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REMARKS 
 
 CHARACTER AND WRITINGS 
 
 JOHN MILTON; 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THK 
 
 PUBLICATION OF HIS LATELY DISCOVERED 
 
 'TREATISE ON CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE.' 
 
 FROM THE CHRISTIAN EXik-MINIilt, 
 
 VOL. III. NO. I. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED. 
 
 S BOSTON, 
 
 PRINTED BY ISAAC R. BUTTS AND CO. 
 
 1826. 
 
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 CHARACTER AND WRITINGS 
 
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 A Treatise on Christian Doctrine, compiled from the Holy 
 Scriptures alone. By John Milton. Translated from 
 the Original by Charles R. Sumner, M. A. Librarian and 
 Historiographer to His Majesty, and Prebendary of Can- 
 terbury. From the London Edition. Boston, 1825. 
 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
 The discovery of a work of Milton, unknown to his own 
 times, is an important event in literary history. The considera- 
 tion, that we of this age are the first readers of this treatise, nat- 
 urally heightens our interest in it ; for we seem in this way to be 
 brought nearer to the author, and to sustain the same relation 
 which his cotemporaries bore to his writings. The work opens 
 with a salutation, which, from any other man, might be charge- 
 able with inflation ; but which we feel to be the natural and ap- 
 propriate expression of the spirit of Milton. Endowed with gifts 
 of the soul, which have been imparted to few of our race, and 
 conscious of having consecrated them through life to God and 
 mankind, he rose without effort or affectation to the style of an 
 Apostle. — ' John Milton, to all the Churches of Christ, 
 
 AND to all who PROFESS THE CHRISTIAN FaITH THROUGHOUT 
 THE WORLD, PEACE, AND THE RECOGNITION OF THE TRUTH, 
 AND ETERNAL SALVATION IN GoD THE FaTHER, AND IN OUR 
 
 Lord Jesus Christ.' Our ears are the first to hear this benedic- 
 tion, and it seems not so much to be borne to us from a distant 
 age, as to come immediately from the sainted spirit, by which it 
 was indited. 
 
4 Milton. 
 
 Without meaning to disparage the 'Treatise on Christian Doc- 
 trine,' we may say that it owes very much of the attention, wliich 
 it has excited, to the fame of its author. We vahie it chiefly as 
 showing us the mind of Milton on that suhject, which above all 
 others, presses upon men of thought and sensibility. We want 
 to know in what conclusions such a man rested after a life of ex- 
 tensive and profound research, of magnanimous efforts for free- 
 dom and his country, and of communion with the most gifted 
 minds of his own and former times. The book derives its chief 
 interest from its author, and accordingly there seems to be a pro- 
 priety in introducing our remarks upon it with some notice of the 
 character of Milton. We are not sure that we could have ab- 
 stained from this subject, even if we had not been able to offer so 
 good an apology for attempting it. The intellectual and moral 
 qualities of a great man are attractions not easily withstood, and 
 we can hardly serve others or ourselves more, than by recalling 
 to him the attention, whicb is scattered among inferiour topics. 
 
 In speaking of the Intellectual qualities of Milton, we may 
 begin with observing, that the very splendour of his poetic fame 
 has tended to ohscure or conceal the extent of his mind, and the 
 variety of its energies and attainments. To many he seems only 
 a poet, when in truth he was a profound scholar, a man of vast 
 compass of thought, imbued thoroughly vvidi all ancient and mod- 
 em learning, and able to master, to mould, to impregnate with 
 his own intellectual power, his great and various acquisitions. 
 He had not learned the superficial doctrine of a later day, that 
 poetry flourishes most in an uncultivated soil, and that imagination 
 shapes its brightest visions from the mists of a superstitious age ; 
 and he had no dread of accumulating knowledge, lest it should 
 oppress and smother his genius. He was conscious of that within 
 him, which could quicken all knowledge, and wield it with ease 
 and might ; which could give freshness to old truths and harmony 
 to discordant thoughts ; which could bind together by living ties 
 and mysterious affinities the most remote discoveries ; and rear 
 fabrics of glory and beauty from the rude materials, which other 
 minds had collected. Milton had that universality which marks 
 the highest order of intellect. Though accustomed almost from 
 infancy to drink at the fountains of classical literature, he had 
 nothing of the pedantry and fastidiousness, which disdain all other 
 draughts. His healthy mind delighted in genius, on whatever 
 soil, or in whatev'er age, it burst forth and poured out its fulness. 
 He understood too well the rights, and dignity, and pride of ere- 
 
Milton. ' 
 
 ative imagination, to lay on it the laws of the Greek or Roman 
 school. Parnassus was not to him the only holy ground of genius. 
 He felt that poetry was as a universal presence. Great minds were 
 every where his kindred. He felt the enchantment of Oriental 
 fiction, surrendered himself to the strange creations of ' Araby 
 the blest,' and delihgted still more in the romantic spirit of chiv- 
 alry, and in the tales of wonder in which it was embodied. Ac- 
 cordingly his poetry reminds us of the ocean, which adds to its 
 own boundlessness contributions from all regions under heaven. 
 Nor was it only in the department of imagination, that his acqui- 
 sitions were vast. He travelled over the whole field of know- 
 ledge, as far as it had then been explored. His various philologi- 
 cal attainments were used to put him in possession of the wisdom 
 stored in all countries, where the intellect had been cultivated. 
 The natural phdosophy, metaphysics, ethics, history, theology and 
 political science of his own and former times, were familiar to 
 him. Never was there a more unconfined mind, and we would 
 cite Milton as a practical example of the benefits of that universal 
 culture of intellect, which forms one distinction of our times, but 
 which some dread as unfriendly to original thought. Let such 
 remember, that mind is in its own nature diffusive. Its object is 
 the universe, which is strictly one, or bound together by infinite 
 connexions and correspondencies ; and accordingly its natural 
 progress is from one to another field of thought ; and wherever 
 original power, creafive genius exists, the mind, far from being 
 distracted or oppressed by the variety of its acquisitions, will see 
 more and more common bearings and hidden and beautiful analo- 
 gies in all the objects of knowledge, will see mutual light shed 
 from truth to truth, and will compel, as with a kingly power, 
 whatever it understands, to yield some tribute of proof, or illus- 
 tration, or splendour to whatever topic it would unfold. 
 
 Milton's fame rests chiefly on his poetry, and to this we nat- 
 urally give our first attention. By those who are accustomed to 
 speak of poetry as light reading, Milton's eminence in this sphere 
 may be considered only as giving him a high rank among the 
 contributors to public amusement. Not so thought Milton. Of 
 all God's gifts of intellect, he esteemed poetical genius the most 
 transcendant. He esteemed it in himself as a kind of inspira- 
 tion, and wrote his great works with something of the conscious 
 dignity of a prophet. We agree with Milton in his estimate of 
 poetry. It seems to us the divinest of all arts ; for it is the 
 breathing or expression of that principle or sentiment, which is 
 
6 Milton. 
 
 deepest and sublimest in human nature ; we mean, of that thii'st or 
 aspiration, to which no mind is wholly a stranger, for something 
 purer and lovelier, something more powerful, lofty, and thrilling than 
 ordinary and real life affords. No doctrine is more common among 
 Christians than that of man's immortality ; but it is not so gene- 
 rally understood, that the germs or principles of his whole future 
 being are noiv wrapped up in his soul, as the rudiments of the 
 future plant in the seed. As a necessary result of this constitu- 
 tion, the soul, possessed and moved by these mighty though in- 
 fant energies, is perpetually stretching beyond what is present and 
 visible, struggling against the bounds of its earthly prison-house, 
 and seeking relief and joy in imaginings of unseen and ideal being. 
 This view of our nature, which has never been fully developed, 
 and which goes farther towards explaining the contradictions of 
 human life than all others, carries us to the very foundation and 
 sources of poetry. He, who cannot interpret by his own con- 
 sciousness what we now have said, wants the true key to works 
 of genius. He has not penetrated those sacred recesses of the 
 soul, where poetiy is born and nourished, and inhales immortal 
 vigouri, and wings herself for her heavenward flight. In an in- 
 tellectual nature, framed for progress and for higher modes of 
 being, there must be creative energies, powers of original and ever 
 growing thought ; and poetry is the form in which these energies 
 are chiefly manifested. It is the glorious prerogative of this art, 
 that it ' makes all things new' for the gratification of a divine in- 
 stinct. It indeed finds its elements in what it actually sees and 
 experiences, in the worlds of matter and mind ; but it combines 
 and blends these into new forms and according to new affinities ; 
 breaks down, if we may so say, the distinctions and bounds of 
 nature ; imparts to material objects Hfe, and sentiment, and emo- 
 tion, and invests the mind with the powers and splendours of the 
 outward creation ; describes the surrounding universe in the col- 
 ours which the passions throw over it, and depicts the mind in 
 those modes of repose or agitation, of tenderness or sublime emo- 
 tion, which manifest its thirst for a more powerful and joyful ex- 
 istence. To a man of a literal and prosaic character, the mind 
 may seem lawless in these worldngs ; but it observes higher laws 
 than it transgresses, the laws of the immortal intellect ; it is trying 
 and developing its best faculties ; and in the objects which it de- 
 scribes, or in the emotions which it awakens, anticipates those 
 states of progressive power, sj)lendour, beauty and happiness, for 
 which it was created. 
 
Milton. 7 
 
 We accordingly believe that poetry, far from injuring society, 
 is one of the great instruments of its refinement and exaltation. 
 It lifts the mind above ordinary life, gives it a respite from de- 
 pressing cares, and awakens the consciousness of its affinity with 
 what is pure and noble. In its legitimate and highest efforts, it 
 has the same tendency and aim with Christianity ; that is, to 
 spiritualize our nature. True ; poetry has been made the in- 
 strument of vice, the pander of bad passions ; but when genius 
 thus stoops, it dims its fires, and parts with much of its power ; 
 and even when poetry is enslaved to licentiousness or misan- 
 thropy, she cannot wholly forget her true vocation. Strains of 
 pure feeling, touches of tenderness, images of innocent happi- 
 ness, sympathies with suffering virtue, bursts of scorn or indig- 
 nation at the hollowness of the world, passages true to our mor- 
 al nature, often escape in an immoral work, and show us how 
 hard it is for a gifted spirit to divorce itself wholly from what is 
 good. Poetry has a natural alliance with our best affections. 
 It delights in the beauty and sublimity of the outward creation 
 and of the soul. It indeed portrays with terrible energy the ex- 
 cesses of the passions ; but they are passions which show a 
 mighty nature, which are full of power, vvhich command awe, 
 and excite a deep though shuddering sympathy. Its great ten- 
 dency and purpose is, to carry the mind beyond and above the 
 beaten, dusty, weary walks of ordinary life ; to lift it into a 
 purer element, and to breathe into it n^sore profound and gen- 
 erous emotion. It reveals to us the loveliness of nature, brings 
 back the freshness of youthful feeling, revives the relish of sim- 
 ple pleasures, keeps unquenched the enthusiasm which warmed 
 the spring-time of our being, refines youthful love, strengthens our 
 interest in human nature by vivid delineations of its tenderest 
 and loftiest feelings, spreads our sympathies over all classes of 
 society, knits us by new ties with universal being, and through 
 the brightness of its prophetic visions helps faith to lay hold on 
 the future life. . • 
 
 We are aware, that it is objected to poetryj that it gives wrong 
 views and excites false expectations of life, peoples the mind 
 with shadows and illusions, and builds up imagination on the 
 ruins of wisdom. That there is a wisdom, against which poetry 
 wars, the wisdom of the senses, which make physical comfort 
 and gratification the supreme good, and wealth the chief inte- 
 rest of life, we do not deny ; nor do we deem it the least ser- 
 vice which poetry renders to mankind, that it redeems them 
 
S Milton. 
 
 from the thraldom of this earthborn prudence. But, passing 
 over this topic, we would observe, that the complaint against po- 
 etry as abounding in illusion and deception, is in the main groiuid- 
 less. In many poems there is more ol truth than in many his- 
 tories and philosophic theories. Tlie fictions of genius ai'e often 
 the vehicles of the sublimest verities, and its flashes often open 
 new regions of thought, and throw new light on the mysteries of 
 our being. In poetry the letter is falsehood, but the spirit is often 
 profoundest wisdom. And if truth thus dwells in the boldest 
 fictions of the poet, much more may it be expected in his deline- 
 ations of life ; ibr the present life, which is the first stage ol the 
 immortal mind, abounds in the materials of poetry, and it is the 
 high office of the bard to delect this divine element among the 
 grosser labours and pleasures o( our earthly being. The present 
 life is not wholly prosaic, precise, tame and finite. To the gift- 
 ed eye, it abounds in the poetic. The affections which spread 
 beyond ourselves and stretch far into futurity ; the workings of 
 mighty passions, which seem to arm the soul with an almost su- 
 perhuman energy ; the innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy ; 
 the bloom, and buoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth ; the 
 throbbings of the heart, when it first wakes to love, and dreams 
 of a happiness too vail for earth ; woman, with her beauty, and 
 grace, and gentleness, and fulness of feeling, and depth of affec- 
 tion, and her blushes of purity, and the tones and looks which 
 only a mother's heart can inspire ; — these are all poetical. It is 
 not true tliat the poet paints a life which does not exist. He only 
 extracts and concentrates, as it were, life's ediereal essence, ar- 
 rests and condenses its volatile fragrance, brings together its scat- 
 tered beauties, and prolongs its more refined but evanescent joys ; 
 and in this he does well ; for it is good to feel that life is not 
 wholly usurped by cares for subsistence, and physical gratifica- 
 tions, but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely enlarged, 
 sentiments and delights worthy of a higher being. This power 
 of poetry to refine our views of life and hap|)iness is more and 
 more needed as society advances. It is needed to w-ithstand the 
 encroachments of heardess and artificial manners, which make 
 civiUzation so tame and uninteresting. It is needed to counteract 
 the tendency of physical science, which being now sought, not as 
 formerly for intellectual gratification, but lor multiplying bodily 
 comforts, requires a new developement ot" imagination, taste and 
 poetry, to preserve men from sinking into an earthly, material, 
 epicurean life. — Our remarks in vindicafion of poetry have ex- 
 
Milton. 9 
 
 tended beyond our original design. They have had a higher aim 
 than to assert the dignity of INlihon as a poet, and that is, to en- 
 dear and recommend this divine art to all who reverence and 
 would cultivate and refine their nature. 
 
