In billows, leave in the midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights, if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire;
And such appeared in hue, as when the force
Of subterranean wind transports a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fueled entrails thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, and the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved

With stench and smoke: such resting found the sole
Of unblessed feet."

"he, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air

Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs."

"He spake and to confirm his words, outflew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze
Far round illumined hell: highly they raged
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms
Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven."

"The other shape,

If shape it might be called, that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,
For each seemed either; black it stood as night,
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seemed his head,
The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Satan was now at hand, and from his seat
The monster moving, onward came as fast
With horrid strides: hell trembled as he strode.
The undaunted fiend what this might be admired;
Admired, not feared; God and his Son except,
Created thing nought valued he, nor shunned ;
And with disdainful look thus first began."

—————“I fled, and cried out, Death! Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed From all her caves, and back resounded, Death!"

-"Horror and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir
The hell within him; for within him hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from hell
One step, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place; now conscience wakes despair,
That slumbered; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and. what must be
Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue.
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view
Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixed sad;
Sometimes towards heaven, and the full blazing sun,
Which now sat high in his meridian tower.
Me miserable, which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
Oh! then, at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but my submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
The Omnipotent! Ah me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell,
With diadem and sceptre high advanced,
The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery: such joy ambition finds."

We now change the subject, and see how the same genius can ascend from the lowest depths of hell, to the highest regions of purity and bliss, tuning his harp to strains that harmonize with both.

"No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all
The multitude of angels, with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blessed voices, uttering joy, Heaven rung
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled
The eternal regions."

there grows,

"Immortal amaranth, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life,
Began to bloom: but soon for man's offence
To heaven removed, where first it grew,
And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream:
With those that never fade, the spirits elect,
Bind their resplendent locks, inwreathed with beams;
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright
Pavement, that like a sea of jasper stone,
Impearled with celestial roses smiled.
Then crowned again, their golden harps they took,
Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet
Of charming symphony they introduce
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high;
No voice exempt, no voice but well could join
Melodious part, such concord is in heaven."

"So spake the cherub; and his grave rebuke, Severe in youthful beauty, added grace Invincible: abashed the devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely saw, and pined 'His loss."

"Hail, holy light, offspring of heaven first born,
Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam!

May I express thee unblamed? Since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity; dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite."

"And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples he upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thon know'st; thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant; what in me is dark,
Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument,
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men."

"Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best,

And love with fear the only God; to walk
As in his presence; ever to observe
His providence; and on him sole depend,
Merciful over all his works, with good
Still overcoming evil, and by small
Accomplished great things, by things deemed weak
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise
By simply meek; that suffering for truth's sake
Is fortitude to highest victory,

And to the faithful, death the gate of life;
Taught this by his example, whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blessed."

If power be the faculty which presents us most clearly and forcibly with ideas that lie beyond the scope of ordinary thought, there is then a power in beauty, as well as in sublimity-a power in the language of the affections to awaken their echo in the human heart, and in pure and holy aspirations, to call us back to all the good we have forsaken, and to lead us forward to all that yet may be attained.

That beautiful and majestic hymn in which Milton describes our first parents, as calling upon the creation-upon every bright and glorious creature-to join in the solemn praises of their universal Creator, comprehends all that we can imagine, both of the harmony of verse, and the force of mental power. Widely as we may have wandered from the purity and the innocence of the first inhabitants of paradise, this morning hymn seems to burst upon us like the dawn of a brighter day, when gratitude and love shall again become the natural language of the re-illumined soul. We see around us even now the same attributes of divinity-the sun, the "eye of this great world," the moon that "meets the orient sun," and the "fixed stars"-we feel "the winds that from four quarters blow"-we hear the warbling flow of the fountains"The birds,

That singing up to Heaven's gate ascend"-

we behold the world of animate and moving life-creatures that "in waters glide,"

or

"stately tread the earth," or "lowly creep," and we acknowledge them to be the work and the care of an Almighty hand; but where is the fresh impulse of undeviating will to worship that Almighty Father? will it return with the contemplation of his attributes, and stimulate us to a more faithful service, or inspire a holier love?

We are not among those who would limit the means appointed by Omnipotence for winning back the wanderer from the fold, and we have no hesitation in saying, that it is impossible studiously to examine, and seriously to consider the well directed aim of Milton's genius, without feeling a fresh conviction that such should be the high and glorious purpose of all human intellect―to' dignify the immortal nature of man-to throw open as far as human powers permit, the great plan of Divine benevolence, and to teach the important lesson, that where we cannot wholly understand, we may humbly admire, and where we cannot penetrate, we should trust.

