Eventually light was let in upon the mind of Bunyan, upon these and many other perplexing topics. We do not advert to them now. There can be little question that this was the turning point in his history, the period of his conversion. There was no immediate settlement of mind; he had little or no 66 peace and joy in believing;" he was appointed to sustain a long conflict of doubts and fears; but still this was the time in which he truly "thought on his ways, and turned his feet unto the divine testimonies." His was no common mind, and conversion was, therefore, with him no common process. Yet the scene before the sunny door in Bedford was a memorable one in his history, as that in which an invisible agent was employed in directing the conversation of three or four humble women to the heart of one of the most remarkable and original of men. We cannot better conclude this period than by quoting Bunyan's own interpretation of this scene, as recorded in writing some time after it is characteristic in every point of view of its singular author.

:

"About this time, the state and happiness of these poor people at Bedford was thus in a kind of a vision presented to me. I saw 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 even go into the very midst of them, and then 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 door-way in the wall, through which I attempted to pass. Now this passage being very strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well nigh beat out, by striving to get in; at last, with great sideling, my shoulders and my whole body got in; then I was exceedingly glad, 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, &c., was thus made out to me:

the mountain signified the church of the living God: the sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of his merciful face on them that were therein; the wall I thought was the word, that did make separation between the christians and the world; and the gap which was in the wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father. For Jesus said in his reply to Thomas, 'I am the way, and the truth and the life; no man cometh to the Father but by me. Because strait is the gate and narrrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.' John xiv; Matt. vii. xiv. But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not, but with great difficulty, enter in thereat, it showed me that none could enter into life but those that were in downright earnest ; and unless also they left that wicked world behind them; for here was only room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin.

"This resemblance abode on my spirit many days; all which time I saw myself in a forlorn and bad condition, but yet was provoked to a vehement hunger and desire to be one of that number that did sit in the sunshine. Now also should I pray wherever I was; whether at home or abroad, in house or field; and would also often, with lifting up of heart, sing that of the fifty-first Psalm, 'O Lord, consider my distress;' for as yet I knew not where it was."

Eventually the prayer of Bunyan was abundantly answered; but not until he had endured many a conflict with the enemy of his soul.

THE INFLUENCE OF HABIT.

Habit is that by which, in general, character is formed and principle decided. Hence the great importance of acquiring those habits which tend to holiness, and aid in forming good and useful characters.

Not a few examples might be given of those whose early years seemed "adorned with pure religion and sanctity of manners;" but who afterwards through evil companionships pursued the vicious practices which they once condemned and loathed. One such instance may present an illustration and a warning.

In one corner of a beautiful valley at the foot of a range of lofty hills, the smoke which curled over a cluster of trees and crept along the woodland, indicated a human dwelling. It was the quiet abode of the widowed mother of two youthful sons, and was intended, with a few adjoining acres, to be their joint inheritance. The house was humble, but beautifully situated, visited by refreshing breezes and warm showers; the whole scene was rich in luxuriant foliage, verdant herbage, and variegated flowers. Here might be found the earliest primrose, and in many a sheltered nook the sweet but lowly violet. It was a delightful and healthy spot; one which afforded every facility to a christian mother for teaching her children to look "from nature up to nature's God." And such a mother was Mrs. Welford. She knew from experience that religion can supply sources of consolation of which the world is ignorant, and which calamity cannot destroy. Her pale cheek and mourning dress told of recent bereavement, a tale of sorrow which the widowed mother alone may know. It had been her aim to teach her children from reason's dawn that "fear of God" which is "the beginning of wisdom." They derived their knowledge from the pure stream of inspiration-the holy scriptures, and gave the hope of a future harvest of genuine piety; to which under the blessing of God their mother looked as the high reward of all her efforts.

The important time drew near, when it was needful to commit him of whom she had hitherto had the sole guidance to other hands. It was thought best that Henry, her oldest son, should leave his secluded home and commence life in the busy world of men.

Mrs. Welford was induced by the hope of great worldly advantage, to place her fatherless boy beneath the distant roof of one whose religion was not founded upon principle, but of that accommodating character which adapts itself to its possessor's pleasures or interests.

