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ber of such arts as I have been here recommend- another with too much bitterness for one that had

ing.

"You must doubtless, Sir, observe, that I have hitherto chiefly insisted upon these things for such boys as do not appear to have anything extraordinary in their natural talents, and consequently are not qualified for the finer parts of learning; yet I believe I might carry this matter still further, and venture to assert, that a lad of genius has sometimes occasion for these little acquirements, to be as it were the forerunners of his parts, and to introduce him into the world.

"History is full of examples of persons who, though they have had the largest abilities, have been obliged to insinuate themselves into the favor of great men by these trivial accomplishments; as the complete gentleman, in some of our modern comedies, makes his first advances to his mistress under the disguise of a painter or a dancing

master.

"The difference is, that in a lad of genius these are only so many accomplishments, which in another are essentials; the one diverts himself with them, the other works at them. In short, I

no jealousy mixed with her contempt of it. If at any time she sees a man warm in his addresses to his mistress, she will lift up her eyes to heaven, and cry, What nonsense is that fool talking! Will the bell never ring for prayers?' We have an eminent lady of this stamp in our country, who pretends to amusements very much above the rest of her sex. She never carries a white shockdog with bells, under her arm, nor a squirrel or dormouse in her pocket, but always an abridged piece of morality, to steal out when she is sure of being observed. When she went to the famous ass-race (which I must confess was but an odd diversion to be encouraged by people of rank and figure), it was not, like other ladies, to hear those poor animals bray, nor to see fellows run naked, or to hear country 'squires in bob-wigs and white girdles make love at the side of a coach, and cry, Madam, this is dainty weather.' Thus she describes the diversion; for she went only to pray heartily that nobody might be hurt in the crowd, and to see if the poor fellow's face, which was distorted with grinning, might any way be brought

look upon a great genius with these little addi- to itself again. She never chats over her tea, but

tions, in the same light as I regard the Grand Seignior, who is obliged, by an express command in the Alcoran, to learn and practice some handicraft trade: though I need not to have gone for my instance further than Germany, where several emperors have voluntarily done the same thing. Leopold the last worked in wood: and I have heard there are several handicraft works of his making to be seen at Vienna, so neatly turned, that the best joiner in Europe might safely own them without any disgrace to his profession.*

"I would not be thought, by anything I have said, to be against improving a boy's genius to the utmost pitch it can be carried. What I would endeavor to show in this essay is, that there may be methods taken to make learning advantageous even to the meanest capacities.

X.

"I am, Sir, yours," etc.

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covers her face, and is supposed in an ejaculation before she tastes a sup. This ostentatious behavior is such an offense to true sanctity, that it disparages it, and makes virtue not only unamiable, but also ridiculous. The sacred writings are full of reflections which abhor this kind of conduct; and a devotee is so far from promoting goodness, that she deters others by her example. Folly and vanity in one of these ladies is like vice in a clergyman: it does not only debase him, but makes the inconsiderate part of the world think the worse of religion.

"I am, Sir, your humble Servant,

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"HOTSPUR.

"Xenophon, in his short account of the Spartan commonwealth, speaking of the behavior of their young men in the streets, says, 'There was so much modesty in their looks, that you might as soon have turned the eyes of a marble statue upon you as theirs; and that in all their behavior they were more modest than a bride when put to bed upon her wedding-night.' This virtue, which is always subjoined to magnanimity, had such an influence upon their courage, that in battle an enemy could not look them in the face, and they durst not but die for their country.

"You have in some of your discourses described most sort of women in their distinct and proper classes, as the ape, the coquette, and many others; but I think you have never yet said anything of a devotee. A devotee is one of those who disparage religion by their indiscreet and unseasonable introduction of the mention of virtue on all occasions. She professes she is what nobody ought to doubt she is; and betrays the labor she is put to, to be what she ought to be with cheerfulness not corrected the testiness of old age by philoso

and alacrity. She lives in the world, and denies herself none of the diversions of it, with a con- does not tell me, with a full stare, he is a bold

stant declaration how insipid all things in it are to her. She is never herself but at church; there she displays her virtue, and is so fervent in her devotions, that I have frequently seen her pray herself out of breath. While other young ladies in the house are dancing, or playing at questions and commands, she reads aloud in her closet. She says, all love is ridiculous, except it be celestial; but she speaks of the passion of one mortal to

The instance of Czar Peter is still more recent, and more remarkable.