 In delineating Milton's character as a jyoet, we are saved the 
 necessity of looking far for its distinguishing attributes. His 
 name is almost identified with sublimity.- He is in truth the 
 sublimest of men. He rises, not by eflbrt or discipline, but by a 
 native tendency and a godlike instinct to the contemplation of 
 objects of grandeur and awfulness. He always moves with a 
 conscious energy. There is no subject so vast or terrific, as to 
 repel or intimidate him. The overpowering grandeur of a theme 
 kindles and attracts him. He enters on the description of the 
 infernal regions with a fearless tread, as if he felt within himself 
 a power to erect the prison-house of fallen spirits, to encircle them 
 with flames and horrours worthy of their crimes, to call forth from 
 them shouts which should ' tear hell's concave' and to embody 
 in their Chief an Archangel's energies and a Demon's pride and 
 hate. Even the stupendous conception of Satan seems never to 
 oppress his facuhies. This character of power runs through all 
 Milton's works. His descriptions of nature show a free and bold 
 hand. He has no need of the minute, graphic skill, which we 
 prize in Cowper or Crabbe. With a few strong or delicate 
 touches, he impresses, as it were, his own mind on the scenes 
 vi^hich he would describe, and kindles the imagination of the 
 gifted reader to clothe them with the same radiant hues under 
 which they appeared to his own. 
 
 This attribute of power is universally felt to characterize Milton. 
 His sublimity is in every man's mouth. Is it felt that his poetry 
 breathes a sensibility and tenderness hardly surpassed by its sub- 
 limity ? We apprehend that the grandeur of Milton's mind has 
 thrown some shade over his milder beauties ; and this it has done 
 not only by being more striking and imposing, but by the tendency 
 of vast mental energy to give a certain calmness to the express- 
 ion of tenderness and deep feeling. A great mind is the master 
 of its own enthusiasm, and does not often break out into those 
 tumults, which pass with many for the signs of profound emotion. 
 Its sensibility, though more intense and enduring, is more self- 
 possessed, and less perturbed than that of other men, and is 
 therefore less observed and felt, except by those who under- 
 stand, through their own consciousness, the workings and ut- 
 2 
 
10 Milton. 
 
 terance of genuine feeding. We migfit quote pages in illustra- 
 tion of the qualities here ascribed to ]\Jilton. Turn to Comus, 
 one of his earliest productions. What sensibility breathes in the 
 descriptions of the benighted Lady's singing, by Comus and the 
 Spirit ! 
 
 COMUS. 
 
 Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould 
 Breath such divine enchanting ravishment ] 
 Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
 And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
 To testify his hidden residence : 
 How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
 Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, 
 At every fall smoothing the raven down 
 Of darkness till it smil'd ! I have oft heard 
 ]My mother Circe with the Sirens three, 
 Amidst the flow'ry-kirtled Naiades, 
 Cniling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs, 
 Who as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, 
 And lap it in Elysium; Scylla wept. 
 And chid her barking waves into attention. 
 And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause : 
 Yet they in pleasing slumber luH'd the sense,* 
 And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; 
 But such a sacred, and home-felt delight. 
 Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
 I never heard till now. Lines 244 — 264. 
 
 At last a soft and solemn breathing sound 
 Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes. 
 And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
 Was took ere she was ware, and wish'd she might 
 Deny her nature, and be never more. 
 Still to be so displac'd. I was all ear, 
 And took in strains that might create a soul 
 Under the ribs of death. Lines 555 — 563. 
 
 In illustration of Milton's tenderness, we will open almost at a 
 venture. 
 
 Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime 
 Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl. 
 When Adam wak'd, so custom'd, for his sleep 
 Was aery light from pure digestion bred, 
 And temp'rate vapours bland, which th' only sound 
 
Anito7i. 11 
 
 Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, 
 Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song 
 Of birds on every bough ; so much the more 
 His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve 
 With tresses discompos'd, and glowing cheek, 
 As through unquiet rest : he on his side 
 Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love 
 Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld 
 Beauty, which whether waking or asleep. 
 Shot forth peculiar graces ; then with voice 
 Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, 
 Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus. Awake, 
 My fairest, my espous'd, my latest fuund, 
 Heav'n's last best gift, my ever new delight, 
 Awake ; the morning shines, and the fresh field 
 Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring 
 Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove, 
 What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, 
 How nature paints her colours, how the bee 
 Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet. 
 
 Par. Lost, b. v. lines I — 25. 
 
 So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was checr'd, 
 But silently a gentle tear let fall 
 From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair ; 
 Two other precious drops that ready stood. 
 Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell 
 Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse 
 And pious awe, that fear'd to have oiTended. 
 
 Par. Lost, b. v. lines 129 — 135. 
 
 From this very imperfect view of the qualities of Milton's poetry, 
 we hasten to his great work, Paradise Lost, perhaps the noblest 
 monument of human genius. The two first books, by universal con- 
 sent, stand preeminent in sublimity. Hell and Hell's King have a 
 terrible harmony, and dilate into new grandeur and awfulncss, the 
 longer we contemplate them. From one element, ' solid and 
 liquid fire,' the poet has framed a world of horrour and suffering, 
 such as imagination had never traversed. But fiercer flames, 
 than those which encompass Satan, burn in his own soul. Re- 
 venge, exasperated pride, consuming wrath, ambition though fal- 
 len, yet unconquered by the thunders of the Omnipotent, and 
 grasping still at the empire of the universe, — these form a picture 
 more sublime and terrible than Hell. Hell yields to the spirit 
 which it imprisons. The intensity of its fires reveals the intcnser 
 
12 Milton. 
 
 passions and more vehement will of Satan ; and the ruined Arch- 
 angel gathers into himself the sublimity of the scene which sur- 
 rounds him. This forms the tremendous interest of these won- 
 derful books. We see mind triumphant over the most terrible 
 powers of nature. We see unutterable agony subdued by ener- 
 gy of soul. We have not indeed in Satan those bursts of j)assion, 
 wiiich rive the soul as well as shatter the outward frame of Lear. 
 But we have a depth of passion which only an Archangel could 
 manifest. The all-enduring, all-defying pride of Satan, assum- 
 ing so majestically Hell's burning throne, and coveting the dia- 
 dem, which scorches his thunder blasted brow, is a creation re- 
 quiring in its author almost the spiritual energy with which he in- 
 vests the fallen seraph. Some have doubted whether the moral 
 effect of such delineations of the storms and terrible workings of 
 the soul is good; whether the interest felt, in a spirit so tran- 
 scendently evil as Satan, favours our sympathies with virtue. 
 But our interest fastens, in this and like cases, on what is not 
 evil. We gaze on Satan with an awe not unmixed with mysteri- 
 ous pleasure, as on a miraculous manifestation of the poiver of 
 mind. What chains us, as with a resistless spell, in such a char- 
 acter, is spiritual might made visible by the racking pains which it 
 overpowers. There is something kindling and ennobling in the 
 consciousness, however awakened, of the energy which resides in 
 mind; and many a virtuous man has borrowed new strength from 
 the force, constancy, and dauntless courage of evil agents. 
 
 Milton's description of Satan attests in various ways the power 
 of his genius. Critics have often observed, that the great diffi- 
 culty of his work was to reconcile the spiritual properties of his 
 supernatural beings vyith the human modes of existence, which 
 he was obliged to ascribe to them ; and the difficulty is too great 
 for any genius wholly to overcome, and we must acknowledge 
 that our enthusiasm is in some parts of the poem . checked by a 
 feeling of incongruity between the spiritual agent, and his sphere 
 and mode of agency. But we are visited with no such chilling 
 doubts and misgivings in the description of Satan in Hell. Im- 
 agination has here achieved its highest triumph, in imparting a 
 character of reality and truth to its most daring creations. That 
 world of horrours, though material, is yet so remote from our or- 
 dinary nature, that a spiritual being, exiled from heaven, finds 
 there an appropriate home. There is, too, an indefiniteness in 
 the description of Satan's person, which incites without shocking 
 the imagination, and aids us to combine in our conception of him 
 
Milton. 13 
 
 the massiness of a real form with the vagueness of spiritual exist- 
 ence. To the production of this eflect, much depends on the 
 first impression given by the poet; for this is apt to follow us 
 through the whole work ; 'and here we think Milton eminently- 
 successful. The first glimpse of Satan is given us in the follow- 
 ing fines, which, whilst loo indefinite to provoke the scrutiny of 
 the reason, fill the imagination of the reader with a form which 
 can hardly be effaced. 
 
 Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate 
 With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes 
 That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts besides 
 Prone on the flood, extended long and large, 
 Lay floating many a rood, * * * 
 
 Par. Lost, b. i. lines 192—196. 
 
 Forthwith upright he rears from off" the pool 
 
 His mighty stature ; on each hand the flames, 
 
 Driv'n backward, slope their pointing spires, and roU'd 
 
 In billows, leave i' th' midst a horrid vale. 221 — 224. 
 
 We have more which we should gladly say of the delineation 
 of Satan ; especially of the glimpses which are now and then 
 given of his deep anguish and despair, and of the touches of better 
 feelings which are skilfully thrown into the dark picture, both 
 suited and designed to blend with our admiration, dread, and ab- 
 horrence, a measure of that sympathy and interest with which 
 every living, thinking being ought to be regarded, and without 
 which all other feelings tend to sin and pain. But there is 
 another topic which we cannot leave untouched. From Hell we 
 flee to Paradise, a region as lovely as Hell is terrible, and which 
 to those, who do not know the universality of true genius, will 
 appear doubly wonderful, when considered as the creafion of the 
 same mind, which had painted the infernal world. 
 
 Paradise and its inhabitants are in sweet accordance, and to- 
 gether form a scene of tranquil bliss, which calms and soothes, 
 whilst it delights the imagination. Adam and Eve, just moulded 
 by the hand, and quickened by the breath of God, reflect in their 
 countenances and forms, as well as minds, the intelligence, benig- 
 nity, and happiness of their author. Their new existence has the 
 freshness and peacefulness of the dewy morning. Their souls, 
 unsated and untainted, find an innocent joy in the youthful crea- 
 tion, which spreads and smiles around them. Their mutual love 
 is deep, for it is the love of young, unworn, unexhausted hearts. 
 
14 Milton. 
 
 which meet in each other the only human objects on whom to 
 pour forth their fuhiess of affection ; and still it is serene, for it is 
 the love of happy beings, who know not suffering even by name, 
 whose innocence excludes not only the tumults but the thought of 
 jealousy and shame, who, ' imparadlsed in one another's arms,' 
 scarce dream of futurity, so blessed is their present being. We 
 will not say that we envy our first parents j for we feel that \heve 
 may be higher happiness than theirs, a happiness won through 
 struggle with inward and outward foes, the happiness of power 
 and moral victory, the happiness of disinterested sacrifices and 
 wide-spread love, the happiness of boundless hope, and ol ' tlioughts 
 which wander through eternity.' Still there are times, when the 
 spirit, oppressed with pain, worn with toil, tired of tumult, sick at 
 the sight, of guilt, wounded in its love, baffled in its hope, and 
 trembling in its faith, almost longs for the ' wings of a dove, that 
 it might fly away' and take refuge amidst the ' shady bowers,' 
 the 'vernal airs,' the 'roses without thorns,' the quiet, the beauty, 
 the lov eliness of Eden. It is the contrast of this deep peace of 
 Paradise with the storms of life, which gives to the ibuith and 
 fiftli books of this poem a charm so irresistible, that not a few 
 would sooner relinquish the two first books, with all their sublimity, 
 than part with these. It has sometimes been said, that the En- 
 glish language has no good pastoral poetry. We would ask, in 
 what age or country has the pastoral reed breathed such sweet 
 strains as are borne to us on ' the odoriferous wings of gentle 
 gales' from Milton's Paradise ? 
 
 We should not fulfil our duty, were we not to say one word 
 on what has been jusdy celebrated, the harmony of Milton's 
 versification. His numbers have the prime charm of expressive- 
 ness. They vary with, and answer to the depth, or tenderness, 
 or sublimity of his conceptions, and hold intimate alliance with 
 the soul. Like Michael Angelo, in whose hands the marble was 
 said to be flexible, he bends our language, which foreigners re- 
 proach with hardness, into whatever forms the subject demands. 
 All the treasures of sweet and solemn sound are at his command. 
 W^ords, harsh and discordant in the writings of less gifted men, 
 flow through his poetry in a full stream of haimony. This power 
 over language is not to be ascribed to IMilton's musical ear. It 
 belongs to the soul. It is a gift or exercise of genius, which has 
 power to impress itself on whatever it touches, and finds or frames 
 in sounds, motions, and material forms, correspondences and har- 
 monies with its own fervid thoughts and feelings. 
 
