PROPHETICAL QUERY. To the Editor of the Christian Observer. You will greatly oblige a constant reader of your work, by proposing to your correspondents a query: What direct proof can be educed from Scripture that the blessed period foretold, when " the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea," &c.; when they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks;" synchronizes with the thousand years mentioned in Revelations xx.? This is generally assumed by expositors of prophecy ; but I am not aware that there is any proof in the word of God that the glorious period to which the church of Christ is looking forward is the same with the "thousand years," except, it may be, the binding of Satan during that time, which does not appear to me to decide the point. Praying that the great Lord of the harvest may prosper your labours, I am, sir, with much respect, AN INQUIRER. INQUIRY RESPECTING CONFIRMATION. To the Editor of the Christian Observer. Is it consistent with the doctrine and discipline of the Church of England, that the rite of Confirmation be administered to young persons who have been baptized in the Presbyterian church of Scotland; and is a clergyman authorized in giving a ticket of admission, or a bishop in confirming, under such circumstances? AN ANXIOUS INQUIRER. VERSES ON JEREMIAH, CHAP. III. For the Christian Observer. SHALL she, who in her flower of youth Again return, with faded truth, With withered heart, and blighted charms? Worn many a meaner lover's chain, Refuse to staunch the wound it made? He will a soothing balm impart, Assuage the wounded spirit's pain, And heal and bind the broken heart. Have hearts whose love was once sincere, He cannot alter, nor betray; His word shall ever true remain, Though heaven and earth shall pass away. Or, hardened in the ways of sin, Still does the stubborn spirit grieve; And loth the joys of sin to leave ? P.G. H. REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS. SOUTHEY'S EDITION OF THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. The Pilgrim's Progress; with a Life of John Bunyan, by ROBERT SOUTHEY, Esq., LL.D., Poet Laureate, &c. &c. Illustrated with Engravings. 1 vol. 8vo. 17. 1s. AN Edinburgh Reviewer tells us that the times are greatly changed for the better, since he dares to vindicate the genius of Bunyan, whom Cowper, half a century ago, durst not name for fear of a sneer. And truly it is one of the wonderful things of this wonderful age, that a Poet Laureate should write the life of the poor persecuted Non-conformist Tinker of Bedford; and that Edinburgh Critics, notwithstanding their overflowing displeasure against "the pretensions of the Evangelical class," should enshrine the Pilgrim's Progress with the Paradise Lost, as the only two productions of men of really creative minds during the latter half of the seventeenth century. But is it, then, so, that "the offence of the Cross has ceased?" and that for men seriously to inquire their way from the city of Destruction to the gates of Paradise has become an enchanting theme for English bards, and a spectacle of admiration for Scottish reviewers? We fear not. The wreath of oak and parsley, so liberally awarded to Bunyan, is but a mark of that idolatry of genius which is one of the characteristics of the present age;-an idolatry that is content to forget something of its displeasure at a man's being a servant of Christ, provided he can worship him in such dulcet strains, or adorn his service with such magnificence of talent, that the spectators cannot be suspected of the folly of worshipping the God, while they are gazing in admiration at the trappings of his chariot. Even Lord Byron could half forgive the Christian Observer itself for its castigation of his profligate stanzas, because he was pleased to think that the strictures were not destitute of literary ability. Writing to his publisher, Mr. Murray, with a manuscript, he says, in one of his printed letters; "The Christian Observer is very savage, but certainly well written, and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of the book and the author. I rather suspect you won't much like the present to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes." Now, we have not abated one bristle of our " savageness ;" and have come to a most fixed resolution to be no parties to the compact, which of late years has been too widely acted upon among professed Christians and the men of this world, to meet as friends in the neutral temple of Genius, and there to settle their differences; the Christian agreeing, on his part, to consume his days in the study of Waverley Novels, in consideration of their magical talent; provided the novel-reader will condescend to acknowledge the fancy and pathos of Jeremy Taylor, and to place the Pilgrim's Progress on the same shelf with Robinson Crusoe. The compact having thus begun in the fair open space of the temple professing to be dedicated to Virtue, it is well if some of the Christian portion of the high contracting parties do not inadvertently follow their new friends to its less honourable recesses; and, having learned to relish novel-reading, because guarded by the morality as well as adorned by the genius of Sir Walter Scott, think that they may converse with Lord Byron in the darker penetralia, because, though he left out virtue, he exhibited talent. Dr. Southey is a well-known votary of genius, in all its shades and characters, except, indeed-and most honourable and splendid is the exception-where it diverges into sins and crimes for though he has memorialized talent of various species-from Henry Kirke White, and William Huntington (the theological Cobbett of his day), to gifted English serving-men and American cottagers-he has always stipulated that his heroes and heroines, before he becomes their squire, shall be virtuous as well as gifted. Thus far is well, admirably well; and we have nothing to disapprove in his feelings and intentions, and much to admire in his execution. Yet, speaking quite seriously, as becomes us, we do not consider Dr. Southey a befitting biographer for a Bunyan or a Wesley. We well remember, in his Memoir of the latter, what pains he took to be CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 369. 