seeks to approach the subject anew? | ing with it a connection equally slight; Surely the language of apology, at least, while others interpenetrate it so entirely, is the fit preface to such a deed of daring. that the age becomes almost identified No apology, however, do we intend to with them. Milton was intensely the make. We hold that every one who has man of his time; and, although he shot been delighted, benefited, or elevated by far before it, it was simply because he a great author, may claim the privilege of more fully felt and understood what its gratitude, to tell the world that, and how, tendencies really were; he spread his he has. We hold, too, that the proof of sails in its breath, as in a favourable the true greatness of a man lies in this, gale, which propelled him far beyond the that every new encomiast, if in any measure point where the impulse was at first given. qualified for the task, is sure to find in A glance at the times of Milton would him some new proof that the praises of require to be a profound and comprehenall time have not been wasted or exagge- sive one: for the times that bore such a rated. Who that reads or thinks at all, product must have been extraordinary. has not frequent occasions to pass by the One feature, perhaps the chief, in them cairn which a thankful world has reared was this: Milton's age was an age atto Milton's memory? And who can, at tempting, with sincere, strong, though one time or other, resist the impulse to baffled endeavour, to be earnest, holy, cast on it another stone, however rough and heroic. The Church had, in the and small that stone may be? Such is previous age, been partially and nomiall we at present propose. nally reformed; but it had failed in accomplishing its own full deliverance, or the full deliverance of the world. It had shaken off the nightmare of Popery, but had settled itself down into a sleep, more composed, less disturbed, but as deadly. Is the Reformation, thought the high hearts which then gave forth their thunder throbs in England, to turn

Every man is in some degree the mirror of his times. A man's times stand over him, as the heavens above the earth, compelling an image from the dew-drop, as well as from the great deep. The difference is, that while the small man is a small, the great man is a broad and full, reflection of his day. But the effect of the times may be seen in the baby's out a mere nullity? Has all that bloody bauble and cart, as well as in the style of seed of martyrdom been sown in vain? the painter's pencil and the poet's song. Whether is worse, after all, the incubus The converse is equally true. A man's of superstition, or the sleep of death? times are reflective of the man, as well as We have got rid of the Pope, indeed, a man of the times. Every man acts on, but not of the world, or the devil, or the as well as is acted on by, every other flesh; we must, therefore, repair our reman. The cry of the child who falls in pairs-amend our amendments-reform yonder gutter as really affects the progress our Reformation-and try, in this way, of society as the roar of the French Re- to get religion to come down, as a pracvolution. There is a perpetual process tical living power, into the hearts and going on of action and reaction, between lives of Englishmen. We must see the each on the one side, and all on the other. dead blood of the martyrs turned into The characteristic of the great man is, living trees of righteousness-we must that his reaction on his age is more than have character as well as controversiesequal to its action upon him. No man is life, life at all hazards, we must have, wholly a creator, ncr wholly a creature, of even though it be through the destruchis age. The Milton or the Shakspere is tion of ceremonies, the damage of surmore the creator than he is the creature. plices, the dismissal of bishops-ay, or Some men pass through the atmo- the death of kings. Such was the spisphere of their time as meteors through rit of that age. We speak of its real the air, or comets through the heaveus onward tendency - the direction of the -leaving as little impression, and hav- main stream. We stay not to count

