consideration is enough to make a broken-hearted man creep into a
mouse-hole, to hide himself from such majesty! There is room in this
man’s heart for God to dwell.’[330] ‘I find it one of the hardest
things that I can put my soul upon, even to come to God, when warmly
sensible that I am a sinner, for a share in grace and mercy. I cannot
but with a thousand tears say, “God be merciful to me a sinner” (Ezra
9:15).’[331]

The Revs. Messrs. Chandler and Wilson, bear the following testimony as
eye-witnesses to his character:—‘His fancy and invention were very
pregnant and fertile. His wit was sharp and quick—his memory tenacious,
it being customary with him to commit his sermons to writing after he
had preached them,’ a proof of extraordinary industry. ‘His
understanding was large and comprehensive—his judgment sound and deep
in the fundamentals of the gospel. His experience of Satan’s
temptations in the power and policy of them, and of Christ’s presence
in, and by his Word and Spirit to succour and comfort him, was more
than ordinary; the grace of God was magnified in him and by him, and a
rich anointing of the Spirit was upon him; and yet this great saint was
always in his own eyes the chiefest of sinners, and the least of
saints. He was not only well furnished with the helps and endowments of
nature, beyond ordinary, but eminent in the graces and gifts of the
Spirit, and fruits of holiness. He was from first to last established
in, and ready to maintain, that God-like principle of having communion
with saints as such, without any respect to difference in things
disputable among the godly. His carriage was condescending, affable,
and meek to all, yet bold and courageous for Christ. He was much struck
at, in the late times of persecution; being far from any sinful
compliance to save himself, he did cheerfully bear the cross.’ Such was
the character given of him by these two eminent divines, in 1693, while
his memory, in its fullest fragrance, was cherished by all the
churches.

This humility peculiarly fitted him to instruct the young, of whom he
was very fond—

‘Nor do I blush, although I think some may
Call me a baby, ‘cause I with them play;
I do ‘t to show them how each fingle fangle
On which they doating are, their souls entangle;
And, since at gravity they make a tush,
My very beard I cast behind a bush.’[332]

He had friends among the rich as well as the poor. Of this his solid
gold ring and handsome cabinet are proofs. From a letter in the Ellis
correspondence, we learn that Bunyan had so secured the affections of
the Lord Mayor of London, as to be called his chaplain.[333]

Among his religious friends and associates he must have been a
pleasing, entertaining, lively companion. However solemn, nay awful,
had been his experience when walking through the Valley of the Shadow
of Death, yet when emerging from the darkness and enjoying the sunshine
of Divine favour, he loved social intercourse and communion of saints.
It is one of the slanders heaped upon Christianity to call it a gloomy,
melancholy theme: though ‘it is better to go to the house of mourning
than to the house of feasting,’ yet the wisely pious man will
endeavour, even at an elegant entertainment or a Lord Mayor’s dinner,
to drop useful hints. Whenever Bunyan describes a social party,
especially a feast, he always introduces a wholesome dish; and it is
singular, in the abundance of publications, that we have not been
favoured with John Bunyan’s Nuts to Crack at Religious Entertainments,
or a Collection of his Pious Riddles. Thus, at the splendid royal feast
given to Emmanuel, when he entered Mansoul in triumph, ‘he entertained
the town with some curious riddles, of secrets drawn up by his father’s
secretary, by the skill and wisdom of Shaddai, the like to which there
are not in any kingdom.’ ‘Emmanuel also expounded unto them some of
those riddles himself, but O how were they lightened! They saw what
they never saw, they could not have thought that such rarities could
have been couched in such few and ordinary words. The lamb, the
sacrifice, the rock, the door, the way.’[334] ‘The second Adam was
before the first, and the second covenant was before the first.’[335]
‘Was Adam bad before he eat the forbidden fruit?’[336] ‘How can a man
say his prayers without a word being read or uttered?’[337] ‘How do men
speak with their feet?’ Answer, Proverbs 6:13.[338] ‘Why was the brazen
laver made of the women’s looking-glasses?’[339] ‘How can we comprehend
that which cannot be comprehended, or know that which passeth
knowledge?’[340] ‘Who was the founder of the state or priestly
domination over religion?’[341] What is meant by the drum of Diabolus
and other riddles mentioned in The Holy War?[342] The poetical riddles
in The Pilgrim’s Progress are very striking—

‘A man there was, though some did count him mad,
The more he cast away, the more he had.’
How can ‘evil make the soul from evil turn.’[343]
Can ‘sin be driven out of the world by suffering?’[344]
‘Though it may seem to some a riddle,
We use to light our candles at the middle.’[345]
‘What men die two deaths at once?’[346]
‘Are men ever in heaven and on earth at the same time?’[347]
‘Can a beggar be worth ten thousand a-year and not know it?’[348]

He even introduced a dance upon the destruction of Despair, Mr.
Ready-to-halt, with his partner Miss Much-afraid, while Christiana and
Mercy furnished the music. ‘True, he could not dance without one crutch
in his hand; but I promise you he footed it well. Also the girl was to
be commended, for she answered the music handsomely.’ Is this the
gloomy fanaticism of a Puritan divine? It is true, that promiscuous
dancing, or any other amusement tending to evil, he had given up and
discountenanced, but all his writings tend to prove that the Christian
only can rationally and piously enjoy the world that now is, while
living in the delightful hope of bliss in that which is to come.

Bunyan’s personal appearance and character was drawn by his friend Mr.
Doe. ‘He appeared in countenance stern and rough, but was mild and
affable; loving to reconcile differences and make friendships. He made
it his study, above all other things, not to give occasion of offence.
In his family he kept a very strict discipline in prayer and
exhortations. He had a sharp, quick eye, and an excellent discerning of
persons; of good judgment and quick wit. Tall in stature, strong-boned;
somewhat of a ruddy face with sparkling eyes; his hair reddish, but
sprinkled with gray; nose well set; mouth moderately large; forehead
something high, and his habit always plain and modest.’

My determination in writing this memoir has been to follow the
scriptural example, by fairly recording every defect discoverable in
Bunyan’s character; but what were considered by some to be blemishes,
after his conversion, appear, in my estimation, to be beauties. His
moral and religious character was irreproachable, and his doctrinal
views most scriptural; all agree in this, that he was a bright and
shining light; unrivalled for his allegories, and for the vast amount
of his usefulness. His friend, Mr. Wilson, says, ‘Though his enemies
and persecutors, in his lifetime, did what they could to vilify and
reproach him, yet, being gone, he that before had the testimony of
their consciences, hath now their actual commendation and
applause.’[349] To this we may add, that he was without sectarianism, a
most decided Bible Christian. This reveals the secret of his striking
phraseology. It was in the sacred pages of Divine truth that he learned
grammar and rhetoric. Style, and all his knowledge of the powers of
language—all were derived from the only source of his religious wisdom
and learning. He lived, and thought, and wrote under the influence of
the holy oracles, translated by the Puritans in 1560, compared with the
version of 1611. This gives a charm to all his works, and suits them to
every human capacity.

Reader, the object of biography is to excite emulation. Why should not
others arise as extensively to bless the world as Bunyan did? The
storehouses of heaven from which he was replenished with holy
treasures, are inexhaustible. As he said, ‘God has bags of mercy yet
unsealed.’ We have the same holy oracles, and the same mercy-seat. The
time is past for merely challenging the right to personal judgment of
religious truths. In Britain the lions are securely chained, and the
cruel giants disabled. The awful crime of imprisoning and torturing man
for conscience’ sake, exists only in kingdoms where darkness reigns—

‘’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.’

We stand upon higher ground than our forefathers; we take our more
solemn stand upon the imperative duty of personal investigation—that no
one can claim the name of Christian, unless he has laid aside all
national, or family, or educational prejudices, and drawn from the holy
oracles alone all his scheme of salvation and rules of conduct. All the
secret of Bunyan’s vast usefulness, the foundation of all his honour,
is, that the fear of God swallowed up the fear of man; that he was
baptized into the truths of revelation, and lived to exemplify them. He
was a bright and shining light in a benighted world; and of him it may
be most emphatically said, ‘Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,
that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.’

GEORGE OFFOR.

FOOTNOTES:

1. For a most interesting account of the rise of Sixtus V, see the new
volume of the Lounger’s Common-place Book, 1807, p. 152.

2. The Rev. J. H. A. Rudd, the Vicar of Elstow, has most kindly
furnished me with an extract from the registers of all the entries
relative to Bunyan’s family. The register commences in 1641, and has
been searched to 1750. It confirms the Rev. J. Juke’s impression, that
soon after Bunyan joined Gifford’s church he left Elstow to live in
Bedford.

Thomas Bonion, buried, Dec. 9, 1641. Margaret Bonion, wife, buried,
June 20, 1644. Margaret Bonion, b., July 24, 1644. Charles, the son of
Thos. Bunion, bapt., May 22, 1645. Charles Bunion, bur., May 30, 1645.
Mary, the daught. of Joh. Bonion, bapt., July 20, 1650 Elizabeth, the
daughter of John Bonyon, was born 14th day of April, 1654.

Thomas Bonion of the town of Bedford, and Elizabeth _______ of the
parish of Elstow, were married, May 10, 1656. (The Christian name of
the husband, and the surname of the wife, are very much obliterated.)

Ann Bonyonn, Widdo, was buried, 12th day of April, 1659. Thos. Bunyan,
buried, Feby. 7th, 1675. Ann Bunyon, Widdo, buried in Woolen, September
25, 1680.

The marriage here recorded, May 10, 1656, could not be that of John
Bunyan to his second wife Elizabeth; for she declared to Judge Hale in
August, 1661, that she had ‘not been married to him yet full two
years.’—Vol. i. 61.

3. This cottage has long ceased to exist, and has been replaced by
another of the poorest description. But from an old print we have given
in the Plate, p. 1, vol. i., a representation of the original, with the
shed at side often mentioned as ‘The forge’; thus leading us to
believe, that to the ‘tinker’s’ humble calling might be united that of
the ‘smith,’ a more manly and honourable trade.

4. Grace Abounding, No. 2.

5. Vol. iii., p. 674.

6. Vol. ii., p. 140.

7. Vol. i., p. 490.

8. Vol. ii., p. 617.

9. Grace Abounding, No. 18.

10. Extracted from the first edition in the British Museum. It was much
altered in the subsequent impressions.

11. In 1566, Sir Thomas Harper, Lord Mayor of London, gave £180 for
thirteen acres and a rood of meadow land in Holborn. This was settled,
in trust, to promote the education of the poor in and round Bedford. In
1668, it produced a yearly revenue of £99—a considerable sum in that
day, but not in any proportion to the present rental, which amounts to
upwards of £12,000 a-year.

12. Grace Abounding, No. 3.

13. Vol. i., p. 618.

14. Grace Abounding, No. 4.

15. Philip’s Life of Bunyan, p. 4.

16. Vol. iii., p. 597.

17. Vol. ii., p. 564.

18. Grace Abounding, No. 27.

19. Grace Abounding, No. 5.

20. Ibid., No. 8.

21. Life, p. vii.

22. Ibid. p. viii.

23. Life, pp. xli., xlii.

24. Vol. i., p. 79.

25. Job 33:15.

26. Grace Abounding, No. 5, vol. i., p. 6.

27. Life appended to the first and second editions of the forged third
part of Pilgrim’s Progress.

28. Grace Abounding, Nos. 12-14, vol. i., p. 7. How do these
hair-breadth escapes illustrate the unerring providence of God, and the
short-sightedness of even pious Christians. It is easy to imagine the
exclamations of a reflecting character when hearing of the marvelous
escapes of this wicked youth. ‘Dark providences! the good and
benevolent are snatched away; but such a plague as this has his life
preserved to pester us still. Short-sighted mortal, “shall not the
Judge of all the earth do right?”’ No life in the British empire was so
precious in the sight and gracious purposes of God, as that of the poor
depraved lad; which was thus preserved by the special care of Divine
providence.

29. Life appended to part third of Pilgrim’s Progress, 1692. This is
omitted from the third edition (1700), and all the subsequent ones.

30. Vol. ii., p. 74.

31. Vol. i., p. 732.

32. Vol. ii., p. 738.

33. Vol. ii., p. 709; ii., p. 45; ii., 601.

34. Vol. iii., p. 727; v. 7, 8.

35. The women were remarkably active in defending the town.

36. Thoresby’s Leicester, 4to, p. 128.

37. Hist. of Rebellion, edition 1712, vol. ii., p. 652.

38. Vol. i., p. 661.

39. Vol. iii., p. 357.

40. Vol. iii., p. 113, 358.

41. Vol. i., p. 726.

42. Vol. i., p. 694.

43. The Political Sentiments of John Bunyan, re-published by John
Martin, 1798.

44. Life of Bunyan, 1692, p. 12.

45. Ibid., 1692, p. 13.

46. Vol. i., p. 7.

47. The Pathway to Heaven is the work of that pious puritan Dent, and
is full of those striking illustrations which were admirably adapted to
prepare Bunyan for writing his allegories. A copy with the name Ma
Bunyann, written on the title page, has long been in the editor’s
library. We give a facsimile of the writing, as it has been supposed
that of Bunyan. This is very doubtful; it appears more like a woman’s
hand; but, if it is the name of Mrs. Bunyan, then it indicates that his
daughter Mary, baptized 20th July, 1650, was called after her.

48. Life of Bunyan, 1691, p. 13.

49. This is a solemn consideration; many profess to serve God while
they are bond-slaves to sin; and many are servants in his family who
are not sons, nor heirs, of heaven. Blessed are those who are both
servants and sons.

50. Vol. i., p. 7, 8.

51. Jan. 3, 1644-5.

52. Aug. 23, 1645.

53. 4to Edit., 1644.

