, I desired my jailor to put my name into the calendar among FELONS, and made friends of the judge and high sheriff, who promised that I should be called; so that I thought what I had done might have been effectual for the obtaining of my

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desire: but all was in vain; for when the assizes came, though my name was in the calendar, and also though both the judge and sheriff had promised that I should appear before them, yet the justices and the clerk of the peace did so work it about that I, notwithstanding, was deferred, and was not suffered to appear; and although I say, I do not know of all their carriages towards me, yet this I know, that the clerk of the peace did discover himself to be one of my greatest opposers; for, first he came to my jailor, and told him that I must not go down before the judge, and therefore must not be put into the calendar. To whom my jailor said, that my name was in already. He bid him put it out again; my jailor told him that he could not; for he had given the judge a calendar with my name in it, and also the sheriff another. At which he was very much displeased, and desired to see that calendar that was yet in my jailor's hands, who, when he had given it him, he looked on it, and said it was a false calendar; he also took the calendar, and blotted out my accusation, as my jailor had written it. cannot tell what it was, because it was so himself put in words to this purpose: committed to prison; being lawfully committed for upholding of unlawful meetings and conventicles, &c.' But yet for all this, fearing that what he had done, unless he added thereto, it would not do, he first ran to the clerk of the assizes, then to the justices, and afterwards, because he would not leave any means unattempted to hinder me, he came again to my jailor, and told him, that if I did go down before the judge, and was released, he would make him pay my fees, which he said was due to him; and further told him, that he would complain of him at the next quarter sessions for making a false calendar, though my jailor himself, as I afterwards learned, had put in my accusation worse than in itself it was by far. And thus I was hindered and prevented at that time also from appearing before the judge; and left in prison. Farewell. JOHN Bunyan.”

(Which accusation I blotted out.) And he That John Bunyan was

This was indeed a "farewell”—a farewell to liberty! From this time Bunyan was immured within the walls of Bedford jail, a close prisoner for seven long years! The following picture of his sad condition is no exaggeration—it is but too true. 'Look into that damp and dreary cell, through the narrow chink, which admits a few scanty rays of light, to render visible

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to the wretched his abode of woe. Behold, by the glimmering of that feeble lamp, a prisoner, pale and emaciated, seated on the humid earth, and pursuing his daily task, to earn the morsel which prolongs his existence and confinement together. Near him, reclined in pensive sadness, lies a blind daughter, compelled to eat the bread of affliction from the hard earnings of an imprisoned father! Paternal affection binds her to his heart, and filial gratitude has long made her the daily companion of his captivity. No other solace remains to him, save the mournful one arising from the occasional visits of five other distressed children, and an affectionate wife, whom pinching want and grief have worn down to the gate of death. More than ten summers' suns have rolled over the stone-roofed mansion of his misery, whose reviving rays have never once penetrated his sad abode. 'Seasons return,' but not to him returns the cheering light of day, the smiling bloom of spring, or sound of human joy! Unfortunate captive! What is his guilt, what his crimes? Is he a traitor, or a parricide? A lewd adulterer, or a vile incendiary? No, he is a christian sufferer! Under all his calamities peace reigns in his breast, heavenly hope glistens in his eye, and patience sits throned on his pallid cheek. He is none other than honest John Bunyan, languishing through the twelfth year of his imprisonment in Bedford jail for teaching plain country people the knowledge of the scriptures and the practice of virtue! requires the energy of Fox, the eloquence of Burke, and the pathos of Sheridan, to paint the effect of such a scene on the feelings of humanity. My feeble pen drops from the task, and leaves sensibility to endure those sensations of compassion and sorrow, which it fails to describe."

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We shall hereafter see what Bunyan could do in such trying circumstances as these.

MUSINGS.

Hear ye not the harp notes of another sphere? List ye not to sounds of heavenly birth? Cherubim and seraphim are sounding a new lay of praise: "Alleluia to God and to the Lamb."

And shall alleluias be heard in heaven alone? Shall not

earth as with ten thousand voices echo responsively to the celestial harmony of those "around the throne," and join with the angelic choir in the song of praise to "heaven's high King?" What employment more suitable for a subject of his throne? for a constant recipient of his bounties? What engagement more congenial to one bought by the precious blood of Christ, -redeemed from the consequences of sin, and hastening forward to that world where the very atmosphere is praise?

When the "Eternal Father," the essence of whose nature is love, devised and set forth the plan for the redemption of "Adam's fallen race," and the Eternal Son in his unbounded tenderness declared himself well pleased to die for sinful man--when events like these, so glorious in their results to mankind, were transacting, can we suppose that the happy company above did not louder and louder swell their strains, and make all heaven ring with alleluias ?

And were their harps unstrung, and were their voices silent, when the coequal with Jehovah, the beloved of the Father, resigned for our sake "thrones, dominions, princedoms, powers," when he "laid his glory by," and took upon him the nature of those whose sin and rebellion had induced him to exchange the glories of heaven for the sorrows of earth? No;

"Though they sunk the lofty tune,

And gentler notes they played"—

Yet earth echoed back the rich music of the spheres, the whole air was filled with alleluias. "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good-will toward men," was the burden of their song.

But let us turn our eyes to Calvary; and to some of the transactions of that day, which though they brought death upon the Son of God, gave life eternal to all those who till the end of time shall believe on him. Morning dawned upon this world of sin, the sun arose in his golden splendour, but ere he sunk beneath the horizon, events took place of the most awful and sorrowful nature. The Son of God was crucified for the "sins of many." The darkening atmosphere, the shrouded sun, the quaking earth, the trembling mountains, the rending of the temple veil, the opening graves, the rising dead, all proclaim the dignity and divinity of the sufferer. While the Saviour is shed

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