were steps and preparatives for that knowledge; and we see not why the scene above described on the Sunday afternoon, and the whole course of his partial reformation, followed alternately by exultation or depression, may not be called as much a portion of his "religious experience," as the state of his mind after the period from which he dates his actual conversion to God, as distinguished from his previous partial and transient fits of reformation.

Bunyan had formerly taken great delight in bell-ringing; and Dr.Southey seems to think it a little squeamish in him, that, when his conscience began to be tender," he thought it "a vain practice," and "forced himself to leave it ;" though he still so "hankered after it," that he would go and look at the ringers (Bunyan's own uncourteous expression, we remember, is, go" to the steeple-house"), till, in a fanciful alarm lest the walls or the steeple or the bells should fall on his head, he kept away altogether. He also left off dancing, though, such was his delight in the practice, it took a whole year to wean him from it. Now, if we look at the mere abstraction of ringing bells or dancing, as a matter of healthful exercise or recreation, we cannot wonder that Bunyan's self-denial should seem to many persons fastidious; but when we embody these habits as they appear in ordinary village practice, we shall not be surprised that the young man's conscience was somewhat obstreperous respecting them. The ringers of our villages used too often, formerly, to be (we should be glad to hear that the race is mended) a company of idle, tippling, dissolute young men, who, getting extra pay, and often handsome gratuities, at rural wakes and weddings, were accustomed to neglect their ordinary work, and to lounge about the parish, drinking, swearing, betting, and gambling at publichouses, or transferring their potations and other amenities to the belfry. The village dancer, like the village cudgel-player, was too often a character of much the same description; and the books of our parochial overseers bear ample testimony to the results of our rural wakes and public-house "balls," which in poetry may sound very innocent and sentimental, but which Bunyan well knew to be in practice far otherwise. It was not, therefore, by any means squeamish in him, that one of his first steps in the path of repentance should be to shun such "vanities," which Dr. Southey seems somewhat scandalized that he should have considered "sins."

It was not, however, the influence of what would now-a-days be called strait-laced Methodism, or Puritanical doctrine, or Evangelicalism, that led him to these abnegations; but pure Pharisaism, grounded indeed on penitence, but uninfluenced by any real knowledge of the true character of the Gospel: for he says, "All this while, when I thought I kept that or this commandment, or did by word or deed any thing I thought was good, I had great peace in my conscience; and would think with myself, God cannot choose but be now pleased with me; yea, to relate it in my own way, I thought no man in England could please God better than I. 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 this mercy, shewed me more of my state by nature." If, then, Bunyan was squeamish or fastidious, it was not "Calvinism," or "Evangelicalism," as the phrase now runs, which caused him to be so; but he well knew the actual facts of the case, and that his conscience was not burdened without reason: so that, when religious men are accused of injustice and severity in speaking as they do of the practical evil of many alleged "innocent amusements," they are too well borne out by the testimony of thousands of village Bunyans, collected long before they knew even the elements of those Scriptural doctrines which

are alleged to be the cause of the deprecated bigotry and narrow-mindedness. We cannot wonder that a really pious young villager instinctively shuns such scenes, when even a decently moral one acknowledges their temptations.

Dr. Southey remarks on Bunyan's fear of the bells or the steeple falling; "to such a state of nervous weakness had a diseased feeling brought his strong body and strong mind." It cannot, certainly, be denied that this was a nervous weakness, and that it must have been connected with a disordered state of mind; since there was no rational or scriptural ground to believe that the steeple was literally about to fall, in order to punish Bunyan for listening to the music of the church bells. But still we must say, that Dr. Southey does not appear to us to understand the character of Bunyan's malady. It was a diseased feeling that the steeple would fall; but it was no diseased feeling that he was committing sin in frequenting a scene which he doubtless knew by experience to be to him, whatever it might be to others, associated with evil and temptation; with idleness, injury to his family, "corrupt communications," swearing, quarrelling, and many other wicked works. Penitence for sin is not a diseased feeling; and even should it be accompanied by circumstances of such peculiar and extreme anxiety as to lead to "nervous weakness," or, as any strong mental impression may do, to insanity itself, the hallucination would not be in the feeling, which was just, but for want of that feeling being calmed by a knowledge and application of the remedy. When a person begins to be in earnest respecting his eternal interests; when, under a Scriptural conviction of his transgressions against God and the awfulness of the judgments which impend over him, he is afflicted in soul; when in the language of the Inspired Word, "the arrows of the Almighty drink up his spirit," and he experiences something of what a Sacred Writer meant when he said" thy terrors have I suffered with a troubled mind;" it is very common to set him down as a fool, an enthusiast, or a madman. But what is there in such a feeling but what is grounded upon the words of truth and soberness? And is it wonderful that a man who really believes, what we all profess to believe, of the infinite worth of the human soul, the risk of eternal condemnation, and the importance of working out our own salvation, should stand alarmed at the prospect? It is from the general prevalence of scepticism, latent infidelity, and the absence of serious consideration, that cases resembling in some degree that of Bunyan are not more frequently seen: we say, in some degree, because, as we have already admitted, there were peculiar circumstances in his instance; and it was no necessary part of the essence of true repentance, however intense, that it should have been accompanied by a mental delusion, or by an apprehension of what God had not expressly threatened. Eternal con