54. Neale, 1822, vol. ii., p. 220.

55. Life of Alfred, comparing him to Charles I. Preface. 8vo. 1634.

56. Vol. i., p. 8, 9.

57. The game of cat, tipcat, or “sly,” so called by Wilson, in his life
of Bunyan [Wilson’s Edition of Works, vol. i., fol. 1736], is an
ancient game well known in many parts of the kingdom. A number of holes
are made in the ground, at equal distances, in a circular direction; a
player is stationed at each hole; the opposite party stand around; one
of them throws the cat to the batsman nearest to him; every time the
cat is struck, the batsmen run from one hole to the next, and score as
many as they change positions; but if the cat is thrown between them
before reaching the hole, the batsman is out [Strutt’s Sports and
Pastimes, 8vo., p. 110]. Such was the childish game played by men on
the Lord’s-day.

58. Life by C. Doe, 1698.

59. Vol. i., p. 9.

60. Saved by Grace, vol. i., p. 351.

61. Vol. i., p. 9; No. 32.

62. Folio edition, pp. 595-6.

63. In the Engraving, p. 1, vol. i., is a view of part of the village
green, Elstow, with the ancient building now used as a school-house, as
seen from the church-yard. This building is older than the time of
Bunyan, and was the scene of village meetings at the period in which he
lived, and doubtless associated with his dancing and thoughtless
amusements, as the green itself was the scene of the game of cat. A
view looking towards the church is given in Vignette to vol. i. of the
Works.

64. Vol. i., p. 10.

65. Southey’s Life, pp. xxv., xxxii.

66. Vol. i., p. 80.

67. Vol. i., p. 11.

68. Vol. iii., p. 607.

69. Heresiography. 4tp. 1654. p. 143.

70. Vol. iii., p. 151.

71. Vol. iii., p. 118.

72. Vol. i., p. 11.

73. Vol. i., p. 11.

74. Vol. i., p. 591.

75. The Rev. H. J. Rose, in his Biographical Dictionary, distorts this
singular affair into, ‘he laid claim to a faith of such magnitude as to
work miracles!’

76. Vol. i., p. 12.

77. Vol. iii., pp. 155, 156.

78. Vol. i., p. 12.

79. It is as easy for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, as for
a man to pass through this door with the world on his back.

80. Vol. i., p. 13.

81. Vol. i., p. 13.

82. Holy War, vol. iii., p. 342, 346.

83. Bunyan on the Throne of Grace, vol. i., p. 677.

84. Vol. i., p. 80.

85. Holy War, vol. iii., p. 297.

86. Vol. i., p. 14.

87. Vol. iii., p. 123.

88. Addison.

89. Vol. i., p. 14.

90. April 1645. About 300 discontented persons got together in Kent,
and took Sir Percival Hart’s house; Colonel Blunt attacked and
dispersed them with horse and foot, regained the house, and made the
chief of them prisoners. Whitelock, folio 137.

91. Vol. i., p. 15.

92. Vol. i., p. 15; No. 82.

93. Vol. i., p. 16.

94. Vol. i., p. 17, 18.

95. Vol. iii., p. 113.

96. Bunyan’s Saints’ Privilege and Profit, vol. i., p. 661.

97. Bunyan’s Saved by Grace, vol. i., p. 340.

98. Vol. i., p. 17.

99. Bunyan’s Christ a Complete Saviour, vol. i., p. 210.

100. Rogers on Trouble of Mind. Preface. Thus temptations are suited to
the state of the inquiring soul; the learned man who studies Plato,
Aristotle, and Aquinas, is filled with doubts arising from ‘philosophy
and vain deceit, profane and vain babblings’; the unlettered mechanic
is tried not by logic, but by infernal artillery; the threatenings of
God’s Word are made to obscure the promises. It is a struggle which, to
one possessing a vivid imagination, is attended with almost intolerable
agonies—unbelief seals up the door of mercy.

Bunyan agreed with his learned contemporary, Milton, in the invisible
agency of good and bad spirits.

‘Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we
wake and when we sleep!’

The malignant demons watch their opportunity to harass the pilgrim with
evil thoughts, injected when least expected.

101. Vol. i., p. 19.

102. Vol. i., p. 20.

103. The anxiety of this pious teacher was to press upon his hearers to
take special heed, not to receive any truth upon trust from any man,
but to pray over it and search ‘the Holy Word.’ This, Mr. Southey
designates, ‘doctrine of a most perilous kind.’ How happy would it be
for society if every religious teacher pressed this perilous doctrine
upon their hearers, that it might bring forth the same fruit
universally, as it did specially in Bunyan. Compare Grace Abounding,
No. 117, and Southey’s Life, p. 27, 28.

104. Vol. i., p. 21.

105. Vol. i., p. 22.

106. Vol. iii., p. 115.

107. Vol. iii., p. 270.

108. Luther fell into the same mistake as to the Baptists, that Bunyan
did as to the Quakers. Both were keenly alive to the honour of
Christianity, and were equally misled by the loose conduct of some
unworthy professors. Luther charges the Baptists as being ‘devils
possessed with worse devils’ [Preface to Galatians]. ‘It is all one
whether he be called a Frank, a Turk, a Jew, or an Anabaptist’ [Com.
Gal. iv. 8, 9]. ‘Possessed with the devil, seditious, and bloody men’
[Gal. v. 19]. Even a few days before his death, he wrote to his wife,
‘Dearest Kate, we reached Halle at eight o’clock, but could not get on
to Eisleben, for there met us a great Anabaptist, with waves and lumps
of ice, which threatened us with a second baptism.’ Bunyan, in the same
spirit, calls the Quakers ‘a company of loose ranters, light
notionists, shaking in their principles!’ [Vol. ii., p. 133, 9, 21].
Denying the Scriptures and the resurrection [Com. Gal. iv. 29]. These
two great men went through the same furnace of the regeneration; and
Bunyan, notwithstanding Luther’s prejudices against the Baptists, most
affectionately recommended his Comment on the Galatians, as an
invaluable work for binding up the broken-hearted.

109. Vol. i., p. 23.

110. Vol. ii., p. 181.

111. Vol. ii., p. 260.

112. Vol. i., p. 25; No. 158.

113. See note in vol. i., p. 26.

114. Vol. i., p. 29.

115. Vol. i., p. 30

116. The study of those scriptures, in order that the solemn question
might be safely resolved, ‘Can such a fallen sinner rise again?’ was
like the investigation of the title to an estate upon which a whole
livelihood depended. Every apparent flaw must be critically examined.
Tremblingly alive to the importance of a right decision, his prayers
were most earnest; and at length, to his unspeakable delight, the word
of the law and wrath gave place to that of life and grace.

117. Vol. i., p. 35.

118. Vol. iii., p. 100.

119. Irish sixpences, which passed for fourpence-halfpenny. See the
note on vol. i., p. 36. Since writing that note I have discovered
another proof of the contempt with which that coin was
treated:—‘Christian, the wife of Robert Green, of Brexham,
Somersetshire, in 1663, is said to have made a covenant with the devil;
he pricked the fourth finger of her right hand, between the middle and
upper joints, and took two drops of her blood on his finger, giving her
a fourpence-halfpenny. Then he spake in private with Catharine her
sister, and vanished, leaving a smell of brimstone behind!’—Turner’s
Remarkable Providences, folio, 1667, p. 28.

120. Vol. i., p. 36.

121. Holy War.

122. Vol. ii., p. 141.

123. Luther and Tyndale.

124. Vol. iii., p. 398.

125. Vol. i., p. 495.

126. Vol. iii., p. 398.

127. Vol. iii., p.190.

128. Vol. iii., p. 186.

129. Bunyan on Christian Behaviour, vol. ii., p. 550.

130. Vol. ii., p. 570.

131. Vol. ii., p. 585.

132. The Nineteenth Article.

133. The sufferings of the Episcopalians were severe; they drank the
bitter cup which they had shortly before administered to the Puritans.
Under suspicion of disloyalty to the Commonwealth, they were most
unjustly compelled to swallow the Covenant as a religious test, or
leave preaching and teaching. Their miseries were not to be compared
with those of the Puritans. Laud was beheaded for treason, but none
were put to death for nonconformity. It was an age when religious
liberty was almost unknown. These sufferings were repaid by an awful
retaliation and revenge, when Royalty and Episcopacy were restored.

134. Penn’s Christian Quaker.

135. Folio, p. 417.

136. Vol. iii., p. 107.

137. Vol. iii., p. 765. The author of Bunyan’s Life, published in 1690,
dates his baptism ‘about the year 1653.’

138. Life from his Cradle to his Grave, 1700.

139. September 21.

140. In the same year, and about the same period, Oliver Cromwell was
made Lord Protector. Upon this coincidence, Mr. Carlisle uses the
following remarkable language:—‘Two common men thus elevated, putting
their hats upon their heads, might exclaim, “God enable me to be king
of what lies under this! For eternities lie under it, and infinities,
and heaven also and hell! and it is as big as the universe, this
kingdom; and I am to conquer it, or be for ever conquered by it. Now,
WHILE IT IS CALLED TO-DAY!’”

141. In possession of the Society of Antiquities.

142. Vol. i., p. 39.

143. Vol. i., p. 20.

144. Reading and Preaching.

145. Not to wait for one another, each one to come in good time.

146. Alluding to Bunyan, or his co-pastor, Burton, or to both of them.

147. Bunyan was about twenty-seven years of age.

148. This letter was copied into the church records at the time: the
original cannot be found. It was published with Ryland’s Funeral Sermon
on Symonds, 1788, and in Jukes’ very interesting account of Bunyan’s
church, in 1849. The signature is copied from an original in the Milton
State Papers, library of the Antiquarian Society.

149. Vol. i., p. 39.

150. Vol. i., p. 545.

151. Grace Abounding, No. 255, vol. i., p. 39.

152. Vol. i., p. 545.

153. Grace Abounding, No 255-259, vol. i., p. 39.

154. Vol. i., p. 40.

155. Vol. iii., p. 655.

156. Rogers on Trouble of Mind.

157. Grace Abounding, No. 260.

158. 1st edition, p. 355.

159. Vol. ii., p. 425.

160. Vol. i., p. 40.

161. Vol. i., p. 769.

162. Vol. i., p. 549.

163. Church Book, 1671.

164. This secrecy became needful after the Restoration, as noticed more
fully afterwards, p. lix. During those years of persecution, a frequent
place of resort was a dell in Wain-wood, about three miles from
Hitchin. Of this locality the following notice will be acceptable:—On
the 19th of May, 1853, a splendidly hot day, my pilgrimage to the
shrines of Bunyan was continued at Hitchin and its vicinity, in company
with S. B. Geard, Esq. Here it was my honour to shake hands with honest
Edward Foster, whose grandfather often entertained and sheltered John
Bunyan. So singular a case I had never met with, that three lives
should connect, in a direct line, evidence of transactions which
occurred at a distance of 190 years. His grandfather was born in 1642,
and for many years was a friend and companion of the illustrious
dreamer. In 1706, when he was sixty-four years of age, his youngest son
was born, and in 1777, when that son was seventy-one years of age, his
youngest son was born, and in 1853 he has the perfect use of limbs and
faculties, and properly executes the important office of assistant
overseer to his extensive parish. With such direct testimony, we
visited the very romantic dell, where, in the still hours of midnight,
the saints of God were wont to meet and unite in Divine worship. It is
a most romantic dell, in Wain-wood, which crowns a hill about three
miles from Hitchin. We had some difficulty in making our way through
the underwood—crushing the beautiful hyacinths and primroses which
covered the ground in the richest profusion, and near the top of the
hill came suddenly upon this singular dell—a natural little eminence
formed the pulpit, while the dell would hold under its shade at least a
thousand people—and now I must give you the countryman’s eloquent
description of the meetings of his ancestors. “Here, under the canopy
of heaven, with the rigour of winter’s nipping frost, while the clouds,
obscuring the moon, have discharged their flaky treasures, they often
assembled while the highly-gifted and heavenly-minded Bunyan has broken
to them the bread of life. The word of the Lord was precious in those
days. And here over his devoted head, while uncovered in prayer, the
pious matrons warded off the driving hail and snow, by holding a shawl
over him by its four corners. In this devoted dell these plain
unpolished husbandmen, like the ancient Waldenses, in the valleys of
Piedmont, proved themselves firm defenders of the faith in its
primitive purity, and of Divine worship in its primitive style.”

Their horses on which they rode, from various parts, were sheltered in
neighbouring friendly farms, while they, to avoid suspicion, ascended
the hill by scarcely visible footpaths. Could fine weather be insured,
it would form a lovely spot for a meeting to celebrate the third
jubilee of religious toleration—there listen to a Bunyan of our age,
and devise measures for religious equality. Then we might close the
service by solemnly objuring every system which gave power to tyrannise
over the rights of conscience. Here, as in other places where Bunyan
founded churches, the cause of Christ hath spread. At Hitchin, in 1681,
about thirty-five Christians united in the following covenant:—

‘We who, through the mercy of God, and our Lord Jesus Christ, have
obtained grace to give ourselves to the Lord, and one to another by the
will of God, to have communion with one another, as saints in one
gospel fellowship:—Do, before God our Father, and our Lord Jesus
Christ, and the holy angels, agree and promise to walk together in this
one gospel communion and fellowship as a church of Jesus Christ, in
love to the Lord and one to another, and endeavour to yield sincere and
hearty obedience to the laws, ordinances, and appointments of our Lord
and Lawgiver in his church. And also do agree and promise, the Lord
assisting, to follow after the things which make for peace, and things
wherewith one may edify another, that so living and walking in love and
peace, the God of love and peace may be with us. Amen.’

This was probably drawn by Bunyan, and so simple and comprehensive has
it proved, that the church has flourished, and lately a spacious and
handsome place of worship has been erected, to accommodate a thousand
worshippers, at a cost of £3000, all paid for, with a surplus fund in
hand for contingencies, of £500. In addition, there are also large and
commodious chapels for the Independents, Wesleyans, and Quakers.

165. Christ a Complete Saviour, vol. i., p. 210.

166. Law and Grace, vol. i., pp. 549, 550.

167. Life of Bunyan, p. xiv.

168. Sighs, vol. iii., p. 712.

169. Gospel Truths, vol. ii., p. 178.

170. Like the Beef-eaters, or yeomen of the guard at the present day.

171. Journal, folio, 1694, p. 144. Is it surprising that the Quakers,
at such a time, assumed their peculiar neatness of dress?