Milton. 15 
 
 We close our remarks on IMilton's poetry with observing, that 
 it is characterized by seriousness. Great and various as are its 
 merits, it does not discover all the variety of genius, which we find 
 in Shakspeare, whose imagination revelled equally in regions of 
 mirth, beauty and terror, now evoking spectres, now sporting 
 with fairies, and now ' ascending the highest heaven of invention.' 
 Milton was cast on times too solemn and eventful, was called to 
 take part in transactions too perilous, and had too perpetual need 
 of the presence of high thoughts and motives, to indulge himself 
 in light and and gay creations, even had his genius been more 
 flexible and sportive. But JMilton's poetry, though habitually se- 
 rious, is always healthful, and bright, and vigorous. It has no 
 gloom. He took no pleasure in drawing dark pictures of life ; 
 for he knew by experience, that there is a power in the soul to 
 transmute calamity into an occasion and nutriment of moral power 
 and triumphant virtue. We find nowhere in his writings that 
 whining sensibility and exaggeration of morbid feeling, which 
 makes so much of modern poetry efiieminating. If he is not 
 gay, he is not spirit-broken. His L' Allegro proves, that he un- 
 derstood thoroughly the bright and joyous aspects of nature ; and 
 in his Penseroso, where he was tempted to accumulate images of 
 gloom, we learn that the saddest views which he took of creation, 
 are such as inspire only pensive musing or lofty contemplation. 
 
 From Milton's poetry, we turn to his ^rose. We rejoice that 
 the dust is beginning to be wiped from his prose writings, and 
 that the public are now learning, what the initiated have long 
 known, that these contain passages hardly inferiour to his best po- 
 etry, and that they are throughout marked with the same vigorous 
 mind, which gave us Paradise Lost. The attention to these 
 works has been discouraged by some objections, on which we 
 shall bestow a few remarks. 
 
 And first, it is objected to his prose writings, that the style is 
 difficuk and obscure, abounding in involutions, transpositions and 
 latinisms ; that his protracted sentences exhaust and weary the 
 mind, and too often yield it no better recompense, than confused 
 and indistinct perceptions. We mean not to deny that these 
 charges have some grounds ; but they seem to us much exagge- 
 rated ; and when we consider that the difficulties of Milton's 
 style have almost sealed up his prose writings, we cannot but la- 
 ment the fastidiousness and effeminacy of modern readers. We 
 know that simplicity and perspicuity are important qualities of 
 
1(3 Milton. 
 
 style ; but there are vastly nobler and more important ones ; such 
 as energy and richness, and in these Milton is not surpassed. 
 The best style is not tliat which puts the reader most easily and 
 in the shortest time in possession of a writer's naked thoughts; 
 but diat which is the truest image of a great intellect, which con- 
 veys fully and carries Tardiest into other souls the conceptions 
 and feelings of a profound and lofty spirit. To be universally in- 
 telligible is not the higliest merit. A great mind cannot, without 
 injurious constraint, shrink itself to the grasp of common passive 
 readers. Its natural movement is free, bold and majestic, and it 
 ought not to be required to part with these attributes, that the 
 multitude may keep [)ace with it. A full mind will naturally 
 overflow in long sentences, and in the moment of inspiration, 
 when thick-coming thoughts and images crowd upon it, will often 
 pour them forth in a splendid confusion, dazzling to common 
 readers, but kindling to congenial spirits. There are writings 
 which are clear through their shallowness. We must not expect 
 in the ocean the transparency of the calm inland stream. For 
 ourselves, we love what is called easy reading perhaps too well, 
 especially in our hours of relaxation ; but we love too to have 
 our faculties tasked by mastcn- spirits. We delight in long sen- 
 tences, in which a great truth, instead of being broken up into 
 numerous periods, is spread out in its full proportions, is irradiated 
 widi variety of illustration and imagery, is set forth in a splendid 
 affluence of language, and flows, like a full stream, with a majes- 
 tic harmony which Alls at once the ear and the soul. Such sen- 
 tences are worthy and noble manifestations of a great and far 
 looking mind, which grasps at once vast fields of thought, just as 
 the natural eye takes in at a moment wide prospects of grandeur 
 and beauty. We would not indeed have all compositions of this 
 character. Let abundant provision be made for the common in- 
 tellect. Let such writers as Addison (an honoured name) ' bring 
 dovyn philosophy from heaven to earth.' But let inspired genius 
 fulfil its higher function of lifting the prepared mind from earth to 
 heaven. Impose upon it no strict laws, for it is its own best law. 
 Let it speak in its own language, in tones which suit its own ear. 
 Let it not lay aside its natural port, or dwarf itself that it may^be 
 comprehended by the surrounding multitude. If not understood 
 and relished now, let it place a generous confidence in other ages, 
 and utter oracles, which futurity will expound. We are led to 
 these remai-ks not merely for Milton's justification, but because 
 our times seem to demand them. Literature we fear is becoming 
 
Milton. 17 
 
 too popular. The whole community is now turned into readers, 
 and in this we heartily rejoice ; and we rejoice too that so much 
 talent is employed in making knowledge accessible to all. We 
 hail the general diffusion of intelligence as the brightest feature of 
 the present age. But good and evil are never disjoined ; and one 
 bad consequence of the multitude of readers is, that men of genius 
 are too anxious to please the multitude, and prefer a present shout 
 of popularity to that less tumultuous, but deeper, more thrilling 
 note of the trump of fame, which resounds and grows clearer and 
 louder through all future ages. 
 
 We now come to a much more serious objection to Milton's 
 prose writings, and that is, that they are disfigured by party spirit, 
 coarse invective, and controversial asperity ; and here we are 
 prepared to say, that there are passages in these works which 
 every admirer of his character must earnestly desire to expunge. 
 Milton's alleged virulence was manifested towards private and 
 public foes. The first, such as Sahnasius and Morus, deserved 
 no mercy, they poured out on his spotless character torrents of 
 calumny, charging him with the blackest vices of the heart and 
 the foulest enormities of the life. It ought to be added, that the 
 manner and spirit of Milton's age justified a retaliation on such of- 
 fenders, which the more courteous, and, we will hope, more 
 christian spirit of the present times will not tolerate. Still we 
 mean not to be his apologists. Milton, raised as he was above 
 his age, and fortified with the consciousness of high virtue, ought 
 to have been both to his own and future times an example of 
 christian equanimity. In regard to the public enemies whom he 
 assailed, we mean the despots in church and state, and the cor- 
 rupt institutions which had stirred up a civil war, the general 
 strain of his writings, though strong and stem, must exalt him, not- 
 withstanding his occasional violence, among the friends of civil 
 and religious liberty. That liberty was in peril. Great evils 
 were struggling for perpetuity, and could only be broken down 
 by great power. Milton felt, that interests of infinite moment 
 were at stake ; and who will blame him for binding himself to them 
 with the whole energy of his great mind, and for defending them 
 with fervour and vehemence ? We must not mistake christian 
 benevolence, as if it had but one voice, that of soft entreaty. It 
 can speak in piercing and awful tones. There is constantly going 
 on in our world a conflict between good and evil. The cause of 
 human nature has always to wrestle with foes. All improvement is 
 a victory won by struggles. It is especially true of those great pe- 
 3 
 
18 Milton. 
 
 riods wliich have been distinguished by revolutions in government 
 and religion, and from which we date the most rapid movements 
 of the human mind, that they have been signalized by conflict. 
 Thus Christianity convulsed the world and grew' up amidst storms ; 
 and the reformation of Luther was a signal to universal war; and 
 Liberty in both W'Orlds has encountered opposition, over which she 
 has triumphed only through her own immortal energies. At such 
 periods, men giited with great power of thought and loftiness of 
 sentiment are especially summoned to the conflict with evil. They 
 hear, as it were, in their own magnanimity and generous aspii'a- 
 tions, the voice of a divinity ; and thus commissioned, and burning 
 with a passionate devotion to truth and freedom, diey must and 
 will speak with an indignant energy ; and they ought not to be 
 measured by the standard of ordinary men in ordinary times. 
 Men of natural softness and timidity, of a sincere, but effeminate 
 virtue, will be apt to look on these bolder, hardier spirits, as vio- 
 lent, pertui'bed, and uncharitable ; and die charge will not be 
 wholly groundless. But that deep feeling of evils, which is ne- 
 cessary to effectual conflict with them, and which marks God's 
 most powerlul messengers to mankind, cannot breathe itself in 
 soft and tender accents. The deeply moved soul will speak 
 strongly, and ought to speak so as to move and shake nations. 
 
 We have offered these remarks as strongly applicable to Mil- 
 ton. He reverenced and loved human nature, and attached him- 
 self to its great interests with a fervour of which only such a mind 
 was capable. He lived in one of those solemn periods which de- 
 termine the character of ages to come. His spirit was stirred to its 
 very centre by the presence of danger. He lived in the midst of the 
 batde. That the ardour of his spirit sometimes passed the bounds 
 of wisdom and charity, and poured forth unwarrantable invective, 
 we see and lament. But the purity and loftiness of bis mind 
 break forth amidst his bitterest invectives. We see a noble nature 
 still. We see that no feigned love of truth and freedom was a 
 covering for selfishness and malignity. He did indeed love and 
 adore uncorrupted religion, and intellectual liberty, and let his 
 name be enrolled among theii' truest champions. 
 
 Milton has told us in his own noble style, that he entered on 
 his principal controversy with episcopacy reluctantly and only 
 through a deep conviction of duty. The introduction to the se- 
 cond book of his ' Reasons of Church Government,' shews us the 
 workings of his mind on this subject, and is his best vindication 
 from tlie charge we are now repelling. He says — 
 
Milton. 19 
 
 ' Surely to every good anfl 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 a jarring blast, it lies not in man's will what 
 he shall say, or what he shall conceal. * * * This I foresee, that 
 should the church be brought under heavy oppression, and God 
 have given me ability the while to reason against that man that 
 should be the author of so foul a deed ; or should she, by blessing 
 from above on the industry and courage of faithful men, change 
 this her distracted estate into better days, without the least further- 
 ance or contribution of those icw talents, which God at that pre- 
 sent had lent me; I foresee what stories 1 should hear within my- 
 self, all my life after, of discourage and reproach. Timorous and 
 ungrateful, the church of God, is now again at the foot of her in- 
 sulting enemies, and thou bevvailest ; what matters it for thee or 
 thy bewailing 1 When time was, thou couldst not tind 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 hadst the diligence, the parts, the 
 language of a man, if a vain subject were to be adorned or beauti- 
 fied ; but when the cause of God and his church was to be plead- 
 ed, for which purpose that tongue was given thee which thou hast, 
 God listened if he could hear tiiy voice among his zealous servants, 
 but thou wert dumb as a beast ; from henceforward be that which 
 thine own brutish silence hath made thee. * * * But now by this 
 little diligence, mark what a privilege I have gained with good 
 men and saints, to claim my right of lamenting I he tribulations of 
 the church, if she should sutfer, when others that have ventured no- 
 thing 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. Concerning 
 therefore this wayward subject against prelaty, the touching 
 whereof is so distasteful and disquietous to a number of men, as by 
 what hath been said I may deserve of charitable readers to be 
 credited, that neither envy nor gall hath entered me upon this con- 
 troversy, but the enforcement of conscience only, and a preventive 
 fear lest the omitting of this duty should be against me, when I 
 would store up to myself the good provision of peaceful hours.' 
 
 Vol. f. p. 115—117.* 
 
 * From the Introduction to the second book of ' The Reason for Church 
 Government, &c.' Vol. I. p. 114, &c. of Symmons's edition of Milton's Prose 
 Works, to which all our references arc made. 
 
20 Milton. 
 
 He then goes on to speak of his consciousness of possessing 
 great poetical powers, which he was most anxious to cultivate. 
 Of these he speaks thus magnificently. 
 
 ' These abilities, wheresoever they be found, are the inspir- 
 ed gift of God rarely bestowed, but yet to some (though most 
 abuse) in every nation ; and are of power, — to inbreed and cher- 
 ish in a great people the seeds of virtue, and public civility; to 
 allay the perturbations of the mind, and set the affections in right 
 tune ; to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and 
 equipage of God's Ahnightiness, 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 
 and states from justice and God's true worship ; lastly, whatso- 
 ever 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 and re- 
 fluxes of man's thoughts from within; all these things with a solid 
 and treatable smoothness to paint out and describe.' 
 
 Vol. I. p. 120. 
 
 He then gives intimations of Iiis having proposed to himself a 
 great poetical work, ' a work,' he says, 
 
 ' 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 amour- 
 ist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained 
 by the invocat-ion of dame memory and her siren daughters, 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.' Vol. I. p. 122. 
 
 He then closes with a passage, shewing from what principles, 
 he forsook these delightful studies for controversy. 
 
