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I shall therefore consider this book under four heads, in relation to the celestial, the infernal, the human, and the imaginary persons, who have their respective parts allotted in it.

To begin with the celestial persons: the guardian angels of Paradise are described as returning to heaven upon the fall of man, in order to approve their vigilance; their arrival, their manner of reception, with the sorrow which appeared in themselves. and in those spirits who are said to rejoice at the conversion of a sinner, are very finely laid together in the following lines:

tion, Hosannah to the Son of David! | other in the whole poem. The author, Blessed is he that cometh in the name of upon the winding up of his action, introthe Lord!' At this great King's accession duces all those who had any concern in it, to his throne, men were not ennobled, but and shows with great beauty the influence saved; crimes were not remitted, but sins which it had upon each of them. It is like forgiven. He did not bestow medals, the last act of a well-written tragedy, in honours, favours; but health, joy, sight, which all who had a part in it are generally speech. The first object the blind ever drawn up before the audience, and represaw was the Author of sight; while the sented under those circumstances in which lame ran before, and the dumb repeated the determination of the action places them. the hosannah. Thus attended, he entered into his own house, the sacred temple, and by his divine authority expelled traders and worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he for a time use a great and despotic power, to let unbelievers understand that it was not want of, but superiority to, all worldly dominion, that made him not exert it. But is this then the Saviour? Is this the Deliverer? Shall this obscure Nazarene command Israel, and sit on the throne of David? Their proud and disdainful hearts, which were petrified with the love and pride of this world, were impregnable to the reception of so mean a benefactor; and were now enough exasperated with benefits to conspire his death. Our Lord was sensible of their design, and prepared his disciples for it, by recounting to them now more distinctly what should befal him; but Peter, with an ungrounded resolution, and in a flush of temper, made a sanguine protestation, that though all men were offended in him, yet would not he be offended. It was a great article of our Saviour's business in the world to bring us to a sense of our inability, without God's assistance, to do any thing great or good; he therefore told Peter, who thought so well of his courage and fidelity, that they would both fail him, and even he should deny him thrice that very night.

But what heart can conceive, what tongue utter the sequel? Who is that yonder, buffetted, mocked, and spurned? Whom do they drag like a felon? Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Saviour, and my God? And will he die to expiate those very injuries? See where they have nailed the Lord and giver of life! How his wounds blacken, his body writhes, and heart heaves with pity and with agony! Oh Almighty sufferer, look down, look down from thy triumphant infamy! Lo, he inclines his head to his sacred bosom! Hark, he groans! See, he expires! The earth trembles, the temple rends, the rocks burst, the dead arise. Which are the quick? Which are the dead? Sure nature, all nature is departing with her Creator.'

No. 357.] Saturday, April 19, 1712.

T.

-Quis talia fando
Temperet a lachrymis ?- -Virg. Æn. ii. 6.
Who can relate such woes without a tear?

THE tenth book of Paradise Lost has a greater variety of persons in it than any

Up into heav'n from Paradise in haste
Th' angelic guards ascended, mute and sad
For man; for of his state by this they knew;
Much wond'ring how the subtle fiend had stol'n
Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome news
From earth arriv'd at heaven gate, displeas'd
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages; yet mixt
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new arriv'd, in multitudes
Th' ethereal people ran to hear and know
How all befel. They tow'rds the throne supreme
Accountable made haste, to make appear
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance,
And easily approv'd; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud
Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice.

The same Divine Person, who in the foregoing parts of this poem interceded for our first parents before their fall, overthrew the rebel angels, and created the world, is now represented as descending to the three offenders. The cool of the evenParadise, and pronouncing sentence upon ing being a circumstance with which holy writ introduces this great scene, it is poetically described by our author, who has also kept religiously to the form of words in which the three several sentences were passed upon Adam, Eve, and the serpent. He has rather chosen to neglect the nufrom those speeches which are recorded on merousness of his verse, than to deviate this great occasion. The guilt and confusion of our first parents, standing naked before their judge, is touched with great beauty. Upon the arrival of Sin and Death into the works of creation, the Almighty is again introduced as speaking to his angels that surrounded him.

'See! with what heat these dogs of hell advance,
To waste and havoc yonder world, which I
So fair and good created,' &c.

The following passage is formed upon that glorious image in holy writ, which compares the voice of an innumerable host of angels uttering hallelujahs, to the voice of mighty thunderings, or of many waters:

He ended, and the heav'nly audience loud
Sung hallelujah, as the sound of seas,
Through multitude that sung: Just are thy ways,
Righteous are thy decrees in all thy works,
Who can extenuate thee?"

