No. 7.-LUTHER.

It has been so common for writers on heroism to introduce into their works narratives of the life of Luther, and in so many other ways of late has the entire history of the Reformation been produced and reproduced, that it may seem almost superfluous to recount here what is already so familiar to all readers. It would, however, be impossible to produce a gallery of CHRISTIAN HEROES, with any claim to completeness in any respect, without including at least a reference to this great man; for with the exception of the apostle Paul himself, even if we are to except Paul, we know no name in Ecclesiastical History so worthy of deep reverence,none that so deserves to be enshrined in our heart's gratitude and love; and we should long to have his tale told till every child in England and Christendom knew it, and till we were all of us imbued with the spirit which it was his to embody and to set forth.

The first glimpse that we have of this wonderful man, through the centuries which have passed away since he lived in our world, is as he stood a boy at his father's knee, listening to the remarks of the wise and good, whom old John Luther collected around him; and almost the next, is as a young man, a student at schools in Magdeburg and Eisenach, where he laboured hard at his books during the day, and at night, and in the hours which should have been given to recreation, sought, by singing in villages and from house to house, to procure the means wherewith to live. Thus early, then, was Martin taught something of the stern realities of life, and thus early did he begin the course of discipline which was to prepare him for the work which lay before him.

The part of his life, however, most interesting to us began when in his eighteenth year he was sent to the University of Erfurt. It was one of the most noted universities of that day, and had several men of learning and note among its professors. Here Luther laboured even harder than before, to obtain the knowledge which he so much valued, and here he had first implanted in him the germs and seedlings of that higher life he afterwards lived so nobly. Two

events occurred to him while here which gave the bent to his whole after course. One was the discovery, one day, on a dark shelf in the college library, of a Latin copy of the Holy Scriptures,—a book which he had hitherto known only through the garbled and imperfect versions read in the Romish service. The other was the fall of a thunderbolt at his feet as he was returning to Erfurt after a visit to his parents. This last event, following up, doubtless, the impression made by the old book over which he had been secretly poring, seems to have acted powerfully upon his youthful spirit. "Overwhelmed with anguish and the dread of death," as he himself tells us in one of his works, he vowed that he would give up the honours and pleasures which the world was then opening before him, and that henceforth he would devote himself to the service of his Creator. Immediately on his return to Erfurt, therefore, he invited his college friends to a festival, and during the evening astonished them by announcing to them the vow which he had taken. was a hero even then. The world lay brightly and hopefully before him, and all its honours were within his grasp; but he had resolved to give up all,-even to call down upon himself the wrath of those whose hopes were so much fixed upon him; and that very night, while the darkness was in the sky, with only his Virgil and his Plautus under his arm, for as yet he had no Bible, he knocked at the gate of the convent, and was admitted.

He

We see him now, then, in the convent of St. Augustine, shut in at last, as he fancied in his ignorance, with God, and safe for ever.

But his discipline was not yet over. Scarcely had he entered the monastery, than he was employed on the meanest and most degrading offices, and was even sent as a beggar to those houses where he had so recently been welcomed as an honoured guest; and it was only at the intercession of the university authorities that he was relieved from duties so irksome, but which he was too heroic to complain of, and was permitted to engage himself in the studies which were so much more congenial to his spirit. But now he gave himself up to all the practices of a rigidly ascetic life. Shut up in his solitary cell, he sought to

arucify his flesh by fastings and watchings, almost equal to a martyrdom, and which well nigh ended in one. Again, too, he had found a bible, and to that, and other works of philosophy and piety, he gave his days and his nights. Oh, what questions pressed upon him as he shut himself up in that dark convent! "I tormented myself," he said afterwards, "to death, in order that I might procure the peace of God to my troubled heart and agitated conscience; but being surrounded with horrible darkness, I groped for peace in vain." We have several glimpses of Luther at this time which show how much he suffered in his struggle for the light. But he continued his study of the bible. There he learnt much of the falsity of the prevailing faiths, and became wise in at least the elements of the christian plan of salvation. Soon he removed to Wittenberg, where, through the influence of his vicar-general, Staupitz, he had been appointed, by the Elector of Saxony, teacher of philosophy and preacher. Who would not like to have heard his first sermon? Day by day the light was now breaking upon him. Christ was revealing himself to him as the only Saviour of him, and of the world. It was only needful for his redemption from the slavery of the popedom that he should go to Rome. To Rome he was soon sent. What he saw there of hypocrisy, and degradation, and superstition, we know too well. Upon Pilate's stairs came to his sorrowful yet gladdened soul, the answer to Pilate's question, "What is truth?" Thrice, while creeping up that stone staircase on his knees as a penance, he thought he heard a voice as loud as thunder, "The just shall live by faith." There, in that very place, in that city of former light, of present darkness, with the echo of those words still sounding in his ears,-LUTHER CONCEIVED THE REFORMATION!

