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MEMOIR OF JOHN BUNYAN.

One day, as he was passing into the field, these words fell upon his soul, "Thy righteousness is in heaven." "I saw, moreover," he says, "that it was not my good frame of heart that made my righteousness better, nor my bad frame that made my righteousness worse; for my righteousness was Jesus Christ himself, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." He was now loosed from his bondage; his temptations fled away; and he went home rejoicing for the grace and love of God. The words, "Thy righteousness is in heaven," were not to be found in the Bible, but then there were these, He is made of God unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption."

This blessed truth was his peace with God.

in Christ Jesus.

He was complete

The occasion of the lengthened conflict through which John Bunyan passed into the kingdom of God, is not to be found in the gospel, but in himself. It was partly the result of his excitable temperament and an unbridled imagination. His sensitiveness amounted almost to disease. His passions and his love of sin were strong. And withal he was in early life very ignorant. Of one portion of the bitter struggles by which his progress to life was retarded he has himself said, that he was "tossed between the devil and his own ignorance." A man cannot have too deep a sense of his guilt and sin in the sight of God. But when deeply abased before his Maker, he often finds it hard to confide in Jesus Christ, as able to save to the uttermost. The way to the cross of Christ is very direct, and so plainly laid down in the Bible chart, that he may run that readeth it." But men create difficulties to themselves and get out of the way, now to the right hand, and now to the left, and it is only after wearying themselves in vain with their devices that they consent to say

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"Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come."

In the year 1653, being the twenty-fifth of his age, John Bun

yan avowed his faith in Christ by connecting himself with the Baptist Congregation in Bedford, of which those good women were members whose conversation had proved so profitable to his soul. His pastor was as illustrious a monument of Divine grace as himself. John Gifford, when a young man, had been licentious and daringly ungodly. Being engaged in a royalist rising in Kent, he was arrested, and, with eleven of his comrades, was sentenced to die. The night before the day fixed for his execution, his sister came to visit him. She found the guard asleep, and assisted her brother to effect his escape. For three days the fugitive lay hid in a field, in the bottom of a deep ditch, but at last got away to a place of safety in the neighbourhood of Bedford. There, being a perfect stranger, he ventured on the practice of physic, and abandoned himself to reckless habits and outrageous vice. One evening he lost a large sum of money at the gaming table; and, in the fierceness of his chagrin, his mind was filled with the most desperate thoughts of the providence of a God. In his vexation he snatched up a book, a sentence of which so fixed itself on his conscience, that for many weeks he could get no rest in his spirit. At last he found peace through the blood of the cross, and his joy was great. For some time the few pious individuals in that neighbourhood would not believe that such a reprobate was really converted. But nothing daunted by their distrust, like Saul of Tarsus, he began to preach the word with boldness, and great success attended his ministry.

In John Gifford, John Bunyan found a congenial friend and an instructive teacher. But his mental struggles were not yet at an end. "For three-quarters of a year," he says, "fierce and sad temptations did beset me to blasphemy, that I could never have rest, nor find ease." But obeying the Divine command "resist the devil," he received the fulfilment of the Divine promise, "and he will flee from you."

Soon after, Bunyan was threatened with consumption, and was compelled to look death in the face. His outward profession of religion and the good opinion of his fellow-men were rightly judged by him to be no sufficient evidence of his preparation for eternity. And when he began to recall his former experience of the Divine

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goodness, an "imumerable company of his sins flashed" into his memory, such sins as deadness and coldness in holy duties, wanderings of heart, and want of love to God and his ways. These are sins of which the unregenerate mind is unconscious, but they almost overwhelmed the tender conscience of John Bunyan. And "his soul was now greatly pinched," to use his own words, "between these two considerations, Live I must not, die I dare not! but," he adds, "as I was walking up and down in my house, as a man in a most woeful state, that word of God took hold of my heart, ye are 'justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Jesus Christ,' Rom. iii. 24. And, oh! what a turn it made upon me!

"Now was I as one awakened out of some troublesome sleep and dream; and listening to this heavenly sentence, I was as if I had heard it thus expounded to me :-'Sinner, thou thinkest that, because of thy sins and infirmities, I cannot save thy soul; but behold my Son is by me, and upon him I look, and not on thee, and will deal with thee according as I am well pleased with him!""