"Whenever I walk into the streets of London and Westminster, the countenances of all the young fellows that pass by me make me wish myself in Sparta: I meet with such blustering airs, big looks, and bold fronts, that, to a superficial observer, would bespeak a courage above those Grecians. I am arrived to that perfection in speculation, that I understand the language of the eyes, which would be a great misfortune to me had I phy. There is scarce a man in a red coat, who man: I see several swear inwardly at me, without any offense of mine, but the oddness of my person: I meet contempt in every street, expressed in different manners, by the scornful look, the elevated eyebrow, and the swelling nostrils of the proud and prosperous. The 'prentice speaks his disrespect by an extended finger, and the porter by stealing out his tongue. If a country gentleman appears a little curious in observing the edifices, signs, clocks, coaches, and dials, it is not to be imagined how the polite rabble of this town, who are these objects, ridicule

acquainted with th

his rusticity. I have known a fellow with al If they are not, consider that thou art not the per burden on his head steal a hand down from his load, and slily twirl the cock of a 'squire's hat behind him: while the offended person is swearing, or out of countenance, all the wag-wits in the

son whom he reproaches, but that he reviles an imaginary being, and perhaps loves what thou really art, though he hates what thou appearest to be. If his reproaches are true, if thou art the en

highway ar are grinning in appl applause of the ingeni-vious, ill-natured man he takes thee for, give thyous rogue that gave him the tip, and the folly of self another turn, become mild, affable, and oblig him who had not eyes all round his head to pre-fing, and his reproaches of thee naturally cease. vent receiving it. These things arise from a ge- His reproaches may indeed continue, but thou art

neral affectation of smartness, wit, and courage. Wycherley somewhere rallies the pretensions this way, by making a fellow say, 'Red breeches are a certain sign of valor;' and Otway makes a man, to boast his agility, trip up a beggar on crutches. From such hints I beg a speculation on this subject: in the meantime, I shall do all in the power of a weak old fellow in my own defense; for as ❘ Diogenes, being in quest of an honest man, ❘ sought for him when it was broad day-light with a lantern and candle, so I intend for the future to walk the streets with a dark lantern, which has a convex crystal in it; and if any man stares at me, I give fair warning that I will direct the light full into his eyes. Thus, despairing to find men modest, I hope by this means to evade their impudence.

т.

"I am, Sir, your humble Servant,
"SOPHROSUNIUS."

No. 355.] THURSDAY, APRIL 17, 1712.
Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine quenquam.
OVID, Trist. ii, 563

I ne'er in gall dipp'd my envenom'd pen,
Nor branded the bold front of shameless men.

I HAVE been very often tempted to write invectives upon those who have detracted from my works, or spoken in derogation of my person: but I look upon it as a particular happiness, that I have always hindered my resentments from pro ceeding to this extremity. I once had gone through half a satire, but found so many motions of humanity rising in me toward the persons whom I had severely treated, that I threw it into the fire without ever finishing it. I have been angry enough to make several little epigrams and lampoons; and, after having admired them a day or two, have likewise committed them to the flames. These I look upon as so many sacrifices to humanity, and have received much greater satisfaction from the suppressing such performances, than I could have done from any reputation they might have procured me, or from any mortification they might have given my enemies, in case I had made them public. If a man has any talent in writing, it shows a good mind to forbear anawering calumnies and reproaches in the same spirit of bitterness in which they are offered. But when a man has been at some pains in making suitable returns to an enemy, and has the instruments of revenge in his hands, to let drop his wrath, and stifle his resentments, seems to have something in it great and heroical. There is a particular merit in such a way of forgiving an enemy; and the more violent and unprovoked the offense has been, the greater still is the merit of him who thus forgives it.

I never met with a consideration that is more tinely spun, and what has better pleased me, than one tu Epictetus, which places an enemy in a new light, 4, and gives us a view of him altogether different from that in which we are used to regard

no longer the person whom he reproaches."*

I often apply this rule to myself; and when I hear of a satirical speech or writing that is aimed at me, I examine my own heart whether I deserve it or not. If I bring in a verdict against myself. I endeavor to rectify my conduct for the future in those particulars which have drawn the censure upon me; but if the whole invective be grounded upon a falsehood, I trouble myself no further about it, and look upon my name at the head of it to signify no more than one of those fictitious names made use of by an author to introduce an imaginary character. Why should a man be sensible of the sting of a reproach, who is a stranger to the guilt that is implied in it? or subject himself to the penalty, when he knows he has never com mitted the crime? This is a piece of fortitude which every one owes to his own innocence, and without which it is impossible for a man of any merit or figure to live at peace with himself, in a country that abounds with wit and liberty.

