Part 13

The continuation by an intimate friend of Bunyan, written anonymously.

Reader--The painful and industrious author of this book has given you a faithful and very moving relation of the beginning and middle of the days of his pilgrimage on earth. As a true and intimate acquaintance of Mr. Bunyan's, that his good end may be known, as well as his evil beginning, I have taken upon me to piece this to the thread too soon broke off.

After his being freed from his twelve years' imprisonment, wherein he had time to furnish the world with sundry good books, etc., and by his patience to move Dr. Barlow, the then Bishop of Lincoln, and other churchmen, to pity his hard and unreasonable sufferings so far as to procure his enlargement, or there perhaps he had died by the noisomeness and ill-usage of the place. Being again at liberty, he went to visit those who had been a comfort to him in his tribulation, giving encouragement by his example, if they happened to fall into affliction or trouble, then to suffer patiently for the sake of a good conscience, so that the people found a wonderful consolation in his discourse and admonition.

As often as opportunity would permit, he gathered them together in convenient places, though the law was then in force against meetings, and fed them with the sincere milk of the Word, that they might grow in grace thereby. He sent relief to such as were anywhere taken and imprisoned on these accounts. He took great care to visit the sick, nor did he spare any pains or labour in travel though to the remote counties, where any might stand in need of his assistance.

When in the late reign liberty of conscience was unexpectedly given, he gathered his congregation at Bedford, where he mostly lived and had spent most of his life. Here a new and larger meeting-house was built, and when, for the first time, he appeared there to edify, the place was so thronged that many were constrained to stay without, though the house was very spacious.

Here he lived in much peace and quiet of mind, contenting himself with that little God had bestowed on him, and sequestering himself from all secular employments to follow that of his call to the ministry.

During these things there were regulators sent into all the cities and towns corporate, to new model the government in the magistracy, etc., by turning out some and putting in others. Against this Mr. Bunyan expressed zeal with some weariness, and laboured with his congregation to prevent their being imposed on in this kind. And when a great man in those days, coming to Bedford upon such an errand, sent for him, as it is supposed, to give him a place of public trust, he would by no means come at him, but sent his excuse.

When he was at leisure from writing and teaching, he often came up to London, and there went among the congregations of the Nonconformists, and used his talent to the great good-liking of the hearers. Thus he spent his latter years. But let me come a little nearer to particulars of time. After he was sensibly convicted of the wicked state of his life and converted, he was baptised into the congregation, and admitted a member thereof in the year 1655, and became speedily a very zealous professor. But upon the return of King Charles II. to the Crown in 1660, he was on November 12 taken as he was edifying some good people, and confined in Bedford Gaol for the space of six years; till the Act of Indulgence to dissenters being allowed, he obtained his freedom by the intercession of some in power that took pity on his sufferings; but was again taken up, and was then confined for six years more. He was chosen to the care of the congregation at Bedford on December 12, 1671. In this charge he often had disputed with scholars that came to oppose him, as thinking him an ignorant person; but he confuted, and put to silence, one after another, all his method being to keep close to Scripture.

At length, worn out with sufferings, age, and often teaching, the day of his dissolution drew near. Riding to Reading in order to plead with a young man's father for reconciliation to him, he journeyed on his return by way of London, where, through being overtaken by excessive rains and coming to his lodgings extremely wet, he fell sick of a violent fever, which he bore with much constancy and patience. Finding his vital strength decay, he resigned his soul into the hands of his most merciful Redeemer, following his Pilgrim from the City of Destruction to the New Jerusalem. He died at the house of one Mr. Straddocks, a grocer, at the Star on Snow Hill, in the Parish of St. Sepulchre, London, in the sixtieth year of his age, after ten days' sickness; and was buried in the new burying ground in Artillery Place.

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ALEXANDER CARLYLE

Autobiography

Alexander Carlyle, minister of the Church of Scotland and author of the celebrated "Autobiography," was born at Cummmertrees Manse, Dumfriesshire, on January 26, 1722, and died at Inveresk on August 25, 1805. His commanding appearance won for him the sobriquet of "Jupiter Carlyle," and Sir Walter Scott spoke of him as "the grandest demi-god I ever saw." He was greatly respected in Scotland as a wise and tolerant man, where too many were narrow, bitter, and inquisitorial. With regard to freedom in religious thought he was in advance of his time, and brought the clerical profession into greater respect by showing himself a cultured man of the world as well as a leader of his Church. Carlyle, however, would hardly be remembered now but for the glimpses which his book gives of contemporary persons and manners. The work was first edited in 1860 by John Hill Burton.

I.--In the Days of Prince Charlie

I have been too late in beginning this work, as I have entered on the seventy-ninth year of my age, but I will endeavour, with God's blessing, to serve posterity to the best of my ability with such a faithful picture of times and characters as came within my view in the humble and private sphere of life in which I have always acted.

My father, minister of Prestonpans, was of a warm and benevolent temper, and an orthodox and eloquent orator. My mother was a person of an elegant and reflecting mind, and was as much respected as my father was beloved. Until 1732, when I was ten years of age, they were in very narrow circumstances, but in that year the stipend was raised from £70 to £140 per annum. In 1735 I was sent to college.

