the Table-Talk. Luther is discussing astrology, in which pretended science he did not believe, although his friend Melanchthon did. Luther says:

I have often talked of the subject [astrology] with Philip [Melanchthon] and recounted to him in order my whole life, how one thing after another has befallen, and how it has fared with me. I am a peasant's son; my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, were nothing but peasants. My father went to Mansfeld, and there became a miner. Such is my origin.

Now that I should become bachelor of arts, master of arts, monk, and so forth, that was not written in the stars. Did I not get myself great shame though, by becoining monk, by laying aside my brown cap and wearing a different one? The which, truly, vexed my father sore and offended him. After that I got into the pope's hair, and he, forsooth, back into mine; I took a runaway nun to wife, and had children by her. Who saw all that in the stars? Who would have told me beforehand that so it was to happen?

With the foregoing passage cited from the Table-Talk, Michelet begins his lively biography of Luther. But the passage is "edited " by the Frenchman. The fact of its being in argument against astrology that Luther was sketching his own career does not at all come out, and Michelet omits altogether the particular about Luther's becoming a "monk," apparently because to include it, after "bachelor of arts, doctor of divinity," would spoil a climax--a climax, by the way, quite the Frenchman's own, and not in the least belonging to Luther's simple statement. In short, Luther is exhibited by Michelet as swaggering about himself, instead of merely telling, for argument's sake, a few incidents from his own experience. In addition, the clause, "Such is my origin," is mistranslated to read, "There I was born," Luther being thus caused to say that he was born at Mansfeld, whereas Eisleben was his birthplace. It will do to add a good pinch of salt, in allowance for rhetorical variations, whenever you read M. Michelet's citations from the TableTalk of Luther. Care, in fact, is always to be exercised in using Luther's Table-Talk. The nature of things forbids that there should not, from one cause or another, be many

errors in the existing records of such hurrying reports, never, we suppose, verified by Luther, as were taken of his winged words.

When Martin's father, John Luther, died, the son wrote thus to his friend Philip Melanchthon :

It is just and right that I, his son, should mourn such a father, through whom the Father of mercy created me, and through whose sweat he Inourished me and made me what I am, such as that is. But how I rejoice that he lived in these times, that he saw the light of truth! Blessed be God in all his works and counsels for evermore!

The filial piety of the foregoing, as well as its piety toward God, is touching and beautiful. Melanchthon's character and spirit seem to have been such as always to draw out toward him the sweetest and the best that was in Luther. If only there were now left of Luther nothing but the sweetest and the best that was in him! What bounds then would there be to the reverence with which we should study and admire! Alas, the dross, too, of him has come down, with sad inextricableness entangled in the gold!

The stormy soul of the battle-welcoming reformer was sensitive and tractable to music; the lion listened, and, listening, became the lamb. Luther himself played the guitar and the flute. He never tired of sounding the praises of music as being, nigh to theology, one of the best gifts of God to men. In his Table-Talk many pleasing allusions to the subject occur. For instance, he says:

It [music] drives away the devil. . . . It makes one forget anger, lust, pride, and other evil passions.

Again (speaking to a harper):

Friend, strike me up a song, as David struck it up. I hold that if David were now to rise from the dead, he would be very much surprised finding to what a pitch people have got in the matter of music. Music never reached a higher point than now.

Might not we, adapting, say, in our turn, of Luther what Luther said of David in reference to music, "If Luther were now to rise from the dead?"

Once more:

How happens it that in the worldly sphere we have so many fine poems and so many fine songs, while in the spiritual sphere we have such cold dull things?

