both-ways" a useful weapon; the man of letters has discovered in Greatheart the most precious name for a hero-missionary; the university professor has discovered in the House Beautiful the fittest prologue and epilogue of his lectures on Church history. But more than all these and such like, the book is the book of man. It has been already translated into some eighty languages, and is still adding to its kingdom: for in whatever language

it speaks, it has the tone of a friend and a brother. It has been torn up and repaired to become a vehicle of sectarian teaching: these perish, the book itself remains. While it is true that it grew in Puritan soil, its root is not Puritan, but human. "He is the poet of Puritanism," says the author of "Mark Rutherford," "but also of something greater-that is to say, of a certain class of experiences, incident not especially to the theologian,

what

JOHN · BUNDAN Ja̸2.

to Resemble the Dévill

Emblem more of itt JA place he may take

then the Dia of Ill fame

as there

Din fuch Councells a who fore brads Nought but Evil where the Laws that they Mako

have the Devil to pleases.

doth the oils to thom appor

which put thom all into afros

will not the moon and haubel (row

Crust the and unto the guovend

BUNYAN'S SIGNATURE, AND LINES ATTRIBUTED TO HIM, FROM "FOXE'S BOOK OF MARTYRS

artist, or philosopher, but to our common nature." Now it is from the forests of Madagascar the voice that loves the Pilgrim speaks; and now it is from the vineyards of Lebanon, as a lonely keeper watches the sun set and the moon rise over fields of snow.

It is not necessary to discuss its originality. Whether Bunyan read Spenser, whether he was familiar with de Guileville's Le Pélerinage de l'Homme, matters little. If he borrowed from any one, he paid royal interest. If he had marble from Carrara, the chiselling, the imagining, are his own; and it is that which makes the marble divine. But the truth is, that most of the suggestions which might have come from such predecessors in allegory, can be traced, with far more likelihood, to the English Bible-Genevan and Authorised. Remembering his scanty learning and his forcible style, every discussion leaves him at the last thrilled and ruled by that one Book.

In all the "curiosities of literature" is there one more strange than this, that a tinker's son, the years of his youth wasted in folly, the years of his prime wasted in prison, should have given the world one of its creative books? To-day, any relic of his is a prize to be snatched. The chair that belonged to him is a national treasure; the book which was his companion in prison-Foxe's "Book of Martyrs"—with his autograph and a verse supposed to be in his handwriting, remains, after 250 years, a living witness; the warrant for his arrest in 1675 was sold two years ago for £305; the deed of gift of "John Bunyan, Brazier" means more than a millionaire's will. He is buried in Bunhill Fields, within sound of London's "central roar": as if he must ever be, not on lonely heights though they be Delectable Mountains, but where the wayfaring of Pilgrims is most frequent, though it be near the City of Destruction. For he was not only delivered, but is a deliverer. On

this, as on many another subject, Browning has spoken the sturdiest word-in Ned Bratts. He and his wife, "worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged," rush into Bedford Court-house, demanding to be hanged. They had lived a life of vice, of undiscovered theft and murder, until they had suddenly been confronted by Bunyan

"His language was not ours;

'Tis my belief God spoke: no tinker has such powers."

They

Both of them were astounded-overwhelmed. reached home, guided by Bunyan's blind girl, who, in parting, gave them her father's book

"Father's boon

The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself:
He cannot preach in bonds, so,-take it down from shelf
When you want counsel,-think you hear his very voice!" "

The two frightened rogues read it, found in it their 66 own history in a nutshell : "____

666 Heat's no stuff to split a stone Like this black boulder-this flint heart of mine: the Book-That dealt the crashing blow!""

Thus, in his own manful way, somewhat oblivious of exact dates, Browning has pictured what this book meant and means, not only as imperishable literature, but as maker of the souls of men.

H. ELVET LEWIS.