ers to put them down. When one considers their entire rejection of all civil authority, their open defiance of law, their shameless self-indulgence, and the invitation which they held out to every one to follow his own impulses, however sensual they might be, it is not surprising that he should have disowned them with all earnestness, lest they should be identi fied with the Reformation, which was new and imperfectly understood. So, indeed, it happened; it brought great reproach on that cause, where the truth was not known. Luther was held responsible for their fanatical excesses at the same time that they were denouncing him and the Pope as brothers in tyrannical usurpation, who were to be resisted and defied by all true-hearted Christians.

But he did not fear these popular outbreaks, in which the name of reform was profaned, half so much as the injury which might come from entangling religious with political concerns, in which great zeal for Christianity is professed, while the interest of the parties is sure to carry the day. Whatever offers of patronage and protection were made on the one hand, whatever inflictions were threatened on the other, Luther held fast to his principle, with perfect indifference to their solicitations and warnings. When councils were held to reconcile the Protestants and Catholics, he knew how all such arrangements would end. When Melancthon, Bucer, and Pistorius met in conference with the Catholic divines at Worms, Luther spoke of it as a comedy which was likely to have a tragical close; and it was found, on experiment, that, while there was a seeming approach to each other in doctrine, the effect of it was to leave the parties more dissatisfied than before; the Protestants being disgusted with the decree of Ratisbon, which required them to cease from action till all questions were submitted to a general council, and the Pope indignant, as well he might be, at the proposal of a council which would take his business out of his hands.

These results approved the wisdom of Luther's course; but when religion is once intertwined with worldly policy, it is not easy to separate the two. For the loss of his personal influence he does not appear to have been afflicted; at all events, he was not the man to whine; but he did feel strong doubts whether the work of reformation would be carried forward to victory, when "Satan, after being driven out, threatened to return in greater strength than before." He

said, -"Nobles, citizens, peasants, I might add, almost all men, think they know the gospel better than Dr. Luther, or even St. Paul himself, and they look down on pastors, or rather on the Lord and Master of pastors." "The nobles seek to govern, but know not how. The Pope knows how to govern, and does govern. The least Papist is more capable of governing than I cry them mercy-ten of our court nobles." It is evident enough that he despaired of seeing the accomplishment of the work which he had so triumphantly begun. "The world," he said, "is like a drunken peasant; put him up in his saddle on one side, he tumbles over on the other. The world will be the Devil's." Some one said to him, that, if the world were to last fifty years, many things might yet turn up. "God forbid !" said Luther; it would be worse than all the past." These gloomy visions do not appear to have soured him so much as might have been supposed. He said, "My only thoughts about the emperor and the empire are commending them to God in my prayers." For himself, he had no desire to linger in life where there was nothing more for him to do.

He said,

Those who wonder at so brave a spirit sinking into Millerism should remember the diseases which constantly oppressed him; the stone and vertigo are no laughing matters, and these, together with the oppression of his laborious warfare, constantly weighed him down. To the despondency originating in these complaints we may trace the impression which possessed him, that the end of the world was at hand. He said, "I know more than you of the fatalities that await this age. The world is threatened with ruin, the more the Devil is allowed to go up and down, the more brutish the world becomes. There is but one consolation left us; it is that the day is nigh." "I think that our Saviour will soon come to real effects; the day of judgment will soon put an end to our plans and purposes, and all other things." "The world is in its old age, and at its last gasp, and is become delirious, as often happens with the dying." At another time, he says, "I do believe that I am the great trumpet which announces the coming of the Lord. Therefore, weak and failing as I am, and small as is the sound which I can make this world hear, my voice rings in the ears of the angels in heaven, who will take up the strain after us, and complete the solemn call." Not only did he foresee this result, but

he seemed to long for it. One day, when conversing on the subject, he happened to have a chaplet of white agates in his hand. He said,-"Good God! come with the day of judgment! God grant the day may soon come. I would eat this chaplet to have it come to-morrow." The sun which rose in cheerful brightness was setting mournfully in tears.

There is something extremely sad in the dreariness of his closing life. No man was ever more entitled to universal gratitude, and we feel as if a serene and happy evening should have followed such a hard and stormy day. But we find him saying, “I am satiated with life, if this be life. Had I known at the beginning what enemies men are to God's word, I should certainly have been silent and held my peace." "In the whole round of life, there is nothing which gives me pleasure; I am sick of living." When he was the last time at the table of the aged Electress, she wished him forty more years of life. He answered, “I would not have heaven on condition that I must live forty years longer." "I have nothing to do with doctors now. It seems they have settled that I am to live about a year more; so that I will not make my life a torment, but will eat and drink what I please." "I wish my adversaries would put an end to me, for now my death would be of more service to the church than my life." It must not be inferred from these expressions, that he was epicurean in the habits of his life. On the contrary, he was remarkably temperate and self-denying. There was, doubtless, in all this something of the impatience of disease; but making every abatement, it is a closing chapter in his glorious history which must awaken deep sympathy and regret in every reader's breast. It ought not so to have been. Subjects and princes should have contended with each other for the privilege and honor of smoothing his pathway to the grave.

