Bunyan did not live to see the Revolution.  In the Summer of 1688 he undertook to plead the cause of a son with an angry father, and at length prevailed on the old man not to disinherit the young one.  This good work cost the benevolent intercessor his life.  He had to ride through heavy rain.  He came drenched to his lodgings on Snow Hill, was seized with a violent fever, and died in a few days.  He was buried in Bunhill Fields; and the spot where he lies is still regarded by the Non-conformists with a feeling which seems scarcely in harmony with the stern spirit of their theology.  Many Puritans, to whom the respect paid by Roman Catholics to the relics and tombs of saints seemed childish or sinful, are said to have begged with their dying breath that their coffins might be placed as near as possible to the coffin of the author of the “Pilgrim’s Progress.”

The fame of Bunyan during his life, and during the century which followed his death, was indeed great, but was almost entirely confined to religious families of the middle and lower classes.  Very seldom was he, during that time, mentioned with respect by any writer of great literary eminence.  Young coupled his prose with the poetry of the wretched D’Urfey.  In the “Spiritual Quixote,” the adventures of Christian are ranked with those of Jack the Giant-killer and John Hickathrift.  Cowper ventured to praise the great allegorist, but did not venture to name him.  It is a significant circumstance that, till a recent period, all the numerous editions of the “Pilgrim’s Progress” were evidently meant for the cottage and the servants’ hall.  The paper, the printing, the plates were all of the meanest description.  In general, when the educated minority and the common people differ about the merit of a book, the opinion of the educated minority finally prevails.  The “Pilgrim’s Progress” is perhaps the only book about which, after the lapse of a hundred years, the educated minority has come over to the opinion of the common people.—­MACAULAY.

    O king without a crown,
    O priest above the line
    Whose course is through the ages down,
    What wondrous eyes were thine!

    As in the sea of glass,
    So pictured in those eyes
    Were all the things that come to pass
    Beneath, above the skies;

    Between two worlds the way,
    The sun, the cloud, the snares,
    The pilgrim’s progress day by day,
    The gladness God prepares.

    Enough, enough this vision,
    By thee built into story,
    To crown thy life by Heaven’s decision,
    With monumental glory.

* * * * *

XXXV.

MADAME ROLAND

(BORN 1754—­DIED 1793.)

THE MOST REMARKABLE WOMAN OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION—­THE IPHIGENIA OF FRANCE.