It was about the year 1517, that John Tetzel was sent into Germany,-" in the way of trade," as Carlyle has it,-to gain money for the popedom by the sale of indulgences. From town to town he went, followed by a grand retinue, offering to sell for a fixed sum of money, indulgence in sin, and even the salvation of the soul. With the words, "The just shall live by faith," still in his ears, Luther roused himself to oppose this diabolical system. He would have remained quiet if he had dared, for who was he that he should ven

ture to oppose the popedom? but he knew that the truth he had been taught was his, not to keep, but to spread and to perpetuate. He therefore wrote to other ecclesiastics, and even appealed to the pope on the subject. Notwithstanding all he had learnt, he still thought that the pope could not be a party to such an abuse as this. But all was in vain. The popedom would not stop so lucrative a business for poor monk Luther. He felt that the time for action was now come. Adopting, therefore, the practice in those times, and in that country, he announced himself ready to debate the whole subject even with Tetzel himself. The theses he announced spread from town to town, and formed the subject of discussion everywhere. Being beaten again and again in argument, his enemies resorted to abuse and calumny. Even the thunders of the Vatican were invoked against Luther. The storm began to gather heavily around him. Friend after friend approached, entreating him to withdraw from the unequal contest, but in vain. "Our Saviour Christ," he said, "knows whether what I have advanced be of myself or agreeable to his will. To the threatenings with which I am assailed, I have but little to say, but that he who is poor has nothing to fear, because he has nothing to lose. He who is deprived of fame and rewards, loses what I neither possess nor desire. One unworthy thing remains, my humble body, fatigued by cares and anxieties; so that whatsoever, by God's permission, they may do by force or stratagem, they can only deprive me of a few hours of life."

It appears that even until now Luther had continued to imagine that the pope would yet declare on his side. Now, however, he sorrowfully discovered how much he had been mistaken. He was summoned to Rome to answer for his heresy, and for what besides it is easy to guess. Fortunately, the intercession of the Elector Frederick, who had been all along his friend, was sufficient to change the place of exami nation to Augsburg. Even there he was far from safe, for it was rumoured that there he was to be seized and assassinated. Many of his friends entreated him not to leave home. Luther replied in the words of his Master, "Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I also confess before my Father who is in heaven."

Of course the Augsburg conference ended

in nothing. It was attempted at one time to intimidate Luther by threats, at another time to gain him by flattery, and at another to purchase him by bribes, but with such a man such means could be of no avail. "I am ready," he said modestly, "to listen with all obedience to the matters wherein I am accused, and should I be in error to submit to instruction according to the truth." When threatened by the cardinal, he replied, "Had I four hundred heads I would rather lose them all than retract the testimony I have borne for Christ." The result of the attempt to bribe him is best told in the nuncio's own words, "This German beast has no regard for gold."

The efforts to intimidate or to gain the reformer having thus failed, the pope's bull was now issued against him. He had appealed once more to his "most holy lord," the pope. The reply to that appeal was not long in arriving. It consisted of excommunications, interdicts, and curses, with an order to "seize the person of Luther, and bring him to Rome." The blow had now been struck.

The Reforma

tion seemed to be ruined. How could a poor solitary monk stand against that which had made monarchs many a time tremble? But he who had provoked the attack

was able to sustain it now that it had come. He raised his eyes solemnly to that Heaven, in the presence of which he had all along been acting. "I know not," says he, "what will be the result, nor do I care to know. Whenever the blow may reach me, I am without fear. Not a leaf

falls from a tree without the will of our Father: how much less can we ?" Luther's rejoinder was not delayed. He felt that he must show what was now his estimate of the power that was opposed to him and to the truth. "You have burnt my writings, and you would burn me if you could. I will burn your bull." It was on the 10th of December, 1520. An ever memorable day! In the presence of a great crowd of students and town's people, in the market place of Wittenburg, Luther burnt the bull. "Since thou hast grieved the Holy One of the Lord, may the eternal fire grieve and consume thee," he said, and flung it upon the glowing mass. deed was now done. "Wittenburg looked on with shouting:' the whole world was looking on. The pope should not have awakened that shout. IT WAS THE SHOUT OF THE AWAKENING OF NATIONS." (To be continued.)

The

THE ANGEL'S VOICE.

1.

The last notes of the anthem were still whispering amid the distant aisles, and the last footfall of the evening worshippers had ceased to echo through the venerable pile, when the stony eyes of the grim old carvings of the fretted roof looked down upon four silent men, who seemed so bound by some mighty spell that they could neither speak nor stir.