 ' I trust hereby to make it manifest with what small willingness I 
 endure to interrupt the pursuit of no less hopes than these, and 
 leave a calm and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confi- 
 dent thoughts, to embark in a troubled sea of noises and hoarse 
 disputes, put from beholding the bright countenance of truth in the 
 quiet and still air of delightful studies.* * *But were it the mean- 
 est underservice, if God by his secretary conscience enjoin it, it 
 were sad for me if I should draw back ; for me especially, now 
 when all men offer their aid to help, ease and lighten the difficult 
 
Milton. 21 
 
 labours of the church, to whose service, by the intentions of my 
 parents and friends I was destined of a child, and in mine own 
 resoiutions; fill coming to some maturity of years, and perceiving 
 what tyranny had invaded the church, that he who would take or- 
 ders must subscribe slave, and take an oath withal, which unless 
 he took with a conscience that would retch, he must either strait 
 perjure, or split his faith ; I thought it better to prefer a blameless 
 silence before the sacred office of speaking, bought and begun 
 with servitude and forswearing. Vol. I. p. 123. 
 
 These passages, replete with Milton's genius and greatness of 
 soul, shew us the influences and motives under wliich his prose 
 works were written, and help us to interpret passages, which, if 
 taken separately, might justify us in ascribing to him a character 
 of excessive indignation and scorn. 
 
 Milton's most celebrated prose work is his ' Areopagitica, or a 
 Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing,' a noble work in- 
 deed, a precious manual of freedom, an arsenal of immortal 
 weapons lor the defence of man's highest prerogative, intellectual 
 hberty. His ^' Reformation in England' and ' Reasons of Church 
 Government,' are the most important theological treatises pub- 
 lished during his life. They were his earliest prose compositions, 
 and thrown off with much haste, and on these accounts ai^e more 
 • chargeable with defects of style than any other of his writings. 
 But these, with all their defects, abound 'in strong and elevated 
 thought, and in power and felicity of expression. Their great 
 blemish is an inequality of style, often springing from the conflict 
 and opposition ol the impulses under which he wrote. It is not 
 uncommon to find in the same sentence his affluent genius pour- 
 ing forth magnificent images and expressions, and suddenly his 
 deep scorn for Ins opponents, suggesting and throwing into the 
 midst ol this splendour, sarcasms and degrading comparisons alto- 
 gether at variance with the general strain. From this cause, and 
 Irom negligence, many powerful passages in his prose writings are 
 marred by an incongruous mixtm-e of unworthy allusions and 
 phrases.— In the close of his first work, that on ' Reformation 
 m i^ngland^ he breaks out into an invocation and prayer to the 
 Supreme Bemg, from which we extract a passage containing a 
 remarkable intimation of his having meditated some great poetical 
 enterprise irom his earliest years, and giving full promise of that 
 grandeur ol thought and language, which characterizes Paradise 
 i.ost. Having ' lilted up his hands to that eternal and propitious 
 throne, where nothing is readier than grace and refuge to the dis- 
 
22 :UUto)t. 
 
 tresses of mortal suppliants,' and besought God to perfect the 
 work of civil and religious deliverance begun in England, he pro- 
 ceeds thus ; 
 
 ' Then, amidst the hymns and hallelujahs of saints, some one may 
 perhaps be heard otfering at high strains in new and lofty meas- 
 ures, to sing and celebrate thy divine mercies and marvellous judg- 
 ments 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 regal addition of principalities, legions, and thrones into 
 their glorious titles ; and in supereminence of beatitic vision, pro- 
 gressing the dateless and irrevoluble circle of eternity, shall clasp 
 inseparable hands with joy and bliss, in over-measure forever. 
 
 Vol. I. pp. 68, 59. * 
 
 We have not time to speak of Milton's political treatises. We 
 close our brief remarks on his prose writings, with recommending 
 them to all, who can enjoy great beauties in the neighbourhood of 
 faults, and who would learn the compass, energy, and richness of our 
 language ; and still more do we recommend them to those, who 
 desire to nourish in their breasts, magnanimity of sentiment and 
 an unquenchable love of freedom. They bear the impress of 
 that seal, by which genius distinguishes its productions from works 
 of learning and taste. The great and decisive test of genius is, 
 that it calls forth poioer in the souls of others. It not merely 
 gives knowledge, but breathes energy. There are authors, and 
 among these Milton holds the highest rank, in approaching whom 
 we are conscious of an access of intellectual strength. A 'virtue 
 goes out' from them. We discern more clearly, not merely be- 
 cause a new light is thrown over objects, but because our own 
 vision is strengthened. Sometimes a single word, spoken by the 
 voice of genius, goes far into the heart. A hint, a suggestion, an 
 undefined delicacy of expression, teaches more than we gather 
 
Milton. 23 
 
 from volumes of less gifted men. The works which we should 
 chiefly study, are not those which contain the greatest fund of 
 knowledge, but which raise us into sympathy with the intellectual 
 energy of the author, and in which a great mind multiplies itself, 
 as it were, in the reader. JMihon's prose works are imbued as 
 really, if not as thoroughly, as his poetry, with this quickening 
 power, and they will richly reward those who are receptive of 
 this influence. 
 
 We now leave the writings of Milton to ofier a few remarks on 
 his moral qualities. His moral character was as strongly mark- 
 ed as his intellectual, and it may be expressed in one word, mag- 
 nanimity. It was in harrnony with his poetry. He had a pas- 
 sionate love of the higher; more commanding, and majestic vir- 
 tues, and fed his youthful m.ind with meditations on the perfec- 
 tion of a human being. In a letter written to an Italian friend 
 before his thirtieth year, and translated by Haley, we have this 
 vivid picture of his aspirations after virtue. 
 
 ' As to other points, what God may have determined for me 1 
 know not ; but this I know, that if he ever instilled an intense love 
 of moral beauty into the breast of any man, he has instilled it into 
 mine. Ceres in the fable pursued not her daughter with a greater 
 keenness of inquiry, than 1 day and night the idea of perfection. 
 Hence, wherever 1 find a man despising the false estimates of the 
 vulgar, and daring to aspire in sentiment, language and conduct, to 
 what the highest wisdom, through every age, has taught us as most 
 excellent, to him I unite myself by a sort of necessary attachment; 
 and if I am so influenced by nature or destiny, that by no exertion 
 or labours of my own I may exalt myself to this summit of worth 
 and honour, yet no powers of heaven or earth will hinder me from 
 looking with reverence and affection upon those, who have tho- 
 roughly attained this glory, or appeared engaged in the successful 
 pursuit of it.' 
 
 His Comiis was written in his twenty -sixth year, and on read- 
 ing this exquisite work our admiration^s awakened, not so much 
 by observing how the whole spirit of poetry had descended on him 
 at that early age, as by witnessing, how his whole youthful soul 
 was penetrated, awed and lifted up by the austere charms, ' the 
 radiant light,' the invincible power, the celestial peace of saintly 
 virtue. He reverenced moral purity and elevation, not only for 
 its own sake, hut as the inspircr of intellect, and especially of the 
 higher efforts of poetry. ' I was confirmed,' he says, in his usual 
 noble stvle. 
 
24 Milton. 
 
 ' I Avas confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frus- 
 trate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought 
 himself to be a true poem ; that is, a composition and pattern of the 
 best and honourablest things ; not presuming to singof high praises 
 of heroic men, or lanious cities, unless he have in himself the 
 experience and the practice of all that which is praiseworthy.' 
 Vol. I. p. 2 24. 
 
 We learn from his works, that he used his multifarious reading 
 to build up withm himself this reverence for virtue. Ancient his- 
 tory, the sublime musings of Plato, and the heroic self-abandon- 
 ment of chivalry, joined their influences \vith prophets and apos- 
 tles, in binding him ' everlastingly in willing homage' to the great, 
 the honourable, and the lovely in character. A remarkable pas- 
 sage to this eftect we quote from his account of his youth. 
 
 ' I betook me among those lofty fables and romances, which re- 
 count in solemn cantos, the deeds of knighthood founded by our 
 victorious kings, and from hence had in renown over all Christen- 
 dom. There 1 read it in the oath of every knight, that he should 
 defend to the expense of his best blood, or of his life, if it so befel 
 him, the honour and chastity of virgin or matron ; from whence 
 even then I learned what a noble virtue chastity sure must be, to 
 the defence of which so many worthies, by such a dear adventure 
 of themselves, had sworn ;'***' So that even these books, which 
 to many others have been the fuel of wantonness and loose living, 
 I cannot think how, unless by divine indulgence, proved to me so 
 many incitements, as you have heard, to the love and steadfast 
 observation of virtue.' Ibid. 
 
 All Milton's habits were expressive of a refined and self-de- 
 nying character. When charged by his unprincipled slanderers 
 with licentious habits, he thus gives an account of his morning 
 hours. 
 
 ' Those morning haunts are where they should be, at home ; 
 not sleeping, or concocting the surfeits of an irregular feast, but 
 up and stirring, in winter often ere the sound of any bell awake 
 men to labour, or to devotion ; in summer as oft with the bird that 
 first rouses, or not much tardier, to read good authors, or cause 
 them to be read, till the attention be weary, or memory have its 
 full fraught ; then with useful and generous labours preserving 
 the body's health and hardiness to render lightsome, clear, and 
 not lumpish obedience to the mind, to the cause of religion, and 
 our country's liberty, when it shall require firm hearts in sound 
 bodies to stand and cover their stations, rather than to see the 
 
Milton. 25 
 
 ruin of our protestation, and the enforcement of a slavish hfe.' 
 Vol. I. p. 220. 
 
 We have enlarged on the strictness and loftiness of Milton's 
 virtue, not only from our interest in the subject, but that we may 
 put to shame and silence those men who make genius an apology 
 for vice, and take the sacred fire, Idndled by God within them, to 
 inflame men's passions, and to minister to a vile sensuality. 
 
 We see Milton's greatness of mind in his fervent and constant 
 attachment to liberty. Freedom in all its forms and branches was 
 dear to him, but especially freedom of thought and speech, of 
 conscience and worship, freedom to seek, profess and propagate 
 truth. The liberty of ordinary politicians, which protects men's 
 outward rights, and removes restraints to the pursuit of property 
 and outward good, fell very short of that, for which Milton lived 
 and was ready to die. The tyranny which he hated most, was 
 that which broke the intellectual and moral power of the commu- 
 nity. The worst feature of the institutions which he assailed 
 was, that they fettered the mind. He felt within himself, that 
 the human mind had a principle of perpetual growth, that it was 
 essentially diffusive and made for progress, and he wished every 
 chain broken, that it miglit run the race of truth and virtue with 
 increasing ardour and success. This attachment to a spiritual 
 and refined freedom, which never forsook him in the hottest con- 
 troversies, contributed greatly to protect his genius, imagination, 
 taste, and sensibility from the withering and polluting influences of 
 public station, and of the rage of parties. It threw a hue of poet- 
 ry over politics, and gave a sublime reference to his service of 
 the commonwealth. The fact that Milton, in that stormy day, 
 and amidst the trials of public office, kept his high faculties unde- 
 praved, was a proof of no common greatness. Politics, however 
 they make the intellect active, sagacious, and inventive, within a 
 certain sphere, generally extinguish its thirst for universal truth, 
 paralyze sentiment and imagination, corrupt the simplicity of the 
 mind, destroy that confidence in human virtue, which lies at the 
 foundation of philanthropy and generous sacrifices, and end in 
 cold and prudent selfishness. Milton passed through a revolu- 
 tion, which. In its last stages and issue, was peculiarly fitted to 
 damp enthusiasm, to scatter the visions of hope, and to infuse 
 doubts of the reality of virtuous principle ; and yet the ardour, 
 and moral feeling, and enthusiasm of his youth came forth unhurt, 
 and even exalted from the trial. 
 4 
 
26 Milton. 
 
 I^efore quitting the subject of Milton's devotion to liberty, it 
 ought to be recorded, that he wrote his celebrated 'Defence of 
 the People of England' after being distinctly forewarned by his 
 physicians, that the effect of this exertion would be the utter loss 
 of sight. His reference to this part of his history in a short poeti- 
 cal effusion is too characteristic to be withheld. It is inscribed 
 to Cyriac Skinner, the iViend to wiiom he appears to have confi- 
 ded his lately discovered ' Treatise on Christian Doctrine.' 
 
 Cyriac, this three years day these eyes, though clear, 
 
 To outward view, of bleniisli or of spot, 
 
 Bereft of light their seeing have forgot, 
 
 Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
 Of sun, or moon, or star throughout (he year, 
 
 Or man, or woman. Yet [ argue not 
 
 Ag;iinst heav'n's hand or "ill, nor bate a jot 
 
 Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer 
 Riffht onward. What supports me, dost thou ask ? 
 
 The conscience, P^riend, to have lost them overply'd 
 
 in liberty's defence, my noble task, 
 Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
 
 This thousht might lead me throup-h the world's vain mask, 
 
 Content though blind, had I no better guide. 
 
 Sonnet XXII. 
 
