made the good and the beautiful, as he himself somewhere expresses it, the object of his impassioned study, Milton took no counsel of his interests or of his fears; but throwing himself impetuously into the current of the times, maintained with unparalleled ardour and eloquence the cause of the people. The die had already been cast; England was a republic; its late monarch had perished on the scaffold. As there existed two parties in the country, of which one wholly condemned the execution of Charles the First, not grounding their disapprobation on this, that he had suffered unjustly, but on the abstract principle, that the people, whatever may be the character of their ruler, were he even a Nero or a Domitian,-have not the right to punish him capitally, Milton undertook, in his Tenure of Kings, to maintain the contrary proposition; contending that a prince may be guilty of crimes by the commission of which he forfeits his kingly privilege, degenerates into a tyrant, and justly arms his former subjects against him.

In this, however, he advances no new doctrine; nothing, as it should seem, in the least at variance with the practice and opinions of all nations. The difficulty always is to determine when a king has passed the boundary dividing authority from violence, and stepped out of the domain of royalty into that of tyranny; and therefore, whatever may be contended in considering the abstract question, and which way soever the matter may be decided, men of all parties, even the advocates of absolute monarchy, as history shows, will practically, if not in words, acknowledge the cogency of the arguments. And so far Milton has the suffrage of mankind in general. Perhaps, indeed, were the subject thoroughly examined, his views would be supported by many who, not comprehending the whole scope of his reasoning, now start back with horror at the bare supposition that they agree with him.

He has been called a regicide, and the advocate of regicides. He was certainly a republican; but if he was also a regicide, he knew it not himself, nor were many of his distinguished contemporaries a whit more conscious of the fact than he. To be a regicide in principle, is to contend for the putting to death of lawful kings, as such, merely for being in possession of the first honours of the state, and of an authority which they exercise lawfully. Now, was Milton such a man? Was he so blind, so lost to all sense of what is just or unjust, so fierce and furious an enemy to the laws of God and man, as to maintain that a magistrate, entrusted with a certain office by the people, and perform ng the duties of that office blamelessly, is to be seized and put to death? Had such been his doctrine, most thick-sighted and doltish were those sovereign princes, who having witnessed with awful amazement the conduct of the people of England, bringing their late king to trial and punishment, yet received Milton's defence of his countrymen, not merely with cold approval, but with applause. It may be urged that so enkindling, so vast, so

irresistible were the powers of his eloquence, that the whole world was dazzled by them. He no doubt thoroughly understood, and with most exquisite skill put in practice, the arts of persuasion; but it would require something beyond the force of art, and partaking rather of the nature of miracle, to obtain from men, while openly aiming at their lives, praise, countenance, congratulation. To achieve this, the one party must be a magician, or the other party must be fools.

The presumption, therefore, à priori, is, that Milton was not a regicide; in fact, could not be, since princes concurred with him in his political opinions. And well might they concur with him, for, so far as they were lawful monarchs, bent on exercising conscientiously and justly the authority entrusted to them for the people's good, Milton contended strenuously for their rights, proving they were entitled to all just obedience and honour, as holding, by general consent, the sovereign power and awful majesty of the people. This is everywhere his doctrine, both in the First and Second Defence, and indeed, throughout his writings wherever the question comes under consideration.

But what doctrine, then, did he maintain, that his political character should be covered with so much obloquy?—TYRANNICIDEthe doctrine that justice, like God, whose offspring she is, knows no respect of persons, but visits on all transgressors of the law the penalty which law exacts from all transgressors. He thought that falsehood, perfidy, breach of oaths, violence, rapine, oppression of honest men, persecution to the death for conscience sake, pillaging and wasting the land with fire and sword, were acts unlawful, acts which laid bare their perpetrator to the sword of justice. He maintained the coronation oath to be a covenant between the people and the king, binding the former to all lawful obedience, restraining the authority of the latter within certain limits; and he supposed it possible that either party might break this covenant. While the individual entrusted with supreme authority acted justly, he regarded him as a king; when he overpassed the limits prescribed to his authority by the law, or general reason, he considered him a tyrant, or public enemy. whom it was lawful to deal with accordingly. And for this view of the matter he had the concurring testimony of many good kings, and of some bad ones, among others, of James the First, who had remembered so much of the lessons of Buchanan. Locke, afterwards, with the approbation of King William the Third, put forward the same opinions; and I know not at what subsequent period of our history they came to be accounted unconstitutional.