the numerous little obstinate opposing the evil days and evil tongues on which eddies that were taking chips and straws he latterly fell, he would not have rebackwards; thus ran the master current tired into the solitude of his own soul; of the brain, the heart, and the hand of and had he not so retired, the world that magnificent era. would have wanted its greatest poemAre we not standing near the brink of the "Paradise Lost." That was the real another period, in some points very similar fruit of the Puritanic contest—of all its to that of English Puritanism? Is not tears, and all its blood; and let those our age getting tired of names, words, pre- who are still enjoying a result so rich, tensions; and anxious for things, deeds, rea- in gratitude declare "how that red rain lities? It cares nothing now for such terms did make the harvest grow." No life of as Christendom Reformed Churches Milton, worthy of the name, has hither-Glorious Constitution of 1688. It to been written. Fenton's sketch is an wants a Christendom where the character elegant trifle. Johnson's is, in parts, a of Christ-like that of Hamlet-is not heavy invective-in parts, a noble paneomitted by special desire: it wants re-gyric; but in nowise a satisfactory life. reformed churches, and a glorious con- Sir Egerton Brydges has written rather stitution, that will do a little more to an ardent apology for his memory, than a feed, clothe, and educate those who sit life. We propose to refresh ourselves under its shadow, and have long talked and others, by simply jotting down a few of, without tasting, its blessed fruits. It particulars of the poet's career, without wants, in short, those big, beautiful words professing to give, on this head, anything -Liberty, Religion, Free Government, new. Church and State, taken down from our flags, transparencies, and triumphal arches, and introduced into our homes, hearths, and hearts. And, although we have now no Cromwell and no Milton, yet, thank 1608. His father was a scrivener, and God, we have thousands of gallant hearts, and gifted spirits, and eloquent tongues, who have vowed loud and deep, in all the languages of Europe, that falsehoods and deceptions, of all sorts and sizes, of all ages, statures, and complexions, shall come to a close.

John Milton was born in Bread Street, London—a street lying in what is called, technically, the City, under the shadow of St Paul's-on the 9th of December,

was distinguished for his classical attainments. John received his early education under a clergyman of the name of Young; was afterwards placed at St Paul's School, whence he was removed, in his seventeenth year, to Christ Church, Cambridge, where he distinguished himTo Milton's time we may apply the self for the facility and beauty of his words of inspiration-"The children are Latin versification. We are not aware, brought to the birth, but there is not although placed at such a mathematical strength to bring forth." The great university, that he ever excelled in geopurpose of the age was formed, begun, metry; it is uncertain whether he ever but left unfinished-nay, drowned in crossed the Pons asinorum, although it slavery and blood. How mortifying to is certain that he was whipped for a a spirit such as his! It was as if Moses juvenile contumacy, and that he never had been taken up to Pisgah, but had expresses any gratitude to his Alma been struck dead before he saw the land Mater. Universities, in fact, have often of milk and honey. So Milton had la- proved rather stepmothers, than mothers, boured, and climbed to the steep summit, to men of genius, as the cases of Gibbon, whence he expected a new world of liberty Shelley, Coleridge, Pollok, and many and truth to expand before him, but found others, demonstrate. And why? Beinstead a wilder chaos and a fouler hell cause their own souls are to them unithan before. But dare we pity him, and versities; and they cannot fully attend need we pity ourselves? But for Mil- to both, any more than they can be in ton's disappointment, and disgust with two places at the same time. He origi

nally intended to have entered the Church, of romance is said to have occurred. In but early formed a dislike to subscrip- his youth he was extremely handsome, tions and oaths, as requiring, what he so much so, that he was called the lady terms, an "accommodating conscience"- of his college. When in Italy, he had a dislike which he retained to the last. lain down to repose during the heat of He could not stoop his giant stature the day in the fields. A young lady of beneath the low lintel of a test. He high rank was passing with her servant; was too religious to be the mere partisan she was greatly struck with the appearof any sect. From college he carried ance of the slumberer, who seemed to nothing with him but a whole conscience her eye as one of the angels whom he and the ordinary degree of A.M., for he afterwards described reposing in the vales never afterwards received another. of heaven. She wrote a few extempore His father, meanwhile, had retired lines in his praise with a pencil, laid from business to Horton, Buckingham- them down at his side, and went on her shire, where the young Milton spent five way. When Milton awoke, he found years in solitary study. Of these years the lines lying, but the fair writer gone. little comparatively is known; but, to One account says that he spent some us, they seem among the most interest- time in searching for her, but in vain. ing of his life. Then the "dark founda- Another (on which Bulwer has founded tions of his mind were laid;" then were a poem) relates that she, still stung by stored up those profound stores of learn- the recollection of his beauty, followed ing, which were commensurate with his him to England, and was so mortified at genius, and on which that genius fed, finding him by this time married, that free and unbounded, as a fire feeds on a she died of a broken heart. Milton had mighty forest. There, probably, much intended to extend his tour to Sicily and time was spent in the contemplation of Greece, but the state of affairs in England natural scenery, and in the exercises of drew him home. "I deemed it dishonourdevotion; and there he composed those able," he said, "to be lingering abroad, exquisite minor poems, which alone would even for the improvement of my mind, have made his name immortal-"L'Alle- while my fellow-citizens were contending gro," ," "Il Penseroso," "Comus," and "Ly- for their liberty at home." There spoke cidas." At the age of thirty, having the veritable man and hero, John Milton obtained leave from his father to travel, -one who measured everything by its he visited Paris, Florence, Rome, and relation, not to delight, but to duty; and Naples. His name had gone before him, felt himself " ever in his great Taskand his progress was a triumph. Public master's eye." The civil war had by dinners and pieces of plate did not abound this time broken out in flames which in those days; but the nobility of the country entertained him at their mansions, and the literati wrote poems in his praise.