172. Vol. ii., p. 178, 566.

173. Grace Abounding, vol. i., p. 41.

174. Nehemiah Coxe is said to have been a descendant from Dr. Richard
Coxe, preceptor to Edward VI, and Dean of Oxford. He fled from
persecution under Mary, was a troubler of his brother refugees by his
turbulent temper, and his attachment to superstitious ceremonies. On
his return, he was made Bishop of Ely, and became a bitter persecutor.
Benjamin Coxe, A.M., probably a son of the furious bishop, was as
ardently fond of rites and ceremonies. He was cited to appear before
Laud for denying the jure divino of bishops, and the poor bishop said,
“God did so bless me that I gave him satisfaction.” Mr. Coxe soon after
came out as a Baptist, and having preached at Bedford, he settled in
Coventry. Here he disputed with Mr. Baxter and the Presbyterians; and
the Independents had him imprisoned for defending adult baptism
(Crosby, History of Baptists, i. 354), a very short mode of settling
the controversy. Probably Nehemiah Coxe was his son, settled at Bedford
as a shoemaker. He was a learned man, and, when tried at Bedford
assizes for preaching the gospel, he was indicted in the usual
Norman-French, or Latin; and pleaded first in Greek, which the
prosecutors not understanding, he pleaded in Hebrew, arguing, that as
his indictment was in a foreign tongue, he was entitled to plead in any
of the learned languages. The counsel being ignorant of those
languages, and the judge glad to get rid of a vexatious indictment,
dismissed him, saying to the counselors, ‘Well, this cordwainer hath
wound you all up, gentlemen.’ This anecdote is handed down in a funeral
sermon by T. Sutcliff, on the death of Symonds, one of the pastors of
the church at Bedford.

Another of this little band that was set apart with Bunyan, became so
useful a preacher as to have been honoured with a record in the annals
of persecution in the reign of Charles II. John Fenn was on Lord’s-day,
May 15, 1670, committed to prison for preaching in his own house; and
on Tuesday, all his goods and stock in trade were seized and carted
away, leaving his family in the most desolate condition.

In the following week, Edward Isaac, a blacksmith, another of this
little band, having been fined, had all his stock in trade, and even
the anvil upon which he worked, seized and carted away.

Such were the severe trials which these excellent citizens were, with
their families, called to pass through, by the tyranny of the church;
but they were light, indeed, in comparison with those that awaited the
amiable and pious Bunyan.

175. If Christians recollected with what anxiety their teachers
prepared and delivered their sermons, how constant and prayerful would
be their attendance on the means of grace.

176. Grace Abounding, vol. i., p. 42. The taunts and revilings of a
poet laureate upon Bunyan’s preaching and sufferings need only a
passing notice. No words could be more vile and slanderous than those
of Mr. Southey. He says, ‘Peace might be on his lips, and zeal for the
salvation of others in his heart, but he was certainly, at that time,
no preacher of good will, nor of Christian charity.’ How can we judge
of a preacher’s good will, but by ‘peace on his lips?’ and what is the
criterion of Christian charity, except it be ‘zeal for the salvation of
others in his heart?’

177. Grace Abounding, No. 293, vol. i., p. 44.

178. Vol. i., p. 59. Eben. Chandler thus describes Bunyan: ‘His wit was
sharp and quick, his memory tenacious; it being customary with him to
commit his sermons to writing after he had preached them.’—Chandler and
Wilson’s Preface to Bunyan’s Works, folio, 1692. All these autographs
have unaccountably disappeared.

179. Noticed in the life annexed to Pilgrim, Part III.

180. In the editor’s library, folio, 1635. Orthography was little cared
for in those days. On the beautiful portrait of Andrews, is the
autograph of Annie Brokett hir Blook!

181. This document is copied on page xxvi.

182. See page lxxii.

183. Vol. ii., p. 132.

184. Vol. ii., p. 133.

185. Vol. ii., pp. 140, 141.

186. The American authors of a recent life of Burrough, (William and
Thomas Evans, Philadelphia, republished by Gilpin, London, 1851), have
given an unfair account of his controversy with Bunyan, drawn from
Burrough’s works in the shape of a supposed dialogue. Such a
disputation can only be understood by reading both sides of the
question. We unite with them in admiring the character of that young
but noble martyr. They are, however, wrong in their conclusion that
‘the meekness and gentleness of Christ softened and adorned his whole
character.’ He was one of those that are called in the Holy War, ‘rough
hewn men fit to break the ice.’ Vol. iii. p. 270

187. Vol. ii., p. 201.

188. P. 16.

189. It is difficult to describe the state of those times. James Naylor
rode into Bristol, a multitude accompanying him, strewing their scarfs,
handkerchiefs, and garments on the ground for his horse to tread on,
and singing, Hosanna in the highest; holy, holy, holy is the Lord God
of Israel. He was addressed as the everlasting son of righteousness,
and prince of peace. His brain was bewildered with adulation. Women
kissed his feet, and called him Jesus the Son of God. To stop the
tumult, he was apprehended, and had he been simply subjected to the
discipline of a mad-house, like Mr. Brothers of a later period, his
blood would soon have recovered from its agitation. Instead of this, a
grand parade was made by trying him before a Committee of the House of
Commons, and, upon a report of the whole house, he was convicted of
‘horrid blasphemy,’ and it was by the small majority of fourteen that
his life was spared. His cruel sentence was whipping, pillory, his
tongue bored through with a red hot iron, a large letter B burnt into
his forehead, and to be imprisoned during the pleasure of Parliament.
By his followers he was considered a martyr; but the infatuation soon
subsided. After his release, he was mercifully restored to his senses,
and became a useful Quaker.

190. These commissioners were called ‘triers,’ and, being high
Calvinists, were nick-named Dr. Absolute, chairman, Mr. Fatality, Mr.
Fri-babe, Mr. Dam-man, Mr. Narrow-grace, Mr. Indefectible, Mr. Dubious,
and others. They turned out of their livings those clergymen who were
proved to be immoral in their conduct, and others who did not come up
to the orthodox standard. Of these, Mr. Walker, in his account of the
sufferings of the clergy, gives a long list.

191. This Act or ordinance of Parliament involved some of our excellent
ancestors in trouble. Hansard Knollys, Wm. Kiffin, Mr. Lamb, and many
others, were imprisoned for short periods; Edward Barbour for eleven
months. To avoid the informers, adult baptism was performed at
midnight; for this Henry Denne suffered imprisonment. That gracious and
valuable minister, Vavasor Powel also suffered a short imprisonment
during the Protectorate; his life was afterwards sacrificed by a
tedious imprisonment in the following reign. He was taken, with his
flock, at a midnight meeting; and for safe custody they were locked up
in the parish church, and there he preached without molestation. When
conveyed to the justice’s house, while waiting his worship’s leisure,
he again preached. When this magistrate arrived, he was violently
enraged that his house should have been turned into a conventicle. He
would have committed them at once to prison, but two of his daughters
were so affected with the sermon, that, at their intercession, after
severe threatenings, the preacher and his friends were set at liberty.

192. From the original, in the editor’s possession.

193. Cotton Mather says that these laws were never carried to
extremity, and were soon laid entirely by. Hist. of America.

194. Jukes’ History of Bunyan’s Church, p. 16.

195. Works, vol. iii., p. 667; especially pp. 672, 673.

196. No. 280-317, vol. i., p. 42-46.

197. Life and Death of Mr. J. Bunyan, 1700, p. 27.

198. Vol. iii., p. 767.

199. Grace Abounding, vol. i., p. 46.

200. See Note, vol. i., p. 45.

201. 4tp. London, 1659. A MS copy is in the editor’s possession.

202. Vol. i., p. 683.

203. Vol. iii., p. 445.

204. Vol. iii., p. 48.

205. Vol. ii., p. 635.

206. Vol. iii., p. 680.

207. See postscript to The True Faith of the Gospel of Peace, British
Museum.

208. Vol. ii., p. 201.

209. Vol. i., p. 46.

210. Macaulay’s History of England, vol. i.

211. Life of Badman.

212. Penn’s England’s Interest, 4to, 1676, p. 2.

213. Vol. ii., p. 593.

214. Vol. i., p. 51.

215. Vol. i., p. 51.

216. This very interesting Memoir was published by the Society of
Friends, 1825.

217. Case and Opinion, under the head ‘Conventicles,’ British Museum.
There is also a rare Tract, to prove that the Persecuting Acts expired
Oct. 24th, 1670.

218. Vol. i., p. 54. How unspeakable the mercy, that the persecutor
cannot plunge his implements of torture into the spirit, nor prevent
its intercourse with heaven!

A very deeply interesting narrative of all the particulars of this
examination and form of trial, was recorded by the sufferer. See vol.
i., p. 50.

219. There were three prisons in Bedford—the county jail, the
bridewell, and the tower jail. No decisive evidence has been discovered
as to which prison Bunyan was committed. Two views of the bridge and
prison are given in the plate at p. 63, vol. i.

220. Howard’s Account of Lazarettos, &c. 4to, 1789, p. 150.

221. Elstow is a perpetual curacy or vicarage, worth at that time only
£35 per annum! forming one of the discreditable anomalies of the
church, in the division of its immense revenues.

222. He has favoured us with the following description of it:—‘The ring
is of fine gold, very like in colour to that which has been brought
into this country from California. The head is, I think, engraven, but
the letters have not that sharpness about them which indicates the
engraving tool; and the I. B. are undoubted indents made after the ring
was finished.’ It is not the usual emblem of a mourning gift, for that
would have the cross-bones under the skull; it was more probably given
as a special mark of esteem. Three things are certain—1st, That if so
valuable a gift excited the poor man’s pride, its loss must have been a
serious annoyance to one whose family was dependent upon his daily
labour. 2d, His preaching talent must have been highly appreciated,
before he was known as the author of the Pilgrim’s Progress, to have
brought him so valuable a token of respect. But the most pleasing and
remarkable reflection, is the surprising progress of good-will among
men of various denominations, that a ring, worn by a despised and
persecuted Nonconformist of a former age, is now highly prized and
worn, from respect to his memory, by a dignified clergyman of the
Established church.

223. This was not his only ring; he left, inter alia, all his rings to
his wife. See. p. lxxii.

224. After he had lain in jail five or six days, an application was
made to a liberal justice at Elstow, named Crumpton, to release him on
bail; but he declined, fearing to give offence. He, however, so felt
for this persecuted servant of Christ, as to sell him an edifice and
barn, which, upon his release, was converted into a large
meeting-house.

225. Vol. ii., p. 107.

226. Vol. iii., p. 341, 366.

227. From his autograph, in the editor’s possession, he spelt his name
John Keling.

228. Lord Campbell’s lives of the Chief Justices.

229. Vol. i., p. 57. This forcibly reminds us of Greatheart’s reply to
Giant Maul—‘I am a servant of the God of heaven; my business is to
persuade sinners to repentance; if to prevent this be thy quarrel, let
us fall to it as soon as thou wilt,’ vol. iii., p. 210. Southey
attempts to vindicate the justices in condemning Bunyan, and grossly
mis-states the facts; deeming him to be unreasonable and intolerant;
that preaching was incompatible with his calling, and that he ought not
to have sacrificed his liberty in such a cause! The poet-laureate makes
these assertions, knowing the vast benefits which sprung from the
determined piety and honesty of the persecuted preacher. Would not
By-ends, Facing-both-ways, and Save-all, have jumped to the same
conclusion?

230. Vol. i., p. 56.

231. Every Christian should read the appalling account of these
sufferings, recently published under the title of Ladies of the
Covenant.

232. Vol. iii., p. 17.

233. History of Baptists, vol. ii., p. 172. Robinson was a nephew of
Archbishop Laud, and appeared to inherit his evil spirit.

234. Wilson’s History of Dissenting Churches, and the Trial of
Rosewell.

235. Vol. i., p. 198; and Grace Abounding, No. 326.

236. Vol. i., p. 48.

237. Baptized at Elstow, July 20, 1650.

238. Vol. i., p. 168.

239. Vol. ii., p. 279.

240. Vol. ii., p. 733.

241. Vol. i., p. 60.

242. The cut, copied from an old drawing of the house taken before its
entire demotion, at the end of last century, exhibits its quaint
characteristics. The bridge foot is to the spectator’s right; the
church tower behind is that of St. Mary’s, also seen in our view of the
jail, which would, of course, be seen from the bow-windows of the old
inn, in which the Judges met.

243. Vol. i., p. 60.

244. Lectures on the Pilgrim’s Progress.

245. This valuable set of books came into the possession of my old
friend Mr. Wontner, of the Minories, London; it descended at his
decease, to his widow, who resided on Camberwell Green, and from her to
a daughter, married to Mr. Parnel, an orange merchant in Botolph Lane.
He was tempted to sell it to Mr. Bohn, the bookseller, from whom it was
bought for the Bedford library.

246. Charles Doe in Heavenly Footman, 2d edition, 1700.

247. Introduction to the Pilgrim, vol. iii., p. 6, 7.

248. Psalmody Edit., 1775, p. 137. George Whitefield, in recommending
the works of Bunyan, says, ‘Ministers never write or preach so well as
when under the cross; the Spirit of Christ and of glory shall rest upon
them’ [Preface to Bunyan’s Works, 1767]. Admiring the courage and
honesty of Bunyan, when alluding to the Prayer-Book, we earnestly unite
in his petition—‘The Lord in mercy turn the hearts of his people, to
seek more after the Spirit of prayer, and, in the strength of that, to
pour out their souls before the Lord.’

249. This was published in 1698.

250. Heavenly Footman, 2d edition, 1700, p. 126.

251. Vol. iii., p. 397, 398.

252. This deeply interesting book is dedicated to four sorts of
readers—the godly, the learned, the captious, and to the mother of
harlots. To her he says, ‘I have nothing here to please your wanton
eye, or voluptuous palate; no paint for thy wrinkled face, nor crutch
to support thy tottering kingdom.’ It is a very amusing preface.