The famous Monsieur Balzac, in a letter to the Chancellor of France, who had prevented the publication of a book against him, has the following words, which are a lively picture of the greatness of mind so visible in the works of that author: "If it was a new thing, it may be I should not be displeased with the suppression of the first libel that should abuse me; but since there are enough of them to make a small library, I am secretly pleased to see the number increased, and take de light in raising a heap of stones that envy has cast at me without doing me any harm."

The author here alludes to those monumentst of the eastern nations, which were mountains of stones raised upon the dead bodies by travelers, that used to cast every one his stone upon it as they passed by. It is certain that no monument is so glorious as one which is thus raised by the hands of envy. For my part, I admire an author for such a temper of mind as enables him to bear an undeserved reproach without resentment, mors than for all the wit of any the finest satirical reply.

Thus far I thought necessary to explain myself in relation to those who have animadverted on this paper, and to show the reasons why I have not thought fit to return them any formal answer. I must further add, that the work would have been of very little use to the public had it beca filled with personal reflections and debates; for which reason I never once turned out of my way to observe those little cavils which have beell made against it by envy or ignorance. The com mon fry of scribblers, who have no other way of being taken notice of but by attacking what has gained some reputation in the world, would have furnished me with business enough, had thef found me disposed to enter the lists with them.

I shall conclude with the fable of Boccalinis
traveler, who was so pestered with the noise of
grasshoppers in his ears, that he alighted from hi
horse in great wrath to kill them all.
says the author, "was troubling himself to

him. The sense of it is as follows: "Does a man
reproach thee for being proud or ill natured, envi-
ous or conceited, ignorant, or detracting? Consi-
der with thyself whether his reproaches are true. North Britain, where they are called "cairns."

"This

* Epict. Ench., cap. 48 and 64, ed. Berk., 1670, 8vo. † There are abundant monuments of the same kind in

manner of purpose. Had he pursued his journey | sumption of being wiser than they. They could without taking notice of them, the troublesome not raise their little ideas above the consideration insects would have died of themselves in a very of him, in those circumstances familiar to them, few weeks, and he would have suffered nothing from them."-L.

No. 356.] FRIDAY, APRIL 18, 1712.
-Aptissima quæque dabunt dii,
Charior est illis homo quam sibi.

-The gods will grant

JUV., Sat. x, 349.

What their unerring wisdom sees they want;
In goodness, as in greatness they excel;
Ah! that we lov'd ourselves but half as well!

DRYDEN.

Ir is owing to pride, and a secret affectation of a certain self-existence, that the noblest motive for action that ever was proposed to man is not acknowledged the glory and happiness of their being. The heart is treacherous to itself, and we do not let our reflections go deep enough to receive religion as the most honorable incentive to good

or conceive that he, who appeared not more terrible or pompous should have anything more exalted than themselves; he in that place, therefore, would no longer ineffectually exert a power which was incapable of conquering the prepossession of their narrow and mean conceptions.

Multitudes followed him, and brought him the dumb, the blind, the sick, and maimed; whom when their Creator had touched, with a second life they saw, spoke, leaped, and ran. In affection to him, and admiration of his actions, the crowd. could not leave him, but waited near him till they were almost as faint and helpless as others they brought for succor. He had compassion on them, and by a miracle supplied their necessities. Oh, the ecstatic entertainment, when they could behold their food immediately increase to the distributor's hand, and see their God in person feeding and refreshing his creatures! Oh envied happiness! But why do I say envied? as if our God cheerful hours, and innocent conversations.

and worthy actions. It is our natural weakness did not still preside over our temperate meals,

to flatter ourselves into a belief, that if we search into our inmost thoughts, we find ourselves wholly disinterested, and divested of any views arising from self-love and vain-glory. But however spirits of a superficial greatness may disdain at first sight to do anything, but from a noble impulse in themselves, without any future regards in this or any other being; upon stricter inquiry they will find, to act worthily, and expect to be rewarded only in another world, is as heroic a pitch of virtue as human nature can arrive at. If the tenor of our actions have any other motive than the desire to be pleasing in the eye of the Deity, it will necessarily follow that we must be more than men, if we are not too much exalted in prosperity and depressed in adversity. But the Christian world has a Leader, the contemplation of whose life and sufferings must administer comfort in affliction, while the sense of his power and omnipotence must give them humiliation in prosperity.

