THE CHILDREN'S CORNER. The Children's Corner. THOUGHTS AT EVENTIDE. BY A YOUTH. Ir was a calm evening in early summer. The sweet warblers of the woods responded to each other in joyous songs, from branches fragrant with budding blossoms; the earth beneath my feet was carpeted with blooming flowers of various forms and colours; the the sun was setting amidst long streaks of clouds, which he tinged with golden glories. I stood admiring these works of the Great Creator, until feelings of gratitude and adoration filled my heart. But night coming on I retired, and when I got home, being yet in a musing mood, I sat down and wrote Brierly Hill. Along the slope I slowly strayed That lovely even-tide; The merry birds sweet music made, Down in the vale beneath a glade The sun was setting in the west, But, mark the change, swift shadows fell The warblers ceased their joys to tell, And night now reign'd serene. And then sweet thoughts I dont forget Of where a Sun shall never set, Oh may I, through redeeming grace, Find there my last abode; And gaze for ever on thy face, H. C. JOHN BUNYAN AND HIS BLIND CHILD. WE can scarcely conceive of an Englishman who has not heard of John Bunyan and his book of world-wide fame, the "Pilgrim's Progress." However, should any one who reads these lines say to himself, "Why, I never did!" we advise him to get hold of the book, with a sketch of his life at the beginning, as soon as he can, and we promise him such a treat as he never enjoyed before from any book, except the Bible, in his life. Bunyan lived about 200 years ago. He was the rough son of a rough man in a rough village, and like his father a traveling tinker-a rollicking, swearing, wicked young fellow. Convinced at last of his sins he felt as if he were in hell already; but he sought for pardon through Jesus Christ, whose blood cleanseth us from all sin, and God forgave him. Filled now with love to God his Saviour, he began to preach the gospel. But he lived in the dark days of persecution. For, preaching in a village cottage one evening, he was taken up by the constable, and the justices sent him to the prison, which stood on the old bridge at Bedford; and there he lay for twelve long years! But there he wrote that wonderful book, and there his little blind daughter would come to feel of him, and listen to what he said, and bring and take away his work. Here is a picture of the scene, drawn by an able hand :— One of the most touching things in all the labouring, suffering, struggling life of Bunyan, is his artless account of his sorrow in leaving his blind child, when he was about to take up his residence in Bedford gaol. The imprisonment was not unexpected. The arbitrary, persecuting laws which signalized the reign of Charles the Second from its commencement, had armed the authorities of the realm with power to imprison the persons and confiscate the goods of all who should be found either preaching or hearing the gospel outside the walls of the parish church, or praying without the prayer book in their hands. Bunyan very well knew that he should be one of the first to feel the effects of these measures, and he accordingly prepared himself. His forebodings were not long unrealized, for having made an appointment to preach on a certain day, the Justice of the Peace heard of it, and issued a warrant for his arrest. The fact was soon known to Bunyan and his friends, JOHN BUNYAN AND AND HIS BLIND CHILD. He and he might have given up the meeting for that time, and retired to a place of safety, had he chosen. But, nc, he will not flee! He says, "I feared that if I should run, now that there was a warrant out for me, I might, by so doing, make others afraid to stand, when great words only should be spoken against them. Besides, I thought that seeing God of his mercy should choose me to go upon the forlorn hope in this country, that is, to be the first that should be opposed for the gospel,-if I should fly, it might be a discouragement to the whole body that might follow after. And, further, I thought that the world thereby would take occasion at my cowardice to have blasphemed the gospel, and to have had some grounds to suspect worse of me and my profession than I deserved.' does not, we see, come to his decision without much consideration and prayer. He considers the effect of his example upon the weak and timid among the people of God: and, though it was probably hard to come to it, his deliberate conclusion was, "I will stay and hold my meeting, let the consequences be what they may." We know that it was hard for him to make up his mind to go to prison, not so much because he dreaded imprisonment, but his family, his forsaken, destitute family, rose up before his mind's eye, appealing powerfully to his feelings as a husband and father. Especially did it go to his heart to leave his blind child. He says, Notwithstanding these spiritual helps, I found myself a man encompassed with infirmities. The parting with my wife and poor children hath often been to me in this place as the pulling the flesh from my bones; and that not only because I am somewhat too fond of these mercies, but also because I should often have brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants that my poor family was likewise to meet with, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all