 We see Milton's magnanimity in the circumstances under which 
 Paradise Lost was written. It was not in prosperity, in hon- 
 our, and amidst triumphs, but in disappointment, desertion, and 
 in what the world calls disgrace, that he composed that work. The 
 cause, with which he had identified himself, had failed. His friends 
 were scattered ; liberty was trodden under foot ; and her devoted 
 champion was a by-word among the triumphant royahsts. But 
 it is the prerogative of true greatness to glorify itself in adversity, 
 and to meditate and execute vast enterprises in defeat. Milton, 
 fallen in outward condition, afflicted with blindness, disappointed 
 in his best hopes, applied himself with characteristic energy to the 
 sublimest achievement of intellect, solacing himself with great 
 thoughts, with splendid creations, and with a prophetic confidence, 
 that however neglected in his own age, he was framing in his 
 works a bond of union and fellowship with the illu.strious spirits 
 of a brighter day. We delight to contemplate him in his retreat 
 and last years. To the passing spectator, he seemed fallen and 
 forsaken, and his blindness was reproached as a judgment from 
 God. But though sightless, he lived in light. His inward eye 
 
Milton. 27 
 
 ranged through universal nature, and his imagination shed on it 
 brighter beams than the sun. Heaven, and Hell, and Paradise 
 were open to him. He visited past ages, and gathered round 
 him ancient sages and heroes, prophets and apostles, brave knights 
 and gifted bards. As he looked forward, ages of liberty dawned 
 and rose to his view, and he felt, that he was about to bequeath to 
 them an inheritance of genius 'which would not fade away,' and 
 was to live in the memory, reverence and love of remotest gen- 
 erations. 
 
 We have enlarged on Milton's character not only from the plea- 
 sure of paying that sacred debt, which the mind owes to him who 
 has quickened and delighted it, but from an apprehension diat Mil- 
 ton has not yet reaped his due harvest of esteem and veneration. 
 The mists, which the prejudices and bigotry of Johnson spread over 
 his bright name, are not yet wholly scattered, though fast passing 
 away. We wish not to disparage Johnson. We could find no plea- 
 sure in sacrificing one great man to the manes of anoti.er. But wg 
 owe it to Milton and to other illustrious names to say, that Johnson 
 has failed of the highest end of biography, which is to give im- 
 mortality to virtue, and to call forth fervent admiration towards 
 those who have shed splendour on past ages. We acquit John- 
 son, however, of intentional misrepresentation. He did not and 
 could not appreciate Milton. We doubt whether two other minds, 
 having so little in common as those of which we are now speak- 
 ing, can be found in the higher walks of literature. Johnson was 
 great in his own sphere, but that sphere was comparatively ' of the 
 earth ;' whilst Milton's was only inferiour to that of angels. It was 
 customary in the day of Johnson's glory to call him a Giant, to 
 class him with a mighty but still an earth-born race. Milton we 
 should rank among Seraphs. Johnson's mind acted chiefly on 
 man's actual condition, on the realities of life, on the springs of 
 human action, on the passions which now agitate society, and he 
 seems hardly to have dreamed of a higher state of the human 
 mind than was then exhibited. Milton, on the other hand, burn- 
 ed with a deep yet calm love of moral grandeur and celestial 
 purity. He thought not so much of what man is, as of what he 
 might become. His own mind was a revelation to him of a high- 
 er condition of humanity, and to promote this he thirsted and 
 toiled for freedom, as the element for the growth and improve- 
 ment of his nature. — In religion Johnson was gloomy and inclined 
 to superstition, and on the subject of government leaned towards 
 absolute power ; and the idea of reforming either never entered 
 
2S Milton. 
 
 his mind but to disturb and provoke it. The church and the civil 
 pohty under wiiich he hved seemed to him perfect, unless he 
 may have thought that the former would be improved by a larger 
 infusion of Romish rites and doctrines, and the latter by an 
 enlargement of the royal prerogative. Hence a tame acquies- 
 cence in the present forms of religion and government marks his 
 works. Hence we find so litde in his writings, which is electric 
 and soul-kindling, and which gives the reader a consciousness of 
 being made for a state of loftier thought and feehng than the pres- 
 ent. Milton's whole soid, on the contrary, revolted against the 
 maxims of legitimacy, hereditary fiiith, and servile reverence for 
 established power. He could not brook the bondage to which 
 men had bowed for ages. ' Reformation' was the first word of 
 public warning which broke from his youthful lips, and die hope 
 of it was a fire in his aged breast. The diflerence between INIil- 
 ton and Johnson may be traced not only in these great features 
 of mind, but in their whole characters. JMilton was refined and 
 spiritual in his habits, temperate almost to abstemiousness, and 
 refreshed himself after intellectual effort by music. Johnson in- 
 chned to more sensual delights. IMilton was exquisitely alive to 
 the outward creation, to sounds, motions, and forms, to natural 
 beauty and grandeur. Johnson, through defect of physical organ- 
 ization, if not through deeper deficiency, had little susceptibility of 
 these pure and delicate pleasures, and would not have exchanged 
 the Strand for the vale of Tempe or the gardens of the Hes- 
 perides. How could Johnson be just to IMilton ! The compari- 
 son, which we have instituted, has compelled us to notice Johnson's 
 defects. But we trust we are not blind to his merits. His stately 
 march, his pomp and power of language, his strength of thought, 
 his reverence for virtue and religion, his vigorous logic, his prac- 
 tical wisdom, his insight into the springs of human action, and the 
 solemn padios, which occasionally pervades his descriptions of life 
 and his references to bis own history, command our willing ad- 
 miration. That he wanted endiusiasm, and creative imagination, 
 and lofty senfiment, was not his fault. We do not blame him for 
 not being Milton. We love intellectual power in all its forms, and 
 delight in the variety of mind. We blame him only, that his pas- 
 sions, prejudices, and bigotry engaged him in the unworthy task of 
 obscuring the brighter glory of one of the most gifted and virtuous 
 men. We would even treat what we deem the faults of Johnson 
 with a tenderness approaching respect ; for they were results, to 
 a degree which man cannot estimate, of a diseased, irritable. 
 
Milton. 29 
 
 nervous, unhappy physical temperament, and belonged to the body 
 more tlian to the mind. We only ask the friends of genius not 
 to nut their faith in Johnson's delineations of it. His biographical 
 works are tinged with his notoriously strong prejudices, and of all 
 his ' Lives/ we hold that of ]\lilton to be the most apocryphal. 
 
 We here close our general remarks on Milton's intellectual and 
 moral qualities. We venerate him as a man of genius ; but still 
 more as a man of magnanimity and Christian virtue, who regarded 
 genius and poetry as sacred gifts, imparted to him not to amuse 
 men. or to build up a reputation, but that he might quicken and 
 call forth what was great and divine in his fellow-creatures, and 
 njight secure the only true fame, the admiration of rninds which 
 his writings were to kindle and exalt. 
 
 We come now to the examination of the newly discovered 
 'Treatise on Christian Doctrine.' This work, we have said, owes 
 its chief interest to the character of its author. From its very na- 
 ture, it cannot engage and fix general attention. It consists very 
 much of collections of texts of scripture, which, however exciting 
 in theii' proper places, are read with little thought or emotion when 
 taken from their ordinary connexion, and marshalled under sys- 
 tematic heads. Milton aims to give us the doctrines of revelation 
 in its own words. W^e have them in a phraseology long familiar 
 to us ; and we are disappointed ; for we expected to see them, 
 not in the language of the Bible, but as existing in the mind of 
 Milton, modified by his peculiar intellect and sensibility, combined 
 and embodied with his various knowledge, illustrated by the anal- 
 ogies, brightened by the new lights, and clothed with the associa- 
 tions with which they were surrounded by this gifted man. We 
 hoped to see these doctrines as they were viewed by Milton in 
 his moments of solemn feeling and deep contemplation, when 
 they pervaded and moved his whole soul. Still there are pas- 
 sages in which Milton's mind is laid open to us. We refer to the 
 parts of the work, where the peculiarity of his opinions obliges him 
 to state his reasons for adopting them ; and these we value highly, 
 for the vigour and independence of intellect widi which they are 
 impressed. The work is plain and unambitious in style. Its 
 characteristics are a calm earnestness, and that profound venera- 
 tion for scripture, which certain denominations of Christians, who 
 have little congeniality with jMilton, seem to claim as a monopoly. 
 
 His introduction is wordiy every man's attention, as a delibe- 
 rate, mild assertion of the dearest right of human nature, that of 
 free inquiry. 
 
30 Milton. 
 
 ' If I communicate the result of my inquiries to the world at 
 large ; if, as God is my witness, it be with a friendly and heD:gnant 
 feeling towards mankind, that I readily give as wide a circuiition as 
 possible to what I esteem my best and richest posse^^sion, I hope 
 to meet with a candid reception from all parties, and that none at 
 least will take unjust offence, even though many things should be 
 brought to light, which will at once be seen to differ from certain 
 received opinions. 1 earnestly beseech all lovers of truth, not to 
 cry out that the church is thrown into confusion by that freedom 
 of discussion and inquiry, which is granted to the schools, and 
 ought certainly to be refused to no believer, since we are ordered 
 to prove all things, and since the daily progress of the light of 
 truth is productive tar less of disturbance to the church, than of 
 illumination and edification.' Vol. I. pp. 6, 6. 
 
 ' It has also been my object to make it appear from the opinions 
 I shall be found to have advanced, whether new or old, of how 
 much consequence to the Christian religion is the liberty, not only 
 of winnowing and sifting every doctrine, but also of thinking and 
 even writing respecting it, according to our individual faith and 
 persuasion; an inference which will be stronger in proportion to 
 the weight and importance of those opinions, or rather in propor- 
 tion to the authority of scripture, on the abundant testimony of 
 which they rest. Without this liberty there is neither religion nor 
 gospel — force alone prevads, — by which it is disgraceful for the 
 christian religion to be supported. Without this liberty we are 
 still enslaved, not indeed, as formerly, under the divine law, but, 
 what is worst of all, under the law of man, or to speak more truly, 
 under a barbarous tyranny.' Vol. I. pp. 7, 8. 
 
 On that great subject, the character of God, Milton ha.s given 
 nothing particularly worthy of notice, except that he is more dis- 
 posed than Christians in general, to conceive of the Supreme 
 Being under the forms and affections of human nature. 
 
 ' If God habitually assign to himself the members and form of 
 man, why should we be afraid of attributing to him what he attri- 
 butes to himself, so long as what is imperfection and weakness, 
 when viewed in reference to ourselves, be considered as most com- 
 plete and excellent whenever it is imputed to God.' Vol. I. p. 23. 
 
 Milton is not the first Christian, who has thought to render the 
 Supreme Being more interesting by giving him human shape. 
 We doubt the wisdom of this expedient. To spiritualize our 
 conceptions of him, seems to us the true process for strengthening 
 our intimacy with him ; for in this way only can we think of him 
 as immediately present to our minds. As far as we give him a 
 
Milton. 31 
 
 material form, we must assign to him a place, and that place will 
 almost necessarily be a distant one, and thus we shall remove 
 him from the soul which is his true temple. Besides, a definite 
 form clashes with God's infinity, which is his supreme distinction, 
 and on no account to be obscured ; for strange as it may seem 
 to those who know not their own nature, this incomprehensible 
 attribute, is that, which above all things constitutes the corres- 
 pondence or adaptation, if we may so speak, of God to the hu- 
 man mind. 
 
 In treating of God's Efficiency, Milton strenuously maintains 
 human freedom, in opposition to the Calvinistic doctrine of pre- 
 destination. He maintains, that God's decrees do not encroach 
 on moral liberty ; for our free agency is the very object decreed 
 and predestined by the Creator. He maintains that some of the 
 passages of scripture, which speak of election, are to be under- 
 stood of an election to outward privileges, not to everlasting life ; 
 and that in other texts, which relate to the future state, the elec- 
 tion spoken of is not an arbitrary choice of individuals, but of that 
 class or description of persons, be it large or small, who shall 
 comply with the prescribed terms of salvation ; in other words, 
 it is a conditional, not an absolute election, and such that every 
 individual, if he will, may be included in it. Milton has so far 
 told us truth. We wish that we could add, that he had thrown 
 new light on fi'ee agency. This great subject has indeed baffled 
 as yet the deepest thinkers, and seems now to be consigned with 
 other sublime topics, under the sweeping denomination of meta- 
 physics, to general neglect. But let it not be given up in despair. 
 The time is coming, when the human intellect is to strike into new 
 fields, and to view itself, and its Creator, and the universe from 
 new positions, and we trust that the darkness which has so long 
 hung over our moral nature will be gradually dispersed. This 
 attribute of free agency, through which an intelligent being is 
 strictly and properly a cause, an agent, an originator of moral 
 good or moral evil, and not a mere machine, determined by out- 
 ward influences or by a secret yet resisdess efficiency of God, 
 which virtually makes Hirn the author and only author of all hu- 
 man actions, — this moral freedom, which is the best image of the 
 creative energy of the Deity, seems to us the noblest object of 
 philosophical investigation. However questioned and darkened 
 by a host of metaphysicians, it is recognised in the common 
 consciousness of every human being. It is the ground of re- 
 sponsibility, the fountain of moral feeling. It is involved in all 
 
32 Milton. 
 
 moral juclgiiients and affections, and thus gives to social life its 
 whole interest ; whilst it is the chief tie between the soul and its 
 Creator. The fact, that philosophers have attempted to dis- 
 card free agency from their explanations of moral phenomena, 
 and to subject all human action to necessity, to mechanical causes, 
 or other extraneous influences, is proof enough, that the science 
 of the mind has as yet penetrated little beneath the surface, that 
 the depths of the soul are still unexplored. 
 