It is owing to the forbidding and unlovely constraint with which men of low conceptions act when they think they conform themselves to religion, as well as to the more odious conduct of hypocrites, that the word Christian does not carry

But though the sacred story is everywhere full of miracles not inferior to this, and though in the midst of those acts of divinity he never gave the least hint of a design to become a secular prince, yet had not hitherto the apostles themselves any other than hopes of worldly power, preferment, others, and pomp; for Peter, upon an accident of ambition among the apostles, hearing his Master explain that his kingdom was not of this world, was so scandalized that he whom he had so long followed should suffer the ignominy, shame, and death, which he foretold, that he took him aside and said, "Be it far from thee, Lord; this shall not be unto thee;" for which he suffered a severe reprehension from his Master, as having in his view the glory of man rather than that of God.

The great change of things began to draw near, when the Lord of nature thought fit, as a Savior and Deliverer, to make his public entry into Jerusalem with more than the power and joy, but none of the ostentation and pomp, of a triumph: he came humble, meek, and lowly: with an unfelt new ecstasy, multitudes strewed his way with garments and olive-branches, crying with loud

with it at first view all that is great, worthy, gladness and acclamation, "Hosannah to the Son friendly, generous, and heroic. The man who sus- of David! Blessed is he that cometh in the name

pends his hopes of the reward of worthy actions till after death, who can bestow unseen, who can overlook hatred, do good to his slanderer, who can never be angry at his friend, never revengeful to his enemy, is certainly formed for the benefit of society. Yet these are so far from heroic virtues, that they are but the ordinary duties of a Christian.

When a man with a steady faith looks back on the great catastrophe of this day, with what bleeding emotions of heart must he contemplate the life and sufferings of his Deliverer! When his agonies occur to him, how will he weep to reflect that he has often forgot them for the glance of a wanton, for the applause of a vain world, for a heap of fleeting past pleasures, which are at present aching sorrows!

of the Lord!" At this great King's accession to the throne, men were not ennobled, but saved; crimes were not remitted, but sins forgiven. He did not bestow medals, honors, favors; but health, joy, sight, speech. The first object the blind ever saw was the Author of sight; while the lame ran before, and the dumb repeated the hosannah. Thus attended, he entered into his own house, the sacred temple, and by his divine authority expelled traders and worldlings that profaned it; and thus did he for a time, use a great and despotic power, to let unbelievers understand that it was not want of, but superiority to, all worldly dominion, that made him not exert it. But is this, then, the Savior? Is this the Deliverer? Shall this obscure Nazarene command Israel, and sit on the throne of David? Their proud and disdainful hearts, which were petrified with the love and pride of this world, were impregnable to the reception of so mean a benefactor; and were now enough exasperated with benefits to conspire his

How pleasing is the contemplation of the lowly steps our Almighty Leader took in conducting us to his heavenly mansions! In plain and apt parable, similitude, and allegory, our great Master enforced the doctrine of our salvation; but they death. Our Lord was sensible of their design, of his acquaintance, instead of receiving what and prepared his disciples for it, by recounting to they could not oppose, were offended at the pre- them now more distinctly what should befall him; but Peter, with an ungrounded resolution, and in

*This paper was published on Good Friday, 1712. a flush of temper, made sanguine protestation, that though all men were offended in him, yet! The same Divine Person, who in the foregoing would not he be offended. It was a great article parts of this poem interceded for our first parents of our Savior's business in the world to bring us before their fall, overthrew the rebel angels, and to a sense of our inability, without God's assist- created the world, is now represented as descendance, to do anything great or good; he therefore ing to Paradise, and pronouncing sentence upon the told Peter, who thought so well of his courage and fidelity, that they would both fail him, and even he should deny him thrice that very night.

"But what heart can conceive, what tongue ut ter the sequel? Who is that yonder, buffeted, mocked, and spurned? Whom do they drag like a felon? Whither do they carry my Lord, my King, my Savior, and my God? And will he die to expiate those very injuries? See where they have nailed the Lord and Giver of life! How his wounds blacken, his body writhes, and heart heaves with pity and with agony! O Almighty suf

three offenders. The cool of the evening being a circumstance with which holy writ introduces this great scene, it is poetically described by our author, who has also kept religiously to the form of words in which the three several sentences were passed upon Adam, Eve, and the serpent. He has rather chosen to neglect the numerousness of his verse, than to deviate from those speeches which are recorded on this great occasion. The guilt and confusion of our first parents, standing naked before their judge, is touched with great beauty. Upon the arrival of Sin and Death into the works

ferer, look down, look down from thy triumphant of the creation, the Almighty is again introduced infamy! Lo, he inclines his head to his sacred as speaking to his angels that surrounded him. bosom! Hark, he groans! See, he expires! The earth trembles, the temple rends, the rocks burst, the dead arise! Which are the quick? Which are the dead? Sure nature, all nature is departing with her Creator?"*-T.

