that they might meet the understanding and the taste of every worshiper. On the same principle are those wonderfully diverse styles occurring in the Scriptures.

Some of Bunyan's brethren were learned. A late biographer has an anecdote of one, who, when put on trial as a dissenter, escaped by pleading in Greek, and again, probably, when requested to employ some other language, in Hebrew. Some among the brethren were gifted in preaching. Many, doubtless, had various accomplishments of which Bunyan was devoid. But there was no imagination which could cope or sympathize with his. They marveled at him, as boys marvel at the feats of an adventurous comrade. To the intense vividness of that imagination must be attributed the lively interest which we feel in every step of the Pilgrim's Progress. That was a vision rather than a dream. The relator casts a strange spell about us when we enter his magic circle. We forget all outward things while the wonderful revelation is made to pass before us.

In almost every other branch of his art Bunyan has had his superiors. But we must claim for him, in this respect, an absolute supremacy. We are amused, as we peruse Thompson's Castle of Indolence; but we feel no trembling solicitude for the success of the Knight of Arms and Industry. We are instructed by the visions of Maraton and Mirza; but there is little impression of reality about the important scenes presented. We marvel as we read that strange and frightful episode about Death and Sin and the Portress of Hell with her loathsome brood; but we feel no earnest anxiety for the prevention of the contest between Death and Satan, nor very much about which conquers, if they fight. Far otherwise is it with the Pilgrim. Every little girl fears for his safety when Apollyon gets him down, as intensely as if she were herself in that terrible grasp. She is as highly delighted, when Christian produces the key which will open any lock in doubting Castle, as though she had herself lain in the dungeon.

Another peculiar merit of the Pilgrim's Progress is the skill with which a certain dignity and sacredness is cast about things ordinary and almost farcical. Addison, in one of his ingenious criticisms on Milton, finds fault with his favorite for Belial's undignified triumph at the rout of the angels. If such mirthful sallies are improper in an epic poem, the fault must be laid exclusively to the charge of the author. The characters and scenes of that species of poetry generally are, and always may be, the most exalted which can be selected. For this reason Homer, Virgil, Dante, and Milton, have all introduced superior Intelligences and celestial scenery into their plots, but no one of them has gone below our species, nor even made remarkably prominent an undignified specimen of mankind. Hence no possible constraint can force the writers of heroic poetry to the introduction of ludicrous scenes. But it is not so with an allegory, at least with such an one as this of Bunyan. He professes to give us the history of a Christian's journey through the world. The nature of the subject is such that, even though treated allegorically, many familiar scenes

must be introduced, especially by a writer whose first great object is the good of the common people. An incontestable evidence of genius is, boldly to introduce such scenes, and still to maintain throughout an unbending dignity. This praise we claim for the Tinker.

The only other first-rate allegory in our language, of much length, is the Faerie Queen. An excellent writer, in comparing that great poem with the very work which we have under notice, complains of the tediousness of the former. We conceive that a single sentence, which that writer has dropped rather incidentally, contains the gist of the whole matter: "We become sick of Cardinal Virtues and Deadly Sins, and long for the society of plain men and women." Both Spenser and Bunyan had two different and optional courses before them. They might confine their scenes to a purely ideal world, and, by avoiding all connection with ordinary daily affairs, avoid all risk of vulgar incidents; or they might descend to the common walks of life and take the accompanying hazard. Spenser chose the former course; and, owing to his continually straining after remoteness from common associations, which Mr. Leigh Hunt affirms is one of his chief attractions, he has lost that lively interest which is, perhaps, inseparable from such associations, unless we are compensated by the magnificent imagery and the imposing epithets of heroic poetry. Bunyan chose the latter course; and his success has been complete. He has not only risked the occurrence of scenes in themselves devoid of dignity; he has even deliberately introduced such scenes; and yet, under his hand, they appear stripped of all unworthy associations. There is, plainly, something very far from the romantic or the heroic about floundering and tumbling in the mud. Yet not one reader in a thousand finds his mirth excited by the adventure of Christian in the Slough of Despond. Most writers would have put Christian and Faithful somewhere else, at Vanity Fair, than in a cage. So ludicrous a specimen of persecution is hardly ever exhibited in real life. But the narration introduces no unworthy suggestions to the mind of the reader. Instead of smiling in the recollection of the animals cooped up at the last show, he is too deeply interested in the fate of the guiltless sufferers, to be amused by the method of their torture. It is the peculiar excellence of Bunyan, that, whatever is gained for the common people by this homeliness of incident, is pure gain, and by no means obtained by the sacrifice of dignity or good taste.