Though the author, in the whole course of his poem, and particularly in the book we are now examining, has infinite allusions to places of Scripture, I have only taken notice in my remarks of such as are of a poetical nature, and which are woven with great beauty into the body of his fable. Of this kind is that passage in the present book, where, describing Sin as marching through the works of nature, he adds,

-Behind her Death

Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet
On his pale horse-

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Which alludes to that passage in Scripture
so wonderfully poetical, and terrifying to
the imagination: And I looked, and be-
hold, a pale horse, and his name that sat
on him was Death, and Hell followed with
him: and power was given unto them over
the fourth part of the earth, to kill with
sword, and with hunger, and with sickness,
and with the beasts of the earth.' Under
this first head of celestial persons we must
likewise take notice of the command which
the angels received, to produce the several
changes in nature, and sully the beauty of
creation. Accordingly they are represent-
ed as infecting the stars and planets with
malignant influences, weakening the light
of the sun, bringing down the winter into
the milder regions of nature, planting winds
and storms in several quarters of the sky,
storing the clouds with thunder, and, in
short, perverting the whole frame of the
universe to the condition of its criminal in-
habitants. As this is a noble incident in
the poem, the following lines, in which we
see the angels heaving up the earth, and
placing it in a different posture to the sun
from what it had before the fall of man, is
conceived with that sublime imagination
which was so peculiar to this great author:

'Some say he bid his angels turn askance
The poles of earth twice ten degrees and more
From the sun's axle; they with labour push'd
Oblique the centric globe,-

We are in the second place to consider the infernal agents under the view which Milton has given us of them in this book. It is observed, by those who would set forth the greatness of Virgil's plan, that he conducts his reader through all the parts of the earth which were discovered in his time. Asia, Africa, and Europe, are the several scenes of his fable. The plan of Milton's poem is of an infinitely greater extent, and fills the mind with many more astonishing circumstances. Satan, having surrounded the earth seven times, departs at length from Paradise. We then see him steering his course among the constellations; and, after having traversed the whole creation, pursuing his voyage through the chaos, and entering into his own infernal dominions,

His first appearance in the assembly of fallen angels is worked up with circumstances which give a delightful surprise to the reader: but there is no incident in the whole poem which does this more than the transformation of the whole audience, that follows the account their leader gives them of his expedition. The gradual change of Satan himself is described after Ovid's manner, and may vie with any of those celebrated transformations which are looked upon as the most beautiful parts in that poet's works. Milton never fails of improving his own hints, and bestowing the last finishing touches in every incident which is admitted into his poem. The unexpected hiss which arises in this episode, the dimensions and bulk of Satan so much superior to those of the infernal spirits who lay under the same transformation, with the annual change which they are supposed to suffer, are instances of this kind. The beauty of the diction is very remarkable in this whole episode, as I have observed in the sixth paper of these remarks the great judgment with which it was contrived.

The parts of Adam and Eve, or the human persons, come next under our consideration. Milton's art is no where more shown, than in his conducting the parts of these our first parents. The representation he gives of them, without falsifying the story, is wonderfully contrived to influence the reader with pity and compassion towards them. Though Adam involves the whole species in misery, his crime proceeds from a weakness which every man is inclined to pardon and commiserate, as it seems rather the frailty of human nature, than of the person who offended. Every one is apt to excuse a fault which he himself might have fallen into. It was the excess of love for Eve that ruined Adam and his posterity. I need not add, that the author is justified in this particular by many of the fathers, and the most orthodox writers. Milton has by this means filled a great part of his poem with that kind of writing which the French critics call the tendre, and which is in a particular manner engaging to all sorts of readers.

Adam and Eve, in the book we are now considering, are likewise drawn with such sentiments as do not only interest the reader in their afflictions, but raise in him the most melting passions of humanity and commiseration. When Adam sees the several changes of nature produced about him, he appears in a disorder of mind suitable to one who had forfeited both his innocence and his happiness: he is filled with horror, remorse, despair; in the anguish of his heart he expostulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked existence:

'Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me? or here place
In this delicious garden? As my will
Concurr'd not to my being, 'twere but right

And equal to reduce me to my dust, Desirous to resign, and render back All I receiv'd.'