253. Vol. iii., p. 610.

254. Vol. i., p. 4.

255. Author’s Apology for the Pilgrim.

256. Vol. i., p. 602.

257. Vol. iii., p. 7.

258. Grace Abounding, No. 322.

259. Vol. i., p. 65.

260. Vol. i., p. 741.

261. This jug is in possession of Mrs. Hillyard, widow of the late Mr.
Hillyard, who was minister of the chapel for fifty years, and died in
1839. One tradition says the jug was used as noted in the text; another
that his broth was brought to ‘chapel’ in it, for his Sunday dinner, in
the vestry.

262. Vol. ii., p. 737-739.

263. 2 Cor 1:5; vol. ii., p. 735.

264. Vol. ii., p. 700.

265. Vol. i., p. 47.

266. Vol. i., p. 278; and vol. iii., p. 13.

267. Vol. ii., p. 593.

268. Vol. ii., p. 594.—Heroic man! British Christians are most deeply
indebted to thee, and thy fellow-sufferers, for the high privileges
they now enjoy. May thy name be had in everlasting remembrance.

269. Vol. i., p. 62.

270. It has been doubted whether he was justified in thus making
excursions from the prison. This may be answered by the question—Was
Peter justified in leaving the prison, and going to the prayer-meeting
at Mary’s house? Acts 12:7-19.

271. Vol. iii., p. 19.

272. Rapin.

273. For an accurate copy of this declaration, see vol. iii., p. 21.

274. The ecclesiastical year commenced in March. The tenth month means
December.

275. For a copy of these licenses, see vol. iii., p. 24.

276. 4to, vol. vii., p. 75.

277. I am greatly indebted to J. P. Brown, Esq., James Street,
Islington, for directing my attention to these letters.

278. Vol. iii., pp. 21-29.

279. Vol. iii., p. 27.

280. Vol. i., p. 47; No. 319.

281. Jukes’ History of Bunyan’s Church, p. 24.

282. Continuation of Life to Grace Abounding.

283. It is generally believed at Bedford, that, after Bunyan was
imprisoned, his family removed from Elstow to Bedford, in order that
they might have more frequent access to him; and that, on his release,
he made his abode there. His humble dwelling was much like that of his
father at Elstow, most unassuming; just such a cottage as a poor
wounded sinner would feel at home in when visiting his pastor for
advice. The late Rev. J. Geard, of Hitchin, in his Diary, says—‘July
17, 1774. I preached, for the first time, at Bedford, to the successors
of good Mr. Bunyan’s congregation, and the next day called at the house
where he used to live, and went into the room that tradition reported
was his study. This house, though it had been the habitation of so
truly great a man, was now let for about 40s. per annum.’ Allowing for
the difference in the value of money, Bunyan would have now paid 16s.
a-year rent for his humble abode. It will be always matter of regret,
that it was not purchased and preserved by the members of the ‘Old
Meeting,’ when it was offered them before its destruction; we procured,
however, a drawing of it, which is here engraved. The cottage was in
the parish of St. Cuthbert, in the street opposite the meeting-house,
and here Bunyan lived, while he was pastor, from 1681 to 1688.

284. Pilgrim, vol. iii., p. 198.

285. Vol. ii., p. 649.

286. Vol. ii., p. 538.

287. Vol. ii., p. 219.

288. Vol. i., p. 757.

289. Vol. ii., 649.

290. Vol. ii., p. 638.

291. Vol. ii., p. 641.

292. Vol. iii., p. 758.

293. Christian Church, 8vo, 1747, p. 280.

294. The General Doctrine of Toleration, applied to Free Communion, p.
8. George Whitefield most warmly approved the communion of all God’s
saints with each other. This, I must own, more particularly endears Mr.
Bunyan to my heart. He was of a catholic spirit. The want of water
(adult baptism), with this man of God, was no bar to outward Christian
communion. And I am persuaded that if, like him, we were more deeply
and experimentally baptized into the benign and gracious influences of
the blessed Spirit, we should be less baptized into the waters of
strife about circumstantials and non-essentials. For being thereby
rooted and grounded in the love of God, we should necessarily be
constrained to think and let think, bear with and forbear one another
in love, and without saying, I am of Paul, Apollos, or Cephas; have but
one grand, laudable, disinterested strife, namely, who should live,
preach, and exalt the ever-loving, altogether-lovely Jesus most.

295. Vol. iii., p. 398.

296. He hesitated as to the propriety of publishing it, probably from
the influence of the weighty opinion of Martin Luther. ‘The people are
greatly delighted with allegories and similitudes, and therefore Christ
oftentimes useth them; for they are, as it were, certain pictures which
set forth things as if they were painted before our eyes. Paul was a
marvelous cunning workman in handling allegories, but Origen and Jerome
turn plain Scriptures into unfit and foolish allegories. Therefore, to
use allegories, it is oftentimes a very dangerous thing’ [Com. on Gal.
iv. 21]. Such instructions, from one he so much venerated, curbed his
exuberant imagination, and made him doubly watchful, lest allegorizing
upon subjects of such vast importance might ‘darken counsel by words
without knowledge.’

297. Vol. iii., p. 739.

298. Even Dean Swift, in his popular Letter to a Young Divine, says, ‘I
have been better entertained, and more informed by a few pages in the
Pilgrim’s Progress, than by a long discourse upon the will and the
intellect, and simple and complex ideas.’ Nothing short of
extraordinary merit could have called for such a eulogy from so severe
a critic.

299. Vol. iii., p. 166.

300. Within the Editor’s memory, polished writers hesitated to name our
incomparable allegorist, on account of his humble name and education.
Thus Cowper sang—

‘I name thee not, lest so despised a name Should move a sneer at thy
deserved fame.’

Now nearly all men find it difficult to do that name sufficient honour.
One of the most splendid steam-ships in America is called after his
name. A magnificent ship, for the China trade, was built at Aberdeen by
Walter Hood & Co., which so swiftly traversed the ocean as to have made
the voyage from Canton to London in ninety-nine days, without any aid
from steam. This beautiful and grand specimen of the perfection of
naval architecture is named The John Bunyan. Roman Catholics have
printed large editions of the Pilgrim, with slight omissions, for
circulation among the young under the care of the nuns. Our English
fanatics have committed a crime that would make a papist blush. A Rev.
E. Neale has clumsily altered the Pilgrim’s Progress, that Bunyan might
appear to teach the things which Bunyan’s righteous heaven-born soul
abhorred. It is a piece of matchless self-conceit to think of mending
that which has been admired by the wisest of the human race in all
nations, and which has obtained an unbounded popularity. Such an
attempt to alter it is an acknowledgment that all the boasted power of
Oxford, Exeter, and Rome, are unable to invent a tale to supersede the
matchless beauties of the work of our spiritually-minded,
heavenly-assisted brazier. If Mr. Neale should, at any time, alter a
deed and the punishment for that felony is transportation for life. A
similar forgery was committed in a recent London edition of Dr.
Cheever’s Hill Difficulty. The Tractarians, doubtless, commit these
scandalous outrages upon the Fathers, and all other writers, and
deserve the contempt of every honest, upright mind.

301. Vol. i., p. 473.

302. Vol. i., p. 480.

303. Two views of this meeting-house, an exterior and interior, after
its conversion into a workshop, are given in the Plate facing page i.
of this Memoir. In the interior, part of the beams and pillars that
supported the gallery still remain.

304. Toplady’s Works, vol. iv., p. 463.

305. Vol. iii., p. 637.

306. One of his anecdotes is remarkable, as exhibiting the state of
medical knowledge in his neighbourhood. A poor wretch, who had taught
his son to blaspheme, was affected with a nervous twisting of the
muscles of his chest. This was supposed to arise from a Satanic
possession. One Freeman, a more than ordinary doctor, attempted the
cure. They bound the patient to a form, with his head hanging down over
the end; set a pan of coals under his mouth, and put something therein
that made a great smoke, to fetch out the devil. There they kept the
man till he was almost smothered, but no devil came out of him [Vol.
iii., p. 605]. The death-bed scene of the broken-hearted Mrs. Badman,
is delicately and beautifully drawn.

307. Sutcliff’s History of Bunyan’s Church.

308. Vol. iii., p. 245.

309. A beautiful satire is contained in the account of the
traitors—tradition, human wisdom, and man’s invention. This picture is
drawn by an inimitable artist. Nor have we seen anything more admirably
adapted to the present state of our Tractarian times. Vol. iii. 277.

310. Vol. i., p. 22, No. 128.

311. Vol. ii., p. 574.

312. Life, 1692.

313. Grace Abounding (continued), vol. i., p. 63, and Life, 1692.

314. Vol. i., p. 505.

315. Vol. i., p. 719.

316. Vol. i., p. 753.

317. Some of the wax remains, but the coin is lost.

318. Vol. iii., p. 763.

319. Vol. i., p. 81.

320. Mr. Philip, Critique on Bunyan, p. vi. and xvi.

321. Vol. ii., p. 425.

322. Vol. iii., p. 766.

323. Grace Abounding, 1692.

324. No. 25, E.; 26, W.; 26, N.; 27, S.

325. As matters of curious interest to all lovers of Bunyan, we insert,
in the accompanying page, engravings of these relics, from drawings by
Mr. Edward Offor.

326. The chair is engraved above, and it will be seen that it has
suffered some little dilapidation since the last published engraving of
it. The legs have been cut down to suit the height of one of his
successors in the ministry!! With regard to the pulpit, an old resident
in Bedford says—The celebrated John Howard presented a new pulpit in
the room of the old one, which was cut up. Of part of the wood a table
was made, which now belongs to Mrs. Hillyerd.

327. Vol. iii., p. 297.

328. Vol. i., p. 714.

329. Vol. i., p. 686.

330. Vol. i., pp. 690, 691.

331. Vol. ii., p. 261.

332. Vol. iii., p. 748.

333. It is noticed, in a letter to the Secretary for Ireland, dated
September 6, 1688—‘On teusday last died the Lord Mayor Sir J. Shorter.
A few days before died Bunnian his lordship’s teacher or chaplain a man
said to be gifted that way though once a cobler’ [Ellis’s Cor., vol.
ii., p. 161]. We can excuse the sarcasm of a Roman Catholic, and with
equal good nature, and more truth, remark, that the great and eminent
pope, Sixtus V., was once a swineherd—not a bad school in which to
study how to keep up a despotic sway over the Papacy.

334. Vol. iii., p. 308.

335. Law and Grace, marg., vol. i., p. 524.

336. Vol. ii., p. 651.

337. Vol. i., pp. 634, 635.

338. Vol. ii., p. 653.

339. Vol. i., p. 647.

340. Vol. ii., p. 15.

341. Vol. ii., p. 497.

342. Vol. iii., p. 251.

343. Emblem xiv., vol. iii., p. 751.

344. Christ is made known by the sufferings of his saints, vol. ii., p.
701, and note.

345. Vol. iii., p. 751, and note.

346. Vol. iii., p. 595.

347. Vol. ii., p. 22.

348. Vol. ii., p. 257.

349. Works, folio, 1693.

***

GRACE ABOUNDING TO THE CHIEF OF SINNERS:

A BRIEF AND FAITHFUL RELATION OF THE EXCEEDING MERCY OF GOD IN CHRIST
TO HIS POOR SERVANT, JOHN BUNYAN;

WHEREIN IS PARTICULARLY SHOWED THE MANNER OF HIS CONVERSION, HIS SIGHT
AND TROUBLE FOR SIN, HIS DREADFUL TEMPTATIONS, ALSO HOW HE DESPAIRED OF
GOD’S MERCY, AND HOW THE LORD AT LENGTH THROUGH CHRIST DID DELIVER HIM
FROM ALL THE GUILT AND TERROR THAT LAY UPON HIM.

Whereunto is added a brief relation of his call to the work of the
ministry, of his temptations therein, as also what he hath met with in
prison. All which was written by his own hand there, and now published
for the support of the weak and tempted people of God.

“Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath
done for my soul.”—Psalm 66:16.

London: Printed by George Larkin, 1666.

This title page was afterwards altered, and instead of what follows the
first line, he inserted,

Or a brief and faithful relation of the exceeding mercy of God in
Christ to his poor servant, John Bunyan; namely, in his taking of him
out of the dunghill, and converting of him to the faith of his blessed
Son, Jesus Christ. Here is also particularly showed, what sight of, and
what trouble he had for sin; and also what various temptations he hath
met with, and how God hath carried him through them.

Corrected and much enlarged now by the Author, for the benefit of the
tempted and dejected Christian.

ADVERTISEMENT BY THE EDITOR.

The great utility of remarkable accounts of the ways of God in bringing
his sheep into the fold, must be admitted by all. The Bible abounds
with these manifestations of Divine grace from the gentle voice that
called Samuel, even unto the thunder which penetrated the soul of one,
who followed the church with continued malignity, calling unto him,
“Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?”—a voice so terrible, and
accompanied by such a flood of light, as to strike the persecutor to
the earth, and for a season to deprive him of sight.

The ‘Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners’ is doubly interesting, as
it unfolds to us not only the return of a notorious prodigal, but a
wondrous system of education, by which a chosen man was fitted for a
wondrous work; heavenly and spiritual learning, which could not have
been obtained in all the schools and universities in the world. It
enabled a poor, vile, unlettered rebel—a blasphemous travelling tinker,
to become a most eminent preacher; one whose native powers, sanctified
by harrowing but hallowing feelings, attracted the deep attention of
the most learned and pious of his contemporaries, while it carried
conviction to the most impious and profane. Even beyond all this, his
spiritual acquirements fitted him, without scholastic learning, to
become the most popular, the most attractive, the most useful of
English authors. His works increase remarkably in popularity. As time
rolls on, they are still read with deeper and deeper interest, while
his bodily presence and labours mingle in the records of the events of
bygone ages.

