It has been observed by some one, we cannot recollect who, that there is only one instance in the whole history of England of a woman making her appearance at Westminster Hall, and before the Judges of Assize, in order to make a formal defense in favor of the unfortunate. That woman was the young and interesting wife of John Bunyan, who had become the sacrifice for conscience’ sake. Although Elizabeth stands alone among her sex as an advocate, yet there never was offered a more eloquent and unsophisticated defense than that which she made in behalf of her husband. She, first of all, had the courage to appear before the house of Lords, to ask the Supreme Court of Appeals to relax the rigors of persecuting law. Their Lordships, it is said, rudely told her to go to the Judges of Assize who condemned her husband, and without fail she did so. At the Assize Court Sir Matthew Hale presided, and he was accompanied by Judge Twisden, a magistrate of ferocious temperament, whose countenance strangely contrasted with the mildness and placidity of the Lord Chief Justice. We are indebted to John Bunyan himself for a description of the conduct of Judge Twisden on this memorable occasion. He says, “Judge Twisden snapt at my poor wife Elizabeth, and angrily told her that her husband was a convicted person, and could not be released unless he would promise to preach no more.” But Elizabeth, however much she loved her husband, was more enamored of the gospel, and she gave the court to understand that her husband could not purchase freedom at the expense of keeping silence about the mercy and compassion of God. “It is false,” continued Elizabeth, “to say he has done wrong; for at the meeting where he preached they had God’s presence with them.” “Will he leave off preaching?” roared Twisden. “My Lord,” said Elizabeth, “he dares not leave off preaching as long as he can speak. But, my Lords,” she proceeded with tears in her eyes, “just consider that we have four small children, one of them blind, and all of them have nothing to live on while their father is in prison, but the charity of Christian people.” This was too much for Sir Matthew Hale, who now interposed with the ejaculation, “Alas! poor woman!” He then inquired what was her husband’s calling. “A tinker, please you, my Lord,” said his wife, “and because he is a tinker and a poor man, he is despised and cannot have justice.” Law is stronger than tears. The Lord Chief Justice told her that her husband had broken it; he told her that there was but one person in the realm who could pardon her husband, and that person was the king. But how was the broken-hearted wife of a tinker to find her way to the footstool of a monarch? “Alas! poor woman,” he said, “I am sorry for your pitiable case.” Elizabeth now became convinced how vain it was to expect justice and mercy from an earthly tribunal; and with a heroic glory which can only be found in the annals of the Christian faith, she pointed to her tears as she departed, and uttered words that never should die as long as the English language exists:— “See these tears, but I do not weep for myself. I weep for you when I think what an account such poor creatures as you will have to give at the coming of the Lord.”—Sel.