common with those modern beggars for | foreign climates their unconquerable fame, who extort a pittance from the hatred of oppression; some were pining compassion of the inexperienced by ex-in dungeons; and some had poured posing the nakedness and sores of their minds. Yet it would be difficult to name two writers whose works have been more completely, though undesignedly, coloured by their personal feelings. The character of Milton was peculiarly distinguished by loftiness of spirit; that of Dante by intensity of feeling. In every line of the Divine Comedy we discern the asperity which is produced by pride struggling with misery. There is perhaps no work in the world so deeply and uniformly sorrowful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of time can be judged, the effect of external circumstances. It was from within. Neither love nor glory, neither the conflicts of earth nor the hope of heaven could dispel it. It turned every consolation and every pleasure into its own nature. It resembled that noxious Sardinian soil of which the intense bitterness is said to have been perceptible even in its honey. His mind was, in the noble language of the Hebrew poet," a land of darkness, as darkness itself, and where the light was as darkness." The gloom of his character discolours all the passions of men, and all the face of nature, and tinges with its own livid hue the flowers of Paradise and the glories of the eternal throne. All the portraits of him are singularly characteristic. No person can look on the features, noble even to ruggedness, the dark furrows of the cheek, the haggard and woful stare of the eye, the sullen and contemptuous curve of the lip, and doubt that they belong to a man too proud and too sensitive to be happy. Milton was, like Dante, a statesman and a lover; and, like Dante, he had been unfortunate in ambition and in love He had survived his health and his sight, the comforts of his home, and the prosperity of his party. Of the great men by whom he had been distinguished at his entrance into life, some had been taken away from the evil to come; some had carried into forth their blood on scaffolds. Venal and licentious scribblers, with just sufficient talent to clothe the thoughts of a pandar in the style of a bellman, were now the favourite writers of the Sovereign and of the public. It was a loathsome herd, which could be compared to nothing so fitly as to the rabble of Comus, grotesque monsters, half bestial, half human, dropping with wine, bloated with gluttony, and reeling in obscene dances. Amidst these that fair Muse was placed, like the chaste lady of the Masque, lofty, spotless, and serene, to be chattered at, and pointed at, and grinned at, by the whole rout of Satyrs and Goblins. If ever despondency and asperity could be excused in any man, they might have been excused in Milton. But the strength of his mind overcame every calamity. Neither blindness, nor gout, nor age, nor penury, nor domestic afflictions, nor political disappointments, nor abuse, nor proscription, nor neglect, had power to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. His spirits do not seem to have been high, but they were singularly equable. temper was serious, perhaps stern; but it was a temper which no sufferings could render sullen or fretful. Such as it was when, on the eve of great events, he returned from his travels, in the prime of health and manly beauty, loaded with literary distinctions, and glowing with patriotic hopes, such it continued to be when, after having experienced every calamity which is incident to our nature, old, poor, sightless and disgraced, he retired to his hovel to die. His Hence it was that, though he wrote the Paradise Lost at a time of life when images of beauty and tenderness are in general beginning to fade, even from those minds in which they have not been effaced by anxiety and disappointment, he adorned it with all that is most lovely and delightful in the physical and in the moral world. Neither Theocritus nor Ariosto had a finer or a more healthful sense of the plea santness of external objects, or loved directly egotistical. But the qualities better to luxuriate amidst sunbeams which we have ascribed to Milton, and flowers, the songs of nightingales, though perhaps most strongly marked the juice of summer fruits, and the in those parts of his works which treat coolness of shady fountains. His con- of his personal feelings, are distinguishception of love unites all the voluptu-able in every page, and impart to all ousness of the Oriental haram, and all his writings, prose and poetry, English, the gallantry of the chivalric tourna-Latin, and Italian, a strong family ment, with all the pure and quiet affec- likeness. tion of an English fireside. His poetry reminds us of the miracles of Alpine to be expected from a man of a spirit scenery. Nooks and dells, beautiful as fairy land, are embosomed in its most rugged and gigantic elevations. The roses and myrtles bloom unchilled on the verge of the avalanche. His public conduct was such as was so high and of an intellect so powerful. He