forcible conviction that they are more than the mere workings of the mind, either in its sane or its disordered state.

Only relieved by some glimpses of comfort, “which, like Peter’s sheet, were of a sudden caught up from him into heaven again,” this horrible darkness lasted no less than a year.  The light which first stole in upon it, and in which it finally melted away, was a clear discovery of the person of Christ, more especially a distinct perception of the dispositions which he manifested while here on earth.  And one thing greatly helped him.  He alighted on a congenial mind, and an experience almost identical with his own.  From the emancipation which this new acquaintance gave to his spirit, as well as the tone which he imparted to Bunyan’s theology, we had best relate the incident in his own words.  “Before I had got thus far out of my temptations, I did greatly long to see some ancient godly man’s experience, who had writ some hundreds of years before I was born; for those who had writ in our days, I thought (but I desire them now to pardon me) that they had writ only that which others felt; or else had, through the strength of their wits and parts, studied to answer such objections as they perceived others perplexed with, without going down themselves into the deep.  Well, after many such longings in my mind, the God in whose hands are all our days and ways, did cast into my hands one day a book of Martin Luther’s: it was his Comment on the Galatians; it also was so old that it was ready to fall piece from piece if I did but turn it over.  Now I was pleased much that such an old book had fallen into my hands; the which, when I had but a little way perused, I found my condition in his experience so largely and profoundly handled, as if his book had been written out of my heart.  This made me marvel: for thus, thought I, this man could not know anything of the state of Christians now, but must needs write and speak the experience of former days.  Besides, he doth most gravely also, in that book, debate of the sin of these temptations, namely, blasphemy, desperation, and the like; shewing that the law of Moses, as well as the devil, death, and hell, hath a very great hand therein: flee which, at first, was very strange to me; but considering and watching, I found it so indeed.  But of particulars here I intend nothing; only this, methinks, I must let fall before all men, I do prefer this book of Martin Luther upon the Galatians—excepting the Holy Bible—before all the books that ever I have seen, as most fit for a wounded conscience.”

There was one thing of which Bunyan was very conscious—that his extrication from the fearful pit was the work of an almighty hand.  The transition was very blissful; but just because his present views were so bright and assuring, he knew that flesh and blood had not revealed them.  “Now I had an evidence, as I thought, of my salvation from heaven, with many golden seals thereon, all hanging in my sight.  Now could I remember this manifestation and the other discovery of grace with comfort, and should often long and desire that the last day were come, that I might be for ever inflamed with the sight and joy and communion with him, whose head was crowned with thorns, whose face was spit on and body broken, and soul made an offering for my sins: for, whereas before I lay continually trembling at the mouth of hell, now methought I was got so far therefrom, that I could not, when I looked back, scarce discern it.  And oh! thought I, that I were fourscore years old now, that I might die quickly, that my soul might be gone to rest.”  “And now I found, as I thought, that I loved Christ dearly.  Oh! methought that my soul cleaved unto him, my affections cleaved unto him.  I felt love to him as hot as fire; and new, as Job said, I thought I should die in my nest.”

Another period of fearful agony, however, awaited him, and, like the last, it continued for a year.  In perusing his own recital of these terrible conflicts, the first relief to our tortured sympathy is in the recollection that it is all over now, and that the sufferer, escaped from his great tribulation, is long ago before the throne.  But in the calmer, because remoter, contemplation of this fiery trial, it is easy to see “the end of the Lord.”  When He permitted Satan to tempt his servant Job, it was not for Job’s sake merely, nor for the sake of the blessed contrast which surprised his latter days, that he allowed such thick-coming woes to gather round the patriarch; but it was to provide in his parallel experience a storehouse of encouragement and hope for the future children of sorrow.  And when the Lord permitted the adversary so violently to assail our worthy, and when he caused so many of his own waves and billows to pass over him, it was not merely for the sake of Bunyan; it was for the sake of Bunyan’s readers down to the end of time.  By selecting this strong spirit as the subject of these trials, the Lord provided, in his intense feelings and vivid realizations, a normal type—a glaring instance of those experiences which, in their fainter modifications, are common to most Christians; and, through his graphic pen, secured a guidebook for Zion’s pilgrims in ages yet to come.  In the temptations we are now called to record, there is something so peculiar, that we do not know if Christian biography supplies any exact counterpart; but the time and manner of its occurrence have many and painful parallels.  It was after he had entered into “rest”—when he had received joyful assurance of his admission into God’s family, and was desiring to depart and be with Christ—it was then that this assault was made on his constancy, and it was a fiercer assault than any.  If we do not greatly err, it is not uncommon for believers to be visited after conversion with temptations from which they were exempt in the days of their ignorance; as well as temptations which, but for their conversion, could not have existed.

The temptation to which we have alluded, took this strange and dreadful form—to sell and part with his Saviour, to exchange him for the things of this life—for anything.  This horrid thought he could not shake out of his mind, day nor night, for many months together.  It intermixed itself with every occupation, however sacred, or however trivial.  “He could not eat his food, stoop for a pin, chop a stick, nor cast his eye to look on this or that, but still the temptation would come, ‘Sell Christ for this, sell Christ for that, sell him, sell him.’  Sometimes it would run in my thoughts not so little as a hundred times together, Sell him, sell him, sell him: Against which, I may say, for whole hours together, I have been forced to stand as continually leaning and forcing my spirit against it; lest haply, before I was aware, some wicked thought might arise in my heart that might consent thereto: and sometimes the tempter would make me believe I had consented to it; but then should I be as tortured on a rack for whole days together.”—“But, to be brief, one morning as I did lie in my bed, I was, as at other times, most fiercely assaulted with this temptation to sell and part with Christ—the wicked suggestion still running in my mind, Sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, as fast as a man could speak, against which I also, as at other times, answered, No, no; not for thousands, thousands, thousands, at least twenty times together.  But at last, after much striving, even until I was almost out of breath, I felt this thought pass through my heart, Let him go, if he will; and I thought also that I felt my heart freely consent thereto.  Oh, the diligence of Satan!  Oh, the desperateness of man’s heart!  Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as a bird that is shot from the top of a tree, into great guilt and fearful despair.  Thus getting out of my bed, I went moping into the field, but, God knows, with as heavy a heart as mortal man, I think, could bear.  Where, for the space of two hours, I was like a man bereft of