were not to be slaked for twenty years, and into which even a king's blood was to fall like oil. Milton, though an admirable fencer, and as brave as his own We may conceive with what delight Michael, thought he might serve the he found his dreams of the Continent popular cause better by the pen than by realised—with what kindling rapture his the sword. He calmly sat down, thereeye met the Alps, gazed on the golden fore, to write down royalty, prelacy, and plains of Italy, or perused the master- every species of arbitrary power. At the pieces of Italian art in the halls of same time, he opened a school for the Florence or the palaces of Rome. Mil- education of the young. This has actuton in the Coliseum, or standing at mid-ally formed a count of indictment against night upon Mount Palatine, with the him. Milton has been thought by some ruins of Rome dim-discovered around to have demeaned himself by teaching him-it were a subject for a painting or children the first elements of knowledge, a poem. At this time a little incident although it be, in truth, one of the

noblest avocations—although the fact of least, for Britain, for Milton, for the the contempt in which it is held ought progress of the human race, the restored to be a count of indictment against an age Charles arrived. The consequences were foolish enough to entertain it-although disastrous to Milton. His name was it be an avocation rendered illustrious by proscribed, his books burned, himself obother names besides that of Milton, the liged to abscond, and it was what some names of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Bu- would call a miracle that this blinded chanan, Parr, Johnson, and Arnold-Samson was not led forth to give his and although the day is coming when enemies sport, at the place of common the titles of captain, or colonel, or knight- execution, and that the most godlike at-arms, yea, and those of king, kaiser, head in the world did not roll off from and emperor, will look mean and con- the bloody block. But "man is imtemptible compared to that of a village mortal till his work be done." We speak schoolmaster who is worthy of his trade. of accidents and possibilities; but, in Schoolmaster as he was, and after- reality, and looking at the matter upon wards Latin secretary to Cromwell, Mil- the true side of it, Milton could no more ton found time to do and to write much have perished then than he could a cenin the course of the eighteen or twenty tury before. His future works were as years which elapsed between his return certain, and inevitable, and due at their to England and the Restoration. He day, as summer and winter, as seedfound time for writing several treatises time and harvest."

on divorce, for publishing his celebrated Even after the heat of persecution had tractate on education, and his still more abated, and his life was, by sufferance, celebrated discourse on the liberty of un-secure-it was never more-the prolicensed printing, for collecting his minor spects of Milton were aught but cheerpoems in Latin and English, and for de-ing. He was poor, he was blind, he was fending, in various treatises, the execu-solitary-his second wife dead; his daughtion of Charles I. and the government of ters, it would appear, were not the most Cromwell, besides commencing an Eng- congenial of companions; his country lish History, an English Grammar, and a was enslaved; the hopes of the Church Latin Dictionary. Meanwhile, his first and of the world seemed blasted;-one wife, who had born him three daughters, might have expected that disappointdied in child-bed. Meanwhile, too, a ment, regret, and vexation would have disease of the eyes, contracted by intense completed their work. Probably his enestudy, began gradually to eclipse the mies expected so too. Probably they said, most intellectual orbs then glowing upon "We'll neglect him, and see if that does earth. Milton has uttered more than not break his heart-we'll bring down one noble complaint over his completed on his head the silence of a world, which blindness. We could conceive him to was wont to ring with his name." They have penned an expostulation to the ad- did not know their man. They knew vancing shadow, equally sublime and not that here was one of the immortal equally vain, for it was God's pleasure coursers, who fed on no vulgar or earthly that this great spirit should, like him- food. He "had meat to eat that the self, dwell for a season in the thick dark-world knew not of." ness. And scarcely had the last glimmer It was the greatest crisis in the hisof light been extinguished, than, as if tory of the individual man. Napoleon the coming calamities had been stayed and spellbound hitherto by the calm look of the magician, in one torrent they came upon his head; but, although it was a Niagara that fell, it fell, like Niagara, upon, as well as from, a rock. In an evil hour, as it seemed at the time, at