The moment of separation was a sorrowful one to each of the little group. Placing her gentle hand upon her son's head, his mother offered many a prayer and blessing, and softly whispered many a warning; whilst Henry with tears mingled many sincere resolves that his conduct should at once gratify his mother and be a fitting example to his brother. But youthful sorrow, like

the passing shower, is soon over, and youthful resolve is often not more lasting.

Henry had talents and a good disposition, and was full of hope. Hitherto he had been little exposed to temptation, and seeing nothing to fear, was unduly self-confident and without precaution. He was just at that age when a father's guiding hand is needed, to regulate by judicious care those "powerful agents in human nature”—the passions. His employment unhappily left his evening hours much at his own disposal, and his master finding him regular and attentive to business, was blameably unmindful of the manner in which he spent his leisure hours. He had no companions of his own age, and for some time his chief amusement consisted in writing to those whom he had left, descriptions of all that he saw and felt. But soon he desired to share the walk, or join the sport of some with whom he might enjoy the interchange of social feeling. This was natural; and had friends been nigh to guide in the selection of associates, all might have been well. Unsuspecting, and unskilled in human character, Henry had yet to learn that a smart appearance and a good address may be the outward covering of unholy habits and bad principles.

Not many months had passed away when he became' connected with a youthful group; most of whom, however, were older than himself. They ridiculed the religion which his pious mother had inculcated, and met his moral scruples with the vain scoff and taunt of folly. They were such as claimed superior wisdom from an unfeeling use of that which produces the ready laugh-and who does not know, that though no wit is so poor as that which is drawn from placing in a ludicrous light important truths, none is so dangerous? and if "the world's dread laugh scarce e'en stern philosophy can bear,” what marvel that one brought up in retirement, and unaccustomed to hear the impious jest, should yield in a contest in which ridicule was considered the test of truth.

A happy thing would it have been had the habits and principles of Henry's early days now prevailed; or the sweet warning voice of his mother, which memory would sometimes bring back, been heeded: but she was far distant, and knew not that her boy was linked with such evil companions. At first he shrank from actual vice: not even the false lustre which his

companions sought to throw around it could conceal from him its hideous deformity. Familiarity with sin, however, imperceptibly strengthens its influence; and when the boundary of restraint is once thrown down, none can presume to say where the inroad will end.

Years passed on and found Henry pursuing step by step the downward path of vice. When personal gratification becomes the only principle by which to regulate conduct, that which separates vice from virtue becomes indistinct, if not invisible. "The glass which sparkles to the eye" was first indulged in, under the plea of adding cheerfulness and giving a relish to conversation: but having occasionally exceeded the bounds of temperance, the power of resistance became feeble, and ere long ended in his being the loud and brawling drunkard. Drunkenness is proverbially the fruitful parent of many sins. Through indulgence in this vice, Henry's worldly prospects withered. Regularity, the life of business, could not be sustained. At last, becoming the victim of habitual intemperance, his respectability and means of subsistence dwindled together.

With a mind brutalized and weakened by drunkenness, no wonder that he should sacrifice those christian principles which tend to wean from the grossness of sense. He became a moral wreck upon the shoals of passion and of guilt; rejecting christianity which condemned his habits, and advocating the principles of infidelity as affording the best excuse for his impiety. Thus he laid the foundation of bad principles in bad habits.

It was melancholy to witness, before the ordinary race of life was half run, his haggard looks and tottering frame. He wore the very livery of sin. Ruined in constitution and in circumstances; without the solace of religion when everything threatened approaching dissolution; who can describe his now aged mother's grief? By degrees he had become estranged from, and was now forsaken by, almost every other friend: but her's was a mother's "deep, strong, deathless love." She recalled his infancy and boyhood, so full of promise—her anxious care; and how with dim and weary eye she had watched and tended him through the sufferings of childhood-the "restless day and wakeful night;" how with patient untiring love she had soothed his pain, and prayed for his recovery. And now she lived to wish that he had died; for then she might have hoped for