No. 357.] SATURDAY, APRIL, 19, 1712.

-Quis talia fando
Temperet a lachrymis?

VIRG. Æn., ii, 6.

Who can relate such woes without a tear?f

THE tenth book of Paradise Lost has a greater variety of persons in it than any other in the whole poem. The author, upon the winding up of his action, introduces all those who had any concern in it, and shows with great beauty the influence which it had upon each of them. It is

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

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

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

Though the author, in the whole course of his poem, and particularly in the book we are now examining, has infinite allusions to places of Scripture, I have only taken notice in my remarks of such as are of a poetical nature, and which are like the last act of a well-written tragedy, in woven with great beauty into the body of his fa which all who had part in it are generally drawn ble. Of this kind is that passage in the present up before the audience, and represented under book, where, describing Sin and Death as march those circumstances in which the determination ing through the works of nature, he adds,

of the action places them.

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

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

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

Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice.

*Transcribed from Steele's Christian Hero.

Behind her Death

Close following pace for pace, mounted yet
On his pale horse-

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

+ The motto to this paper, in the original publication in folio, culiar to the author:

is the same with that which is now prefixed to No. 279.

Reddere persone soit convenientia cuique.

To each character he gives what

Hor., Ars. Poet., 316.

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

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

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

The parts of Adam and Eve, or the human per

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

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

Why delays

His hand to execute what his decree
Fix'd on this day? Why do I over-live?

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

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

- Hide me from the face

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

-In me all
Posterity stands curst! Fair patrimony,
That I must leave ye, sons! O were I able
To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!
So disinherited, how would ye bless

Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind
For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd,
If guiltless? But from me what can proceed
But all corrupt?-

Who can afterward behold the father of man

sons, come next under our consideration. Milton's kind extended upon the earth, uttering his midart is nowhere more shown, than in his conduct- night complaints, bewailing his existence, and ing the parts of these our first parents. The rep- wishing for death, without sympathizing with resentation he gives of them, without falsifying him in his distress!

the story, is wonderfully contrived to influence the reader with pity and compassion toward them. Though Adam involves the whole species in misery, his crime proceeds from a weakness which every man is inclined to pardon and commiserate, as it seems rather the frailty of human nature, than of the person who offended. Every one is apt to excuse a fault which he himself might have fallen into. It was the excessive love for Eve that ruined Adam and his posterity. I need not add, that the author is justified in this particular by many of the fathers and the most orthodox writers. Milton has by this means filled a great part of his poem with that kind of writing which the French critics call the tendre, and which is in a particular manner engaging to all sorts of readers.

Thus Adam to himself lamented loud
Through the still night; not now (as ere man fell)
Wholesome and cool, and mild, but with black air,
Accompanied with damps and dreadful gloom,
Which to his evil conscience represented
All things with double terror. On the ground
Outstretch'd he lay; on the cold ground! and oft
Curs'd his creation; death as oft accus'd
Of tardy execution-

The part of Eve in this book is no less passionate and apt to sway the reader in her favor. She is represented with great tenderness as approaching Adam, but is spurned from him with a spirit of upbraiding and indignation, conformable to the nature of man, whose passions had now gained the dominion over him. The following passage,

Adam and Eve, in the book we are now consi- wherein she is described as renewing her addering, are likewise drawn with such sentiments dresses to him, with the whole speech that follows as do not only interest the reader in their afflic- it, have something in them exquisitely moving tions, but raise in him the most melting passions and pathetic:

of humanity and commiseration. When Adam

sees the several changes of nature produced about him, he appears in a disorder of mind suitable to one who had forfeited both his innocence and his happiness; he is filled with horror, remorse, despair; in the anguish of his heart, he expostulates with his Creator for having given him an unasked

existence:

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

He added not, and from her turn'd: but Eve
Not so repuls'd, with tears that ceas'd not flowing,
And tresses all disorder'd, at his feet

Fell humble; and embracing them besought
His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint:
"Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness, Heav'n,
What love sincere, and rev'rence in my heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceiv'd! Thy suppliant

I beg, and clasp thy knees. Bereave me not
(Whereon I live), thy gentle looks, thy aid,
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,
My only strength and stay! Forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me? where subsist?
While yet we live (scarce one short hour, perhaps)
Between us two let there be peace," etc.

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