He immediately after recovers from his presumption, owns his doom to be just, and begs that the death which is threatened him may be inflicted on him:

-Why delays

His hand to execute what his decree
Fix'd on this day? Why do I over-live?
Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out
To deathless pain? How gladly would I meet
Mortality my sentence, and be earth
Insensible! how glad would lay me down,
As in my mother's lap! There should I rest
And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more
Would thunder in my ears: no fear of worse
To me, and to my offspring, would torment me
With cruel expectation.'-

This whole speech is full of the like emotion, and varied with all those sentiments which we may suppose natural to a mind so broken and disturbed. I must not omit that generous concern which our first father shows in it for his posterity, and which is so proper to affect the reader:

Hide me from the face

Of God, whom to behold was then my height
Of happiness! yet well, if here would end
The misery: I deserved it, and would bear
My own deservings: but this will not serve;
All that I eat, or drink, or shall beget,
Is propagated curse. O voice once heard
Delightfully, "Increase and multiply:"
Now death to hear!

-In me all

Posterity stands curst! Fair patrimony,
That I must leave ye, sons! O were I able
To waste it all myself, and leave you none!
So disinherited, how would you bless
Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind,
For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd
If guiltless? But from me what can proceed
But all corrupt?'-

Who can afterwards behold the father of mankind, extended upon the earth, uttering his midnight complaints, bewailing his existence, and wishing for death, without sympathizing with him in his distress?

Thus Adam to himself lamented loud
Through the still night; not now (as ere man fell)
Wholesome, and cool, and mild, but with black air,
Accompanied with damps and dreadful gloom;
Which to his evil conscience represented

All things with double terror. On the ground
Outstretch'd he lay; on the cold ground! and oft
Curs'd his creation; death as oft accus'd
Of tardy execution.'

The part of Eve in this book is no less passionate, and apt to sway the reader in her favour. She is represented with great tenderness as approaching Adam, but is spurned from him with a spirit of upbraiding and indignation, conformable to the nathe dominion over him. The following pasture of man, whose passions had now gained sage, wherein she is described as renewing her addresses to him, with the whole speech that follows it, have something in them exquisitely moving and pathetic:

He added not, and from her turn'd: but Eve,
Not so repuls'd, with tears that ceas'd not flowing,
And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet
Fell humble; and embracing them besought
His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint:
'Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness Heav'n
What love sincere, and rev'rence in my breast
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,

Unhappily deceiv'd! Thy suppliant

I beg, and clasp thy knees. Bereave me not (Whereon I live;) thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,

My only strength, and stay! Forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me! where subsist?
While yet we live (scarce one short hour perhaps)
Between us two let there be peace.' &c.

Adam's reconcilement to her is worked up in the same spirit of tenderness. Eve afterwards proposes to her husband, in the blindness of her despair, that to prevent their guilt from descending upon posterity, they should resolve to live childless; or, if that could not be done, they should seek their own deaths by violent methods. As these sentiments naturally engage the reader to regard the mother of mankind with more than ordinary commiseration, they likewise contain a very fine moral. The resolution of dying to end our miseries does not show such a degree of magnanimity as a resolution to bear them, and submit to the dispensations of Providence. Our author has, therefore, with great delicacy, represented Eve as entertaining this thought, and Adam as disapproving it.

We are, in the last place, to consider the imaginary persons, or Death and Sin, who act a large part in this book. Such beautiful extended allegories are certainly some of the finest compositions of genius; but, as I have before observed, are not agreeable to the nature of a heroic poem. This of Sin and Death is very exquisite in its kind, if not considered as a part of such a work. The truths contained in it are so clear and open, that I shall not lose time in explaining them; but shall only observe, that a reader, who knows the strength of the English tongue, will be amazed to think how the poet could find such apt words and phrases to describe the actions of those two imaginary persons, and particularly in that part where Death is exhibited as forming a bridge over the chaos; a work suitable to the genius of Milton.

Since the subject I am upon gives me an opportunity of speaking more at large of such shadowy and imaginary persons as may be introduced into heroic poems, I shall beg leave to explain myself in a matter which is curious in its kind, and which certain Homer and Virgil are full of imanone of the critics have treated of. It is poetry, when they are just shown without ginary persons, who are very beautiful in and ascribes a short part to him in his Iliad; being engaged in any series of action. Homer, indeed, represents sleep as a person, but we must consider, that though we now regard such a person as entirely shadowy and unsubstantial, the heathens made statues of him, placed him in their temples, and looked upon him, as a real deity. When Homer makes use of other such allegorical persons, it is only in short expressions, which convey an ordinary thought to the mind in the most pleasing manner, and may rather be looked upon as poetical phrases,

than allegorical descriptions. Instead of glaring of her eyes might have scattered telling us that men naturally fly when they infection. But I believe every reader will are terrified, he introduces the persons of think, that in such sublime writings the Flight and Fear, who he tells us, are in- mentioning of her, as it is done in Scripture, separable companions. Instead of saying has something in it more just, as well as that the time was come when Apollo ought great, than all that the most fanciful poet to have received his recompence, he tells could have bestowed upon her in the richus that the Hours brought him his reward.ness of his imagination. Instead of describing the effects which Minerva's ægis produced in battle, he tells

