took his degree of Doctor of Philosophy or Master of Arts in 1505, when he was twenty-two years of age, and the event, according to custom, was celebrated by a torchlight procession and great rejoicing.

But before this event he had begun an education of a far more real and profound character than any that the university could impart to him. One day, as he was turning over the books in the university library, he fell upon a copy of the Vulgate. He beheld with astonishment that there were more gospels and epistles than in the lectionaries. A new world opened upon him; he returned again and again with avidity to the sacred page, and, as he read, his heart burned within him. Several circumstances served to deepen these feelings a dangerous sickness, which brought him near to the point of death, and the decease of a friend. of the name of Alexis, accompanied, or at least somehow deeply associated in his mind, with a dreadful thunderstorm to which he was exposed on his return. to Erfurt after a visit to his parents. This latter event especially made a powerful impression upon him. The common version of the story* is, that the lightning struck his friend by his side as they journeyed together, and that Luther was so appalled by the disaster that he fell upon his knees in prayer, and resolved, if spared, to dedicate himself to the service of God. The story is at least a fair tribute to the childlike piety that now and always animated him. He kept his resolve, silent and apparently unmoved for some time, yet cherishing it in his heart. His mode of carrying it out was characteristic. One evening It is supposed to mingle together two events.

he invites some of his fellow-students to supper, gives them of his best cheer; music and jest enliven the company, and the entertainment closes in a full burst of merriment. The same night there is a solitary knock at the door of the Augustine convent, and the student who has just gaily parted from his companions, two volumes alone of all his books in his hand, a Virgil and a Plautus, passes beneath its portal. He has separated from the world, and devoted himself to God, as he and the world then understood devotion.

The three years which Luther now spent in the convent at Erfurt are among the most signal and significant of his life. During these years were laid deep in his heart those spiritual convictions out of which his whole reforming work sprang and grew into shape. The sparks which were afterwards to explode in the overthrow of the Papacy, and to lighten up into the glory of a restored Gospel, were here kindled. The struggle for which Germany was preparing, was here rehearsed in the single soul of a solitary monk. It is a painful and somewhat sad spectacle; but it possesses not only the interest of an earnest individual struggle, but the sublimity of a prelude to the great national conflict which was impending.

It was Luther's duty as a novice to perform the meanest offices in the convent. He had chosen his lot, and he was not the man to shrink from its mere servile hardships; so he swept the floors, and wound the clock, and ministered in various ways to the laziness of his brother monks. He was even driven to his old trade of street-begging, as they assailed him with their doggrel cry, "Saccum per nackum "—" Go

through the streets with the sack, and get us what you can to eat." After a while, and by the friendly interference of the university in his favour, he was able to resume his studies. Augustine and the Bible on the one hand, and Occam and Gerson on the other, shared his attention, and we are left vaguely to guess what seeds of divine truth from the one, and of papal disaffection from the other, were sown in his mind. All was as yet a chaos in his spiritual condition. The darkness had been stirred within him, and a profound uneasiness produced, but no ray of light yet rested on it, By fasting and prayer, and every species of monkish penance, he laboured to satisfy his conscience and secure his salvation. "If ever monk could have got to heaven by monkery," he afterwards said, "I might have done so. I wore out my body with watching, fasting, praying, and other works." He was sometimes for four days together without meat or drink. But all his labours and mortifications brought him no peace. The terrors of guilt haunted him as a bodily presence -clung to him as a pursuing shadow, so that one day at mass he cried out, as some dire aspect of wrath rose up before him, "It is not I! it is not I!" On another occasion he disappeared for certain days and nights; alarm was excited; his cell door was broken open, and he was found prostrate on the floor in a state of helpless emaciation-unconscious, and apparently dead, till roused by the chanting of the young choristers. The one human influence, to which he was never insensible, moved him when everything else had failed. Now and always, music had a charm for him only second to theology. "It is the only other art," he says,

"which, like theology, can calm the agitations of the soul and put the devil to flight."

At length light began to dawn upon him, and it came from a source already recognised and described. The Augustines had recently received a new vicar-general in the person of Staupitz, and he now came on a visit of inspection to the convent at Erfurt. The character of this man stands out, amid the prevailing unworthiness of the Romish clergy of the time, as a remarkable and most honourable exception. Of clear intelligence, simple and affectionate feelings, and most real and living piety, he reflects the brightest side of the system which he represented; and it is well for us to remember that it had such a bright side, and that, saving for this, Luther and his work might never have been what they were. With characteristic frankness the reformer never ceased to confess his spiritual obligations to the head of his order. "Through him," he said, "the light of the Gospel first dawned out of the darkness on my heart." Touched by the undisguised zeal and grave and melancholy looks of the young monk, Staupitz sought his confidence. Luther unbosomed himself. "It is in vain," he said, "that I promise to God; sin is always too strong for me." have myself," Staupitz replied, "vowed more than a thousand times to lead to a holy life, and as often broken my vows. I now trust only in the mercy and grace of God in Christ." The monk spoke of his fears

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of the terrors of guilt that haunted him, and made him wretched amidst all his mortifications. "Look at the wounds of Christ," said the vicar-general; "see the Saviour bleeding upon the cross, and believe in the

mercy of God."-Surely a brave and true Gospel speaking from the bosom of the old and corrupting hierarchy to the heart of the nascent and reviving faith Luther further deplored the inefficacy of all his works of repentance. "There is no true repentance," answered Staupitz, "but that which begins in the love of God and of righteousness. Conversion does not come from such works as you have been practising. Love Him who has first loved you." There was comfort in such words to the heart of the weary monk. The darkness began to clear away; but again and again it returned, and the struggle went on. "Oh my sins! my sins!" he exclaimed, in writing to the vicar-general. "It is just your sins that make you an object of salvation," was the virtual reply." Would you be only the semblance of a sinner, and have only the semblance of a Saviour? Jesus Christ is the Saviour of those who are real and great sinners." To these precious counsels Staupitz added the present of a Bible; and Luther, rejoicing in its possession, devoted himself more than ever to its study. Gradually the truth dawned upon him as he nourished himself upon Scripture and St Augustine. Still he had not attained a clear and firm footing. A renewed sickness, brought on by the severity of his mortifications, brought back his old terrors. God seemed an offended judge ready to condemn him, and he lay miserable in his fears, when an aged monk, who had come to see him, sought to console him by repeating the words of the Creed, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." Luther caught at the words. The monk pressed the point by urging that it was necessary to believe not only that David's or Peter's sins were