I had beside. Oh, the thoughts of the hardships I thought my 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 shall 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 a man who is pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and children; yet, thought I, I must do it. And now 66 JOHN BUNYAN AND HIS BLIND CHILD. I thought on those two milch kine that were to carry the ark of God into another country, to leave their calves behind them." How beautiful is this relation, and how does it open to us the rich vein of tenderness in Bunyan's heroic heart! We are apt to clothe those noble souls of Bunyan's stamp, those christian warriors who stood in the breach, fighting stoutly for liberty to worship God," in those old, trying days, we are apt to think of them as all stern and grim, and unaffected by mere earthly joys and sorrows. Here the veil is lifted, and we see underneath their grave, calm steadfastness, a pure, stronglyflowing current of human affection and feeling. That, although so richly endowed with strength to do and bear, they were not wanting in that lovely grace of charity that fertilizes and beautifies the soul. Following Bunyan to his damp and narrow cell in the Bedford gaol, we find him there solaced by the company of his little blind daughter. It is said that the wet unwholesome state of this gaol, standing as it did upon a bridge, first inspired the celebrated John Howard with a desire to improve the condition of gaols and prisons. We can judge something of its state from this fact: form some idea of the sufferings and and privations that Bunyan endured for conscience' sake. But there was a bright side to the picture. Every morning came this blind daughter to cheer the heart of the lonely father. She brings in a well-secured parcel the materials for the day's work, for Bunyan even here labours assiduously in aid of his family. He cannot, of course, carry on any longer his humble trade of tinker, but he has learned since he came to prison to make tagged laces. Upon them they work together perseveringly through the day, not a long one, for time thus devoted to honest labour, and hallowed by love and peace, could not have seemed long; and at evening, with the laces that have been completed, the little girl goes home to her mother. It is easy to suppose that the father could not willingly settle to his work in the morning, until he had embraced his dear one-that he listened anxiously every time he heard the gaoler's step in the passage, for the accompanying sound of a small foot, that came at last, making his pulses leap, and lighting up the calm eye with a gleam of pleasure. The key turns in the lock, the bolt flies back, and the blind child enters. She can see nothing; all is dark to her within the narrow cell; but she knows very well where her father's arms are open, waiting to JOHN BUNYAN AND HIS BLIND CHILD. 66 How receive her. Her eyes are sightless, but the light of love shines in her soul, and irradiates her patient, thoughtful countenance, as she hastens with rapid step to her father's embrace. He presses her gently to his manly breast, and kissing her soft cheek, murmurs, My sweet heart!" How tender and pure must have been the companionship of these two. pleasantly pass the hours as they talk to each other, like children-for Bunyan in his ripest years retained the beautiful simplicity of childhood. Doubtless he taught this dear one of the love of Christ, and knelt often upon the cold stone floor of his prison house, to pray with and for her. How lonely and anxious must have been the days when she came not. Then we can imagine he would often rise from his work, and gazing through the narrow window, beneath which flowed the waters of the Ouse, look longingly in the direction of that humble cottage where dwelt those dearest to his heart. Then striving to forget his care, we see him open his well-worn Bible, and draw from thence sweet comfort and strength still to endure. Those prison hours were on the whole very pleasant ones, as Bunyan himself tells us; and next to those spiritual joys which filled his soul, he was indebted to this for his constant occupation of body and mind to which he accustomed himself. He must have been very busy, as the work he accomplished during those twelve years of imprisonment proves. Labouring at his tagged laces all day, and writing far into the night, tracing the passage of his pilgrim through the lights and shadows-the joys and sorrows of his christian course. Blessed labours! wherein was sown seed which shall bear fruit till time shall end, to the good of man and the glory of God! Would that the Spirit that prompted and inspired those labours might rest with power upon every successive generation of pilgrims to Zion, warring through them against "the world, the flesh, and the devil," and finally, through the riches of grace, triumphing over every foe. When Bunyan, in his book, had conducted his pilgrim to the gates of the celestial city, he looked in and saw the shining ones walking in white over golden streets; and then, he says, "When I saw them, I wished myself among them." And well he might. There, however, with his suffering wife, and poor blind child, he has long been, and will be for ever! "Far from a world of grief and sin, With God eternally shut in." |