The truculence, the coarseness, the grossness, of Luther, in his championship against Rome, and, it must be added, toward all who ventured to differ with himself, were astounding, were staggering, were incredible. But they belonged to the age as well as to the man; and we are prepared to say that if, without miracle, the Reformation was to make head against Rome, they were, under the circumstances of Luther's case, a necessity, a dire necessity, of his cause. Luther had to reassure himself, had to inspirit his followers, had to overawe his enemies, with mien and with voice as defiant as the tone and the aspect of Rome were threatening, or, humanly speaking, he and his cause would have gone instantly under. It was his bravado, hardly less than his bravery, that saved him and carried the day. But Luther had a tender conscience, and his conscience sometimes misgave him. Will not God judge gently a sinful man who expresses himself as did Luther in the following words? But first read and contrast Rousseau's effrontery, in the preface to his Confessions:

"Let the last trumpet sound when it will, I will come, with this book [the Confessions] in my hand, and present myself before the Sovereign Judge. I will boldly proclaim, 'Thus have I acted, thus have I thought, such was I,' . . . and then let a single one tell thee, if he dare, 'I was better than that man.

Now Luther (we venture, in this citation, as in one or two more next following, to depend, without verifying, on Michelet, who here gives no references):

I have learned from the Holy Scripture that it is a thing terrible and full of danger to raise one's voice in the Church of God, to speak in the midst of those whom we shall have for judges when, in the last day of judgment, we shall find ourselves in the presence of God, and of his angels-every creature there looking, listening, bending the ear to dwell

on the Divine Word. Certes, when I think ou it, I feel that I could heartily wish to bury all in silence, and pass a sponge over what I have written. To have to render an account to God of every heedless word'tis hard, 'tis horrible!

Heinrich Heine is certainly in general a poor authority to quote in appreciation of any thing pure, any thing lovely, any thing of good report; but the following words of his on Luther do seem to have in them the charm of sincerity as well as of truth:

"Renown, eternal renown to the dear man to whom we owe the preservation of our noblest goods, and by whose merits we live to-day. It becomes us little to complain of the narrowness of his views. The dwarf who stands upon' the shoulders of a giant can indeed see farther than the giant himself, especially if he puts on spectacles; but to the higher position are lacking the lofty feeling and the giant heart, which we cannot make our own. It becomes us still less to pass a harsh judgment upon his failings. These failings have benefited us more than the virtues of a thousand others. The subtlety of Erasmus, the gentleness of Melanchthon, would never have carried us so far as did often the divine brutality of Brother Martin."

Of his own temper, and of his management of that temper, in approaching the great crisis of his life, his appearance before the Diet of Worms, Luther finely says:

Though, in truth, I was physically fearful and trembling, I replied to him, [to one incredulously inquiring of Luther, "Do you still mean to go there?"] "I will repair thither, though I should find there as many devils as there are tiles on the house-tops."

On coming first in sight of the old bell-towers of Wormsso Audin, a French Roman Catholic biographer of Luther, relates-Luther, standing up in the carriage in which he rode, broke out singing that memorable and magnificent hymn of his, well called by Heine the "Marseillaise of the Reformation," Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott; the words and the music he had meditated and composed two days before. This account of the origin of the hymn is interest

ing, but it is not, we believe, well authenticated. Here is Thomas Carlyle's rendering of the original-a rendering in which not only is the sense well given, but the ruggedness of the German rhythms well preserved :

A safe stronghold our God is still,

A trusty shield and weapon;
He'll help us clear from all the ill

That hath us now o'ertaken.

The ancient prince of hell
Hath risen with purpose fell;
Strong mail of craft and power
He weareth in this hour—
On earth is not his fellow.

With force of arms we nothing can,
Full soon were we down-ridden;
But for us fights the proper Man,
Whom God himself hath bidden.

Ask ye, Who is this same?
Christ Jesus is his name,

The Lord Zebaoth's Son,

He and no other one

Shall conquer in the battle.

And were this world all devils o'er,

And watching to devour us,

We lay it not to heart so sore,

We know they can't o'erpower us.

And let the prince of ill

Look grim as e'er he will,
He harms us not a whit,
For why? His doom is writ-

A word shall quickly slay him.

God's word, for all their craft and force,
One moment will not linger,

But, spite of hell, shall have its course:
'Tis written by his finger.

And though they take our life,
Goods, houses, children, wife,

Yet is their profit small,

These things shall vanish all,

The city of God remaineth.