L.*

-Desipere in loco. Hor. Od. xii. Lib. 4. ult. 'Tis joyous folly that unbends the mind.-Francis. CHARLES LILLY attended me the other

us that the brims of it were encompassed No. 358.] Monday, April 21, 1712. by Terror, Rout, Discord, Fury, Pursuit, Massacre, and Death. In the same figure of speaking, he represents Victory as following Diomedes; Discord as the mother of funerals and mourning; Venus as dressed by the Graces; Bellona as wearing Terror day, and made me a present of a large sheet of paper, on which is delineated a and Consternation like a garment. I might pavement in Mosaic work, lately discovergive several other instances out of Homer, as ed at Stunsfield near Woodstock. † A person well as a great many out of Virgil. Milton who has so much the gift of speech as Mr. has likewise very often made use of the Lilly, and can carry on a discourse without same way of speaking, as where he tells us that Victory sat on the right hand of the a reply, had great opportunity on that occasion to expatiate upon so fine a piece of Messiah, when he marched forth against antiquity. Among other things, I rememthe rebel angels; that, at the rising of the ber he gave me his opinion, which he drew sun, the Hours unbarred the gates of light; from the ornaments of the work, that this that Discord was the daughter of Sin. Of was the floor of a room dedicated to Mirth the same nature are those expressions, and Concord. Viewing this work, made where, describing the singing of the nightingale, he adds, Silence was pleased;' and my fancy run over the many gay expressions I have read in ancient authors, which upon the Messiah's bidding peace to the contained invitations to lay aside care and chaos, 'Confusion heard his voice.' I might anxiety, and give a loose to that pleasing add innumerable instances of our poet's forgetfulness wherein men put off their writing in this beautiful figure. It is plain characters of business, and enjoy their very that these I have mentioned, in which per- selves. These hours were usually passed sons of an imaginary nature are introduced, in rooms adorned for that purpose, and set are such short allegories as are not designed out in such a manner, as the objects all to be taken in the literal sense, but only around the company gladdened their hearts; to convey particular circumstances to the reader, after an unusual and entertaining chosen and agreeable friends, gave new which, joined to the cheerful looks of wellmanner. But when such persons are introvigour to the airy, produced the latent fire duced as principal actors, and engaged in a of the modest, and gave grace to the slow series of adventures, they take too much upon them, and are by no means proper for humour of the reserved. A judicious mixture of such company, crowned with chapan heroic poem, which ought to appear lets of flowers, and the whole apartment credible in its principal parts. I cannot forbear therefore thinking, that Sin and glittering with gay lights, cheered with a Death are as improper agents in a work of profusion of roses, artificial falls of water, this nature, as Strength and Necessity in and intervals of soft notes to songs of love and wine, suspended the cares of human one of the tragedies of Eschylus, who re-life, and made a festival of mutual kindpresented those two persons nailing down ness. Such parties of pleasure as these, Prometheus to a rock; for which he has and the reports of the agreeable passages been justly censured by the greatest critics. in their jollities, have in all ages awakened I do not know any imaginary person made the dull part of mankind to pretend to use of in a more sublime manner of thinking mirth and good humour, without capacity than that in one of the prophets, who, de- for such entertainments; for if I may be scribing God as descending from heaven, allowed to say so, there are a hundred men and visiting the sins of mankind, adds that fit for any employment, to one who is capadreadful circumstance, Before him went the Pestilence.' It is certain this imaginary person might have been described in all her purple spots. The Fever might have marched before her, Pain might have stood at her right hand, Phrensy on her left, and Death in her rear. She might have been introduced as gliding down from the tail of a comet, or darted upon the earth in a flash of lightning. She might have tainted the atmosphere with her breath. The very

first taste, without shocking any member ble of passing a night in company of the of the society, over-rating his own part of the conversation, but equally receiving

*The original motto to this paper was the same as

that now prefixed to No. 279.