 Mikon naturally ))asses from his chapter on the Supreme Being 
 to the consideration of those topics, which have always been con- 
 nected with this part of theology ; we mean, the character of 
 Jesus Christ, and the nature of the Holy Spirit. All our readers 
 are probably aware that JMilton has here declared himself an anti- 
 trinitarian, and strenuously asserted the strict and proper unity of 
 God. His chapter on ' The Son of God' is the most elaborate 
 one in the work. His ' prefatory remarks' are higlily interesting, 
 as joining with a manly assertion of his right, an aflectionate de- 
 sire to conciliate the Christians from whom he differed. 
 
 ' I cannot enter upon subjects of so much difficulty as the Son of 
 God and the Holy Spirit, without again preniibing a few introduc- 
 tory words. If indeed I were a member of the Church oi" Rome, 
 which requires implicit obedience to its creed on all points of faith, 
 I should have acquiesced from education or habit in its simple de- 
 cree and authority, even though it denies that the doctrine of the 
 trinity, as now received, is capable of being i)roved from any pas- 
 sage of Scripture. But since I enrol myself among the number 
 of those who acknowledge the word of God alone as the rule of 
 faith, and freely advance what appears to me much more clearly 
 deducible from the Holy Scriptures than the commonly received opi- 
 nion, I see no reason why any one who belongs to the same Protest- 
 ant or Reformed Church, and professes to acknowledge the same 
 rule of faith as myself, should take offence at my iVeedom, partic- 
 ularly as I impose my authority on no one, but merely propose 
 what I think more worthy of belief than the creed in general ac- 
 ceptation. I only entreat that my readers will ponder and exam- 
 ine my statements in a spirit which desires to discover nothing but 
 the truth, and with a mind t>ee from prejudice. For witlioiit in- 
 tending to oppose the authority of Scripture, which 1 consider in- 
 violably sacred, I only take upon myself to refute human interpre- 
 tations as often as the occasion requires, conformably to my right 
 or rather to my duty as a man. If indeed those with whom 1 have 
 to contend were able to produce direct attestation from heaven to 
 the truth of the doctrine which they espouse, it Avould be nothing 
 Jess than impiety to venture to raise, 1 do not say a clamour, but 
 
Milton. 33 
 
 so much as a murmur against it. But inasmuch as they can hiy 
 claim to nothing more than human powers, assisted by that spirit- 
 ual illumination which is common to all, it is not unreasonable that 
 they should on their part allow the privileges of diligent research 
 and free discussion to another inquirer, who is seeking truth 
 through the same means and in the same way as themselves, and 
 whose desire of benefiting mankind is equal to their own.' 
 
 Vol. I. pp. 103, 104, 105. 
 
 Milton teaches, that the Son of God is a distinct being from 
 God, and inferiour to him, that he existed before the world was 
 made, that he is the first of the creation of God, and that after- 
 wards, all other things were made by him, as the instrument or 
 minister of his Father. He maintains, in agreement with Dr 
 Clarke, tliat the Holy Spirit is a person, an intelligent agent, but 
 created and inferiour to God. This opinion of Milton is the more 
 remarkable, because he admits, that before the time of Christ, 
 tlie Jews, though accustomed to the phrase, Holy Spirit, never 
 attached to it the idea of personality, and that both in the Old and 
 the New Testament, it is often used to express God himself or his 
 power and agency. It is strange, that after these concessions, he 
 could have found a difliculty in giving a figurative interpretation 
 to the few passages in the New Testament which speak of the 
 Holy Spirit as a person. 
 
 We are unable within our limits to give a sketch of Milton's 
 sti'ong reasoning against the Supreme Divinity of Jesus Christ. 
 We must, however, pause a moment to thank God that he has 
 raised up this illustrious advocate of the long obscured doctrine of 
 the Di\'ine Unity. We can now bring forward the three greatest 
 and noblest minds of modern times, and we may add of the chris- 
 tian era, as witnesses to that Great Truth, of which in an hum- 
 bler and narrower sphere, we desire to be the defenders. Our 
 Trinitarian adversaries are perpetually ringing in our ears the 
 names of Fatlrers and Reformers. We take Milton, Locke and 
 Newton, and place them in our front, and want no others to op- 
 pose to the whole array of great names on the opposite side. Be- 
 fore these intellectual suns, the stars of self-named orthodoxy 
 ' hide their diminished heads.' To these eminent men, God com- 
 municated such unusual measures of light and mental energy, that 
 their names spring up spontaneously, when we think or would 
 speak of the greatness of our nature. Their theological opinions 
 were the fruits of patient, profound, reverent study of the Scrip- 
 tures. They came to this work, with minds not narrowed by a 
 
34 Milton. 
 
 technical, professional education, but accustomed to broad views, 
 to the widest range of thought. They were shackled by no party 
 connexions. They were warped by no clerical ambition, and 
 subdued by no clerical timidity. Tliey came to this subject in 
 the lalness of their strength, with free minds open to truth, and 
 with unstained purity of life. They came to it, in an age, when 
 the doctrine of the Trinity was instilled by education, and upheld 
 by the authority of the church, and by penal laws. And what 
 did these great and good men, whose intellectual energy and love 
 of truth have made them the chief benefactors of the human mind, 
 what, we ask, did they discover in the Scriptures? a triple divin- 
 ity? three infinite cigents? three infinite objects of worship ? three 
 persons, each of whom p;-ssesses his own distinct offices, and yet 
 shares equally in the godhead vvitli the rest ? No ! Scripture 
 joined with nature and with that secret voice in the heart, which 
 even idolatry could not always stifle, and taught them to bow rev- 
 erently before the One Infinite Father, and to ascribe to Him alone 
 supreme, seli-existent Divinity. — Our principal object in these re- 
 niaiks has been to show, that as far as great names are arguments, 
 the cause of anti-trinitarianism or of God's proper Unity is sup- 
 ported by the strongest. But we owe it to truth to say, that we 
 put little trust in these fashionable proofs. The chief use of 
 great names in religious controversy is to balance and neutralize 
 one another, that the unawed and unfettered mind may think and 
 judge with a due self-reverence, and with a solemn sense of ac- 
 countableness to God alone. 
 
 We have called Wilton an anti-trinitarian. But we have no desire 
 to identify him with any sect. His mind was too independent and 
 universal to narrow itself to human creeds and parties. He is 
 supposed to have separated himself in his last years from all the 
 denominations around him ; and were he now living, we are not 
 sure that he would find one to which he would be strongly attract- 
 ed. He would probably stand first among that class of Chris- 
 tians, more numerous than is supposed, and, we hope, increasing, 
 who are too jealous of the rights of the mind, and too dissatisfied 
 with the clashing systems of the age, to attach themselves closely 
 to any party ; in whom the present improved state of theology 
 has created a consciousness of defect, rather than the triumph of 
 acquisition; who, however partial to their own creed, cannot per- 
 suade themselves, that it is the ulrimate attainment of the human 
 mind, and that distant ages will repeat its articles as reverently as 
 the Catholics do the decrees of Trent ; who contend earnestly 
 
Milton. 
 
 oo 
 
 for free inquiry, not because all who inquire will think as they do, 
 but because some at least may be expected to outstrip them, and 
 to be guides to higher truth. With this nameless and spreading 
 class, we have strong sympathies. We want new light and care 
 not whence it comes ; we want reformers worthy of the name ; 
 and we should rejoice in such a manifestation of Christianity, as 
 would throw all present systems into obscurity. 
 
 We come now to a topic, on which Milton will probably startle 
 a majority of readers. He is totally opposed, as were most of the 
 ancient philosopiiers, to the doctrine of God's creating the uni- 
 verse out of nothing. He maintains, that there can be no action 
 wiihout a passive material on which the act is exerted, and that 
 accordingly the world was framed out of a pre-existent matter. 
 To the question, what and whence is this primary matter ? he an- 
 swers, it is from God, ' an efflux of the Deity.' ' It proceeded from 
 God,' and consequently no additional existence was produced by 
 creation, nor is matter capable of annihilation. A specimen of 
 his speculations on this subject is given in the following quotation. 
 
 ' It is clear then that the world was framed out of matter of 
 some kind or other. For since action and passion are relative 
 terms, and since, consequently, no agent can act externally, unless 
 there be some patient, such as matter, it a})pears impossible that 
 God could have created this world out of nothing ; not from any 
 defect of power on his part, but because it was necessary that 
 something should have previously existed capable of receiving pas- 
 sively the exertion of the divine efficacy. Since, therefore, both 
 Scripture and reason concur in pronouncing that all these things 
 were made, not out of nothing, but out of matter, it necessarily 
 follows, that matter must either have always existed independently 
 of God, or have originated from God at some particular point of 
 time. That matter should have been always independent of God, 
 (seeing that it is only a passive principle, dependent on the Deity, 
 and subservient to him ; and seeing, moreover, that as in number, 
 considered abstractly, so also in time or eternity there is no inhe- 
 rent force or efficacy) that matter, I say, should have existed of 
 itself from all eternity, is inconceivable. If on the contrary it did 
 not exist from all eternity, it is difficult to understand from whence 
 it derives its origin. There remains, therefore, but one solution of 
 the difficulty, for which moreover we have the authority of Scrip- 
 ture, namely, that all things are of God.' Vol. I. pp. 236, 237. 
 
 This doctrine naturally led Milton to another, viz. that there is 
 no ground for the supposed distinction between body and soul ^ 
 
36 Milton. 
 
 for if matter is an ' efflux of the Deity,' it is plainly susceptible of 
 intellectual functions. Accordingly our author affirms, 
 
 'That man is a living being, intrinsically and properly one and 
 individual, not, connponnd or separable, not, according to the com- 
 mon opinion, made up and framed of two distinct and difierent 
 natures, as of soul and body, — but the whole man is soul, and the 
 soul man, that is to say, a body, or substance individual, animated, 
 sensitive, and rational.' Vol. I. pp. 250,261. 
 
 We here learn that a passage in Paradise Lost, which we have 
 admired as poetry, was deemed by Milton sound philosophy. 
 
 ' O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom 
 All things proceed, and up to him return, 
 Jf not deprav'd from good, created all 
 Such to perfection, one first inalter all, 
 Indued with various forms, various degrees 
 Of substance, and in things that live, of life ; 
 But more retin'd, more spiritous, and pure, 
 As nearer to him plac'd, or nearer tending 
 Each in their several active spheres assign'd, 
 Tilt body up to spirit Tcork, in bounds 
 Proportioned to each kind. So from the root 
 Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves 
 More aery, last the bright consummate llower 
 Spirits odorous breathes ; flow'rs and their fruit, 
 Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd, 
 To vital spirits aspire, to animal. 
 To intelleclual. Par. Lost, b. v. hnes 469 — 485. 
 
 These speculations of Milton will be received in this age with 
 more favour or with less aversion, than in his own ; for, from 
 the time of Locke, the discussions of philosophers have tended to 
 unsettle our notions of matter, and no man is hardy enough now to 
 say, what it is, or vvhat it may not be. The idealism of Berke- 
 ley, though it has never organized a sect, has yet sensibly influ- 
 enced the modes of thinking among metaphysicians ; and the co- 
 incidence of this system with the theory of certain Hindoo philos- 
 ophers, may lead us to suspect, that it contains some great latent 
 truth, of which the European and Hindoo intellect, so generally 
 at variance, have caught a glimpse. Matter is indeed a Proteus, 
 which escapes us at the moment we hope to seize it. Priesfley 
 was anxious to make the soul material ; but for this purpose, he 
 was obliged to change matter from a substance into a power, that is, 
 into no matter at all ; so that he destroyed, in attempting to dif- 
 
Mikou. 37 
 
 fuse it. We have thrown out these remai'ks, to rescue Milton's 
 memory from the imputation, which he was the last man to de- 
 serve, of irreverence towards God ; for of this some will deem 
 him guilty in tracing matter to the Deity as its fountain. Mat- 
 ter, which seems to common people so intelligible, is still wrapt 
 in mystery. We know it only by its relation to mind, or as an 
 assemblage of powers to awaken certain sensations. Of its rela- 
 tion to God, we may be said to know nothing. Perhaps, as 
 knowledge advances, we shall discover that the Creator is bound 
 to his works by stronger and more intimate ties, than we now 
 imagine. We do not then quarrel with such suggestions as Mil- 
 ton's, though we cannot but wonder at the earnestness with which 
 he follows out such doubtful speculations. 
 