lived at one of the most memorable eras in the history of mankind, at the very crisis of the great conflict between Oromasdes and Arimanes, liberty and despotism, reason and prejudice. That great battle was fought for no single generation, for no single land. The destinies of the human race were staked on the same cast with the freedom of the English people. Then were first proclaimed those mighty principles which have since worked their way into the depths of the American forests, which have roused Greece from the slavery and degradation of two thousand years, and which, from one end of Europe to the other, have kindled an unquenchable fire in the hearts of the oppressed, and loosed the knees of the oppressors with an unwonted fear. Traces, indeed, of the peculiar character of Milton may be found in all his works; but it is most strongly displayed in the Sonnets. Those remarkable poems have been undervalued by critics who have not understood their nature. They have no epigrammatic point. There is none of the ingenuity of Filicaja in the thought, none of the hard and brilliant enamel of Petrarch in the style. They are simple but majestic records of the feelings of the poet; as little tricked out for the public eye as his diary would have been. A victory, an unexpected attack upon the city, a momentary fit of depression or exultation, a jest thrown out against one of his books, a dream Of those principles, then struggling which for a short time restored to him for their infant existence, Milton was that beautiful face over which the grave the most devoted and eloquent literary had closed for ever, led him to mu- champion. We need not say how sings, which, without effort, shaped much we admire his public conduct. themselves into verse. The unity of But we cannot disguise from ourselves sentiment and severity of style which that a large portion of his countrymen characterise these little pieces remind still think it unjustifiable. The civil us of the Greck Anthology, or perhaps war, indeed, has been more discussed, still more of the Collects of the English and is less understood, than any event Liturgy. The noble poem on the in English history. The friends of Massacres of Piedmont is strictly a liberty laboured under the disadvantage collect in verse. of which the lion in the fable com. The Sonnets are more or less strik-plained so bitterly. Though they were ing, according as the occasions which gave birth to them are more or less interesting. But they are, almost without exception, dignified by a sobriety and greatness of mind to which we know not where to look for a parallel. It would, indeed, be scarcely safe to draw any decided inferences as to the character of a writer from passages the conquerors, their enemies were the painters. As a body, the Roundheads had done their utmost to decry and ruin literature; and literature was even with them, as, in the long run, it always is with its enemies. The best book on their side of the question is the charming narrative of Mrs. Hutchinson. May's History of the Parlia Charles himself and his creature Laud, while they abjured the innocent badges of Popery, retained all its worst vices a complete subjection of reason to authority, a weak preference of form to substance, a childish passion for mummeries, an idolatrous veneration for the priestly character, and, above all, a merciless intolerance. This, however, we waive. We will concede that Charles was a good Protestant; but we say that his Protestantism does not make the slightest distinction between his case and that of James. ment is good; but it breaks off at the In one respect, only, we think, can most interesting crisis of the struggle. the warmest admirers of Charles venThe performance of Ludlow is foolish ture to say that he was a better soveand violent; and most of the later reign than his son. He was not, in writers who have espoused the same name and profession, a Papist; we say cause, Oldmixon for instance, and Ca-in name and profession, because_both therine Macaulay, have, to say the least, been more distinguished by zeal than either by candour or by skill. On the other side are the most authoritative and the most popular historical works in our language, that of Clarendon, and that of Hume. The former is not only ably written and full of valuable information, but has also an air of dignity and sincerity which makes even the prejudices and errors with which it abounds respectable. Hume, from whose fascinating narrative the great mass of the reading public are still contented to take their opinions, hated religion so much that he hated liberty for having been allied with religion, and has pleaded the cause of tyranny with the dexterity of an advocate, while affecting the impartiality of a judge. The public conduct of Milton must be approved or condemned according as the resistance of the people to Charles the First shall appear to be justifiable or criminal. We shall therefore make no apology for dedicating a few pages to the discussion of that interesting and most important question. We shall not argue it on general