To prove the truth of the above doctrine, and vindicate his countrymen for having reduced his principles to action, were the prime objects of his Eikonoklastes, and Defence of the People of England. The former treatise, intended to work conviction in those who spoke the English language, which he loved, and for the expres

sion of sentiment, and the inner affections of the mind, preferred to all others, was accordingly written in the mother tongue; but the latter, aiming at the perhaps more difficult achievement of convincing foreign nations and kings, that the senate and people of England, had, in the late transaction, not overstepped the strict bounds of justice, was of necessity composed in Latin, then the language of public business throughout Europe, and employed by the republic in all its negotiations with foreign states. This inconvenience, therefore, was not at the time to be avoided ; but since a wholly different taste in literature has been generated, in spite of the classic labours of our universities, Milton's most finished and finest reasoned prose composition has fallen into a still more utter neglect, if I may hazard the solecism, than that in which his other works have, with one exception, been buried.

But, as may easily be supposed, the support of this proposition, though mainly his object, does not hinder the consideration of other important truths. He was too wise to make himself the slave of his subject. From time to time, therefore, as he pauses to enable the reader to take breath-for he required none himself-other subordinate questions are introduced and discussed pleasantly; or, perhaps, Salmasius, then esteemed a giant in literature, is, for sport-sake, tossed round the ring on the horns of his merciless dilemas. His mirth Dr. Johnson found to be grim and terrible. It is, in fact, the mirth of a man laughing at the downfal of arrogance and presumption-the mirth of the just at beholding the wicked caught in their own snares-the mirth which, by a daring licence of speech, the Psalmist attributes to the Almighty, whom he introduces rejoicing over the calamities of wrong doers, and saying, “ I will laugh when their fear cometh."

However, there are occasions on which Milton really unbends, and laughs heartily with the reader. Some expressions, also, are found scattered up and down the work, at which Phocion himself would have smiled, though, as I shall presently remark, sound taste must wholly condemn the employment of them in such a treatise. But the distinguishing characteristic of these productions is the spirit of religion and humanity which throughout pervades them. He would inspire in all men the deepest reverence for God their Father, and for each other that brotherly love, forbearance, charity, recommended by the precepts and example of Christ. Strife, tumult, contention, civil war, he overwhelms with abhorrence, inferior only to that which he pours upon tyranny, the parent of all the worst evils that afflict society. Properly to serve God, or perform his duties towards mortals, he maintains that man must be free to follow the dictates of his will, which is no other than reason in activity; for the slave, that is the subject of an absolute monarch, can never maintain that steadfast, unswerving perseverance in well-doing, which religion and civil wisdom require.

The faults into which, during these political controversies, Milton was precipitated by the vehemence of his passions, are precisely those which most easily beset ardent-tempered men. Demosthenes, contending against Philip and his hired advocates, thinks no excess of vituperation too violent, no term of abuse too big for the mouth of his anger and Milton, with equal genius, but inferior art, wields the same thunder, and with no less daring casts it in the astonished faces of all who oppose him. But he sometimes, as I have already hinted, exercises his power unskilfully. Hence, it must be admitted-for I love truth still more than I love Milton-his language is in many places coarse and offensive, such as I read with pain, and sincerely wish away-that our great, and, save in this, almost perfect author, might be everything the twin-brother of Shakespeare in genius should be. But the reader will excuse my being brief on this subject; for I uncover the imperfections of Milton tremblingly and reverently, as I would those of a parent. His genius deeply partook of the prophetic character; and it is not for me who have been soothed and strengthened from my childhood by the divine music of his verse, to come forward, and in the words I have learned of him, to babble of those failings from which no mortal is free.