4 H candid; what credit he gave to the founder of Methodism for his virtues ; All the narratives of this remarkable man are, of course, chiefly compiled (and where could more valuable materials be found?) from his own wellknown auto-biographical detail, entitled Grace abounding to the chief of Sinners; or, a brief Relation of the exceeding Mercy of God in Christ to his poor Servant John Bunyan;" "namely, in His taking him out of the dunghill, and converting him to the faith of His blessed Son Jesus Christ : where is also particularly shewed what sight of and what trouble he had for sin; and also what various temptations he hath met with, and how God hath carried him through them all." Successive biographers have gleaned many facts not alluded to in this narrative; and Dr. Southey, though coming last of all, yet with his well-known diligence as well as singular powers of embellishment, could not fail of adding much that is both new and interesting, even to a trite subject: but the basis of his account is the book just named (though, by the way, he contrives with some adroitness never once to allude to its title); and how far some of the matters set forth under such a title were suited to the pen of our excellent and highly gifted poet laureate, let the impartial reader judge. Dr. Southey does not, indeed, join the profane cant and sneer which such a title-page would provoke in irreligious, thoughtless minds-far, very far, from it (and we should be much grieved if the spirit of our remarks were misconstrued in any manner disrespectful to a man who has so many claims upon public respect and admiration as Dr. Southey);-but does he write of these matters as one who really understands them? does he write of them gravely and seriously, and with an anxious desire that his readers should not be mistaken in points of such infinite importance as those, couched in quaint but very intelligible terms, in the title to Bunyan's narrative? or does he write playfully, philosophically, poetically, admiringly-any thing, but as really entering into the feelings of the author, and understanding the spirit of his book? If we take up the most common-place life of Bunyan, we feel our minds affected with intensely serious considerations, and are led to think anew of working out our salvation with fear and trembling. Is this the case in reading the narrative before us? Is not the effect that of perusing a piece of eccentric, rather than of spirituallyedifying, biography? And if it be, is it right, is it even in good taste, that it should be so? Is it well to convert into a merely literary thesis -an account of an obscure, illustrious genius, rendered a little odd by sundry religious whims-what the devout author himself wrote expressly "that thereby the goodness and bounty of God towards me may be the more advanced and magnified before the sons of men." If Dr. Southey shared this feeling with Bunyan, we can only express our regret that we should have overlooked the evidence of it in his pages; and if he did not, the jarring to which we have alluded will be accounted for; and this even without any direct intention of levity or impropriety on the part of the narrator. Few books behoved to be taken up with greater solemnity of spirit than the works of Bunyan; and if our respected author did not so take them up, and pray as he wrote, he did not rise to the qualifications requisite for the office he had undertaken; any more than the mathematician, who asked what an epic poem proved, would have been fit to descant upon the life and writings of the poet. Dr. Southey, after an indirect apology for the choice of his subject, by pleading the "literary merit" and "rising fame" of Bunyan, thus commences his narrative: "John Bunyan has faithfully recorded his own spiritual history. Had he dreamed of being 'for ever known,' and taking his place among those who may be called the immortals of the earth, he would probably have introduced more details of his temporal circumstances and the events of his life. But, glorious dreamer as he was, this never entered into his imaginations: less concerning him than might have been expected has been preserved by those of his own sect; and it is now not likely that any thing more should be recovered from oblivion. The village of Elstow, which is within a mile of Bedford, was his birth-place; 1628 the year of his birth; and his descent, to use his own words, of a low, inconsiderable, generation; my father's house,' he says, 'being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families in the land.' It is stated in a history of Bedfordshire that he was bred to the business of a brazier, and worked as a journeyman in Bedford; but the Braziers' Company would not deem itself more honoured now if it could shew the name of John Bunyan on its rolls, than it would have felt disparaged then by any such fellowship; for he was, as his own statement implies, of a generation of tinkers, born and bred to that calling as his father had been before him. Wherefore this should have been so mean and despised a calling is not however apparent, when it was not followed as a vagabond employment, but, as in this case, exercised by one who had a settled habitation; and who, mean as his condition was, was nevertheless able to put his son to school, in an age when very few of the poor were taught to read and write. The boy learnt both, according to the rate of other poor men's children,' but soon lost what little he had been taught, 'even,' he says, almost utterly.' "Some pains also, it may be presumed, his parents took in impressing him with a sense of his religious duties; otherwise, when in his boyhood