uneasy did he feel, that he told his wife he must go back to his old
quarters. So late was it that the gaoler blamed him for coming at
such an untimely hour; but a little afterwards the messenger arrived.
"Are all the prisoners safe?" "Yes." "Is John Bunyan safe?" "Yes."
"Let me see him." Bunyan was called, and the messenger went his way;
and when he was gone the gaoler told him, "Well, you may go out again
just when you think proper; for you know when to return better than I
can tell you."

But the best alleviations of his captivity were those wonderful works
which he there projected or composed. Some of these were
controversial; but one of them was his own life, under the title,
"Grace abounding to the Chief of Sinners," and another was the
"PILGRIM'S PROGRESS."

In 1672 he obtained his liberty, and his friends immediately built
for him a large meeting-house, where he continued to preach with
little interruption till his death. Once a year he visited London,
and was there so popular, that twelve hundred people would gather
together at seven in the morning of a winter's working-day to hear
him. Amongst the admiring listeners, Dr Owen was frequently found;
and once when Charles the Second asked how a learned man like him
could sit down to hear a tinker prate, the great theologian is said
to have answered, "May it please your Majesty, could I possess the
tinker's abilities for preaching, I would most gladly relinquish all
my learning." But popular as he was, he was not fond of praise. One
day after he had concluded an impressive discourse, his friends
pressed round to thank him for his "sweet sermon." "Aye," he bluntly
answered, "you need not remind me of that; for the devil told me as
much before I left the pulpit."