survived the loss of his empire; and men call him great, because he survived it. Sir Walter Scott not only survived the loss of his fortune, but he struggled manfully amid the sympathy of the civilised species to repair it. But Milton, amidst the loss of friends, fortune, fame, sight,

safety, domestic comfort, long-cherished | Wordsworth's "Excursion" and Bailey's hopes, not only survived, but stood firm "Festus." Both were for years treated as a god above the ruins of a world; and with neglect, although we are certain not only stood firm, but built, alone and that both will survive the "Course of unaided, to himself out of these ruins Time" and the "Pickwick Papers." Bean everlasting monument. Whole cen- tween his masterpiece and his death, turies of every-day life seemed condensed little occurred except the publication of in those few years in which he was con- some minor, but noble, productions, instructing his work; and is it too daring cluding "Paradise Regained," "Samson a conception that of the Great Spirit Agonistes," "A System of Logic," "A watching from on high its progress, and Treatise of True Religion," and a collecsaying of it, as he did of his own creation, tion of his familiar epistles in Latin. At when finished, "It is very good?" last, in November, 1674, at the age of sixty-six, under an exhaustion of the vital powers, Milton expired, and that spirit, which was "only a little lower than the angels," went away to mingle with his starry kindred. It is with a certain severe satisfaction that we contemplate the death of a man like Milton. We feel that tears and lamentations are here unbecoming, and would mar the solemn sweetness of the scene. With serenity, nay joy, we witness this majestic man-child caught up to God and his throne, soaring away from the many shadows which surrounded him on earth, into that bright element of eternity, in which he seemed already naturalised. Who seeks to weep, as he sees the river, rich with the spoils of its long wandering, and become a broad mirror for the heavens, at length sinking in the bosom of the deep? Were we permitted to behold a star re-absorbed into its source, melted down in the Infinite, would it not generate a delight, graver, indeed, but as real, as had we stood by its creation? and although there were no shouting, as on its natal morn, might there not be silence

But, indeed, his own work it was. For, strong as this hero felt himself in his matured learning-in his genius, so highly cultured, yet still so fresh and young-in his old experience, he did not venture to put his hand to the task till, with strong crying and tears, he had asked the inspiration and guidance of a higher power. Nor were these denied him. As Noah into the ark of old, the Lord "shut" Milton in within the darkened tabernacle of his own spirit, and that tabernacle being filled with light from heaven, "Paradise Lost" arose, the joint work of human genius and of divine illumination.

We have seen the first edition of this marvellous poem-a small, humble quarto, in ten books, which was the original number; but to us it seemed rich all over, as a summer's sunset, with glory. Every one has heard, probably, of the price, the goodly price, at which it was prized and bought-five pounds, with a contingency of fifteen more in case of sale. For two years before, it seems to have slumbered in manuscript, and very likely was the while carried round the the silence of joyous wonder among trade, seeking for one hardy enough to the sons of God? Milton, the prince of publish it. It appeared in 1667, but modern men, died accepting death as was a long time of rising to its just place gently and silently as the sky receives into in public estimation. The public pre- its arms the waning moon. We are referred Waller's insipid commonplaces, and minded of a description in "Hyperion" Dryden's filthy ranting plays, to the di- of the death of an infinitely inferior man vine blank verse of Milton. Waller him--Goethe:-"His majestic eyes looked self spoke of it as a long, dull poem in for the last time on the light of a blank verse; if its length could not be pleasant spring morning. Calm like considered a merit, it had no other. The a god the old man sat, and with a case is not singular. Two of the greatest smile seemed to bid farewell to the light poems in English of this century are of day, on which he had gazed for more