In connexion with mental power, there remains some distinction to be made in its mode of operation. There is a power of intellect, and a power of feeling. The writings of Pope bear the most striking evidence of the former, those of Byron will serve as an example of the latter. Pope addresses himself to man's reason, and wields conviction like a thunderbolt. Byron appeals to the soul through its strong sympathies and passions, and spreads over it the shadow of the mighty wings of a dark angel. But the genius of Milton combining the powers of both, and pausing in its flight from heaven to hell, treads the verdant paths of Eden with the footsteps of humanity, reposes in the bowers of earthly bliss, and pours the lamentation of a broken and a contrite spirit over the first sad exile of the progenitors of sin and death.

We cannot complete our tribute to the power of Milton's mind, without referring to his prose, as well as to his poetical compositions; and here we find that strong internal evidence of his calling and capability to work out what mankind in future ages should wonder at and approve; accompanied with a deeply reverential feeling, that even with such capabilities, he was but an

humble instrument whose highest office was to assist and promote the purposes of the Most High. And when he levels the powerful aim of his majestic mind against the abuse, and the oppression of a suffering church, it is with the full conviction that such is the solemn duty laid upon his soul.

"For surely (he acknowledges) to every good and peaceable man, it must in nature needs be a hateful thing to be the displeaser and molester of thousands; much better would it like him doubtless to be the messenger of gladness and contentment, which is his chief intended business to all mankind, but that they resist and oppose their own true happiness. But when God commands to take the trumpet, and blow a dolorous or jarring blast, it lies not in man's will what he shall say, or what he shall conceal."

Milton then describes, in language scarcely less remarkable for its power than for its poetical fervour, the self-upbraidings he should ever have felt in after life, had he neglected this high and holy call to rescue the church from degradation.

"Timorous and ungrateful, the church of God is now again at the foot of her insulting enemies, and thou bewailest; what matters it for thee, or thy bewailing? when time was, thou couldst not find a syllable of all that thou hast read, or studied, to utter in her behalf. Yet ease and leisure was given thee for thy retired thoughts, out of the sweat of other men. Thou hast the diligence, the parts, the language of a man, if a vain subject were to be adorned or beautified; but when the cause of God and his church was to be pleaded, for which purpose that tongue was given thee which thou hast; God listened if he could hear thy voice among his zealous servants, but thou wert dumb as a beast; from henceforward be that which thine own brutish silence hath made thee. Or else I should have heard in the other ear; slothful and ever to be set light by, the church hath now overcome her late distresses after the unwearied labours of many of her true servants that stood up in her defence; thou also wouldst take upon thee to share amongst them of their joy: but wherefore thou? where canst thou show any word or deed of thine which might have hastened her peace? whatever thou dost now talk, or write, or look, is the alms of other men's active prudence and zeal. Dare not now to say or do any thing better than thy former sloth and infamy; or if thou darest, thou dost impudently to make a thrifty purchase of boldness to thyself, out of the painful merits of other men; what before was thy sin, is now thy duty, to be abject and worthless. These, and such like lessons as these, would have been my matins daily, and my evening song. But now by this little diligence, mark what a privilege I have gained with good men and saints, to claim my right of lamenting the tribulations of the church, if she should suffer, when others, that have ventured nothing for her sake, have not the honour

to be admitted mourners. But if she lift up her drooping

head and prosper among those that have something more than wished her welfare, I have my charter and freehold of rejoicing to me and my heirs."

The manner in which Milton speaks of the

first stirrings of his youthful genius-the first impulse of inspiration, is worthy of the effect it has produced, and still continues to produce upon mankind.

"I began thus far to assent both to them and to divers of my friends at home, and not less to an inward prompt. ing which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intense study, (which I take to be my portion in this life,) joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after times, as they should not willingly let it die."

The poet then describes the high and mighty compass of the work which he contemplated, speaking uniformly of the great endowment of extraordinary intellect as a gift to be exclusively devoted to the honour and instruction of his country, and the glory of his God.

"To celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of God's almightiness, and what he works, and what he suffers to be wrought with high providence in his church; to sing victorious agonies of martyrs and saints; the deeds and triumphs of just and pious nations, doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of Christ; to deplore the general relapses of kingdoms from justice and God's true worship. Lastly, whatsoever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the wily subtleties or refluxes of man's thoughts from within; all these things with a solid and treatable smoothness to point out and describe. Teaching over the whole book of sanctity and virtue through all the instances of example, with such delight to those especially of soft and delicious temper, who will not so much as look upon truth herself, unless they see her elegantly dressed; that whereas the paths of honesty and good life appear now rugged and difficult, though they be indeed easy and pleasant, they will then appear to all men easy and pleasant, though they were rugged and difficult indeed.