A great obstacle to the success of Allegory has been noticed by Mr. James Montgomery; the anticipation of the reader's judgment by the names of personified moral qualities. The most exquisite pleasure, of which the mind is capable, perhaps, is derived from discovery; as well of error as of truth. It is matter of common remark, that the most successful writers of fiction, whether in verse or prose, whom the world has ever seen, carefully avoid descriptive explanations of the characters which they introduce. The characters are brought forward, and the reader may enjoy the gratification of detecting from their conversation and actions, their individual peculiarities. Of this pleasure we are liable to be robbed by these unwelcome titles, to which we

have referred. Every reader can conjecture very nearly what Mr. By-Ends, and Mr. Hold-the-World, and Mr. Facing-both-Ways will say. Their names affect us like the officious kindness of a friend, who takes pains to inform us, when in the midst of an interesting tale, how it will terminate. This nomenclature must, necessarily, be introduced to some extent in Allegory. Even here, however, Bunyan has displayed his skill. To all his most prominent characters he has given general and comprehensive appellations. Christian, Evangelist, Goodwill, Faithful, Hopeful, and Talkative allow, without deviation from dramatic propriety, much more scope for the invention than Formalist, Save-All, and Money-Love. The former, therefore, appear frequently, and occupy much of the reader's attention, while the latter are soon removed from the stage.

But it is the crowning excellence of the Pilgrim's Progress, that it unites two qualities, indispensable indeed, but which most other writers of Allegory have found utterly incompatible; universality of application, and lively interest in the narrative.

The Pilgrim is a cosmopolite. He belongs alike to all nations and to all ages. The Record of his Progress has been translated into almost every language of Christendom. It no more belongs to an English Baptist than to a converted savage of the Fega Islands. It is read with equal interest by English firesides, in the literary coteries of the Metropolis, in the log-cabins of our own Western wilds, and by the scores of heathen tribes, to whom it has been transferred by our missionaries.

Allegory has, in this respect, a great advantage over the Drama. It is universal, while the Drama must be more or less local. Had Shakspeare called Othello Jealousy, Macbeth Ambition, and Shylock Revenge, he would have given us, we do not say very stupid plays, but no plays at all. We should have had most intolerable allegories. Shakspeare has never had his equal. But, notwithstanding the echanting scenery continually conjured up before us by that magnificent imagination, it is not to be denied that somewhat of interest is lost by the necessity of confining the attention to a particular period and locality. Whatever the Commentators may say about the masterly delineations of human nature, and the certainty that human nature must always interest human beings, it is quite clear that most Englishmen are much more interested in Ivanhoe than in Coriolanus, and most Scotchmen in Old Mortality than in the Winter's Tale. Not that Sir Walter is, in any wise, comparable to the Great Dramatist; but that the scenes of his own country, and the deeds of his own countrymen, must, from the nature of things, interest a man more than the characters and scenes of other lands. For the same reason, those plays of Shakspeare which are drawn from English history, are, at present, much more popular on the British stage than (to borrow a term from the artists) his mere compositions.

Nearly all allegories, on the contrary, are of universal application. It can hardly be otherwise. Personifications of Justice, Mercy, Hope, no more belong to a particular age or country, than do those qualities

themselves. The Faerie Queen has this excellence, if we can style it such. And the Faerie Queen is equally interesting to men of every nation; that is, it is of no interest to any of them. But the Pilgrim, though he is no more a Scotchman than a Frenchman, excites the sympathy of the Scotch as truly as Bruce or Wallace; though no more a Frenchman than a Scotchman, he is as interesting to the French as Joan of Arc. This investment of a general character with so vivid a particular interest, is the peculiar glory of the Tinker. To Bunyan we must look, and to Bunyan alone, for truth, universal, abstract, and exalted, interwoven with a narrative with which every school-boy is delighted.