These four were famous amid their fellows for their power in song, and music knit them into a brotherhood peculiarly its own. Their names were different, but in song their hearts were one; and Wilhelm Berlenz, Oskar Neubert, Carl Dijeck, and Johann Meyer, were ever looked upon by their townsfellows as a family in themselves.

"Carl Dijeck," whispered Wilhelm Berlenz, "there was a voice amid the choir which savoured not of earth. That stream of song never passed through human lip."

"Hush, Wilhelm! hush!" muttered Carl Dijeck between his teeth," 'tis still vibrating upon my ear, 'tis still floating through my brain."

"I would 'twere mine," said Wilhelm Berlenz; "the golden chain which the townsfolk gave would 1 freely give again to have it for a single year."

"The voice which thou wouldst have is neither to be bought nor sold!" and as these words were spoken, light brightened around Wilhelm Berlenz and his comrades, till, dazzled by its radiance, they laid their hands upon their eyes.

"Wilhelm Berlenz," continued the one that spake," thou hast truly said, thou hast heard a voice which singeth in other choirs than those of earth; it would not be well for any to be intrusted with such a voice while they are in the flesh."

"I would give my life for it," answered Wilhelm Berlenz, "if only I might have it for a while."

"If it were given to thee," said the one that spake, "it would shake to pieces thy mortal frame, for it hath the energies of another life, and it would cast on thee terrible responsibilities which as a man thou couldst not fulfil."

"Nevertheless would I have it,-aye, even with them all."

“Thou canst have no gift, Wilhelm Berlenz, nor can thy brethren here, without having to give account thereof. Then, why shouldst thou wish for this ?"

"Ever would we sing psalms, and be heard in madrigals, and serenades, and other songs no more, if we could sing after the fashion which we have just now heard." And to these words of Carl Dijeck's, all gave assent as though they had been one.

"This voice thou canst not have," said the being to whom Carl Dijeck's speech had been addressed, "but thou canst have that of the next degree, if thou wilt take the responsibilities which it entails."

"We take it," said they all.

"Remember! all God's gifts are vouchsafed for his own honour, and must be spent for, and thus return to, Him." "We remember," said they all.

"In three years ye must give account." "We will give account." And then the brightness which was around the four young men faded away, and left them in the dim twilight in which they had been before, and solemnly, but withal gladly, they turned their steps toward their homes.

II.

When the twilight had long deepened into night, the four brethren in song met beneath the great oak tree to chant the Christmas carol through the streets of their quaint old town. With one consent they had discarded all such as they had used in former days, and chosen a rich grand psalm, for they knew that they had that within them for which the holiest words would be most fit. And when they made proof they felt that the angel's gift was theirs, for the power of song for which they longed so much thrilled along every nerve, and welled upward from their nature's lowest depths, and flowed forth in strains, the scores of which they had never seen, until they trembled within themselves and felt half terrified with the consciousness that they owned a power which was not of the earth. But although the four brethren trembled, they felt themselves upheld; fresh energies seemed ever to be supplied to be poured

forth anew in song. Throughout the town then did they chant their Christmas carol; and while they chanted some slept, yet the music fell upon their wearied brain, and they dreamed of heaven; and some opened their casements and looked out, and tried in vain to pierce the gloom, and, not seeing any human form, reported for many a long year after, that angels had once sung a Christmas carol through their town: four only in the old town knew who sang that night, and these four had each the angel's gift. Their carol being ended, the brethren in song went each one to his home to rest, and a long while tossed to and fro as they thought of the wondrous gift they had received; at length they slept, and each one saw himself alone on the spot where he had that day received his gift. The light was shining as it had done before; but now the being that spake could be seen, and each one saw that it was of another world, and that it was no marvel that it had sung so sweet a song. There was soft love in that being's eyes, and vast intellect enthroned upon its brow, and withal, holy determination in its solemn face, and in one hand it held a balance, and in the other a crown and sword.

"By this balance of the sanctuary thou shalt be weighed," said the angel; "it will turn with a hair."

"We shall all be judged," said each one solemnly in his dream.

"Thou shalt be judged for all things, and for that which thou hast received today. A special gift hath an especial trial which it must undergo."

"Thou hast something besides this balance," said each one in his dream; "thou hast a crown and sword."

"They are the issue of thy life, thou shalt find one or other at thy journey's end."

Thus were the four brethren warned, and each awoke with a solemn feeling upon his mind, which never wholly passed away, and which, for a season, kept their gift in exercise on holy things alone.

III.

Soon it was discovered by them all that they had now a strange fascination in their speech, and that not only when they sang, but also when they spake, their fellow-men were moved by them as they used not to be in former days. Few could resist the magic of their voice, and albeit when they sang that voice was sweetest, still in mere speech