Bunyan’s account of his singular trials and temptations may have
excited alarm in the minds of some young Christians lest they should be
in an unconverted state, because they have not been called to pass
through a similar mode of training. Pray recollect, my dear young
Christian, that all are not called to such important public labours as
Bunyan, or Whitfield, or Wesley. All the members of the Christian
family are trained to fit them for their respective positions in the
church of Christ. It is a pleasant and profitable exercise to look back
to the day of our espousals, and trace the operations of Divine grace
in digging us from the hole of the pit; but the important question with
us all should be, not so much HOW we became enlightened, but NOW do we
love Christ? _Now_ do we regret our want of greater conformity to his
image? If we can honestly answer these questions in the affirmative, we
are believers, and can claim our part in that precious promise,
“Whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” Spiritual life
is ours, and eternal life is essentially connected with it, and must be
our portion, without an inquiry into the means by which we were called,
whether by the thunders and lighting of Sinai, as Paul was smitten, or
by the “still small voice” (Acts 9:3,4; 1 Kings 19:12; Job 4:16,17).

The value of such a narrative to a terror-stricken prodigal is vividly
shown by Bunyan, in his ‘Jerusalem Sinner Saved,’ in one of those
colloquial pieces of composition in which he eminently shone. ‘Satan is
loath to part with a great sinner. “What, my true servant,” quoth he,
“my old servant, wilt thou forsake me now? Having so often sold thyself
to me to work wickedness, wilt thou forsake me now? Thou horrible
wretch, dost not know, that thou hast sinned thyself beyond the reach
of grace, and dost think to find mercy now? Art not thou a murderer, a
thief, a harlot, a witch, a sinner of the greatest size, and dost thou
look for mercy now? Dost thou think that Christ will foul his fingers
with thee? It is enough to make angels blush, saith Satan, to see so
vile a one knock at heaven-gates for mercy, and wilt thou be so
abominably bold to do it?” Thus Satan dealt with me, says the great
sinner, when at first I came to Jesus Christ. And what did you reply?
Saith the tempted. Why, I granted the whole charge to be true, says the
other. And what, did you despair, or how? No, saith he, I said, I am
Magdalene, I am Zacheus, I am the thief, I am the harlot, I am the
publican, I am the prodigal, and one of Christ’s murderers; yea, worse
than any of these; and yet God was so far off from rejecting of me, as
I found afterwards, that there was music and dancing in his house for
me, and for joy that I was come home unto him. O blessed be God for
grace, says the other, for then I hope there is favour for me.’

The ‘Grace Abounding’ is a part of Bunyan’s prison meditations, and
strongly reminds us of the conversation between Christian and Hopeful
on the enchanted ground.

‘Christian. Now then, to prevent drowsiness in this place, let us fall
into good discourse.

‘Hopeful. With all my heart.

‘Christian. Where shall we begin?

‘Hopeful. Where God began with us.’

To prevent drowsiness, to beguile the time, he looks back to his past
experience, and the prison became his Patmos—the gate of heaven—a
Bethel, in which his time was occupied in writing for the benefit of
his fellow-Christians. He looks back upon all the wondrous way through
which the Lord had led him from the City of Destruction to Mount Zion.
While writing his own spiritual pilgrimage, his great work broke upon
his imagination.

‘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.’

‘As you read the “Grace Abounding,” you are ready to say at every step,
here is the future author of the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” It is as if you
stood beside some great sculptor, and watched every movement of his
chisel, having seen his design; so that at every blow some new trait of
beauty in the future statue comes clearly into view.’[1]

A great difference of opinion has been expressed by learned men as to
whether Bunyan’s account of himself is to be understood literally, as
it respects his bad conduct before his conversion, or whether he views
himself through a glass, by which his evil habits are magnified. No one
can doubt his perfect honesty. He plainly narrates his bad, as well as
his redeeming qualities; nor does his narrative appear to be
exaggerated. He was the son of a travelling tinker, probably a gipsy,
‘the meanest and most despised rank in the land’; when, alarmed at his
sins, recollection that the Israelites were once the chosen people of
God, he asked his father, whether he was of that race; as if he thought
that his family were of some peculiar people, and it was easy for such
a lad to blend the Egyptians with the Israelitish race. When he was
defamed, his slanderers called him a witch, or fortune teller, a
Jesuit, a highwayman, or the like. Brought up to his father’s trade,
with his evil habits unchecked, he became a very depraved lad; and when
he states his sad character, it is with a solemn pledge that his
account is strictly true. Probably, with a view to the full
gratification of his sinful propensities, he entered the army, and
served among the profligate soldiers of Charles I at the siege of
Leicester.[2]

During this time, he was ill at ease; he felt convinced of sin, or
righteousness, and of judgment, without a hope of mercy. Hence his
misery and internal conflicts, perhaps the most remarkable of any upon
record. His own Giant Despair seized him with an iron grasp. He felt
himself surrounded by invisible beings, and in the immediate presence
of a holy God. By day, he was bewildered with tormenting visions, and
by night alarming dreams presented themselves to him upon his bed. The
fictitious appeared to his terrified imagination realities. His excited
spirit became familiar with shapeless forms and fearful powers. The
sorrows of death, and the pains of hell, got hold upon him. His
internal conflict was truly horrible, as one who thought himself under
the power of demons; they whispered in his ears—pulled his clothes; he
madly fought, striking at imaginary shades with his hands, and stamping
with his feet at the destroyer. Thoughts of the unpardonable sin beset
him, his powerful bodily frame became convulsed with agony, as if his
breast bone would split, and he burst asunder like Judas. He possessed
a most prolific mind, affording constant nourishment to this excited
state of his feelings. He thought that he should be bereft of his wits;
then a voice rushed in at the window like the noise of wind, very
pleasant, and produced a great calm in his soul. His intervals of ease,
however, were short; the recollection of his sins, and a fear that he
had sold his Saviour, haunted his affrighted spirit. His soul became so
tormented, as to suggest to his ideas the suffering of a malefactor
broken upon the wheel. The climax of these terrors is narrated at
paragraph No. 187. ‘Thus was I always sinking, whatever I did think or
do. So one day I walked to a neighbouring town, and sat down upon a
settle in the street, and fell into a very deep pause about the most
fearful state my sin had brought me to; and, after long musing, I
lifted up my head, but methought I saw as if the sun that shineth in
the heavens did grudge to give light; and as if the very stones in the
street, and tiles upon the houses, did bend themselves against me;
methought that they all combined together, to banish me out of the
world; I was abhorred of them, and unfit to dwell among them, or be a
partaker of their benefits, because I had sinned against the Saviour.’
In this deep abyss of misery, THAT love which has heights and depths
passing knowledge, laid under him the everlasting arms, and raised him
from the horrible pit in miry clay, when no human powers could have
reached his case. Dr. Cheever eloquently remarks, that ‘it was through
this valley of the shadow of death, overhung by darkness, peopled with
devils, resounding with blasphemy and lamentations; and passing amidst
quagmires and pitfalls, close by the very mouth of hell, that Bunyan
journeyed to that bright and fruitful land of Beulah, in which he
sojourned during the latter days of his pilgrimage.’ The only trace
which his cruel sufferings and temptations seen to have left behind
them, was an affectionate compassion for those who were still in the
state in which he had once been.

Young Christians, you must not imagine that all these terrors are
absolute prerequisites to faith in the Saviour. God, as a sovereign,
calls his children to himself by various ways. Bunyan’s was a very
extraordinary case, partly from his early habits—his excitable mind, at
a period so calculated to fan a spark of such feelings into a flame.
His extraordinary inventive faculties, softened down and hallowed by
this fearful experience, became fitted for most extensive usefulness.

To eulogize this narrative, would be like ‘gilding refined gold’; but I
cannot help remarking, among a multitude of deeply interesting
passages, his observations upon that honest open avowal of Christian
principles, which brought down severe persecution upon him. They excite
our tenderest sympathy; his being dragged from his home and wife and
children, he says, ‘hath oft been to me, as the pulling my flesh from
my bones; my poor blind child, what sorrow art thou like to have for
thy portion in this world! thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer
hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I cannot now
endure the wind should blow upon thee. O, I saw I was as a man who was
pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and children; yet,
recollecting myself, thought I, I must venture you all with God.’ How
awful must be the state of the wretched persecutor, who occasions such
sufferings to the children of the most high God!

In this edition, the greatest care has been taken to preserve the exact
words of the author, as he first published them; where he altered or
added to the text in subsequent editions, it is marked with an inverted
comma, or inserted in the notes. Obsolete words and customs are
explained; the numbering of his sections is continued, in addition to
which, it is divided into chapters for family reading, upon the plan of
the late Rev. J. Ivimey; double inverted commas denote quotations of
Scripture.

The reader is strongly pressed to keep in his recollection the peculiar
use made of the word should, by the author in this narrative. It is
from the Saxon scealan, to be obliged. Thus, in the Saxon gospels (Matt
27:15), “the governor should release unto the people a prisoner”; in
our version it is, “was wont to release,” meaning that custom compelled
him so to do. In Bunyan’s phraseology, the word should is used in the
same sense, that is, to show that, under peculiar circumstances, his
feelings or position involuntarily produced a certain result. Thus, in
No. 6, Troubled with the thoughts of judgment and condemnation I should
tremble; and in No. 15, The father of his wife having left her two
books, in these I should sometimes read; probably the only books he
then had. It is remarkable, that although the Saxon language had not
been spoken in Bedfordshire for many centuries, still many valuable
words remained in use.

The order in which this thrilling narrative of Bunyan’s religious
feelings and experience is now for the first time published, is, I.
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners—his call to the ministry, and
his imprisonment for refusing to attend the Church of England service.
II. His Relation of the Circumstances attending his incarceration in
Bedford Jail. III. The continuation of his Life to his decease, written
by one of his friends, and always printed with Grace Abounding. IV. His
Dying Thoughts. V. His Prison Meditations—verses which were probably
sold on a broadside or sheet of paper by his children, to procure
necessaries for his family.

The length of the notes may need some apology; the only one the editor
can make is his veneration for John Bunyan, and his earnest desire to
render this inestimable book more deeply interesting, by explaining
manners, customs, and words not now in use; the note on No. 232,
occupied the time of one whole day.

The errors, omissions, and additions, which existed to a most
extraordinary extent through the book, have been corrected, and the
text restored to its primitive beauty; among many hundred of these
errors, one may suffice as a specimen; it is in Bunyan’s preface, ‘God
did not play in convincing of me, the devil did not play in tempting of
me,’ this is altered in many editions to ‘God did not play in tempting
of me.’

Most earnestly do I hope that this republication, now for the first
time, for nearly two hundred years, given in its native excellence and
purity, may be attended with the Divine blessing, to the comfort of
many despairing Jerusalem sinners; to the building up of the church of
Christ on earth; to the extension of pure, heart-felt, genuine
Christianity; and to the confusion of the persecutors. They intended,
by shutting the pious pilgrim up in a dungeon, to prevent his voice
from being heard to the comfort of his poor neighbours, and by which
violence, his persecutors have caused his voice to burst the prison
doors and walls, and to be heard over the whole world. His ‘Pilgrim’s
Progress,’ which was written in prison, has been, and now is, a guide
to Christian pilgrims of all nations, kindreds, tribes, and people,
teaching them not to rest content in any national religion, but
personally to search the Scriptures, with earnest supplications to the
God of mercy and truth, that they may be guided to Christ, as the Alpha
and Omega of their salvation.

GEORGE OFFOR.

A PREFACE, OR BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE PUBLISHING OF THIS WORK, WRITTEN BY
THE AUTHOR THEREOF, AND DEDICATED TO THOSE WHOM GOD HATH COUNTED HIM
WORTHY TO BEGET TO FAITH, BY HIS MINISTRY IN THE WORD.

Children, grace be with you, Amen. I being taken from you in presence,
and so tied up, that I cannot perform that duty that from God doth lie
upon me to youward, for your further edifying and building up in faith
and holiness, &c., yet that you may see my soul hath fatherly care and
desire after your spiritual and everlasting welfare; I now once again,
as before, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, so ‘now’ from the lions’
dens, from the mountains of the leopards (Song 4:8), do look yet after
you all, greatly longing to see your safe arrival into the desired
haven.[3]

I thank God upon every remembrance of you; and rejoice, even while I
stick between the teeth of the lions in the wilderness, at the grace,
and mercy, and knowledge of Christ our saviour, which God hath bestowed
upon you, with abundance of faith and love. Your hungerings and
thirstings also after further acquaintance with the Father, in his Son;
your tenderness of heart, your trembling at sin, your sober and holy
deportment also, before both God and men, is great refreshment to me;
“For ye are my glory and joy” (1 Thess 2:20).

I have sent you here enclosed, a drop of that honey, that I have taken
out of the carcase of a lion (Judg 14:5-9). I have eaten thereof myself
also, and am much refreshed thereby. (Temptations, when we meet them at
first, are as the lion that roared upon Samson; but if we overcome
them, the next time we see them, we shall find a nest of honey within
them.) The Philistines understand me not. It is ‘something of’ a
relation of the work of God upon my own soul, even from the very first,
till now; wherein you may perceive my castings down, and raisings up;
for he woundeth, and his hands make whole. It is written in the
Scripture (Isa 38:19), “The father to the children shall make known the
truth of God.” Yea, it was for this reason I lay so long at Sinai (Deut
4:10,11), to see the fire, and the cloud, and the darkness, that I
might fear the Lord all the days of my life upon earth, and tell of his
wondrous works to my children (Psa 78:3-5).

Moses (Num 33:1,2) writ of the journeyings of the children of Israel,
from Egypt to the land of Canaan; and commanded also, that they did
remember their forty years’ travel in the wilderness. “Thou shalt
remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years
in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was
in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no”
(Deut 8:2). Wherefore this I have endeavoured to do; and not only so,
but to publish it also; that, if God will, others may be put in
remembrance of what he hath done for their souls, by reading his work
upon me.