 Milton next proceeds to the consideration of man's state in 
 Paradise, and as marriage viras the only social relation then sub- 
 sisting, he introduces here his views of that institution, and of po- 
 lygamy, and divorce. These views show, if not the soundness, 
 yet the characteristic independence of his mind. No part of his 
 book has given such offence as his doctrine of the lawfulness of 
 polygamy, and yet no where is he less liable to reproach. It is 
 plain that his errour was founded on his reverence for Scripture. 
 He saw that polygamy was allowed to the best men in the Old 
 Testament, to patriarchs before the law, who, he says, were the 
 objects of God's special favour, and to eminent individuals in sub- 
 sequent ages ; and finding no prohibition of it in the New Testa- 
 ment, he believed, that not only holy men would be traduced, but 
 Scripture dishonoured, by pronouncing it morally evil. We are 
 aware that some will say, that the practice is condemned in the 
 New Testament ; and we grant that it is censured by implication 
 in these words of Christ, ' Whosoever shall put away his wife, 
 except it be for fornication, and shall marry another, committeth 
 aduhery.'* But we believe it to be an indisputable fact, that al- 
 though Christianity was first preached in Asia, which liad been 
 from the earliest ages the seat of polygamy, the Apostles never 
 denounced it as a crime, and never required their converts to put 
 away all wives but one. What then f some may say, ' are you 
 too the advocates of the lawfulness of polygamy ?' We answer, 
 no. We consider our religion as decidedly hostile to this prac- 
 tice ; and we add, what seems to us of great importance, that 
 this hostility is not the less decided, because no express prohibi- 
 tion of polygamy is found in the New Testament ; for Christiau- 
 
 MaU.xix.r* 
 
38 Milton. 
 
 ity is not a system of precise legislation, marking out with literal 
 exactness ev^ery thing to be done, and every thing to be avoided ; 
 but an inculcation of broad principles, which it intrusts to individ- 
 uals and to society to be applied according to their best discre- 
 tion. It is tlnongh this generous peculiarity, that Christianity is 
 fitted to be a univers;)] religion. Through this, it can subsist and 
 blend itself with all stages of society, and can live in the midst of 
 abuses, which it silently and powerfully overcomes, but against 
 which it would avail little, were it immediately to lift up the voice 
 of denunciation. We all know, that long cherished corruptions, 
 which have sent their roots through the whole frame of a com- 
 munity, cannot be torn up at once, without dissolving society. 
 To Christianity is committed the sublime oftice of eradicating all 
 the errours and evils of the world ; but this it does by a process 
 corresponding with man's nature, by working a gradual revolu- 
 tion in the mind, which in its turn works a sale and effectual rev- 
 olution in manners and life. No arginuent, therefore, in favour 
 of a practice can be adduced from the fact, that it is not explicit- 
 ly reprobated in the New Testament. For example, Christian- 
 ity went forth into communities, where multitudes were held in 
 slavery, and all ranks were ground and oppressed by despotism ; 
 abuses on which the spirit of our religion frowns as sternly as on 
 any which can be named. Yet Chiistianity did not command 
 the master to free his slaves, or the despot to descend from his 
 absolute throne ; but satisfied itself with proclaiming sublime 
 truths in regard to God's paternal character and administration, 
 and broad and generous principles of action ; leaving to these 
 the work of breaking every chain by a gradual, inward, irresisti- 
 ble influence, and of asserting the essential equality and unaliena- 
 ble rights of the whole human race. — We cannot leave this topic, 
 without adding, that not only Milton's errour on polygauiy, but 
 many other noxious mistakes, have resulted from measuring 
 Christianity by the condition of the primitive church, as if that 
 were the standard of faith and practice, as if every thing allowed 
 then were wise and good, as if the religion were then unfolded 
 in all its power and extent. The truth is, that Christianity was 
 then in its infancy. The Apostles communicated its great truths 
 to the rude minds of Jews and Heathens ; but the primitive church 
 did not and could not understand all that was involved in those 
 principles, all the applications of which they are susceptible, all 
 the influences they were to exert on the human mind, all the 
 combinations they were to form with the new truths which time 
 
Milton. 39 
 
 was to unfold, all the new lights in which they were to be placed, 
 all the adaptations to human nature and to more advanced states 
 of society, which they were progressively to manifest. In the 
 fii-st a^e the religion was administered with a wise and merciful 
 conformity to the capacities of its recipients. With the progress 
 of intelligence, and the developement of the moral faculties, 
 Christianity is freeing itself, and ought to be freed, from the local, 
 temporary and accidental associations of its childhood, its great 
 principles are coming forth more distinctly and briglitly, and con- 
 demning abuses and errours, which have passed current for ages. 
 This great truth, for such we deem it, that Christianity is a grow- 
 ing light, and that it must be more or less expounded by every 
 age for itself, was not sufficiently apprehended by Milton •, nor 
 is it now understood as it will be. For want of apprehending it, 
 Christianity is administered now too much as it was in ages, when 
 nothing of our literature, philosophy, and spirit of improvement 
 existed ; and consequently it does not, we fear, exert that entire 
 and supreme sway over strong and cultivated minds which is its 
 due, and which it must one day obtain. 
 
 Milton has connected with polygamy the subject of divorce, 
 on which he is known to have differed from many Christians. 
 He strenuously maintains in the work under review, and more 
 largely in other treatises, that the violation of the marriage bed 
 is not the sole ground of divorce, but that ' the perpetual interrup- 
 tion of peace and affection by mutual differences and unkindness 
 is a sufficient reason' for dissolving the conjugal relation. On 
 this topic we cannot enlarge. 
 
 We now arrive at that part of Milton's work, in which his pow- 
 erful mind might have been expected to look beyond the preva- 
 lent opinions of his day, but in which he has followed the beaten 
 road almost without deviation, seldom noticing difficulties, and 
 hardly seeming to know their existence. We refer to the great 
 subjects of the moral condition of mankind, and of redemption by 
 Jesus Christ. The doctrine of original sin he has assumed as 
 true, and his faith in it was evidently strengthened by his doctrine 
 of the identity of the soul with the body, in consequence of which 
 he teaches, that souls are propagated from parents to children, 
 and not immediately derived from God, and that they are born 
 with an hereditary taint, just as the body contracts hereditary dis- 
 ease. It is humiliating "to add, that he supports this doctrine of 
 the propagation of sin by physical contagion, on the ground, that 
 it relieves'the Creator from the charge of originating the corrup- 
 
40 Milton. . 
 
 tion which we are said to bring into life ; as if the infinitely pure 
 and good God could, by a covert agency, infect with moral evil 
 the passive and powerless mind of the infant, and then absolve 
 himself of the horrible v.'ork by imputing it to instruments of his 
 own ordination ! Milton does not, however, believe in total de- 
 })ravity, feeling that this would free men from guilt, by taking 
 away all power ; and he therefore leaves us a portion of the di- 
 vine image, not enough to giv^e us a chance of virtue, but enough 
 to take away excuse fi-om sin. Such are the ' tender mercies' 
 of theology! With respect to Christ's mediation, he supposes, 
 that Christ saves us by bearing our punishment and in this way 
 satisfying God's justice. His views indeed are not expressed 
 with much precision, and seem to have been formed without much 
 investigation. On these great subjects, of human nature and 
 redemption, we confess, we are disappointed in finding the spirit 
 of Milton satisfying itself with the degrading notions which pre- 
 vailed around him. But we remember, that it is the order of 
 Providence, that the greatest minds should sympathize much with 
 their age, and that they contribute the more to the progress of 
 mankind, by not advancing too fast and too far beyond their co- 
 temporaries. In tiiis part of his work, IMilton maintains, that the 
 death threatened to sin extends equally to body and soul, which 
 indeed, he was bound to do, as he holds the soul and body to be 
 one ; and he then proceeds to defend with his usual power the 
 necessary inference, that all consciousness is suspended between 
 death and the resurrection. We have no faith in this doctrine, but 
 we respect the courage uith which he admits and maintains what- 
 ever can be fairly deduced from his opinions. 
 
 Having concluded the subject of redemption, he passes to 
 what he calls ' man's renovation, or the change whereby the sinner 
 is brought into a state of grace ;' and here, though he is not al- 
 ways perspicuous, yet he seldom deviates from what was then 
 the beaten road. We owe it, however, to IMilton, to say, that, 
 although he sometimes approached, he never adopted Calvinism. 
 All the distinguishing articles of that creed, total depravity, elec- 
 tion and reprobation, Christ dying for the elect only, irresistible 
 grace, the perseverance of the saints, and justification by mere faith, 
 all are deified and opposed by him, and some with great strength. 
 Swayed as Milton was by the age in which he lived, his spirit 
 could not be subdued to the heart-withering faith of the Gene- 
 van school. 
 
Milton. 4 1 
 
 We now come to a subject, in which Milton was deeply inter- 
 ested, we mean Christian Liberty, under which head may be 
 included the discipline of the church, the power of ministers, 
 and the rights of the people. To vindicate the liberty of Christ- 
 ians, and to secure them from all outward impositions and ordi- 
 nances, he maintains that the whole Mosaic law is abolished, so 
 that no part is binding on Christians ; a doctrine which may startle 
 many; who believe that the moral precepts of that law are as 
 binding now as ever. But such persons differ little in reality 
 from Milton, whose true meaning is, that these precepts bind 
 Christi-.ms, not through the authority of Moses, which is wholly 
 done away, but only because they are taken up and incorporated 
 into Christianity, which is our only law, and which has set forth 
 whatever was permanently valuable in Judaism in a more perfect 
 form, and with more powerful sanctions. 
 
 As another branch of the Libeity of Christians, he maintains, 
 as we may well suppose, the right of every believer to consult 
 the scriptures and to judge of them for himself. Not satisfied with 
 this, he takes die ground of Quakerism, and maintains that the 
 Christian, in addition to the Scriptures, has an inward guide, with 
 which no human authority should interfere. 
 
 ' Under the Gospel we possess, as it were, a twofold scripture, 
 one external, which is the written word, and the other internal, 
 which is the Holy Spirit, written in the hearts of believers, accord- 
 ing to the promise of God, and with the intent that it should by no 
 means be neglected.' Vol. 2, p. 172. ' The external scripture * * * 
 has been liable to frequent corruption, and in some instances has been 
 corrupted, through the number, and occasionally the bad faith of 
 those by whom it has been handed down, the variety and discre- 
 pancy of the original manuscripts, and the additional diversity pro- 
 duced by subsequent transcripts and printed editions. But the 
 Spirit which leads to truth cannot be corrupted, neither is it easy 
 to deceive a man who is really spiritual.' p. 173. ' It is difficult 
 to conjecture the purpose of Providence in committing the writings 
 of the New Testament to such uncertain and variable guardianship, 
 unless it were to teach us by this very circumstance, that the Spirit 
 which is given to us is a more certain guide than Scripture, whom, 
 therefore, it is our duty to follow.' p. 174. 'Hence it follows, 
 that when an acquiescence in human opinions or an obedience to 
 human authority in matters of religion is exacted, in the name 
 either of the church or of the christian magistrate, from those 
 who are themselves led individually by the Spirit of God, this is 
 in effect to impose a yoke, not on man, but on the Holy Spirit itsclfV 
 p. 176. 
 
 6 
 
42 Milton. 
 
 This, in words, is genuine Quakerism ; but whether Milton 
 understood by the Holy Spirit that immediate revelation, which 
 forms the leading doctrine of that creed, we doubt. Tothis doc- 
 trine it may be objected, and we think Milton must have felt the 
 objection, that it disparages and discourages our faculties, and 
 produces inaction of mind, leading men to expect from a sudden 
 flash from heaven the truth, which we are taught to seek by the 
 right use of our own powers. We imagine, that Milton believed 
 that the Holy Spirit works with and by our own understandings, 
 and, instead of superseding reason, invigorates and extends it. 
 But this is not the only place, where his precise views are obscured 
 by general expressions, or by rapid and superficial notices of 
 subjects. 
 
 In Mikon's views of the church and the ministry, we have other 
 proofs of his construing the Scriptures in the manner most favour- 
 able to Christian Liberty. He teaches that the universal Church 
 has no head but Ciirist, and that the power arrogated by popes, 
 councils, and bishops, is gross usurpation. In regard to particu- 
 lar churches he is a strict congregationalist. Each church, he 
 says, is competent to its own government, and connected with 
 others only by the bond of charity. No others are authorized to 
 interfere witli any of its concerns, but in the way of brotherly 
 counsel. 
 
 ' Every church consisting of the above parts,' (i. e. well instruct- 
 ed believers,) ' however smull its numbers, is to be considered as in 
 itself an integral and perfect church, so far as regards its reli- 
 gious rights; nor has it any superior on earth, whether individual, 
 or assembly, or convention, lo whom it can be lawfully required to 
 render submission ; inasmuch as no believer out of its pale, nor any 
 order or council of men whatever, has a greater right than itself to 
 expect a participation in the written word and the promises, in 
 the presence of Christ, in the presiding infbience of the Spirit, and 
 in those gracious gifts which are the reward of united prayer.' 
 
 Vol. 11. p. 193. 
 
 The choice of the minister, he says, belongs to the people. 
 The minister, if possible, should sei-ve the church graUiitously, 
 and live by the labour of his own hands. This unpaid service he 
 pronounces more noble and consonant to our Lord's example and 
 that of the Apostles. In accordance with these views, he favours 
 the idea of a church consisting of few members. 
 
 'All that pertains to the worship of God and the salvation of be- 
 lievers, all, in short, that is necessary to constitute a church, may 
 
Milton. 43 
 
 be duly and orderly transacted in a particular church, within the 
 walls of a private house, and where the nunibers assembled are incon- 
 siderable. Nay, such a church, when in compliance with the inter- 
 ested views of its pastor it allows of an increase of numbers beyond 
 what is convenient, deprives itself in a great measure of the advan- 
 tagesj to be derived from meeting in common.' Vol. II. p. 194. 
 
 He maintains that ministers are not to monopolize public in- 
 struction, or the administration of the ordinances ; but that all 
 Christians, having sufficient gifts, are to participate in these ser- 
 vices. 
 
