Bunyan got quit of his terror at last, briefly by believing in the
goodness of God. He did not say, like Mr. Carlyle, "Well, if all my
fears are true, what then?" His was a Christian, not a stoical
deliverance.

The "church" in which Bunyan found shelter had for minister a
converted major in a Royalist regiment. It was a quaint little
community, the members living like the early disciples, correcting
each other's faults, and keeping a severe eye on each other's lives.
Bunyan became a minister in it; but, Puritan as he was, he lets his
Pilgrims dance on joyful occasions, and even Mr. Ready-to-Halt
waltzes with a young lady of the Pilgrim company.

As a minister and teacher Bunyan began to write books of controversy
with Quakers and clergymen. The points debated are no longer
important to us; the main thing was that he got a pen into his hand,
and found a proper outlet for his genius, a better way than fancy
swearing.

If he had not been cast into Bedford jail for preaching in a
cottage, he might never have dreamed his immortal dream, nor become
all that he was. The leisures of gaol were long. In that "den" the
Muse came to him, the fair kind Muse of the Home Beautiful. He saw
all that company of his, so like and so unlike Chaucer's: Faithful,
and Hopeful, and Christian, the fellowship of fiends, the truculent
Cavaliers of Vanity Fair, and Giant Despair, with his grievous
crabtree cudgel; and other people he saw who are with us always,--
the handsome Madam Bubble, and the young woman whose name was Dull,
and Mr. Worldly Wiseman, and Mr. Facing Bothways, and Byends, all
the persons of the comedy of human life.