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RECONSTRUCTION OF A PASSAGE.1

THE opening lines of Book V., as they are printed in every edition, seem to have become dislocated so as to present an entanglement the reverse of what may be looked for as poetry or even of sense. In this form it is received :

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed, for his sleep
Was aery light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan

Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve.

For the convenience of comparison, I here print the lines as I venture to reconstruct them :

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl
And temp'rate vapours bland, which Aurora's fan
Lightly dispersed-the only sound [being] of leaves
And fuming rills, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough ;-so much the more,
When Adam waked, so customed (for his sleep
Was aëry light, from pure digestion bred),
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve.

The passage has, of course, occasioned great perplexity among the several editors, though very little has been said by any one of them upon it-nothing, perhaps, could be said to any purpose while it stood as it did. All that the Clarendon editor says is, that

1 The interest and importance attaching to this reconstruction, induces me to place it here out of its due order. See others, pp. 74 and 115, Notes. See also pp. cxvi.—exxix.

"which refers to sleep "—no, it refers to vapours ; and he quotes and adopts Keightley's explanation of fan, "not the sound is meant but the wind which moves the leaves"-he should have said which disperses the vapours; "whose effect on the sleepers was similar to the coolness produced by a fan"—this last remark is superfluous and not applicable. All that Dr. Bradshaw says upon it I reproduce:-"The antecedent of which is sleep. He was awakened only by the ripple of the waters, the fanning of the wind among the leaves, and the charm of earliest birds." How can this be, when it is expressly stated that Adam waked in his usual way, at the usual time, according to his habit ?— for this is certainly what is plainly meant by "so customed." The ripple of the waters would be more calculated to soothe a sleeper, so would the gentle fanning of the wind, and the rustle of the leaves with song of birds-all these gentle influences are, indeed, stated for the purpose of showing more pointedly the calm and tranquillity which prevailed ("the only sound"), not as inflicting disturbance on the sleepers -the poetic beauty of which is palpable, but which Dr. Bradshaw would completely sacrifice. No, "Adam waked so customed."

Dr. Bradshaw continues, "Professor Masson, however, regards it as 'more natural and more consistent with the subsequent image to take temperate vapours bland as the antecedent.' I think just the reverse; the image of the fan dispersing the vapours suits well enough, but not the shrill song of birds, which would be a most natural awakener from sleep." The confusion of the commentators is, perhaps, natural, because they are struggling with a difficulty which cannot, it seems to me, be overcome by any efforts at explanation. As another instance of embarrassment I quote what Professor Masson says, " Adam's sleep was light being produced by pure digestion and by the bland temperate cloudiness (not the cloudiness of excess) consequently rising to the brain, which Aurora's fan," &c.

MILTON'S WORKS,

ONE PRIME SOURCE OF INTELLECTUAL

DEVELOPMENT.

THE study of English literature is so important a pursuit at the present day, and enters so much more into the curriculum of every school than at any former period, that it may be deemed a service done to students, and all who earnestly read with an elevated purpose, if I am able to point the way by which they may be more especially helped to reach that elevation and to ensure that development. We know how authors who were once recommended as models have come now to be regarded as possessing no such recommendations for imitation as to style and diction, whatever may be their other merits; it is, therefore, of no little importance to arrive at a just conclusion as to what models should be set up for study that shall be regarded as indisputably transcendent and unrivalled. Milton's works, prose and verse, will surely and unfailingly develop a pure and elevated style, a felicitous diction, and at the same time confer the inestimable advantage upon every student, who conscientiously and resolutely devotes himself to the pleasant task, of expanding his powers, unfolding his faculties, and stimulating his imagination. It is strange that this great armoury, from which such mighty weapons are to be obtained wherewith to strengthen the intellect and adorn the mind, has been, and is, so greatly

neglected, and other sources resorted to for this purpose which are not to be placed in comparison. Bishop Burnet says: "We are continually astonished and delighted at Milton's never-failing abundance of sentiment and imagery, at that majestic strain and swell of thoughts with which his mind always flows. He was a man essentially great; and whoever wishes to form his language to a lofty and noble style, his character to a fervid sincerity of soul, will read the works of Milton." And the Rev. C. R. Sumner (afterwards Bishop of Winchester) has recorded similar testimony. He says: "There is much reason for regretting that the prose works of Milton should be in the hands of so few readers, considering the advantage which might be derived to our literature from the study of their original and nervous eloquence." But it may be asked, how many read even his marvellous "Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing?" So lofty in conception, so masterly in execution, and possessing such incomparable beauties, this Speech ought to be as familiar to every Englishman, from generation to generation, as the language in which it is written. No one can read it without amazement at the marvellous argumentative power it displays, nor without the profoundest admiration of the charming illustration and exquisite fancy with which it abounds. "It may well be doubted," says a great writer, "whether the whole compass of literature furnishes a treatise enriched with such elevated sentiments, such glorious aspirations, and such stately and overwhelming eloquence." And the late Judge Keogh, in a lecture he delivered on Milton's Prose Works, spoke of this Speech in these emphatic terms :—“ I can never bring myself to hurry over this noble production. I have read it over and over again. I read it years and years ago, and often since, and the oftener

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I read it the more I take it to my heart. member, it is mainly owing to that wondrous treatise that we enjoy a free Press and a large modicum of religious liberty." Macaulay said, that "every Statesman should wear it as a sign upon his hand and as frontlets between his eyes."

It

The importance I attach to this subject cannot be regarded as exaggerated after reading the above testimony; and the following deliverance of the Quarterly Review on this point possesses remarkable force. says: "Shakespeare himself, divine as are his gifts, has not, of the marks of the master, this one-perfect sureness of hand in his style. Alone of English poets, alone in English art, Milton has it; he is our great artist in style, our one first-rate master in the grand style. He is as truly a master in this style as the great Greeks are, or Virgil or Dante. The number of such masters is so limited, that a man acquires a world-rank in poetry and art, instead of a mere local rank, by being counted to them. But Milton's importance to us Englishmen, by virtue of this distinction of his, is incalculable. The charm of a master's unfailing touch in diction and in rhythm, no one, after all, can feel so intimately, so profoundly, as his own countrymen. Invention, plan, wit, pathos, thought, all of them are in great measure capable of being detached from the original work itself, and of being exported for admiration abroad. Diction and rhythm are not; even when a foreigner can read the work in its own language, they are not, perhaps, easily appreciable by him. Be it remembered, too, that English literature, full of vigour and genius as it is, is peculiarly impaired by gropings and inadequacies in form. For the English artist in any branch, if he is a true artist, the study of Milton may well have an inde scribable attraction. It gives him lessons which

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