 ' The custom of holding- assemblies is to be maintained, not after 
 the present mode, but according to the apostolical institution, which 
 did not ordain that an individual, and he a stij^endiary, should have 
 the sole right of speaking from a higher place, but that each be- 
 liever in turn should be authorized to speak, or prophecy, or teach, 
 or exhort, according to his gifts; insomuch that even the weakest 
 among the brethren had the privilege of asking questions, and 
 consulting the elders and more experienced members of the con- 
 gregation.' Vol. II. p. 203. .' Any believer is competent to act as 
 an ordinary minister, according as convenience may require, pro- 
 vided only he be endowed with the necessary gifts ; these gifts con- 
 stituting his mission.' p. 153. ' If therefore it be competent to 
 any believer whatever to preach the gospel, provided he be fur- 
 nished with the requisite gifts, it is also competent to him to ad- 
 minister the right of baptism ; inasmuch as the latter office is infe- 
 riour to the former.' p. 157. ' With regard to the Lord's supper 
 also, it has been shown, in the preceding chapter, that all are en- 
 titled to participate in that rite, but that the privilege of dispensino- 
 the elements is coniined to no particular man, or order of men.' 
 p. 158. 
 
 V^^'e entirely accord with the spirit of freedom which these pas- 
 sages breathe ; but from some of the particular views we dissent. 
 The great errour of Milton lies in supposing that the primitive 
 church was meant to be a model for all ages. But can we sup- 
 pose, that the church at its birth, when it was poor, persecuted, 
 hemmed in by Judaism and Heathenism, supplied imperfectly 
 with written rules and records, dependent for instruction chiefly 
 on inspired teachers, and compo.sed of converts who had grown 
 up and been steeped in Jewish and Heathen errours, can we im- 
 agine, that in these circumstances the church took a form which it 
 ought to retain as sacred and unalterable, in its triumphs, and 
 prosperity, and diffusion, and in ages of greater light and refine- 
 
44 Milton. 
 
 ment ? We know that in the first ages there were no ministers 
 with salaries, or editices for public worsliip. Christians met in 
 private houses, and sometimes in the obscurest they could find. 
 On these occasions, the seivices were not monopolized by an in- 
 dividual, but shared by the fraternity ; nor is there a hint in the 
 New Testament that the administration of the Lord's Supper and 
 Baptism was confined to the minister. But in all this we have 
 no rule for the present day. Indeed it seems to us utterly repug- 
 nant to the idea of a universal religion, intended for all ages and 
 nations, and for all the progressive states of society to the end of 
 the world, to suppose that in its infancy it established an order of 
 worship, instruction and discipline, which was to remain inviolable 
 in all future times. This doctrine of an inflexible Ibrm, seems to 
 us servile, superstifious and disparaging to Christianity. Our 
 religion is too spiritual and inward, and cares too little about 
 its exterior, to bind itself in this everlasting chain. The ac- 
 knowledged indefiniteness of the New Testament in regard to 
 this subject, is no mean proof of the enlarged and prospective wis- 
 dom of its founder. We believe, that with the diffusion of liberal 
 views, the question will arise, whether our religion cannot be taught 
 and administered in methods and forms more adapted, than those 
 which now prevail, to its spirit and great design, to the principles of 
 human nature, and to the condition and wants of society. Among 
 the changes wliich may grow from this discussion, we do not an- 
 tici|)ate the adoption of Milton's plan of sentencing ministers to 
 earn their bread by the sweat of their brow ; for we think that we 
 see reasons in the general spread of knowledge, for enlarging 
 their means and opportunities of study and intellectual culture, 
 that they may meet (he increasing demand for more enlightened 
 inculcation of Christian truth. At the same time, it seems to us 
 not unlikely, that, in conformity to Wilton's suggestion, public in- 
 struction, instead of continuing to be a monopoly of ministers, 
 may be extended freely to men of superior intelligence and piety, 
 and that the results of this arrangement may be, the infusion of 
 new life, power, and practical wisdom into religious teaching, and 
 the substitution of a more natural, free and various eloquence for 
 the technical and monotonous mode of treating subjects, which 
 clings so olten and so obstinately to the performances of the pul- 
 pit. — Again, we do not expect, among the changes of forms and 
 outward worship, that Christians, to meet our author's views, will 
 shut their churches and meet in private houses ; for large reli- 
 gious edifices, and large congregations seem to us among the 
 
MiltoH. 45 
 
 important means of collecting and interesting in Christianity the 
 mass of the community. But perhaps narrower associations for 
 religious improvement may be formed, in which the formalities of 
 public worship will be relaxed, and Christians may reap the ben- 
 efits of the more familiar and confidential meetings of the primi- 
 tive converts. It is indeed a great question, how the public adminis- 
 tration of Christianity, including modes of discipline, instruction 
 and worship, may be rendered more impressive and effectual. 
 This field is almost untrodden ; but if we read aright the signs of 
 the times, the day for exploring it draws nigh. 
 
 We have said that whilst we dissent from some of Milton's 
 views on the suf)ject of our present remarks, we agree in their 
 spirit. It was evidently the aim of all his suggestions to strip the 
 clergy, as they are called, of that peculiar, artificial sanctity, 
 with which superstition had long arrayed them, and which had 
 made their simple, benignant ofiice one of the worst instruments 
 of ambition and despotism. We believe, tliat this institution will 
 never exert its true and full power on the church and on the 
 world, until the childish awe, with which it has been viewed, 
 shall be exchanged for enlightened esteem, and until men, instead 
 of expecting from it certain mysterious, undefined influences, shall 
 see in it a rational provision for conveying important trudi, and 
 for promoting virtue and happiness, not by magic, but according 
 to the fixed laws of human nature. 
 
 The remainder of the ' Treatise on Christian Doctrine' fur- 
 nishes topics on which we should willingly remark ; but we have 
 only time to glance at the opinions in which Milton differs fiom 
 the majority. He rejects infant baptism and argues against it 
 with his usual earnestness and strength. He not only affirms 
 with many other Christians, that the fourth commandment relating 
 to the Sabbath is abolished with the rest of the Mosaic system, 
 but maintains, what few have done, that under the Gospel no 
 time is appointed for public worship, but that the observance of 
 the first day of the week rests wholly on expediency, and on the 
 agreement of Christians. He believes, that Christ is to appear 
 visibly for the judgment of the world, and riiat he will reign a 
 thousand years on earth, at the end of which period Satan will 
 assail the church with an innumerable confederacy, and be over- 
 whelmed with everlasting ruin. He speaks of the judgment as 
 beginning with Christ's second advent, and as comprehending his 
 whole government through the millenium, as well as the closing 
 scene, when sentence will be pronounced on evil angels, and on 
 
40 Milton. 
 
 the whole human race. We have now given, we believe, all the 
 peculiarities of :\iillon's faith. As for that large part of his work, 
 iu which he has accumulated scriptural prools of doctrines and 
 duties in which all Christians are agreed, its general tenour may 
 be understood without further remarks. 
 
 It may now be asked, what is the value of this book ? We 
 prize it chiefly as a testimony to Milton's profound reverence 
 for the christian religion, and an assertion of the freedom and 
 rights of the mind. We are obliged to say, that the work throws 
 little new light on the great subjects of which it treats. Some 
 will say, that this ought not to surprise us ; for new light is not to 
 be looked for in the department of theology. But if this be true, 
 otn- religion may be charged with the want of adaptation to our 
 nature in an essential point ; for one of the most striking features 
 of the human mind is its thirst for constantly enlarging knowledge, 
 and its pioneness to lose its interest in subjects which it has ex- 
 hausted. The chief cause of Milton's failure was, that he sought 
 truth too exclusively in the past, and among die dead. He indeed 
 called no man masLer, and disclaimed the authority of Fathers, 
 and was evidently dissatisfied with all the sects which had pre- 
 ceded or were spread around him. Still he believed in the per- 
 fection of the primitive church, and that Christianity, instead of 
 being carried forwai'd, was to be carried back to its original puri- 
 ty. To use his own striking language, ' the lovely form of truth,' 
 which Christians at first embraced, ' had been hewn into a thou- 
 sand pieces, like the mangled body of Osii-is, and scattered to the 
 four winds ;' and consequently he believed, that the great duty 
 of her friends was ' to gather up limb by limb, and bring together 
 every joint and member.' In conformity with this doctrine, lie 
 acted too much as an eclectic theologian, culling something from 
 almost every sect, and endeavouring to form an harmonious sys- 
 tem from materials ' gathered from the four winds.' He would 
 have done better, had he sought it less in other minds, and more 
 in the communion of his own soul with Scripture, nature, God, 
 and itself. The fact is, that the church, from its beginning, has 
 been imperfect in knowledge, and practice, and our business is, 
 not to rest in the past, but to use it as a means of a purer and 
 brighter futurity. Christianity began to be corrupted at its birth, 
 to be debased by earthly mixtures, as soon as it touched the 
 earth. The seeds of that corruption which grew and shot up 
 into the overshadowing despotism of papal Rome, w^ere sown in 
 the age of the Aposdes, as we learn in the Epistles ; and we 
 
Milton. 47 
 
 infer from the condition of tlie world, that nothing hnt a stupendous 
 moral miracle, subverting all the laws of the human mind, could 
 have prevented their developement. Who, that understands hu- 
 man nature, does not know, tliat old associations are not broken 
 up in a moment ; that to minds, plunged in a midnight of errour, 
 truth must graclually open like the dawning day ; that old views 
 will mingle with the new; that old ideas, which we wish to banish,' 
 will adhere to the old words to which they were Ibrmerly attach- 
 ed ; and that the sudden and entire eradication of long-rooted 
 errours would be equivalent to the creation of a new intellect ? 
 How long did the Apostles, under Christ's immediate tuition, 
 withstand his instructions ? Even Peter, after the miraculous 
 illumination of the day of Pentecost, remained ignorant, until the 
 message from Cornelius, of that glorious feature of Christianity, 
 the abolition of the Jewish peculiarity, and the equal participation 
 of the Gentiles with the Jews in the blessings of the Messiah. As 
 soon as Christianity was preached, it was blended with Judaism, 
 which had power to neutralize the authority of Paul in many 
 churches. In like manner, it soon began to be ' spoiled' of its sim- 
 plicity 'by philosophy and science falsely so called,' ancfto be en- 
 cumbered by pagan ceremonies. The first Christians were in- 
 deed brought into ' wonderful light,' if their christian state be 
 compared with the darkness from which they had emerged ; but 
 not if compared with the perfection of knowledge to which Christ 
 came to exalt the human race. The earliest Fathers, as we 
 learn from their works, were not receptive of large communica- 
 tions of truth. Their writings abound in puerilities and marks of 
 childish credulity, and betray that indistinctness of vision, which 
 is experienced by men, who issue from thick darkness into the 
 light of day. In the ages of barbarism, which followed the fall of 
 the Roman empire, Christianity, though it answered wise pur- 
 poses of providence, was more and more disfigured and obscured. 
 The Reformation was indeed a glorious era ; but glorious for its 
 reduction of papal and clerical power, and for the partial libera- 
 tion of the mind, rather than for immediate improvements of 
 men's apprehensions of Christianity. Some of the reformers 
 invented or brought back as injurious errours as those they over- 
 threw. Luther's consubstantiation differed li-om the pope's tran- 
 substantiation by a syllable, and that was all the gain ; and we 
 may safely say, that transubstantiation was a less monstrous doc- 
 trine than the five points of Calvin. How vain, therefore, was 
 Milton's search for ' the mangled Osiris,' for ' the lovely form 
 and immortal features of truth/ in the history of the church ! 
 
48 Mi!i07i. 
 
 Let us not be misunderstoocl, as if we would cut off the present 
 age from the past. We mean not, that IVJiiton should have ne- 
 glected the labours of his predecessors. He believed justly, that 
 all the periods and generations of the human family are bound to- 
 gether by a sublime connexion, and that the wisdom of each age 
 is chiefly a derivation from all preceding ages, not excepting the 
 most ancient, just as a noble stream, through its whole extent and 
 in its widest overflowings, still holds communication with its infant 
 springs, gushing out perhaps in the depths of distant forests, or on 
 the heights of solitary mountains. We only mean to say, that the 
 stream of religious knowledge is to swell and grow through its 
 whole course, and to receive new contributions from gifted minds 
 in successive generations. We only regret that Milton did not 
 draw more from the deep and full fountains of his own soul. 
 We wish only to teach, that antiquity was the infancy of our race, 
 and that its acquisitions, instead of being rested in, aie to bear us 
 onward to new heights of truth and virtue. We mean not to 
 complain of JMilton for not doing more. He rendered to mankind 
 a far greater service than that of a teacher of an improved theo- 
 logy. He taught and exemplified that spirit of intellectual free- 
 dom, through which all the great conquests of truth are to be 
 achieved, and by which the human mind is to attain to a new 
 consciousness of its sublime faculties, and to invigorate and ex- 
 pand itself forever. 
 
 We here close our remarks on Milton. In offering this tribute, 
 we have aimed at something higher than to express and gratify 
 our admiration of an eminent man. We believe that an enlight- 
 ened and exalted mind is a brighter manifestation of God than 
 the outward universe ; and we have set forth, as we have been 
 able, the praises of an illustrious servant of the Most High, that, 
 through him, glory may redound to the Father of all spirits, the 
 Fountain of all wisdom and magnanimous virtue. And still more ; 
 we believe that the sublime intelligence of Milton was imparted, 
 not for his own sake only, but to awaken kindred virtue and 
 greatness in other souls. Far from regarding him as standing 
 alone and unapproachable, we believe that he is an illustration of 
 what all, who are true to their nature, will become in the progress 
 of their being; and we have held him forth, not to excite an in- 
 effectual admiration, but to stir up our own and others' breasts to 
 an exhilarating pursuit of high and ever-growing attainments in 
 intellect and virtue. 
 

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