From what has been said above may be inferred what were the prevailing opinions of Milton's age. Philosophy, ceasing to be speculative, applied itself to public business; and sought, by seizing the helm of government, to steer the ship of the commonwealth in the direction most agreeable to the wishes of all wise and good men. The records of ancient and modern times were ransacked, in the hope of discovering hints for the improvement of society. Principles favourable to toleration were gradually established. Religion, greatly purified from the errors of the Roman church, began powerfully to influence the politics of the country, to operate a reform in manners, to raise and purify the character of its votaries. For the first time, perhaps, since the age of the apostles, Christianity was put in practice on a grand scale, by high-minded disinterested men, who sought in earnest to lay the foundations of an evangelical commonwealth, modelled in harmony with the precepts of the gospel, such as no other age or country ever yet aimed at. The Puritans, in fact, were genuine Christians, the most perfect, perhaps, that, with the failings inherent in human nature, we can ever expect to see on earth. They united with the sincerest piety, and the fervent belief of all truth, a martial temper more stern and unbending than chivalry and knighthood ever inspired. Their courage was indomitable. Wise in council, adventurous and enthusiastic in the field, they were precisely the soldiers a great general would choose with which to subdue the world.

In the midst of this effervescence of the Christian spirit, bold philosophers and sophists arose, startling mankind with the novelty, or evil tendency of their doctrines. Bacon had already made open

war on the barren systems of the schools; and while Europe was still admiring the grandeur and comprehensiveness of his views, Hobbes of Malmesbury appeared on the philosophical arena, armed with genius, and the subtlest spirit of sophistry, and prepared, in defiance of all who might oppose, to support the wildest and most dangerous paradoxes. Harrington, Algernon Sidney, Andrew Marvel, Clarendon, and many others destined to obtain a name in history, laboured contemporaneously with Milton; and their ideas failed not to exercise a certain influence over the public mind, though, whether considered with reference to their own or to future ages, this influence was much less powerful than that of the great epic poet.

Hitherto, however, Milton has been since his own times chiefly influential as a poet; his prose works having, as I observed above, been from that time to this comparatively neglected. Several of the accidental causes of this neglect have already been glanced at: they must now be more fully explained. By some ingenious writers the circumstance has been sought to be accounted for by alleging the elevated character of the works themselves. But this is unsatisfactory, for which of them is more lofty than Paradise Lost? Besides, were this the true cause, all attempts at recommending them to the public must prove fruitless, since their tone can never be lowered, nor can the intellect of the generality ever be raised to the relish of compositions, which, according to this supposition, are to be considered above the mental reach even of literary men. Indeed, the theory of this writer would, if true, wholly exculpate us as a nation from all blame for laying them aside, and betaking ourselves to writers more on a level with our capacities; for, by what rule are we compelled to purchase and study the works of any man, if they be above our comprehension ?

If there be any culpability, it must, under this supposition, rest with the author, who, if he desired to be read, and promote the cause of religion and virtue-as most assuredly he did- should have reflected that it was his first duty not so to clothe his thoughts in the splendour and brightness of eloquence, as to render them, like the sun, too painful to be gazed on by any not gifted with the eyes of eagles. No one knew better than he that the greatest men have by art contrived to indue their most hidden thoughts with a transparent dress. He was familiar with those dialogues in which the abstrusest doctrines of ontology, the highest speculations on God and nature, and the spiritual essence of the mind, to which man's intellect has ever soared, are rendered not merely comprehensible, but absolute matter of amusement. He would have been aware, therefore, that though his ideas rise far indeed above the pitch of ordinary contemplation, they yet strayed not beyond the reach of such understandings as God has bestowed upon Englishmen.

Another fancy of the same writers is, that Milton having been a