passed away, and Bunyan was left undisturbed to finish his earthly
work.

He was happy in his family. His blind child, for whom he had been so
touchingly anxious, had died while he was in prison. His other
children lived and did well; and his brave companion, who had spoken
so stoutly for him to the judges, continued at his side. His health,
it was said, had suffered from his confinement; but the only serious
illness which we hear of, was an attack of 'sweating sickness,' which
came upon him in 1687, and from which he never thoroughly recovered.
He was then fifty-nine, and in the next year he died.

His end was characteristic. It was brought on by exposure when he was
engaged in an act of charity. A quarrel had broken out in a family at
Reading with which Bunyan had some acquaintance. A father had taken
offence at his son, and threatened to disinherit him. Bunyan undertook
a journey on horseback from Bedford to Reading in the hope of
reconciling them. He succeeded, but at the cost of his life. Returning
by London he was overtaken on the road by a storm of rain, and was
wetted through before he could find shelter. The chill, falling on a
constitution already weakened by illness, brought on fever. He was
able to reach the house of Mr. Strudwick, one of his London friends;
but he never left his bed afterwards. In ten days he was dead. The
exact date is uncertain. It was towards the end of August 1688,
between two and three months before the landing of King William. He
was buried in Mr. Strudwick's vault in the Dissenters' burying-ground
at Bunhill Fields. His last words were 'Take me, for I come to Thee.'

So ended, at the age of sixty, a man who, if his importance may be
measured by the influence which he has exerted over succeeding
generations, must be counted among the most extraordinary persons whom
England has produced. It has been the fashion to dwell on the
disadvantages of his education, and to regret the carelessness of
nature which brought into existence a man of genius in a tinker's hut
at Elstow. Nature is less partial than she appears, and all situations
in life have their compensations along with them.

Circumstances, I should say, qualified Bunyan perfectly well for the
work which he had to do. If he had gone to school, as he said, with
Aristotle and Plato; if he had been broken in at a university and been
turned into a bishop; if he had been in any one of the learned
professions, he might easily have lo