But his life has earned greater honor to his heart than his imperishable writings have acquired for his intellect. With his lot cast by Providence in perilous times, first, when the stern sanctimoniousness of the Puritans brought Religion into the market to be bought and sold, and every debauchee in England began with a demure countenance and a whining cant to beg the prayers of the Saints; and again, when his country had given herself up to be governed by strumpets and buffoons, and faithful men were few and feeble; not the least whisper of hypocrisy or cowardice do his bitterest enemies couple with his name. In whatever view we look upon him, he is ever the faithful and confiding follower of the Divine Friend, who had saved him from a fate more terrible than ever entered into even his imagination. Whether leading forth his little church to their asylum in the woods, and lifting their aspirations to their Common Father, till his relentless pursuers traced him to that last retreat, or sitting in the cold gloom of his dungeon, with his weeping family around him, and his eyes raised toward Heaven in prayer for their daily bread, he is still the same determined champion of the truth,

"Serenely treading on his way,

In hours of trial and dismay,"

awed by no terrors, discouraged by no obstacles.

As such, we delight to reflect upon his venerable countenance, as it is delineated in the only likeness which we have ever seen, at all answering to our conception,* mild and gentle, but firm and inflexible. Socrates, as Xenophon tells us, was in the habit of confidently assigning a fine intellect to a stranger of imposing personal appearance. We love to reverse the process; and from the noble productions of Bunyan's mind, our idea of his countenance may be readily imagined. Though the adventures of his Pilgrim, in many respects resemble his own, yet he was certainly endued with a faculty indispensable to all writers of fiction, that of abstracting the reader's attention from the writer and fixing it upon the characters represented. But not even the lively interest excited by every step of the Pilgrim, can shroud from our mental view the mild expression of that benevolent eye, the serene

* Prefixed to Appleton's reprint of the Life by Rev. Robert Philip.

meekness of those venerable features. All of Bunyan that was mortal has passed from among men. But his memory is with us and will be eternal. We do not exaggerate his virtues. We have no expectation of increasing his fame. Both are above dependence upon eulogy. But we believe that, when future generations shall recount the proud list of worthies which graced his era, the noble powers of his mind and the exalted qualities of his heart will secure for him an honorable place in that catalogue of immortal names.

t

If there is any one distinguishing characteristic of a highly civilized people, it is a deep reverence for the authority of Law. In the earlier stages of society, laws were but the fiat of a despot, or the caprice of some petty chieftain so many independent acts of volition, varying with the character of the lawgiver, rather than based upon the principles of eternal Justice. But, as civilization and Law proceed in parallel lines, and with equal velocity, when society began to acquire permanency and stability, laws partook of the same general improvement. Things began to be seen in their relations. As with the prophet in the valley of vision, "the dry bones came together, each to his fellow, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, to bind them together," and to clothe them in beauty, until the system of Law, no longer an aggregation of unconnected parts, was compacted into one harmonious whole, and there was breathed into it the vital energy of life and uniform action. Thus gifted with unity, it becomes at once the ruler and the slave of society, penetrating all its existence, regulating all its movements. It is the conservator of its advancing strength, the sovereign of its daily life. It sends its pulsation, like the blood in the animal economy, through all the arteries of the social system, and as society progresses toward the fully-developed stature of the perfect man, it deepens its channels, finds its way into those unknown before, and circulates still farther from the central heart. We find accordingly that in proportion to a nation's advances in civilization, the province of Law becomes more widely extended, and departments of Trade, Morals and Politics, are subjected to its sway, which it would have been impossible to bring under its control at an earlier period. The License, Seduction and Election laws are instances of this extension. Thus the burden is forever on the increase; and yet, like the atmosphere around us, it is so all-pervading, that, though it presses upon us with tremendous power, we scarcely feel its weight. In a barbarous age, however, the case is far different. At this period of a nation's history, though laws be few and simple, it requires the utmost exercise of arbitrary power to enforce a constrained obedience. The spirit of insubordination, or, as we are accustomed to call it, the Mob spirit, is then in full vigor, and all the machinery of despotism must be called in to repress it,