It does not appear that his hopelessness of doing good ever induced him to suspend his labors in preaching or writing, which at every period of his life were very great. At the end of January, 1546, he attended the conferences at Eisleben, where he preached four times, and revised the ecclesiastical statutes for the earldom of Mansfield. On the 17th of February, he was so ill that his friends begged him not to go out; but he had strength to walk about the room. In the evening, he was conscious that he was passing away, VOL. LXIII.-No. 133.

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but he desired those about him to go to their usual rest for the night. Before midnight, he took a few steps about the room, when a cold perspiration came over him, which his friends hoped would relieve him; but he knew it was a sign that death was nigh. He then prayed, in the words, — “O my God! Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, thou, the God of all consolation, I thank thee for having revealed to me thy well beloved Son, in whom I believe, whom I have preached and honored; who is persecuted by the Pope and the ungodly. I commend my soul to thee, O my Saviour, Jesus Christ! I shall leave this terrestrial body; I shall be taken from this life; but I know that I shall rest eternally with thee." After this effort, he fainted; his friends succeeded with difficulty in restoring him. When one of them asked him if he died in firm reliance on the faith which he had taught, he answered clearly and distinctly, "Yes." A mortal paleness then spread itself over his countenance, the coldness of death was in his limbs, and with one deepdrawn breath he expired.

The last will of the great Reformer is worth observing. It illustrates his manly and generous character, and casts a censure upon those who are induced, by the poor consideration of property and the spirit of a Tyrian age, to bequeath a dying insult to those whom they have professed to honor and love. He left his property to his "dear and faithful wife," saying that he would not have her dependent on her children, but, on the contrary, thought it proper that her children should be dependent on her. It was right that they should be under her control, for he had often seen children, even pious children, when left independent of their surviving parent, refuse the respect and kindness which were due to the mother whom God had commanded them to obey. He said, that, whatever her future destiny in life might be, he had not a shadow of doubt that she would be an affectionate and faithful parent, sharing with them whatever she might have; nor had he any apprehension that she would ever injure those whom she had carried upon her breast. As she was the best manager of her children, he committed all with confidence to her hands. And lest the day might come, when, as was possible, she should be accused of withholding money for herself and not sharing it with them, he said, "I pray all my friends to be witnesses of the truth, and to defend my

dear Catherine, if this should happen. I certify that we have neither ready money nor treasure of any kind. This need surprise no one, when it is considered that we have had no other income than my stipend and a few presents, and that we have gone to the charge of building, and have borne the expenses of a large household. I look on it as a particular mercy from God, which I thank him for without ceasing, that we have had sufficient for our wants, and that our debts are not greater." This will was drawn up some time before his death; and whoever sees the inconvenience and suffering which often come from the criminal neglect to make a will, and the manner in which many indulge their caprice and selfishness in what should be the discharge of a solemn duty, will earnestly wish that the rights of the wife should be better secured by law, and that such examples as this should prevent her being treated with that want of confidence which is too often avenged by what Sir Thomas Brown calls "formal mourning, scenical sadness, and no wet eyes at the grave."

In giving this slight sketch of the history of a man who is more generally known than understood, we cannot say that we have been much indebted to the work before us, which is a fragmentary, or rather piecemeal, collection of scraps from Luther's letters and other writings, connected by a slender thread of narrative, and not arranged in judicious order. But any account, however unedifying, must present the great features of his character, and show that his strength of mind, which was great, was exceeded by his strength of heart. No man ever surpassed him in manly determination; the greatest chiefs of armies never had more collected courage and decision; when he was once sure of his ground, there was no power on the earth nor beneath it which could force him back a single inch from the place where he stood. His mind was one which took fast hold of the subject before him; he saw it clearly and with sharp outlines from a single point of view; and this concentration was more favorable, perhaps, to singleness of effort, than if, with more philosophical and extended comprehension, he had followed it in all its relations and bearings. He did not see those objections which would make others ponder; he had none of those intellectual doubts and misgivings which prevent many thoughtful minds from advancing. He knew that he meant to be