It is profitable for Christians to be often calling to mind the very
beginnings of grace with their souls. “It is a night to be much
observed unto the Lord for bringing them out from the land of Egypt:
this is that night of the Lord to be observed of all the children of
Israel in their generations” (Exo 12:42). “O my God,” saith David (Psa
42:6), “my soul is cast down within me; therefore will I remember thee
from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar.”
He remembered also the lion and the bear, when he went to fight with
the giant of Gath (1 Sam 17:36,37).

It was Paul’s accustomed manner (Acts 22), and that when tried for his
life (Acts 24), even to open, before his judges, the manner of his
conversion: he would think of that day, and that hour, in the which he
first did meet with grace;[4] for he found it support unto him. When
God had brought the children of Israel through the Red Sea, far into
the wilderness, yet they must turn quite about thither again, to
remember the drowning of their enemies there (Num 14:25). For though
they sang his praise before, yet “they soon forgat his works” (Psa
106:11-13).

In this discourse of mine you may see much; much, I say, of the grace
of God towards me. I thank God I can count it much, for it was above my
sins and Satan’s temptations too. I can remember my fears, and doubts,
and sad months with comfort; they are as the head of Goliah in my hand.
There was nothing to David like Goliah’s sword, even that sword that
should have been sheathed in his bowels; for the very sight and
remembrance of that did preach forth God’s deliverance to him. Oh, the
remembrance of my great sins, of my great temptations, and of my great
fears of perishing for ever! They bring afresh into my mind the
remembrance of my great help, my great support from heaven, and that
the great grace that God extended to such a wretch as I.

My dear children, call to mind the former days, “and the years of
ancient times: remember also your songs in the night; and commune with
your own heart” (Psa 73:5-12). Yea, look diligently, and leave no
corner therein unsearched, for there is treasure hid, even the treasure
of your first and second experience of the grace of God toward you.
Remember, I say, the word that first laid hold upon you; remember your
terrors of conscience, and fear of death and hell; remember also your
tears and prayers to God; yea, how you sighed under every hedge for
mercy. Have you never a hill Mizar to remember? Have you forgot the
close, the milk house, the stable, the barn, and the like, where God
did visit your soul?[5] Remember also the Word—the Word, I say, upon
which the Lord hath caused you to hope. If you have sinned against
light; if you are tempted to blaspheme; if you are down in despair; if
you think God fights against you; or if heaven is hid from your eyes,
remember it was thus with your father, but out of them all the Lord
delivered me.

I could have enlarged much in this my discourse, of my temptations and
troubles for sin; as also of the merciful kindness and working of God
with my soul. I could also have stepped into a style much higher than
this in which I have here discoursed, and could have adorned all things
more than here I have seemed to do, but I dare not. God did not play in
convincing of me, the devil did not play in tempting of me, neither did
I play when I sunk as into a bottomless pit, when the pangs of hell
caught hold upon me; wherefore I may not play in my relating of them,
but be plain and simple, and lay down the thing as it was. He that
liketh it, let him receive it; and he that does not, let him produce a
better. Farewell.

My dear children, the milk and honey is beyond this wilderness. God be
merciful to you, and grant ‘that’ you be not slothful to go in to
possess the land.

JOHN BUNYAN.

GRACE ABOUNDING TO THE CHIEF OF SINNERS; OR, A BRIEF RELATION OF THE
EXCEEDING MERCY OF GOD IN CHRIST, TO HIS POOR SERVANT, JOHN BUNYAN.

[BUNYAN’S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF PREVIOUS TO HIS CONVERSION.]

1. In this my relation of the merciful working of God upon my soul, it
will not be amiss, if, in the first place, I do, in a few words, give
you a hint of my pedigree, and manner of bringing up; that thereby the
goodness and bounty of God towards me, may be the more advanced and
magnified before the sons of men.

2. For my descent then, it was, as is well known by many, of a low and
inconsiderable generation; my father’s house being of that rank that is
meanest and most despised of all the families in the land.[6] Wherefore
I have not here, as others, to boast of noble blood, or of a high-born
state, according to the flesh; though, all things considered, I magnify
the heavenly Majesty, for that by this door he brought me into this
world, to partake of the grace and life that is in Christ by the
gospel.

3. But yet, notwithstanding the meanness and inconsiderableness of my
parents, it pleased God to put it into their hearts to put me to
school, to learn both to read and write; the which I also attained,
according to the rate of other poor men’s children;[7] though, to my
shame I confess, I did soon lose that little I learned, and that even
almost utterly, and that long before the Lord did work his gracious
work of conversion upon my soul.

4. As for my own natural life, for the time that I was without God in
the world, it was indeed according to the course of this world, and
“the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience” (Eph
2:2,3). It was my delight to be “taken captive by the devil at his
will” (2 Tim 2:26). Being filled with all unrighteousness: the which
did also so strongly work and put forth itself, both in my heart and
life, and that from a child, that I had but few equals, especially
considering my years, which were tender, being few, both for cursing,
swearing, lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God.

5. Yea, so settled and rooted was I in these things, that they became
as a second nature to me; the which, as I also have with soberness
considered since, did so offend the Lord, that even in my childhood he
did scare and affright me with fearful dreams, and did terrify me with
dreadful visions; for often, after I had spent this and the other day
in sin, I have in my bed been greatly afflicted, while asleep, with the
apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits, who still, as I then
thought, laboured to draw me away with them, of which I could never be
rid.

6. Also I should, at these years, be greatly afflicted and troubled
with the thoughts of the day of judgment, and that both night and day,
and should tremble at the thoughts of the fearful torments of hell
fire; still fearing that it would be my lot to be found at last amongst
those devils and hellish fiends, who are there bound down with the
chains and bonds of eternal darkness, “unto the judgment of the great
day.”

7. These things, I say, when I was but a child, ‘but nine or ten years
old,’ did so distress my soul, that when in the midst of my many sports
and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, I was often much cast
down and afflicted in my mind therewith, yet could I not let go my
sins. Yea, 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
‘be’ tormented myself.

8. A while after, these terrible dreams did leave me, which also I soon
forgot; for my pleasures did quickly cut off the remembrance of them,
as if they had never been: wherefore, with more greediness, according
to the strength of nature, I did still let loose the reins to my lusts,
and delighted in all transgression against the law of God: so that,
until I came to the state of marriage, I was the very ringleader of all
the youth that kept me company, into all manner of vice and
ungodliness.[8]

9. Yea, such prevalency had the lusts and fruits of the flesh in this
poor soul of mine, that had not a miracle of precious grace prevented,
I had not only perished by the stroke of eternal justice, but had also
laid myself open, even to the stroke of those laws, which bring some to
disgrace and open shame before the face of the world.

10. In these days, the thoughts of religion were very grievous to me; I
could neither endure it myself, nor that any other should; so that,
when I have seen some read in those books that concerned Christian
piety, it would be as it were a prison to me. Then I said unto God,
“Depart from me, for I desire not the knowledge of thy ways” (Job
21:14). I was now void of all good consideration, heaven and hell were
both out of sight and mind; and as for saving and damning, they were
least in my thoughts.[9] O Lord, thou knowest my life, and my ways were
not hid from thee.

11. Yet this I well remember, that though I could myself sin with the
greatest delight and ease, and also take pleasure in the vileness of my
companions; yet, even then, if I have at any time seen wicked things,
by those who professed goodness, it would make my spirit tremble. As
once, above all the rest, when I was in my height of vanity, yet
hearing one to swear that was reckoned for a religious man, it had so
great a stroke upon my spirit, that it made my heart to ache.

12. ‘But God did not utterly leave me, but followed me still, not now
with convictions, but judgments; yet such as were mixed with mercy. For
once I fell into a creek of the sea, and hardly escaped drowning.
Another time I fell out of a boat into Bedford river, but mercy yet
preserved me alive. Besides, another time, being in the field with one
of my companions, it chanced that an adder passed over the highway; so
I, having a stick in my hand, struck her over the back; and having
stunned her, I forced open her mouth with my stick, and plucked her
sting out with my fingers; by which act, had not God been merciful unto
me, I might, by my desperateness, have brought myself to mine end.’

13. ‘This also have I taken notice of with thanksgiving; when I was a
soldier, I, with others, were drawn out to go to such a place to
besiege it; but when I was just ready to go, one of the company desired
to go in my room; to which, when I had consented, he took my place; and
coming to the siege, as he stood sentinel, he was shot into the head
with a musket bullet, and died.’[10]

14. ‘Here, as I said, were judgments and mercy, but neither of them did
awaken my soul to righteousness; wherefore I sinned still, and grew
more and more rebellious against God, and careless of mine own
salvation.’

15. Presently after this, I changed my condition into a married state,
and my mercy was to light upon a wife whose father was counted
godly.[11] This woman and I, though we came together as poor as poor
might be, not having so much household stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt
us both, yet this she had for her part, The Plain Man’s Pathway to
Heaven, and The Practice of Piety, which her father had left her when
he died. In these two books I should sometimes read with her, wherein I
also found some things that were somewhat pleasing to me; but all this
while I met with no conviction. She also would be often telling of me,
what a godly man her father was, and how he would reprove and correct
vice, both in his house, and amongst his neighbours; what a strict and
holy life he lived in his day, both in word and deed.

16. Wherefore these books with this relation, though they did not reach
my heart, to awaken it about my sad and sinful state, yet they did
beget within me some desires to religion: so that, because I knew no
better, I fell in very eagerly with the religion of the times; to wit,
to go to church twice a day, and that too with the foremost; and there
should very devoutly, both say and sing as others did, yet retaining my
wicked life; but withal, I was so overrun with a spirit of
superstition, that I adored, and that with great devotion, even all
things, both the high place, priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what
else belonging to the church; counting all things holy that were
therein contained, and especially the priest and clerk most happy, and
without doubt, greatly blessed, because they were the servants, as I
then thought, of God, and were principal in the holy temple, to do his
work therein.

17. This conceit grew so strong in little time upon my spirit, that had
I but seen a priest, though never so sordid and debauched in his life,
I should find my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and knit unto
him; yea, I thought for the love I did bear unto them, supposing they
were the ministers of God, I could have lain down at their feet, and
have been trampled upon by them; their name, their garb, and work, did
so intoxicate and bewitch me.

18. After I had been thus for some considerable time, another thought
came into my mind; and that was, whether we were of the Israelites, or
no? For finding in the Scriptures that they were once the peculiar
people of God, thought I, if I were one of this race, my soul must
needs be happy.[12] Now again, I found within me a great longing to be
resolved about this question, but could not tell how I should. At last
I asked my father of it; who told me—No, we were not. Wherefore then I
fell in my spirit as to the hopes of that, and so remained.

19. But all this while, I was not sensible of the danger and evil of
sin; I was kept from considering that sin would damn me, what religion
soever I followed, unless I was found in Christ. Nay, I never thought
of him, nor whether there was one, or no. Thus man, while blind, doth
wander, but wearieth himself with vanity, for he knoweth not the way to
the city of God (Eccl 10:15).

20. But one day, amongst all the sermons our parson made, his subject
was, to treat of the Sabbath-day, and of the evil of breaking that,
either with labour, sports, or otherwise. Now I was, notwithstanding my
religion, one that took much delight in all manner of vice, and
especially that was the day that I did solace myself therewith,[13]
wherefore I fell in my conscience under his sermon, thinking and
believing that he made that sermon on purpose to show me my evil doing;
and at that time I felt what guilt was, though never before, that I can
remember; but then I was, for the present, greatly loaden therewith,
and so went home when the sermon was ended, with a great burden upon my
spirit.

21. This, for that instant, did ‘benumb’[14] the sinews of my ‘best’
delights, and did imbitter my former pleasures to me; but behold, it
lasted not, for before I had well dined, the trouble began to go off my
mind, and my heart returned to its old course: but oh! How glad was I,
that this trouble was gone from me, and that the fire was put out,
‘that I might sin again without control!’ Wherefore, when I had
satisfied nature with my food, I shook the sermon out of my mind, and
to my old custom of sports and gaming I returned with great delight.

22. But the same day, as I was in the midst of a game at cat,[15] and
having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to strike
it the second time, a voice did suddenly dart from heaven into my soul,
which said, Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins
and go to hell? At this I was put to an exceeding maze; wherefore,
leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, and was, as if I
had, with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus looking
down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if he did
severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these and other
my ungodly practices.

23. I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but suddenly this
conclusion was fastened on my spirit, for the former hint did set my
sins again before my face, that I had been a great and grievous sinner,
and that it was now too too late for me to look after heaven; for
Christ would not forgive me, nor pardon my transgressions. Then I fell
to musing upon this also; and while I was thinking on it, and fearing
lest it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair, concluding it
was too late; and therefore I resolved in my mind I would go on in sin:
for, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable;
miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them; I can
but be damned, and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many
sins, as to be damned for few.

24. Thus I stood in the midst of my play, before all that then were
present; but yet I told them nothing: but I say, I having made this
conclusion, I returned ‘desperately’ to my sport again; and I well
remember, that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul,
that I was persuaded, I could never attain to other comfort than what I
should get in sin; for heaven was gone already, so that on that I must
not think; wherefore I found within me a great desire to take my fill
of sin, still studying what sin was yet to be committed, that I might
taste the sweetness of it; and I made as much haste as I could to fill
my belly with its delicates, lest I should die before I had my desire;
for that I feared greatly. In these things, I protest before God, I lie
not, neither do I feign this sort of speech; these were really,
strongly, and with all my heart, my desires; the good Lord, whose mercy
is unsearchable, forgive me my transgressions.

25. And I am very confident, that this temptation of the devil is more
usual amongst poor creatures than many are aware of, even to overrun
their spirits with a scurvy and seared frame of heart, and benumbing of
conscience; which frame, he stilly and slyly supplieth with such
despair, that though not much guilt attendeth the soul, yet they
continually have a secret conclusion within them, that there is no
hopes for them; for they have loved sins, “therefore after them they
will go” (Jer 2:25, 18:12).