he became a proficient in cursing and swearing above his fellows, he would not have been visited by such dreams and such compunctious feelings as he has described. Often,' he says, 'after I had spent this and the other day in sin, I have in my bed been greatly afflicted, while asleep, with the apprehensions of devils, and wicked spirits, who still, as I then thought, laboured to draw me away with them.' His waking reflections were not less terrible than these fearful visions of the night; and these, he says, when I was but a child, but nine or ten years old, did so distress my soul, that then in the midst of my many sports and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, I was often much cast down, and afflicted in my mind therewith: yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was also then so overcome with despair of life and heaven, that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil, supposing they were only tormentors; that, if it must needs be that I went thither, I might be rather a tormentor than be tormented myself.' "These feelings, when he approached towards manhood, recurred, as might be expected, less frequently and with less force: but though he represents himself as having been what he calls a town-sinner, he was never so given over to a reprobate mind as to be wholly free from them. For though he became so far hardened in profligacy that he could take pleasure in the vileness of his companions,' yet the sense of right and wrong was not extinguished in him; and it shocked him if at any time he saw those who pretended to be religious act in a manner unworthy of their profession. Some providential escapes during this part of his life, he looked back upon afterwards, as so many judgments mixed with mercy. Once he fell into a creek of the sea, once out of a boat into the river Ouse near Bedford, and each time was narrowly saved from drowning. One day an adder crossed his path: he stunned it with a stick, then forced open its mouth with the stick, and plucked out the tongue, which he supposed to be the sting, with his fingers; by which act,' he says, ' had not God been merciful unto me, I might by my desperateness have brought myself to my end.' If this indeed were an adder, and not a harmless snake, his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than he was himself aware of. A circumstance which was likely to impress him more deeply, occurred in the eighteenth year of his age; when, being a soldier in the Parliament's army, he was drawn out to go to the siege of Leicester: one of the same company wished to go in his stead; Bunyan consented to exchange with him; and this volunteer substitute, standing centinel one day at the siege, was shot through the head with a musket-ball. "Some serious thoughts this would have awakened in a harder heart than Bunyan's; but his heart never was hardened. The self-accusations of such a man are to be received with some distrust, not of his sincerity, but of his sober judgment. It should seem that he ran headlong into the boisterous vices which prove fatal to so many of the ignorant and the brutal, for want of that necessary and wholesome restrictive discipline which it is the duty of a government to provide; but he was not led into those habitual sins which infix a deeper stain. Had not a miracle of precious grace prevented, I had laid myself open,' he says, 'even to the stroke of those laws which bring some to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world.' That grace he had :-he was no drunkard; for if he had been, he would loudly have proclaimed it: and on another point we have his own solemn declaration, in one of the most characteristic passages in his whole works, where he replies to those who slandered him as leading a licentious life with women.” pp. vi.—viii. The above is a striking and interesting version of the opening pages of Bunyan's own personal narrative, but in a spirit precisely the contrary to that of the author; just as if a man, writing a memoir of St. Paul, should say, "The Apostle speaks with great self-humiliation of his past life, and even calls himself the chief of sinners; but, though we believe his sincerity, we distrust his judgment: for he was a young man remarkable for virtue and good conduct, and even his persecuting spirit was but the effusion of well-meant zeal." Bunyan's object in writing his narrative was to magnify the riches of Divine grace abounding to the chief of sinners, in order that other penitents, feeling the burden of their transgressions, might be led to turn to their offended Creator, and find pardon through the infinite merits of the Sacrifice offered for the sins of a lost world upon Mount Calvary. Dr. Southey, on the contrary, both denies the facts and overlooks the moral. There is scarcely more religious edification in reading an account of Bunyan thus constructed, than in reading a life of Julius Cæsar, the whole pith and point of the narrative being lost. Dr. Southey wishes to do greater justice to Bunyan than Bunyan did to himself: his self-accusations, he tells us, were exaggerated: he, indeed, like a thoughtless youth, ran headlong into "boisterous vices," but not into "habitual sins which infix a deeper stain." "The worst," says Dr. Southey, " of what he was in his worst days, is to be expressed in a single word-he was a blackguard:" "the only actual sin to which he was addicted, was swearing:" in a word, "false notions of that corruption of our nature, which it is almost as perilous to exaggerate as to dissemble, had laid upon him a burden heavy as that with which his own Christian begins his pilgrimage." In part Dr. Southey is right; it was a burden of precisely the same kind; it was the very burden which Bunyan intended to describe in that graphic delineation; and it was the burden which we good Churchmen confess in our prayers to be heavy and intolerable, however much some of us may forget it when the service is over. |