ormed for pulling out of
eyes.'[7] The pilgrims suspected this well-armed cavalier to be one of
that brood who will force others into their own path, and then put out
their eyes in case they should forsake it. They have not got rid of
their dangerous companion, by whom the Romish church is indicated,
when they are accosted by a man of a quite different shape and humour,
'more sad and melancholy, more rude, and of a heavier wit also, who
crossed their way on the right-hand.' He also (representing,
doubtless, the Presbyterians or Sectaries) pressed them with eagerness
to accept his guidance, and did little less than menace them with
total destruction if they should reject it. A dagger and a
pocket-pistol, though less openly and ostentatiously disposed than the
arms of the first cavalier, seem ready for the same purposes; and he,
therefore, is repulsed, as well as his neighbour. These are the only
passages in which the church dignitary might be thought to have caught
for a moment the spirit of the tinker of Bedford. Through the rest of
his parable, which fills a well-sized quarto volume, the dean no doubt
evinces considerable learning, but, compared to Bunyan, may rank with
the dullest of all possible doctors; 'a worthy neighbour, indeed, and
a marvellous good bowler--but for Alexander, you see how 'tis.' Yet
Dr. Patrick had the applause of his own time. The first edition of his
Parable appeared, as has been mentioned, in 1678; and the _sixth_,
which now lies before us, is dated 1687.[8]

[6] Parable of the Pilgrim, chapter xxx.

[7] Ibidem, chapter xxxiv.

[8] The Poet Laureate may, perhaps, like to hear that Dr.
Patrick introduces into his parable a very tolerable edition
of that legend of the roasted fowls recalled to life by St.
James of Compostella, of which he himself has recently given
us so lively and amusing a metrical version.

Mr. Southey introduces the following just eulogium on our classic of
the common people:

"Bunyan was confident in his own powers of expression; he
says--

--thine only way
Before them all, is to say out thy say
In thine own native language, which no man
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can.

And he might well be confident in it. His is a homespun style,
not a manufactured one; and what a difference is there between
its homeliness, and the flippant vulgarity of the Roger
L'Estrange an