26. Now therefore I went on in sin with great greediness of mind, still
grudging that I could not be so satisfied with it as I would. This did
continue with me about a month, or more; but one day, as I was standing
at a neighbour’s shop-window, and there cursing and swearing, and
playing the madman, after my wonted manner, there sat within, the woman
of the house, and heard me, who, though she was a very loose and
ungodly wretch, yet protested that I swore and cursed at that most
fearful rate, that she was made to tremble to hear me; and told me
further, That I was the ungodliest fellow for swearing that ever she
heard in all her life; and that I, by thus doing, was able to spoil all
the youth in a whole town, if they came but in my company.

27. At this reproof I was silenced, and put to secret shame, and that
too, as I thought, before the God of heaven; wherefore, while I stood
there, and hanging down my head, I wished with all my heart that I
might be a little child again, that my father might learn me to speak
without this wicked way of swearing;[16] for, thought I, I am so
accustomed to it, that it is in vain for me to think of a reformation,
for I thought it could never be.

28. But how it came to pass, I know not; I did from this time forward
so leave my swearing, that it was a great wonder to myself to observe
it; and whereas before, I knew not how to speak unless I put an oath
before, and another behind, to make my words have authority; now, I
could, ‘without it,’ speak better, and with more pleasantness, than
ever I could before. All this while I knew not Jesus Christ, neither
did I leave my sports and plays.

29. But quickly after this, I fell in company with one poor man that
made profession of religion; who, as I then thought, did talk
pleasantly of the Scriptures, and of the matters of religion;
wherefore, falling into some love and liking to what he said, I betook
me to my Bible, and began to take great pleasure in reading, but
especially with the historical part thereof; for, as for Paul’s
epistles, and Scriptures of that nature, I could not away with them,
being as yet but ignorant, either of the corruptions of my nature, or
of the want and worth of Jesus Christ to save me.

30. Wherefore I fell to some outward reformation, both in my words and
life, and did set the commandments before me for my way to heaven;
which commandments I also did strive to keep, and, as I thought, did
keep them pretty well sometimes, and then I should have comfort; yet
now and then should break one, and so afflict my conscience; but then I
should repent, and say I was sorry for it, and promise God to do better
next time, and there get help again, ‘for then I thought I pleased God
as well as any man in England.’

31. Thus I continued about a year; all which time our neighbours did
take me to be a very godly man, a new and religious man, and did marvel
much to see such a great and famous alteration in my life and manners;
and, indeed, so it was, though yet I knew not Christ, nor grace, nor
faith, nor hope; and, truly, as I have well seen since, had then died,
my state had been most fearful; well, this, I say, continued about a
twelvemonth or more.

32. ‘But, I say, my neighbours were amazed at this my great conversion,
from prodigious profaneness, to something like a moral life; and,
truly, so they well might; for this my conversion was as great, as for
Tom of Bedlam to become a sober man.[17] Now, therefore, they began to
praise, to commend, and to speak well of me, both to my face, and
behind my back. Now, I was, as they said, become godly; now, I was
become a right honest man. But, oh! When I understood that these were
their words and opinions of men, it pleased me mighty well. For though,
as yet, I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite, yet I loved to be
talked of as one that was truly godly. I was proud of my godliness,
and, indeed, I did all I did, either to be seen of, or to be well
spoken of, by man. And thus I continued for about a twelvemonth or
more.’

33. ‘Now, you must know, that before this I had taken much delight in
ringing, but my conscience beginning to be tender, I thought such
practice was but vain, and therefore forced myself to leave it, yet my
mind hankered; wherefore I should go to the steeple house, and look on
it, though I durst not ring. But I thought this did not become religion
neither, yet I forced myself, and would look on still; but quickly
after, I began to think, How, if one of the bells should fall? Then I
chose to stand under a main beam, that lay overthwart the steeple, from
side to side, thinking there I might stand sure, but then I should
think again, should the bell fall with a swing, it might first hit the
wall, and then rebounding upon me, might kill me for all this beam.
This made me stand in the steeple door; and now, thought I, I am safe
enough; for, if a bell should then fall, I can slip out behind these
thick walls, and so be preserved notwithstanding.’

34. ‘So, after this, I would yet go to see them ring, but would not go
further than the steeple door; but then it came into my head, How, if
the steeple itself should fall? And this thought, it may fall for ought
I know, when I stood and looked on, did continually so shake my mind,
that I durst not stand at the steeple door any longer, but was forced
to flee, for fear the steeple should fall upon my head.’

35. ‘Another thing was my dancing; I was a full year before I could
quite leave that; but all this while, when I thought I kept this or
that commandment, or did, by word or deed, anything that I thought was
good, I had great peace in my conscience; and should think with myself,
God cannot choose but be now pleased with me; yea, to relate it in mine
own way, I thought no man in England could please God better than I.’

36. ‘But poor wretch as I was, I was all this while ignorant of Jesus
Christ, and going about to establish my own righteousness; and had
perished therein, had not God, in mercy, showed me more of my state of
nature.’

[HIS CONVERSION AND PAINFUL EXERCISES OF MIND, PREVIOUS TO HIS JOINING
THE CHURCH AT BEDFORD.]

37. But upon a day, the good providence of God did cast me to Bedford,
to work on my calling; and in one of the streets of that town, I came
where there were three or four poor women sitting at a door in the sun,
and talking about the things of God; and being now willing to hear them
discourse, I drew near to hear what they said, for I was now a brisk
talker also myself in the matters of religion, but now I may say, I
heard, but I understood not; for they were far above, out of my reach;
for their talk was about a new birth, the work of God on their hearts,
also how they were convinced of their miserable state by nature; they
talked how God had visited their souls with his love in the Lord Jesus,
and with what words and promises they had been refreshed, comforted,
and supported against the temptations of the devil. Moreover, they
reasoned of the suggestions and temptations of Satan in particular; and
told to each other by which they had been afflicted, and how they were
borne up under his assaults. They also discoursed of their own
wretchedness of heart, of their unbelief; and did contemn, slight, and
abhor their own righteousness, as filthy and insufficient to do them
any good.

38. And methought they spake as if joy did make them speak; they spake
with such pleasantness of Scripture language, and with such appearance
of grace in all they said, that they were to me, as if they had found a
new world,[18] as if they were people that dwelt alone, and were not to
be reckoned among their neighbours (Num 23:9).

39. At this I felt my own heart began to shake, as mistrusting my
condition to be nought; for I saw that in all my thoughts about
religion and salvation, the new birth did never enter into my mind,
neither knew I the comfort of the Word and promise, nor the
deceitfulness and treachery of my own wicked heart. As for secret
thoughts, I took no notice of them; neither did I understand what
Satan’s temptations were, nor how they were to be withstood and
resisted, &c.

40. Thus, therefore, when I had heard and considered what they said, I
left them, and went about my employment again, but their talk and
discourse went with me; also my heart would tarry with them, for I was
greatly affected with their words, both because by them I was convinced
that I wanted the true tokens of a truly godly man, and also because by
them I was convinced of the happy and blessed condition of him that was
such a one.[19]

41. Therefore I should often make it my business to be going again and
again into the company of these poor people, for I could not stay away;
and the more I went amongst them, the more did question my condition;
and as I still do remember, presently I found two things within me, at
which I did sometimes marvel, especially considering what a blind,
ignorant, sordid, and ungodly wretch but just before I was; the one was
a very great softness and tenderness of heart, which caused me to fall
under the conviction of what by Scripture they asserted; and the other
was a great bending in my mind to a continual meditating on it, and on
all other good things which at any time I heard or read of.

42. ‘By these things’ my mind was now so turned, that it lay like a
horse leech at the vein, still crying out, Give, give (Prov 30:15);
yea, it was so fixed on eternity, and on the things about the kingdom
of heaven, that is, so far as I knew, though as yet, God knows, I knew
but little; that neither pleasures, nor profits, nor persuasions, nor
threats, could loosen it, or make it let go his hold; and though I may
speak it with shame, yet it is in very deed a certain truth, it would
then have been as difficult for me to have taken my mind from heaven to
earth, as I have found it often since to get it again from earth to
heaven.’

43. ‘One thing I may not omit: There was a young man in our town, to
whom my heart before was knit more than to any other, but he being a
most wicked creature for cursing, and swearing, and whoring, I now
shook him off, and forsook his company; but about a quarter of a year
after I had left him, I met him in a certain lane, and asked him how he
did; he, after his old swearing and mad way, answered, He was well.
But, Harry, said I, why do you swear and curse thus? What will become
of you, if you die in this condition? He answered me in a great chafe,
What would the devil do for company, if it were not for such as I am?’

44. ‘About this time I met with some Ranters’ books, that were put
forth by some of our countrymen, which books were also highly in esteem
by several old professors; some of these I read, but was not able to
make a judgment about them; wherefore as I read in them, and thought
upon them, feeling myself unable to judge, I should betake myself to
hearty prayer in this manner: O Lord, I am a fool, and not able to know
the truth from error: Lord, leave me not to my own blindness, either to
approve of, or condemn this doctrine; if it be of God, let me not
despise it; if it be of the devil, let me not embrace it. Lord, I lay
my soul, in this matter, only at thy foot; let me not be deceived, I
humbly beseech thee. I had one religious intimate companion all this
while, and that was the poor man that I spoke of before; but about this
time he also turned a most devilish Ranter,[20] and gave himself up to
all manner of filthiness, especially uncleanness: he would also deny
that there was a God, angel, or spirit; and would laugh at all
exhortations to sobriety. When I laboured to rebuke his wickedness, he
would laugh the more, and pretend that he had gone through all
religions, and could never light on the right till now. He told me
also, that in a little time I should see all professors turn to the
ways of the Ranters. Wherefore, abominating those cursed principles, I
left his company forthwith, and became to him as great a stranger, as I
had been before a familiar.’

45. ‘Neither was this man only a temptation to me; but my calling lying
in the country, I happened to light into several people’s company, who,
though strict in religion formerly, yet were also swept away by these
Ranters. These would also talk with me of their ways, and condemn me as
legal and dark; pretending that they only had attained to perfection
that could do what they would, and not sin. Oh! These temptations were
suitable to my flesh, I being but a young man, and my nature in its
prime; but God, who had, as I hope, designed me for better things, kept
me in the fear of his name, and did not suffer me to accept of such
cursed principles. And blessed be God, who put it into my heart to cry
to him to be kept and directed, still distrusting mine own wisdom; for
I have since seen even the effect of that prayer, in his preserving me
not only from ranting errors, but from those also that have sprung up
since. The Bible was precious to me in those days.’

46. And now, methought, I began to look into the Bible with new eyes,
and read as I never did before; and especially the epistles of the
apostle Paul were sweet and pleasant to me; and, indeed, I was then
never out of the Bible, either by reading or meditation; still crying
out to God, that I might know the truth, and way to heaven and glory.

47. And as I went on and read, I lighted on that passage, ‘To one is
given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another the word of
knowledge by the same Spirit; and to another faith,’ &c. (1 Cor
12:8,9). And though, as I have since seen, that by this Scripture the
Holy Ghost intends, in special, things extraordinary, yet on me it did
then fasten with conviction, that I did want things ordinary, even that
understanding and wisdom that other Christians had. On this word I
mused, and could not tell what to do, ‘especially this word faith put
me to it, for I could not help it, but sometimes must question, whether
I had any faith or no’; for I feared that it shut me out of all the
blessings that other good people had give them of God;[21] but I was
loath to conclude I had no faith in my soul; for if I do so, thought I,
then I shall count myself a very cast-away indeed.

48. No, said I with myself, though I am convinced that I am an ignorant
sot, and that I want those blessed gifts of knowledge and understanding
that other good people have; yet, at a venture, I will conclude I am
not altogether faithless, though I know not what faith is. For it was
showed me, and that too, as I have since seen, by Satan, that those who
conclude themselves in a faithless state, have neither rest nor quiet
in their souls; and I was loath to fall quite into despair.

49. Wherefore, by this suggestion, I was for a while made afraid to see
my want of faith; but God would not suffer me thus to undo and destroy
my soul, but did continually, against this my blind and sad conclusion,
create still within me such suppositions, ‘insomuch’ that I might in
this deceive myself, that I could not rest content, until I did now
come to some certain knowledge, whether I had faith or no; this always
running in my mind, But how if you want faith indeed? But how can you
tell you have faith? ‘and, besides, I saw for certain, if I had not, I
was sure to perish for ever.’

50. So that though I endeavoured at the first, to look over the
business of faith, yet in a little time, I better considering the
matter, was willing to put myself upon the trial, whether I had faith
or no. But, alas, poor wretch, so ignorant and brutish was I, that I
knew to this day no more how to do it, than I know how to begin and
accomplish that rare and curious piece of art, which I never yet saw
not considered.

51. Wherefore, while I was thus considering, and being put to my plunge
about it, for you must know, that as yet I had in this matter broken my
mind to no man, only did hear and consider, the tempter came in with
his delusion, That there was no way for me to know I had faith, but by
trying to work some miracle; urging those Scriptures that seem to look
that way, for the enforcing and strengthening his temptation. Nay, one
day as I was betwixt Elstow and Bedford, the temptation was hot upon
me, to try if I had faith, by doing of some miracle: which miracle at
that time was this, I must say to the puddles that were in the horse
pads, Be dry; and to the dry places, Be you the puddles. And truly, one
time I was agoing to say so indeed; but just as I was about to speak,
this thought came into my mind, But go under yonder hedge and pray
first, that God would make you able. But when I had concluded to pray,
this came hot upon me, That if I prayed, and came again and tried to do
it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then be sure I had no faith,
but was a cast-away and lost. Nay, thought I, if it be so, I will never
try yet, but will stay a little longer.

52. So I continued at a great loss; for I thought, if they only had
faith, which could do so wonderful things, then I concluded, that, for
the present, I neither had it, nor yet, for time to come, were ever
like to have it. Thus I was tossed betwixt the devil and my own
ignorance, and so perplexed, especially at some times, that I could not
tell what to do.