grounds. We shall not recur to those primary principles from which the claim of any government to the obedience of its subjects is to be deduced. We are entitled to that vantage ground; but we will relinquish it. We are, on this point, so confident of superiority, that we are not unwilling to imitate the ostentatious generosity of those ancient knights, who vowed to joust without helmet or shield against all enemics, and to give their antagonists the advantage of sun and wind. We will take the naked constitutional question. We confidently affirm, that every reason which can be urged in favour of the Revolution of 1688 may be urged with at least equal force in favour of what is called the Great Rebellion. The principles of the Revolution have often been grossly misrepresented, and never more than in the course of the present year. There is a certain class of men, who, while they profess to hold in reverence the great names and great actions of former times, never look at them for any other purpose than in order to find in them some excuse for existing abuses. In every venerable precedent they pass by what is essential, and take only what is accidental: they keep out of sight what is beneficial, and hold up to public imitation all that is defective. If, in any part of any great example, there be any thing unsound, these flesh-flies detect it with an unerring instinct, and dart upon it with a ravenous delight. If some good end has been attained in spite of them, they feel, with their prototype, that "Their labour must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil." To the blessings which England has derived from the Revolution these people are utterly insensible. The expulsion of a tyrant, the solemn recognition of popular rights, liberty, security, toleration, all go for nothing with them. One sect there was, which, from unfortunate temporary causes, it was thought necessary to keep under close restraint. One part of the empire there was so unhappily circumstanced, that at that time its misery was necessary to our happiness, and its slavery to our freedom. These are the parts of the to be tyrants. The ground on which Revolution which the politicians of they, in their famous resolution, de whom we speak, love to contemplate, clared the throne vacant, was this, "that and which seem to them not indeed to James had broken the fundamental vindicate, but in some degree to palliate, laws of the kingdom." Every man, the good which it has produced. Talk therefore, who approves of the Revoto them of Naples, of Spain, or of lution of 1688 must hold that the South America. They stand forth breach of fundamental laws on the part zealots for the doctrine of Divine Right of the sovereign justifies resistance. which has now come back to us, like a The question, then, is this; Had Charles thief from transportation, under the the First broken the fundamental laws alias of Legitimacy. But mention the of England? miseries of Ireland. Then William is No person can answer in the negaa hero. Then Somers and Shrewsbury tive, unless he refuses credit, not merely are great men. Then the Revolution to all the accusations brought against is a glorious era. The very same per- Charles by his opponents, but to the sons who, in this country, never omit an narratives of the warmest Royalists, and opportunity of reviving every wretched to the confessions of the King himself. Jacobite slander respecting the Whigs If there be any truth in any historian of that period, have no sooner crossed of any party who has related the events St. George's Channel, than they begin of that reign, the conduct of Charles, to fill their bumpers to the glorious and from his accession to the meeting of immortal memory. They may truly the Long Parliament, had been a conboast that they look not at men, but at tinued course of oppression and treameasures. So that evil be done, they chery. Let those who applaud the care not who does it; the arbitrary Revolution, and condemn the Rebellion, Charles, or the liberal William, Fer-mention one act of James the Second dinand the Catholic, or Frederic the to which a parallel is not to be found Protestant. On such occasions their in the history of his father. Let them deadliest opponents may reckon upon their candid construction. The bold assertions of these people have of late impressed a large portion of the public with an opinion that James the Second was expelled simply because he was a Catholic, and that the Revolution was essentially a Protestant Revolution. But this certainly was not the case; nor can any person who has acquired more knowledge of the history of those times than is to be found in Goldsmith's Abridgment believe that, if James had held his own religious opinions without wishing to make proselytes, or if, wishing even to make proselytes, he had contented himself with exerting only his constitutional influence for that purpose, the Prince of Orange would ever have been invited over. Our ancestors, we suppose, knew their own meaning and, if we may believe them, their hostility was primarily not to popery, but to tyranny. They