command over the English language. The vocabulary is the vocabulary of the common people. There is not an expreffion, if we except a few technical terms of theology, which would puzzle the rudeft peasant. We have obferved feveral

pages which do not contain a word of more than two fyllables. Yet no writer has faid more exactly what he meant to say. For magnificence, for pathos, for vehement exhortation, for fubtle dif quifition, for every purpose of the poet, the orator, and the divine, this homely dialect, this dialect of plain working men, was perfectly fufficient. There is no book in our literature on which we would fo readily stake the fame of the old unpolluted English language, no book which fhows fo well how rich that language is in its own proper wealth, and how little it has been improved by all that it has borrowed."

Bunyan was a large-hearted, catholic, and unfectarian man. He belonged by accident partly, and perhaps afterwards by choice, to the Baptifts; but he preferred being called a Christian to the name of his own fect. He fays, "I know none to whom that title is so proper as to the difciples of John. And fince you would know by what name I would be distinguished from others, I tell you, I would be,

• Macaulay.

and hope I am, a Christian, and chufe, if God should count me worthy, to be called a Chriftian, a Believer, or other such name which is approved by the Holy Ghost. And as for these factious titles of Anabaptifts, Independents, Prefbyterians, or the like, I conclude that they come neither from Jerufalem, nor from Antioch, but rather from Hell and Babylon; for they naturally tend to divifions. You may know them by their fruits." Words which are as full of wife meaning now, as when written by Bunyan; and as worthy the careful weighing of the fects of to-day, as they were of the fects of the seventeenth century. With these brave and Christian words we take leave of the brave Christian man, John Bunyan, and his dearly-beloved and glorious Christian work, "The Pilgrim's Progrefs."

R

poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more,'

it is effentially ephemeral. Except in the very rare instances so rare that they might be numbered and scarcely exhaust the units-in which genius has by fome curious freak of nature been united with the fuperficial acquirements neceffary for the profeffion, a popular preacher is generally dead to the world, before his body repofes beneath the turf. Nor is the reason far to feek. The popularity of both arifes from the fame causes; it is the child of excitement, and paffes away with that which produced it. It is artificial, requires conftant fanning and keeping up, or it dies of its own weakness. A little neglect kills it. A new excitement, and the

old one is no more. The glare of the footlights is, in a different sense, required for both; and while the furore lasts, men and women perform ftrange antics, and prove their devotion in most extraordinary ways. Fair hands hurl down bouquets of immortelles, and strong lungs fhout bravos to the popular actor; and fair hands work bands, and purses, and flippers, and strong men shout and lose their senses for a time, in pursuit of the popular preacher. But lo! the wind veers round, and all is changed. A new judge has arifen in Ifrael, and men bow down and worship him. In the actor the old accent is miffed; the old voice has loft its charm; or a new claimant arifes who is more richly-gifted in the power to dazzle and fascinate; and then the old fhrine is deferted and the old favourite is forfaken. the preacher. His method has become ftale; his mannerism palls; his earneftnefs offends or is confidered acting (which in the popular preacher it too often is), and the first excitement over, men are only too prolific in finding excuses for their hasty praise and their equally as hafty cenfure, Enough, the old idol is dethroned, and a new one, to be again as quickly dealt with, is placed on the vacant pedestal.

So with

In moft inftances the fate is a well-merited one. Bread is asked, and too often only a ftone is given.

The thing which attracts is too frequently but a peculiarity, and when this is worn out, which it foon is, the power is gone, and the charm deftroyed. This one affumes the genteel and ladystyle of preaching, and gets himself up regardless of expenfe, knowing that if he fecures the fair fex as his partifans, his work is done, and his fuccefs affured. His forte is the fuaviter in modo. Not the most faftidious could ever be offended at anything that falls from his lips. The terrors of religion—if ever he touches upon its terrors—are veiled and if he allude to "miferable finners" it ; is never to the self-satisfied congregation he is addreffing, but to fome poor wretches who dwell at a distance, and who have never had the advantage of his miniftrations. The road to heaven is sprinkled with rosewater and eau-de-Cologne, in which his hearers will be delighted to walk, and have none of their cultivated fenfes offended. The path of duty is a flowery one; all its thorns are mafked, and its thiftles robbed of their ftings. And thus for a

time

"The fnowy-banded, dilettante,

Delicate-handed priest intones,"

and people for a time run in crowds to hear him; and he is the popular preacher of the day.

Others take the oppofite courfe; and put on a