Yielding to parental wishes, I consented, in 1738, to become a student of divinity, and pursued my studies in Edinburgh and, from 1743, in Glasgow, passing my trials in the presbytery of Haddington in the summer of 1745. Early in September I was at Moffat, when I heard that the Chevalier Prince Charles had landed in the north. I repaired to Edinburgh, and joined a company of volunteers for the defence of the city. Edinburgh was in great ferment, and of divided allegiance; there was no news of the arrival of Sir John Cope with the government forces; the Highlanders came on, no resistance was made, and the city surrendered on the sixteenth. That night, my brother and I walked along the sands to Prestonpans, and carried the news. Proceeding to Dunbar, where Sir John Cope's army lay, I inquired for Colonel Gardiner, whom I found very dejected.

"Sandie," said Colonel Gardiner, "I'll tell you in confidence that I have not above ten men in my regiment whom I am certain will follow me. But we must give them battle now, and God's will be done!"

Cope's small army was totally defeated at Prestonpans on the morning of the twenty-first. I heard the first cannon that was fired, and started to my clothes. My father had been up before daylight, and had resorted to the steeple. I ran into the garden. Within ten minutes after firing the first cannon the whole prospect was filled with runaways, and Highlanders pursuing them. The next week I saw Prince Charles twice in Edinburgh. He was a good-looking man; his hair was dark red and his eyes black. His features were regular, his visage long, much sunburnt and freckled, and his countenance thoughtful and melancholy.

In October of the same year I went to Leyden, to study at the university there. Here there were twenty-two British students, among them the Honourable Charles Townshend, afterwards a distinguished statesman, and Mr. Doddeswell, afterwards Chancellor of the Exchequer. We passed our time very agreeably, and very profitably, too; for the conversations at our evening meetings of young men of good knowledge could not fail to be instructive, much more so than the lectures, which were very dull. On my return from Holland, I was introduced by my cousin, Captain Lyon, to some families of condition in London, and was carried to court of an evening, for George II. at that time had evening drawing rooms, where his majesty and Princess Amelia, who had been a lovely woman, played at cards.

I had many agreeable parties with the officers of the Horse Guards, who were all men of the world, and some of them of erudition and understanding. I was introduced to Smollett at this time, and was in the coffee-house with him when the news of the Battle of Culloden came, and when London all over was in a perfect uproar of joy. The theatres were not very attractive this season, as Garrick had gone over to Dublin; but there remained Mrs. Pritchard, Mrs. Clive, and Macklin, who were all excellent in their way. Of the literary people I met with I must not forget Thomson, the poet, and Dr. Armstrong.

In June, 1746, I was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of Haddington, and was ordained minister of Inveresk on August 2, 1748. There were many resident families of distinction, and my situation was envied as superior to that of most clergymen for agreeable society. As one of the "Moderate" party, I now became much implicated in ecclesiastical politics. Dr. Robertson, John Home, and I had an active hand in the restoration of the authority of the General Assembly over the Presbyteries.

II.--Literary Lions of Edinburgh

It was in one of these years that Smollett visited Scotland, and came out to Musselburgh. He was a man of very agreeable conversation and of much genuine humour, and, though not a profound scholar, possessed a philosophical mind, and was capable of making the soundest observations on human life, and of discerning the excellence or seeing the ridicule of every character he met with. Fielding only excelled him in giving a dramatic story to his novels, but was inferior to him in the true comic vein. At this time David Hume was living in Edinburgh, and composing his "History of Great Britain." He was a man of great knowledge, and of a social and benevolent temper, and truly the best-natured man in the world.

I was one of those who never believed that David Hume's sceptical principles had laid fast hold on his mind, but thought that his books proceeded rather from affectation of superiority and pride of understanding. When his circumstances were narrow, he accepted the office of librarian to the Faculty of Advocates, worth £40 per annum, and to my certain knowledge he gave every farthing of the salary to families in distress. For innocent mirth and agreeable raillery I never knew his match.

Adam Smith, though perhaps only second to David in learning and ingenuity, was far inferior to him in conversational talents. He was the most absent man in company that I ever saw, moving his lips, and talking to himself, and smiling, in the midst of large companies. If you awaked him from his reverie and made him attend to the subject of conversation, he immediately began a harangue, and never stopped till he told you all he knew about it, with the utmost philosophical ingenuity. Though Smith had some little jealousy in his temper, he had the most unbounded benevolence.

Dr. Adam Ferguson was a very different kind of man. He had been chaplain to the 42nd, adding all the decorum belonging to the clerical character to the manners of a gentleman, the effect of which was that he was highly respected by all the officers, and adored by his countrymen and the common soldiers. His office turned his mind to the study of war, which appears in his "Roman History," where many of the battles are better described than by any historian but Polybius, who was an eyewitness to so many. He had a boundless vein of humour, which he indulged when none but intimates were present; but he was apt to be jealous of his rivals and indignant against assumed superiority.

They were all honourable men in the highest degree, and John Home and I together kept them on very good terms. With respect to taste, we held David Hume and Adam Smith inferior to the rest, for they were both prejudiced in favour of the French tragedies, and did not sufficiently appreciate Shakespeare and Milton; their taste was a rational act rather than the instantaneous effect of fine feeling. In John Home's younger days he had much sprightliness and vivacity, so that he infused joy wherever he came. But all his opinions of men and things were prejudices, which, however, did not disqualify him for writing admirable poetry.