Reddere personæ scit convenientia cuique.
Hor. Ars Poet. v. 316.
To each character he gives what best befits.
† See Gough's British Topography, vol. ii. p. 88.

that when a man is in his good graces, he
has a mimickry that does not debase the
person he represents; but which, taking
from the gravity of the character, adds to
the agreeableness of it. This pleasant fel-
low gives one some idea of the ancient
pantomime, who is said to have given the
audience, in dumb-show, an exact idea of
any character or passion, or an intelligible
relation of any public occurrence, with no
other expression than that of his looks and
gestures. If all who have been obliged to
these talents in Estcourt will be at Love
for Love to-morrow night, they will but
pay him what they owe him, at so easy a
rate as being present at a play which no-
body would omit seeing, that had, or had
not, ever seen it before.
T.

and contributing to the pleasure of the grateful but where it is regarded by him whole company. When one considers such who possesses it in the second place. The collections of companions in past times, and best man that I know of, for heightening such as one might name in the present age, the revel gaiety of a company, is Estcourt, with how much spleen must a man needs whose jovial humour diffuses itself from reflect upon the awkward gaiety of those the highest person at an entertainment to who affect the frolic with an ill grace! I the meanest waiter. Merry tales, accomhave a letter from a correspondent of mine, panied with apt gestures and lively reprewho desires me to admonish all loud, mis-sentations of circumstances and persons, chievous, airy, dull companions, that they beguile the gravest mind into a consent to are mistaken in what they call a frolic. be as humourous as himself. Add to this, Irregularity in itself is not what creates pleasure and mirth; but to see a man, who knows what rule and decency are, descend from them agreeably in our company, is what denominates him a pleasant companion. Instead of that, you find many whose mirth consists only in doing things which do not become them, with a secret consciousness that all the world knows they know better: to this is always added something mischievous to themselves or others. I have heard of some very merry fellows among whom the frolic was started, and passed by a great majority, that every man should immediately draw a tooth: after which they have gone in a body and smoked a cobler. The same company, at another night, has each man burned his cravat; and one perhaps, whose estate would bear it, has thrown a long wig and hat into the same fire. Thus they have jested themselves stark-naked, and run into the streets and frighted women very successfully. There is no inhabitant of any standing in Covent Garden, but can tell you a hundred good humours, where people have come off with a little bloodshed, and yet scoured all the witty hours of the night. I know a gentleman that has several wounds in the head by watch-poles, and has been thrice run through the body, to carry on a good jest. He is very old for a man of so much good humour; but to this day he is seldom merry but he has occasion to be valiant at the same time. But, by the favour of these gentlemen, I am humbly of opinion, that a man may be a very witty man, and never offend one statute of this kingdom, not excepting that of stabbing.

No. 359.] Tuesday, April 22, 1712.
Torva leæna lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam;
Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella.

Virg. Ecl. vi. 63.

Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue,
The kids sweet thyine,-and still I follow you.

Warton.

As we were at the club last night, I observed that my old friend Sir Roger, contrary to his usual custom, sat very silent, and, instead of minding what was said by the company, was whistling to himself in a very thoughtful mood, and playing with a cork. I jogged Sir Andrew Freeport, who sat between us; and, as we were both observing him we saw the knight shake his head, and heard him say to himself, A foolish woman! I can't believe it.' Sir Andrew gave him a gentle pat upon the The writers of plays have what they call shoulder, and offered to lay him a bottle of unity of time and place, to give a justness wine that he was thinking of the widow. to their representation; and it would not My old friend started, and, recovering out be amiss if all who pretend to be compa- of his brown study, told Sir Andrew, that nions would confine their actions to the once in his life he had been in the right. place of meeting; for a frolic carried far-In short, after some little hesitation, Sir ther may be better performed by other Roger told us in the fulness of his heart, animals than men. It is not to rid much that he had just received a letter from his ground, or do much mischief, that should steward, which acquainted him that his old denominate a pleasant fellow; but that is rival and antagonist in the country, Sir Datruly frolic which is the play of the mind, vid Dundrum, had been making a visit to and consists of various and unforced sallies the widow. 'However,' says Sir Roger, of imagination. Festivity of spirit is a very 'I can never think that she will have a uncommon talent, and must proceed from man that's half a year older than I am, and an assemblage of agreeable qualities in the a noted republican into the bargain. same person. There are some few whom I think peculiarly happy in it, but it is a talent one cannot name in a man, especially when one considers, that it is never very

Will Honeycomb, who looks upon love as his particular province, interrupting our friend with a jaunty laugh, I thought, knight,' said he, thou hadst lived long

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