CXXIX.-BUNYAN'S "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS." FROM MACAULAY. JOHN BUNYAN was born in 1628. In the early part of his life, he was noted for his profligacy and wickedness, but subsequently reformed and became a preacher of the Baptist denomination. During his imprisonment for holding religious assemblies, he wrote the celebrated Pilgrim's Progress. He died in 1688. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, author of this extract, and for some years member of the English Parliament, was a man of great erudition in almost every department of knowledge. His Lays of Ancient Rome, his Critical and Historical Essays, and his History of England, have a high reputation. 1. THE characteristic peculiarity of the Pilgrim's Progress" is, that it is the only work of its kind which possesses a strong human interest. Other allegories only amuse the fancy. The allegory of Bunyan has been read by many thousands with tears. There are some good allegories in Johnson's works, and some of still higher merit in Addison's. In these performances, there is, perhaps, as much wit and ingenuity, as in the "Pilgrim's Progress." But the pleasure which is produced by the vision of Mirza, or the vision of Theodore, or the contest between Rest and Labor, is exactly similar to the pleasure which we derive from one of Cowley's odes, or from a canto of Hudibras. It is a pleasure which belongs wholly to the understanding, and in which the feelings have no part whatever. 2. It is not so with the "Pilgrim's Progress." That wonderful book, while it obtains admiration from the most fastidious critics, is loved by those who are too simple to admire it. Doctor Johnson, all whose studies were *desultory, and who hated, as he said, to read books through, made an exception in favor of the "Pilgrim's Progress." That work, he said, was one of the two or three works which he wished longer. In the wildest parts of Scotland, the "Pilgrim's Progress" is the delight of the peasantry. In every nursery, the "Pilgrim's Progress" is a greater favorite than Jack the Giant Killer. Every reader knows the straight and narrow path, as well as he knows a road in which he has gone backward and forward a hundred times. This is the highest miracle of genius, that things which are not, should be as though they were; that the imaginations of one mind, should become the personal recollections of another. acle, Bunyan the tinker has wrought. And this mir 3. There is no ascent, no declivity, no resting place, no *turnstile, with which we are not perfectly acquainted. The wicket-gate and the desolate swamp which separates it from the City of Destruction; the long line of road, as straight as a rule can make it; the Interpreter's house and all its fair shows; all the stages of the journey, all the forms which cross or overtake the pilgrims, giants, and thobgoblins, ill-favored ones and shining ones; the tall, comely, swarthy Madam Bubble, with her great purse by her side, and her fingers playing with the money; the black man in the bright vesture; Mr. Worldly Wiseman and My Lord Hategood, Mr. Talkative and Mrs. Timorous; all are actually existing beings to We follow the travelers through their allegorical progress, with interest not inferior to that with which we follow Elizabeth from Siberia to Moscow, or Jeanie Deans from Edinburgh to London. us. 4. Bunyan is almost the only writer that ever gave to the abstract, the interest of the concrete. In the works of many celebrated authors, men are mere personifications. We have not an Othello, but jealousy; not an Iago, but perfidy; not a Brutus, but patriotism. The mind of Bunyan, on the contrary, was so imaginative, that personifications, when he dealt with them, became men. A dialogue between two qualities, in his dream, has more dramatic effect than a dialogue between two human beings in most plays. 5. The style of Bunyan is delightful to every reader, and invaluable as a study to every person who wishes to obtain a wide command over the English language. The vocabulary is the vocabulary of the common people. There is not an expression, if we except a few technical terms of theology, which would puzzle the rudest peasant. We have observed several pages which do not contain a single word of more than two syllables. Yet no writer has said more exactly what he meant to say. For magnificence, for pathos, for vehement texhortation, for subtle † disquisition, for every purpose of the poet, the orator and the divine. this homely *dia lect, the dialect of plain working men, was perfectly sufficient. There is no book in our literature, on which we would so readily stake the fame of the old, unpolluted English language; no book which shows so well, how rich that language is, in its own proper wealth, and how little it has been improved by all that it has borrowed. 6. Cowper said, fifty or sixty years ago, that he dared not name John Bunyan in his verse, for fear of moving a sneer. We live in better times; and we are not afraid to say that, though there were many clever men in England during the latter half of the seventeenth century, there were only two great creative minds. One of these produced the "Paradise Lost," the other the "Pilgrim's Progress." CXXX. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. FROM H. K. WHITE. HENRY KIRKE WHITE was born at Nottingham, England, in 1785. From his earliest years he exhibited an ardent passion for literature, and, through the kindness of his friends, he was enabled to enter the University of Cambridge, where his too great devotion to study brought on a fatal disease. He died in 1806. 1. WHEN +marshaled on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. 2. Once, on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud, the night was dark, The wind that tossed my foundering bark. Deep horror then my †vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; It was the Star of Bethlehem. 3. It was my guide, my light, my all, And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. The Star, the Star of Bethlehem. CXXXI. THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE. 1. SOME years ago, a *warehouseman in Manchester, England, published a scurrilous pamphlet, in which he endeav ored to hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. William Grant remarked upon the occurrence, that the man would live to repent of what he had done; and this was conveyed by some tale-bearer to the libeler, who said, “O, I suppose he thinks I shall some time or other be in his debt; but I will take good care of that." It happens, however, that a man in business can not always choose who shall be his *creditors. The pamphleteer became a bankrupt, and the brothers held an acceptance of his, which had been indorsed to them by the drawer, who had also become a bankrupt. 2. The wantonly-libeled men had thus become creditors of the libeler! They now had it in their power to make him repent of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate without their signature, and without it he could not enter into business again. He had obtained the number of signatures required by the bankrupt law, except one. It seemed folly to hope that the firm of "the brothers" would supply the deficiency. What! they, who had cruelly been made the laughing-stock of the public, forget the wrong and favor the wrong-doer? He despaired. But the claims of a wife and children forced him at last to make the application. Humbled by misery, he presented himself at the countinghouse of the wronged. 3. Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to the delinquent were, "Shut the door, sir!" sternly uttered. The door was shut, and the libeler stood trembling before the libeled. He told his tale, and produced his certificate, which was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. "You wrote a pamphlet against us once!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. The supplicant expected to see his *parchment thrown into the fire. But this was not its destination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and writing something upon the document, handed it back to the bankrupt. He, poor wretch, expected to see "rogue, scoundrel, libeler," inscribed; but there was, in fair round characters, the signature of the firm. 4. "We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, "never to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have never heard that you were any thing else." The tears started into the poor man's eyes. "Ah," said Mr. Grant, "my saying was true! I said you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had tried to injure us. I see you repent of it now." "I do, I do!" "Well, well, you get on? How do said the grateful man; "I bitterly repent it." my dear fellow, you know us now. What are you going to do?" The poor man stated he had friends who could assist him when his certificate was obtained. "But how are you off in the mean time?" 5. And the answer was, that, having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been compelled to stint his family of even common necessaries, that he might be enabled to pay the cost of his certificate. 'My dear fellow, this will not do; your family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to your wife from me. There, there, my dear fellow! Nay, do not cry; it will all be well with you yet. Keep up your spirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to express his thanks; the swelling in his throat forbade words. He put his handkerchief to his face, and went out of the door, crying like a child. CXXXII. THE GLOVE AND THE LION. FROM LEIGH HUNT. LEIGH HUNT, an English poet, was born in 1784. and poetic, are full of life and beauty. His writings, prose 1. KING Francis was a thearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court; |