demnation is a lot immeasurably more awful, than to be crushed by a falling edifice; yet to tremble at the former would have been true sanity, while to expect the latter, as the reward of sin, was but a mistaken apprehension; nay, one expressly unscriptural, being contrary to what our Lord himself taught in the case of those on whom fell the tower of Siloam; whereas, to "fear Him who hath power to cast both soul and body into hell," was his own express exhortation. Now, our jealousy is, lest any persons, cursorily reading Dr. Southey's statement, should not make a right distinction between what was just and salutary—namely, Bunyan's convictions and alarm of conscience-and what was but a misapprehension; and should therefore spring to the conclusion, that a wounded conscience is but the phantasy of a sick brain, and that the cure for it is to shake off conviction and plunge again into the follies of the world. This distinction is not clearly kept in view in ordinary society; and it is frequently passed

over, upon system, by medical advisers-and sometimes, we fear, by clerical advisers also-who, the moment they see a man in distress of mind, like Bunyan, are for sending him off to a watering-place, or applying whatever else they can think of to dissipate his spirits; viewing his alarms as idle terrors, instead of bringing him at once upon Scripture ground, acknowledging the justice of his convictions, but pointing him to the Infallible Source of hope and joy. But nothing is there more afflicting to a wounded spirit, than this ignorant and injudicious treatment. A mightier Hand than that of man had infixed the arrow in the heart of Bunyan; and vain—or worse than vain; fatal, if effectual-would have been the assuagings of those miserable comforters who should have attempted to ease his spirit by telling him that he was labouring under nervous fancies; that he was not a wicked man, but only a blackguard; that he was guilty of but one actual sin; and that a good dinner and a merry peal would soon set all to rights. Bunyan was not thus deceived: his sense of guilt was not a morbid impression, though its weight upon his spirits might lead to such impressions : and the only remedy therefore was, not to tell him he was not a grievous sinner, and that he had imbibed exaggerated notions of human corruption, but to lead him to an All-sufficient Saviour, and to prove to him from Scripture that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." Dr. Johnson felt similar apprehensions to those of Bunyan, and his friends tried to soothe his conscience by extenuating his faults and magnifying his virtues; but the anodyne was unavailing; and it was not till he clearly understood the Gospel method of salvation, and obtained peace with God -not on the footing of human merit, but through faith in the infinite sacrifice of Jesus Christ—that he found the balm which alone could ease his smitten conscience.

"

We have said thus much, because there is too great an inclination, in this our pseudo-philosophic age, to represent every alarm of conscience as mere nervousness, or incipient insanity: which, if true, would consign to the lunatic ward many of the most eminent servants of God whose annals adorn and edify the Christian church; and some of whom have left upon record memorials of their mental struggles more appalling than even those of Bunyan. In a modified degree, these internal conflicts are the lot of all Christians- -a part of that salutary discipline by which they are prepared for the enjoyment of heaven ;-and if, in such cases as those of Bunyan, they have been so intense as for a time to wear down both mind and body, they are not on that account to be considered the mere offspring of fanaticism. Satan has schemes enough for blinding the eyes and hardening the heart, without our adding this to the number. We allow that Bunyan was a man of strong feelings, both before and after his conversion to God; and we are quite aware, that, like many other uneducated but pious men, he thought more of vivid impressions, dreams, and we might perhaps say visions, than was consistent with Christian truth or sobriety. There is not the least need to extenuate these matters; or even to draw very nicely the line between what was true repentance not to be repented of, and what was morbid, extravagant, and merely human; for his case, though an illustration, is not an example: but this did appear to us necessary, not to allow the plain, edifying moral of the whole narrative to be forgotten amidst the secondary details; and to lead men to despise the checks of a wounded conscience, under the notion of resisting nervous fancies and idle melancholy. If it be a nervous fancy to lie in deep self-abasement as sinners before the Throne of God, grasping, as the only hope of pardon, the Cross of Christ; may we, and all our readers, be even more nervous than Bunyan himself, or his poor burdened Pilgrim. "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy;" as did this faithful and memorable, though by no means infallible,

