a somewhat sorry saying. Imprisonment-and then banishment and then hanging-if you do not conform to the parish church. It met happily a "spirit of power," not to be daunted even by such threats. "If I was out of prison to-day," replied Bunyan, “I would preach the Gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God."

Yet, with all his boldness, he felt deeply the painfulness of his lot. Parting with his wife and children was "like pulling the flesh from his bones;" and especially the thought of his poor blind child, who "lay nearer to his heart than all beside," made him cry out bitterly-"Oh! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces. Poor child, thought I, 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. But yet, recalling myself, thought I, I must venture you all with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave you. Oh! I saw in this condition I was as a man who was pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and children; yet, thought I, I must do it-I must do it."

When Bunyan had been in prison three months another effort was made to induce him to submit to the law, as interpreted by the Justices. They sent to him the Clerk of the Peace, Mr Cobb, to reason with him, and to endeavour to gain his assent to terms which would admit of his being liberated. This seems to have been done on their part in perfect good faith; there is no evidence of a wish to inflict illegal punishment upon him. Rude and violent as they had been when heated

in altercation with him-prompt and harsh as had been their vigilance in making his arrest-the magistrates of Bedford were not yet without some relentings, or at least desires to be quit of a troublesome business. They must not be judged unfairly. The Clerk of the Peace also, who acted as their agent on this occasion, was apparently a reasonable and kindly manreally anxious to open up a door for his escape from prison, if he only could be brought to yield a little. It was conceded to him that he might address his neighbours in private, provided only that he did not call together an assembly of the people; but he would not give up any part of his freedom, and urged that his sole end in meeting with others was to do as much good as he could. It was replied by Cobb that others urged the same in their unlawful meetings, such as had issued in the late insurrection in London. Bunyan declared that he abhorred such practices, and pleaded his readiness to manifest his loyalty both by word and deed. Their argument came to nothing. Bunyan insisted on his right of preaching freely. He would give the notes of all his sermons, to prevent occasion of suspicion as to his doctrine; for he seriously desired to "live quietly in his country, and to submit to the present authority;" but he would not purchase his freedom by any promise of public silence. He would lie in jail rather. "The law," he said, “hath provided two ways of obeying; the one, to do that which I in my conscience do believe that I am bound to do actively; and where I cannot obey actively, there I am willing to lie down and to suffer what they shall do unto me." At this his interlocutor sat still, and

*The insurrection of Venner, which was made the pretext of dealing severely with the Nonconformists.

said no more, "which, when he had done," he adds, "I thanked him for his civil and meek discussion with me; and so we parted. O that we might meet in heaven! Farewell."

He remained in prison, under sentence of "banishment or hanging," unless he should recant. But just as the time drew near in which he should have "abjured, or done worse," the coronation took place; and, according to a royal proclamation, persons imprisoned and under sentence were allowed to sue for a pardon within twelve months. This suspended any further proceedings against him; and when the summer assizes came on (1661), he resolved to avail himself of the privilege of petitioning. His friends were either forgetful, or possessed little influence; and it was left to his wife to urge his case before the judges, which she did with a noble and pathetic dignity which has made her memorable, and stamped her as one of the heroines of Puritanism. She was his second wife, whom he had married about a year before his imprisonment. Of his former wife's death we are told nothing. Her early influence for good upon him will be remembered, and everything said of her suggests a favourable impression. His second wife was "worthy of the first"-a gentle, modest, yet intrepid woman, whose meekness and simplicity shine forth under all her hardiness and courage in behalf of her husband.

Sir Matthew Hale was one of the judges, and to him Bunyan's wife first came with her petition. He received her "very mildly," telling her "that he would do her and me the best good he could; but he feared, he said, he could do none." "The next day again," he continues his narrative, "lest they should, through the multitude of business, forget me, we did throw

another petition into the coach to Judge Twisdon, who, when he had seen it, snapt her up, and angrily told her that he was a convicted person, and could not be released unless I would promise to preach no more. Well, after this, she again presented another petition to Judge Hale, as he sat upon the bench, who, as it seemed, was willing to give her audience. Only Justice Chester being present, slipt up and said that I was convicted in the court, and that I was a hotspirited fellow, or words to that purpose, whereat he (Hale) waived it, and did not meddle therewith." The conflict between the willingness of Hale-his wish to do a service to the poor woman before him—and the rude unkindness of his brother judges-the helplessness of the petitioner, "throwing her petition into the coach to Judge Twisdon" as he passed-give us a touching glimpse of the times, and of the unhappy difficulties of honest and good men like Hale who sought to serve the Government of the Restoration.

It might have been supposed that his repulses would have daunted one even so courageous as Bunyan's wife; but, like the woman before the august Judge, as her husband hints, she resolved "to make another venture." As the Judges sat in the "Swan Chambers, with many justices and gentry of the country in company together," she came before them "with abashed face and trembling heart," yet determined, if possible, to gain a hearing. She directed herself to Hale again, but he told her as before that he could do her no good, because her husband had been held as convicted on his own statements. She continued her pleading, urging that she had been to London, and spoken with one of the House of Lords there, who said that her husband's case was committed to the Judges at the

next assizes. Chester and Twisdon would hear nothing on the subject-the one repeating always, "He is convicted," "It is recorded;" and the other urging that her husband was a "breaker of the peace." As she spoke of "four little children,"* the heart of Hale was touched, and he answered very mildly, saying, "I tell thee, woman, seeing it is so, that they have taken what thy husband spoke for a conviction, thou must either apply thyself to the King, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of error." This was but small comfort to the poor woman: but even so much "chafed" Justice Chester, so that he "put off his hat, and scratched his head for anger." Unable to prevail with them to send for her husband that he might speak for himself, which she often desired them to do, she left in deep distress at her want of success. "I could not but break forth into tears," she says, adding, with a truly Puritanic touch, "not so much because they were so hard-headed against me and my husband, but to think what a sad account such poor creatures will have to give at the coming of the Lord, when they shall then answer for all things."

The result of all was, that Bunyan was left in prison. Fortunately, he found a friend in his jailer, and his imprisonment was mitigated for some time to such an extent as to render it merely nominal. He was permitted to go and come, and even engage in preaching, as he had been accustomed. "I had by my jailer," he says, "some liberty granted me, more than at first, and I followed my wonted course of preaching, taking all occasions that were put into my hand to visit the people of God, exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, and to take heed that they

* The children of his former wife.