53. About this time, the state and happiness of these poor people at
Bedford was thus, in a dream or vision, represented to me. I saw, as if
they were set on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing
themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering
and shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds.
Methought, also, betwixt me and them, I saw a wall that did compass
about this mountain; now, through this wall my soul did greatly desire
to pass; concluding, that if I could, I would go even into the very
midst of them, and there also comfort myself with the heat of their
sun.

54. About this wall I thought myself, to go again and again, still
prying as I went, to see if I could find some way or passage, by which
I might enter therein; but none could I find for some time. At the
last, I saw, as it were, a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the
wall, through which I attempted to pass; but the passage being very
strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even
until I was well nigh quite beat out, by striving to get in; at last,
with great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after
that, by a sidling striving, my shoulders, and my whole body; then was
I exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so
was comforted with the light and heat of their sun.

55. Now, this mountain and wall, &c., was thus made out to me—the
mountain signified the church of the living God; the sun that shone
thereon, the comfortable shining of his merciful face on them that were
therein; the wall, I thought, was the Word, that did make separation
between the Christians and the world; and the gap which was in this
wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father
(John 14:6; Matt 7:14). But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful
narrow, even so narrow, that I could not, but with great difficulty,
enter in thereat, it showed me that none could enter into life, but
those that were in downright earnest,[22] and unless also they left
this wicked world behind them; for here was only room for body and
soul, but not for body and soul, and sin.[23]

56. This resemblance abode upon my spirit many days; all which time, I
saw myself in a forlorn and sad condition, but yet was provoked to a
vehement hunger and desire to be one of that number that did sit in the
sunshine. Now also I should pray wherever I was, whether at home or
abroad, in house or field, and should also often, with lifting up of
heart, sing that of the 51st Psalm, O Lord, consider my distress; for
as yet I knew not where I was.

57. Neither as yet could I attain to any comfortable persuasion that I
had faith in Christ; but instead of having satisfaction, here I began
to find my soul to be assaulted with fresh doubts about my future
happiness; especially with such as these, Whether I was elected? But
how, if the day of grace should now be past and gone?

58. By these two temptations I was very much afflicted and disquieted;
sometimes by one, and sometimes by the other of them. And first, to
speak of that about my questioning my election, I found at this time,
that though I was in a flame to find the way to heaven and glory, and
though nothing could beat me off from this, yet this question did so
offend and discourage me, that I was, especially at some times, as if
the very strength of my body also had been taken away by the force and
power thereof. This scripture did also seem to me to trample upon all
my desires, “It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,
but of God that showeth mercy” (Rom 9:16).

59. With this scripture I could not tell what to do; for I evidently
saw, that unless the great God, of his infinite grace and bounty, had
voluntarily chosen me to be a vessel of mercy, though I should desire,
and long and labour until my heart did break, no good could come of it.
Therefore, this would still stick with me, How can you tell that you
are elected? And what if you should not? How then?

60. O Lord, thought I, what if I should not, indeed? It may be you are
not, said the tempter; it may be so, indeed, thought I. Why, then, said
Satan, you had as good leave off, and strive no further; for if,
indeed, you should not be elected and chosen of God, there is no talk
of your being saved; “For it is neither of him that willeth, nor of him
that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy.”

61. By these things I was driven to my wits’ end, not knowing what to
say, or how to answer these temptations. Indeed, I little thought that
Satan had thus assaulted me, but that rather it was my own prudence,
thus to start the question; for, that the elect only attained eternal
life, that I, without scruple, did heartily close withal; but that
myself was one of them, there lay all the question.

62. Thus, therefore, for several days, I was greatly assaulted and
perplexed, and was often, when I have been walking, ready to sink where
I went, with faintness in my mind; but one day, after I had been so
many weeks oppressed and cast down therewith, as I was now quite giving
up the ghost of all my hopes of ever attaining life, that sentence fell
with weight upon my spirit, “Look at the generations of old and see;
did ever any trust in the Lord, and was confounded?”

63. At which I was greatly lightened and encouraged in my soul; for
thus, at that very instant, it was expounded to me, Begin at the
beginning of Genesis, and read to the end of the Revelation, and see if
you can find that there was ever any that trusted in the Lord, and was
confounded. So, coming home, I presently went to my Bible to see if I
could find that saying, not doubting but to find it presently; for it
was so fresh, and with such strength and comfort on my spirit, that I
was as if it talked with me.

64. Well, I looked, but I found it not; only it abode upon me; then I
did ask first this good man, and then another, if they knew where it
was, but they knew no such place. At this I wondered, that such a
sentence should so suddenly, and with such comfort and strength, seize
and abide upon my heart, and yet that none could find it, for I doubted
not but it was in holy Scripture.

65. Thus I continued above a year, and could not find the place; but at
last, casting my eye into the Apocrypha books, I found it in
Ecclesiasticus 2:10. This, at the first, did somewhat daunt me; but
because, by this time, I had got more experience of the love and
kindness of God, it troubled me the less; especially when I considered,
that though it was not in those texts that we call holy and canonical,
yet forasmuch as this sentence was the sum and substance of many of the
promises, it was my duty to take the comfort of it; and I bless God for
that word, for it was of God to me: that word doth still, at times,
shine before my face.

66. After this, that other doubt did come with strength upon me, But
how if the day of grace should be past and gone? How if you have
over-stood the time of mercy? Now, I remember that one day, as I was
walking into the country, I was much in the thoughts of this, But how
if the day of grace be past? And to aggravate my trouble, the tempter
presented to my mind those good people of Bedford, and suggested thus
unto me, That these being converted already, they were all that God
would save in those parts; and that I came too late, for these had got
the blessing before I came.

67. Now was I in great distress, thinking in very deed that this might
well be so; wherefore I went up and down bemoaning my sad condition,
counting myself far worse than a thousand fools, for standing off thus
long, and spending so many years in sin as I had done; still crying
out, Oh, that I had turned sooner; Oh, that I had turned seven years
ago! It made me also angry with myself, to think that I should have no
more wit, but to trifle away my time till my soul and heaven were lost.

68. But when I had been long vexed with this fear, and was scarce able
to take one step more, just about the same place where I received my
other encouragement, these words broke in upon my mind, “Compel them to
come in, that my house may be filled”; “and yet there is room” (Luke
14:22,23). These words, but especially them, “And yet there is room”
were sweet words to me; for, truly, I thought that by them I saw there
was place enough in heaven for me; and, moreover, that when the Lord
Jesus did speak these words, he then did think of me; and that he
knowing that the time would come that I should be afflicted with fear
that there was no place left for me in his bosom, did before speak this
word, and leave it upon record, that I might find help thereby against
this vile temptations. ‘This, I then verily believed.’

69. In the light and encouragement of this word, I went a pretty while;
and the comfort was the more, when I thought that the Lord Jesus should
think on me so long ago, and that he should speak them words on purpose
for my sake; for I did then think, verily, that he did on purpose speak
them, to encourage me withal.

70. ‘But I was not without my temptations to go back again;
temptations, I say, both from Satan, mine own heart, and carnal
acquaintance; but I thank God these were outweighed by that sound sense
of death and of the day of judgment, which abode, as it were,
continually in my view; I should often also think on Nebuchadnezzar, of
whom it is said, He had given him all the kingdoms of the earth (Dan
5:19). Yet, thought I, if this great man had all his portion in this
world, one hour in hell fire would make him forget all. Which
consideration was a great help to me.’

71. ‘I was almost made, about this time, to see something concerning
the beasts that Moses counted clean and unclean. I thought those beasts
were types of men; the clean, types of them that were the people of
God; but the unclean, types of such as were the children of the wicked
one. Now, I read that the clean beasts chewed the cud; that is, thought
I, they show us we must feed upon the Word of God. They also parted the
hoof; I thought that signified we must part, if we would be saved, with
the ways of ungodly men. And also, in further reading about them I
found, that though we did chew the cud as the hare, yet if we walked
with claws like a dog, or if we did part the hoof like the swine, yet
if we did not chew the cud as the sheep, we were still, for all that,
but unclean; for I thought the here to be a type of those that talk of
the Word, yet walk in the ways of sin; and that the swine was like him
that parteth with his outward pollutions, but still wanteth the Word of
faith, without which there could be no way of salvation, let a man be
never so devout (Deut 14).’ After this I found, by reading the Word,
that those that must be glorified with Christ in another world must be
called by him here; called to the partaking of a share in his Word and
righteousness, and to the comforts and first fruits of his spirit, and
to a peculiar interest in all those heavenly things which do indeed
fore fit the soul for that rest and house of glory which is in heaven
above.

72. Here, again, I was at a very great stand, not knowing what to do,
fearing I was not called; for, thought I, if I be not called, what then
can do me good? ‘None but those who are effectually called, inherit the
kingdom of heaven.’ But oh! how I now loved those words that spake of a
Christian’s calling! as when the Lord said to one, “Follow me,” and to
another, “Come after me.” And oh! thought I, that he would say so to me
too, how gladly would I run after him!

73. I cannot now express with what longings and breakings in my soul I
cried to Christ to call me. Thus I continued for a time, all on a flame
to be converted to Jesus Christ; and did also see at that day, such
glory in a converted state, that I could not be contented without a
share therein. Gold! could it have been gotten for gold, what could I
have given for it! had I had a whole world it had all gone ten thousand
times over for this, that my soul might have been in a converted state.

74. How lovely now was every one in my eyes that I thought to be
converted men and women! they shone, they walked like a people that
carried the broad seal of heaven about them. Oh! I saw the lot was
fallen to them in pleasant places, and they had a goodly heritage (Psa
16:6). But that which made me sick was that of Christ, in Mark, He went
up into a mountain and called to him whom he would, and they came unto
him (Mark 3:13).

75. This scripture made me faint and fear, yet it kindled fire in my
soul. That which made me fear was this, lest Christ should have no
liking to me, for he called “whom he would.” But oh! the glory that I
saw in that condition did still so engage my heart that I could seldom
read of any that Christ did call but I presently wished, Would I had
been in their clothes; would I had been born Peter; would I had been
born John; or would I had been by and had heard him when he called
them, how would I have cried, O Lord, call me also. But oh! I feared he
would not call me.

76. And truly the Lord let me go thus many months together and showed
me nothing; either that I was already, or should be called hereafter.
But at last, after much time spent, and many groans to God, that I
might be made partaker of the holy and heavenly calling, that Word came
in upon me—“I will cleanse their blood that I have not cleansed, for
the Lord dwelleth in Zion” (Joel 3:21). These words I thought were sent
to encourage me to wait still upon God, and signified unto me, that if
I were not already, yet time might come I might be in truth converted
unto Christ.[24]

77. About this time I began to break my mind to those poor people in
Bedford, and to tell them my condition, which, when they had heard,
they told Mr. Gifford of me, who himself also took occasion to talk
with me, and was willing to be ‘well’ persuaded of me, though I think
but from little grounds: but he invited me to his house, where I should
hear him confer with others, about the dealings of God with the soul;
from all which I still received more conviction, and from that time
began to see something of the vanity and inward wretchedness of my
wicked heart, for as yet I knew no great matter therein; but now it
began to be discovered unto me, and also to work at that rate for
wickedness as it never did before. Now I evidently found that lusts and
corruptions would strongly put forth themselves within me, in wicked
thoughts and desires, which I did not regard before; my desires also
for heaven and life began to fail. I found also, that whereas before my
soul was full of longing after God, now my heart began to hanker after
every foolish vanity; yea, my heart would not be moved to mind that
that was good; it began to be careless, both of my soul and heaven; it
would now continually hang back, both to, and in every duty; and was as
a clog on the leg of a bird to hinder her from flying.

78. Nay, thought I, now I grow worse and worse; now am I further from
conversion than ever I was before. Wherefore I began to sink greatly in
my soul, and began to entertain such discouragement in my heart as laid
me low as hell. If now I should have burned at a stake, I could not
believe that Christ had love for me; alas, I could neither hear him,
nor see him, nor feel him, nor savour any of his things; I was driven
as with a tempest, my heart would be unclean, the Canaanites would
dwell in the land.

79. Sometimes I would tell my condition to the people of God, which,
when they heard, they would pity me, and would tell me of the promises;
but they had as good have told me that I must reach the sun with my
finger as have bidden me receive or rely upon the promise; and as soon
as I should have done it, all my sense and feeling was against me; and
I saw I had a heart that would sin, and ‘that’ lay under a law that
would condemn.

80. These things have often made me think of that child which the
father brought to Christ, who, while he was yet a coming to him, was
thrown down by the devil, and also so rent and torn by him that he lay
and wallowed, foaming (Luke 9:42; Mark 9:20).

81. Further, in these days I should find my heart to shut itself up
against the Lord, and against his holy Word. I have found my unbelief
to set, as it were, the shoulder to the door to keep him out, and that
too even then, when I have with many a bitter sigh cried, Good Lord,
break it open; Lord, break these gates of brass, and cut these bars of
iron asunder (Psa 107:16). Yet that word would sometimes create in my
heart a peaceable pause, “I girded thee, though thou hast not known me”
(Isa 45:5).

82. But all this while as to the act of sinning, I never was more
tender than now; I durst not take a pin or a stick, though but so big
as a straw, for my conscience now was sore, and would smart at every
touch; I could not now tell how to speak my words, for fear I should
misplace them. Oh, how gingerly[25] did I then go in all I did or said!
I found myself as on a miry bog that shook if I did but stir; and ‘was’
there left both of God and Christ, and the Spirit, and all good things.

83. ‘But, I observe, though I was such a great sinner before
conversion, yet God never much charged the guilt of the sins of my
ignorance upon me; only he showed me I was lost if I had not Christ,
because I had been a sinner; I saw that I wanted a perfect
righteousness to present me without fault before God, and this
righteousness was nowhere to be found, but in the person of Jesus
Christ.’

84. ‘But my original and inward pollution, that, that was my plague and
my affliction; that, I say, at a dreadful rate, always putting forth