servant of God. If it was mere fanaticism that converted a Saul Bunyan into a Paul Bunyan (as Bunyan himself would perhaps have expressed it), may such fanaticism henceforth abound among all the tinkers, singers, dancers, and swearers of our villages, and not less among their more polished neighbours.

Bunyan's mind was much instructed and comforted by his falling in with three or four simple-hearted religious women, who belonged to the Baptist congregation at Bedford. He describes with much feeling the benefits which he derived from this incipient" communion of saints." Dr. Southey notices the passage, but it is worth extracting in full. "But upon a day, the good providence of God called me to Bedford, to work at 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, talking about the things of God; and being now willing to hear their discourse, I drew near to hear what they said; for I was now a brisk talker myself in the matters of religion; but they were far above my reach. Their talk was about a new birth, the work of God in their hearts, as 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 have 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 what means they had been afflicted and how they were borne up under his assaults. They also discoursed of their own wretchedness of heart, and of their unbelief; and did contemn, slight, and abhor their own righteousness, as filthy, and insufficient to do them any good. And methought 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; as if they were people that dwelt alone, and were not to be reckoned among their neighbours' (Numb. xxiii. 9). At this I felt my own heart began to shake; 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. Thus, therefore, when I had heard and considered what they said, I left them, and went about my employment again; but my heart would tarry with them, for I was greatly affected with their words, because by them I was convinced that I wanted the true tokens of a truly godly man, and also because I was convinced of the happy and blessed condition of him that was such a one. Therefore I would 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 among them, the more I 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 bending in my mind, a continual meditating on it, and on all other good things, which at that time I heard or read of. By these things my mind was so turned, that it lay, like a horseleech at the vein, still crying out Give, give' (Prov. xxx. 15), which 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 make it let go its hold; and though I speak it with shame, yet it is 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." Bunyan about this time fell in with a company of Antinomian fanatics, called Ranters, who told him he was “ 'legal and dark," and that "they could do what they would and not sin ;" and their scheme of joining high pretensions to religion with the unrestrained indulgence of every licentious passion, he says, was congenial enough to his age and temper; "but God," he adds, "who had, as he hoped, designed him for better things, kept him in the fear of His name, and did not suffer him to accept such cursed principles." Here, then, it will appear that there was nothing Antinomian or licentious in his new tenets; nor was there any thing, in the bad sense of the word, enthusiastic in his application of them; for he distinctly ascribes his preservation, under the Divine blessing, to the use of " means;" and those means were, prayer, dependence upon God, and the study of the Scriptures. "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 effects 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." He adds: And now I began to look into the Bible with new eyes; and especially the Epistles of the Apostle St. Paul were sweet and pleasant to me; and then I was 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."

He soon began to feel much distress as to whether he had true faith; which he had nearly attempted, one day, as he was walking between Elstow and Bedford, to prove, by trying to work a miracle, "saying to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, Be dry; and to the dry places, Be ye puddles;" but he thought he had better first go and pray under a hedge, that God would make him able; and He who can hear and answer prayer did more than he asked or thought, not by making him able to work the miracle, but by inclining his mind not to attempt it. It is astonishing how much use our subtle spiritual enemy has made, in all ages, of this notion of working miracles being the scriptural test of faith. Something very like it is heard in our own day, and among many who have had far better opportunities of learning the truth than the poor illiterate tinker of Bedford.

About this time Bunyan had presented to him what he calls "a kind of vision of the state of happiness of the poor people at Bedford;" which is remarkable as being evidently the germ of the Pilgrim's Progress. "I saw," he says, "as if they were 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 there also comfort myself with the heat of their sun. About this wall I bethought 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: now, the passage being very strait and narrow, I made many offers to get in, but all in vain; at last, with great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after that, by a sideling striving, my shoulders, and my whole body. Then I was exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of their sun. Now this mountain and wall was thus made out to me: the mountain signified the church of