the roughest discipline which tends to clear and raise
it.

'The barley,' he says, in a homely but effective image--'the barley
which we brew, the flax of which we weave our garments, must be bruised
and torn ere they come to the use for which they are grown. So must
Christians suffer. The natural creature must be combed and threshed. The
old Adam must die, for the higher life to begin. If man is to rise to
nobleness, he must first be slain.'

In modern language, the poet Goethe tells us the same truth. 'The
natural man,' he says, 'is like the ore out of the iron mine. It is
smelted in the furnace; it is forged into bars upon the anvil. A new
nature is at last forced upon it, and it is made steel.'

It was this doctrine--it was this truth rather (the word doctrine
reminds one of quack medicines)--which, quickening in Luther's mind,
gave Europe its new life. It was the flame which, beginning with a small
spark, kindled the hearth-fires in every German household.

Luther's own life was a model of quiet simplicity. He remained poor. He
might have had money if he had wished; but he chose rather, amidst his
enormous labour, to work at a turning-lathe for his livelihood.

He was sociable, cheerful, fond of innocent amusements, and delighted to
encourage them. His table-talk, collected by his friends, makes one of
the most brilliant books in the world. He had no monkish theories about
the necessity of abstinence; but he was temperate from habit and
principle. A salt herring and a hunch of bread was his ordinary meal;
and he was once four days without food of any sort, having emptied his
larder among the poor.

All kinds of people thrust themselves on Luther for help. Flights of
nuns from the dissolved convents came to him to provide for them--naked,
shivering creatures, with scarce a rag to cover them. Eight florins were
wanted once to provide clothes for some of them. 'Eight florins!' he
said; 'and where am I to get eight florins?' Great people had made him
presents of plate: it all went to market to be turned into clothes and
food for the wretched.

Melancthon says that, unless provoked, he was usually very gentle and
tolerant. He recognised, and was almost alone in recognising, the
necessity of granting liberty of conscience. No one hated Popery more
than he did, yet he said:--

'The Papists must bear with us, and we with them. If they will not
follow us, we have no right to force them. Wherever they can, they will