——"A work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine; like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daugh ters, but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge; and sends out his seraphim, with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases."

This is indeed quoting at great length, but the temptation is great also, to support with the highest authority what has been asserted, that true mental power is always accompanied with the consciousness of its existence, and that the noblest exercise of this power is to promote the intellectual happiness, as well as the moral good of the human family, and to "justify the ways of God to

man."

We know not that our language contains

any thing comparable in poetic fervour, and sublimity, and power, to the solemn appeal to the Divine Being with which Milton closes his second book on the Reformation. After summing up a list of evils present and to come, he adds

"I do now feel myself inwrapped on the sudden into those mazes and labarynths of hideous and dreadful thoughts, that which way to get out, or which way to end, I know not, unless I turn mine eyes, and with your help lift up my hands to that eternal and propitious throne, where nothing is readier than grace and refuge to the distresses of mortal suppliants. And it were a shame to leave these serious thoughts less piously than the heathen were wont to conclude their graver discourses.

"Thou therefore that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, Parent of angels and men! next thee I implore, omnipotent King, Redeemer of that lost remnant whose nature thou didst assume, ineffable and everlasting love! and thou, the third subsistence of divine infinitude, illumining Spirit, the joy and solace of created things! one Tripersonal godhead! look upon this thy poor and almost spent and expiring church, leave her not thus a prey to these importunate wolves, that wait and think long till they devour thy tender flock; these wild boars that have broke into thy vineyard, and left the print of their polluting hoofs on the souls of thy servants. Olet them not bring about their damned designs, that stand now at the entrance of the bottomless pit, expecting the watch word to open and let out those dreadful locusts and scorpions, to reinvolve us in that pitchy cloud of infernal darkness, where we shall never more see the sun of thy truth again, never hope for the cheerful dawn, never more hear the bird of morning sing. Be moved with pity at the afflicted state of this our shaken monarchy, that now lies labouring under her throes, and struggling against the grudges of more dreadful calamities.

"O thou, that, after the impetuous rage of five bloody inundations, and the succeeding sword of intestine war, soaking the land in her own gore, didst pity the sad and ceaseless revolution of our swift and thick coming sorrows; when we were quite breathless, out of thy free grace didst motion peace, and terms of covenant with us; and have first well nigh freed us from antichristian thraldom, didst build up this Britannic empire to a glorious and enviable height, with all her daughter islands about her; stay us in this felicity, let not the obstinacy of our half obedience and will-worship bring forth that viper of sedition, that for fourscore years hath been breeding to eat through the entrails of our peace; but

mental power, that we conclude only with the end of the chapter. Of those whom he has been denouncing, he says,

"Let them take counsel together, and let it come to nought; let them decree, and do thou cancel it; let them gather themselves, and be scattered; let them embattle themselves, and be broken; let them embattle and be broken, for thou art with us.

"Then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of saints, some one may perhaps be heard offering at high strains in new and lofty measures, to sing and celebrate thy divine mercies aud marvellous judgments in this land throughout all ages; whereby this great and warlike nation, instructed and inured to the fervent and continual practice of truth and righteousness, and casting far from her the rags of her old vices, may press on hard to that high and happy emulation to be found the soberest, wisest, and most Christian people at that day, when thou, the eternal and shortly expected King, shalt open the clouds to judge the several kingdoms of the world, and distributing national honours and rewards to religious and just commonwealths, shall put an end to all earthly tyrannies, proclaiming thy universal and mild monarchy through heaven and earth; where they undoubtedly, that by their labours, counsels and prayers, have been earnest for the common good of religion and their country, shall receive above the inferior orders of the blessed, the legal addition of principalities, legions, and thrones into their glorious titles, and in supereminence of beatific vision, progressing the dateless and irrevoluble circle of eternity, shall clasp inseparable hands with joy and bliss, in overmeasure for ever.

"But they contrary, that by the impairing and diminu. tion of the true faith, the distresses and servitude of their country, aspire to high dignity, rule, and promotion here, after a shameful end in this life, shall be thrown down eternally into the darkest and deepest gulf of hell, where under the despiteful control, the trampie and spurn of all the other damned, that in the anguish of their torture, shall have no other ease than to exercise a raving and bestial tyranny over them as their slaves and negroes, they shall remain in that plight for ever, the basest, lowermost, the most dejected, most underfoot, and down trodden vassals of perdition."