John Bunyan's position in society had greatly improved by this time; he was no longer in danger of being confounded either morally or socially with gipsies. "His family was increased," says one who knew him personally; "and God increased his stores so that he lived now in great credit with his neighbours." Religion had elevated his character, and thereby elevated his condition in life. He soon became conscious of gifts which qualified him for doing good to his fellow-men, and was persuaded by the church to which he belonged to give himself to preaching in the villages around Bedford. He entered on this work in 1655, and not a few Christian churches sprang up as the fruit of his labours. Thus began, in a spirit of deep humility and self-examination, the ministry of one who has been well described as "teacher alike of the infant and the aged; directing the first thought, and removing the last doubt of man; property alike of the peasant and the prince; welcomed by the ignorant and honoured by the wise; the prose poet of all time."

So lowly were the village preacher's notions of himself that "at

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first he could not believe that God should speak by him to the heart of any man.” But many were moved by his glowing words. He preached what he felt, "what he smartingly felt" of the terrors of the law and the guilt of sin. He carried that fire in his own conscience, he says, that he persuaded his hearers to beware of. "The Lord did lead me to begin," he says, "where the word begins with sinners; that is, to condemn all flesh, and to open and allege, that the curse of the law doth belong to and lay hold on all men as they come into the world because of sin. Now this part of my work I fulfilled with great sense; for the terrors of the law, and guilt for my transgressions, lay heavy on my conscience. Thus I went on for the space of two years, crying out against men's sins, and their fearful state because of them. After which the Lord came in upon my soul with some sure peace and comfort through Christ; for he did give me many discoveries of his blessed grace through him. Wherefore now I altered in my preaching, for still I preached what I saw and felt. Now therefore I did much labour to hold forth Jesus Christ in all his offices, relations, and benefits unto the world, and did strive also to discover, to condemn, and remove all those false supports and props on which the world doth both lean, and by them fall and perish. On these things also I stayed as long as on the other. After this, God led me into something of the mystery of union with Christ; wherefore, that I discovered and showed to them also. And when I had travelled through these three chief points of the word of God, I was caught in my present practice, and cast into prison, where I have lain alone as long again to confirm the truth by way of suffering, as I was before in testifying of it according to the Scriptures in a way of preaching."

On one occasion he was expected to preach in a parish church near Cambridge, (for churches were often so used during the Protectorate of Cromwell,) and a concourse of people had already collected in the churchyard. A gay student was riding past, when he noticed the crowd, and asked what had brought them together. He was told the people had come out to hear one Bunyan, a tinker, preach. He instantly dismounted and gave a boy two-pence to hold

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his horse, for he declared he was determined to hear the tinker prate. So he went into the church and heard the tinker; but so deep was the impression which that sermon made on the scholar, that he took every subsequent opportunity of attending on Bunyan's ministry, and himself became a successful preacher of the gospel in Cambridgeshire.

In 1660, Charles II. was restored to the throne of his fathers. Before leaving his exile at Breda he had issued a proclamation in which he promised "liberty to tender consciences, and that no man should be disquieted or called in question for differences of opinion in religion, which did not disturb the peace of the kingdom." But these promises were made only to be broken. The most cruel measures were adopted to crush every "difference of opinion." "Tenderness" and freedom of conscience were utterly disregarded. But many were resolved to obey God rather than man; and, in spite of the vigilance of magistrates and informers, meetings for worship were held, often indeed at most unseasonable hours. It is said that on one occasion, to avoid discovery, John Bunyan went from a friend's house disguised as a carter, with his white frock, and his whip in his hand, to attend a private meeting in a sheltered field or barn.

For some time John Bunyan and his friends escaped capture. They met privately in barns, milk-houses, and stables. The good man embraced every opportunity of administering consolation to his friends and arming them with a steady resolve to be patient in suffering, and to trust in God for their safety and reward. At length an information was laid against him, and steps were taken to seize him in the act of worshipping God with some pious neighbours. On November 12, 1660, as the winter was setting in, having been invited to preach at Samsell in Bedfordshire, he prepared a sermon upon these words; "Dost thou believe in the Son of God?" John ix. 35.

Francis Wingate, a neighbouring justice of the peace, having heard of the intended meeting, issued his warrant to bring the preacher before him. The intention of the magistrate was whispered about, and came to Bunyan's ears before the meeting was held.