did not drive cut a tyrant because he was a Catholic; but they excluded Catholics from the crown, because they thought them likely lay their fingers on a single article in the Declaration of Right, presented by the two Houses to William and Mary, which Charles is not acknowledged to have violated. He had, according to the testimony of his own friends, usurped the functions of the legislature, raised taxes without the consent of parliament, and quartered troops on the people in the most illegal and vexatious manner. Not a single session of parliament had passed without some unconstitutional attack on the freedom of debate; the right of petition was grossly violated; arbitrary judgments, exorbitant fines, and unwarranted imprisonments, were grievances of daily occurrence. If these things do not justify resistance, the Revolution was treason; if they do, the Great Rebellion was laudable. But, it is said, why not adopt milder measures? Why, after the King had consented to so many reforms, and renounced so many oppressive prerogatives, did the parliament continue to rise in their demands at the risk of provoking a civil war? The ship-money had been given up. The Star Cham- | heritance and by recent purchase, inber had been abolished. Provision fringed by the perfidious king who had had been made for the frequent con- recognised them. At length circumvocation and secure deliberation of stances compelled Charles to summon parliaments. Why not pursue an end another parliament: another chance confessedly good by peaceable and was given to our fathers were they to regular means? We recur again to throw it away as they had thrown away the analogy of the Revolution. Why the former? Were they again to be was James driven from the throne? cozened by le Roi le veut? Were they Why was he not retained upon con- again to advance their money on ditions? He too had offered to call a pledges which had been forfeited over free parliament and to submit to its and over again? Were they to lay a decision all the matters in dispute. second Petition of Right at the foot of Yet we are in the habit of praising our the throne, to grant another lavish aid forefathers, who preferred a revolution, in exchange for another unmeaning a disputed succession, a dynasty of ceremony, and then to take their de strangers, twenty years of foreign and parture, till, after ten years more of intestine war, a standing army, and a fraud and oppression, their prince national debt, to the rule, however should again require a supply, and restricted, of a tried and proved tyrant. again repay it with a perjury? They The Long Parliament acted on the were compelled to choose whether they same principle, and is entitled to the would trust a tyrant or conquer him. same praise. They could not trust the We think that they chose wisely and King. He had no doubt passed salu-nobly. tary laws; but what assurance was there that he would not break them? He had renounced oppressive prerogatives; but where was the security that he would not resume them? The nation had to deal with a man whom no tie could bind, a man who made and broke promises with equal facility, a man whose honour had been a hundred times pawned, and never redeemed. The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline all contro. versy about the facts, and content themselves with calling testimony to character. He had so many private virtues! And had James the Second no private virtues? Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest enemies themselves being judges, destitute of private virHere, indeed, the Long Parliament tues? And what, after all, are the stands on still stronger ground than the virtues ascribed to Charles? A reConvention of 1688. No action of ligious zeal, not more sincere than that James can be compared to the conduct of his son, and fully as weak and of Charles with respect to the Petition of Right. The Lords and Commons present him with a bill in which the constitutional limits of his power are marked out. He hesitates; he evades; at last he bargains to give his assent for five subsidies. The bill receives his solemn assent; the subsidies are voted; but no sooner is the tyrant relieved, than he returns at once to all the arbitrary measures which he had bound himself to abandon, and violates all the clauses of the very Act which he had been paid to pass. For more than ten years the people had seen the rights which were theirs by a double claim, by immemorial in narrow-minded, and a few of the ordinary household decencies which half the tombstones in England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good father! A good husband! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of persecution, tyranny, and falsehood! We charge him with having broken his coronation oath; and we are told that he kept his marriage vow! We accuse him of having given up his people to the merciless inflictions of the most hot-headed and hard-hearted of prelates; and the defence is, that he took his little son on his knee and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the articles of the PeC |