TASTE.

TASTE, the last mentioned of the four re

this travailing and throbbing kingdom: that we may still remember in our solemn thanksgivings, how for us, the Northern Ocean even to the frozen Thule was scattered with the proud shipwrecks of the Spanish Armada, and the very maw of hell ransacked, and made to give up her concealed destruction, ere she could vent it in that horrible and damned blast.

Milton then goes on with somewhat too much of the rancour of a zealot to stigmatize and condemn the enemies of the church, but still his language is so perfectly illustrative of what we have attempted to describe as

the least important, because its sphere of operation belongs so much to the medium through which poetical ideas are conveyed, that even where impression, imagination, and power exist, we may lose by the absence of taste, all the sensible effect of their presence, as well as all the pleasure naturally arising from their combined influence.

We speak of taste as belonging chiefly to the medium of the poet's ideas, because in the choice and arrangement of his subjects, he

uses a higher faculty (or rather a higher and more profound exercise of the same,)—the faculty of judgment; in its nature so nearly allied to taste, that we are inclined to describe taste as a superficial application of judgment. Both are faculties whose office it is to take note of the fitness of things generally, the one by casual observation of them, the other by mature consideration of their nature. Taste applies chiefly to those qualities which immediately strike our attention without much exercise of thought, such as beauty and harmony; while judgment admits within its compass the weightier considerations of present utility, and ultimate good.

If, for example, we say of a lady that she dresses with taste; we mean with due regard to beauty of form, harmony of colours, and general suitableness to her appearance -if with judgment, we mean with regard to her pecuniary means, her character, and station in life; but the operation of the mind in the exercise of taste, and judgment is the same, differing only in the subjects to which it is applied. In both cases we draw conclusions from the general nature of the subjects considered, those of which taste takes cognizance, being superficial and evident to the senses, its conclusions are prompt, and immediate; and thus it erroneously obtains the character of an intuitive power, directing the choice at once to what is most suitable, or best. In the tasteful arrangement of a group of flowers, we are apt to suppose it is an instinctive impulse by which they are so placed before us, as to display their beauties | to the greatest advantage, and produce the most agreeable effect; but it is in fact upon conclusions previously drawn from the principles of pleasure, that the mind operates in contrasting the colours so as to make one heighten the brilliancy of another, and combining the whole group so as to render not only colour, but form, and character conducive to the beauty of the whole.

If taste and judgment differ only in being exercised upon different subjects, it may be asked, why then are not the individuals best skilled in the arrangement of flowers, able legislators, and profound logicians? It is because there are many minds possessed of the faculty of judgment yet wholly incapa

ble of taking into consideration the nature, relation, and application of the laws which regulate public action, and private thought; but if such individuals could be made to understand these laws, there is no reason why they should not judge as correctly of their effect as of that of a group of flowers. In order to compose a tasteful bouquet it is only necessary that we should have clear perceptions of form and colour; in order to invent laws for the government of nations, or systematize the thoughts and "imaginations of man's heart," we must have distinct ideas of physical force, and moral good, of action, and motive, of power, and integrity.

It is a familiar, but not the less important and comprehensive fact, that every thing has a proper place; and the faculty which enables us to ascertain by instantaneous perception what is, or is not the proper place of any object, is taste-that by which we ascertain the same fact by conviction is judgment. We admire, and derive pleasure from the operation of the former; we reverence, and derive benefit from that of the latter. Our looks, words, movements, and trifling pursuits come under the cognizance of taste; nor let its superficial character lessen the value of this universal test of beauty and harmony, which are the two grand sources of our enjoyment. It is not the profound nature of the cases in which it acts, but their frequent recurrence in the ordinary walks of life, as well as their immense variety and number, which renders the influence of taste so important to our happiness. If from the causes upon which it operates, we are liable to receive pain or pleasure every moment of our lives, the cultivation of this faculty must indeed be of no inconsiderable weight in the aggregate of human affairs; yet how to cultivate it so as ultimately to produce the greatest good, is a delicate and difficult question. Refined to the most acute perception of all the degrees which lie between the remote extremes of beauty and deformity-of pleasure and pain, taste is any thing but a blessing; unless where there is judgment to go deeper into the essential qualities of things, and to discover a moral good beneath a physical evil; because the outward aspect of our world, even with all its loveliness, and the external