A CHARM.

[4]Part of the manuscript, extending from page 56 to 61 is here wanting. As far us I can judge, the deficiency refers to a period of about 5 or 6 months, and I think the pages must have been destroyed by the writer

[4]

Part of the manuscript, extending from page 56 to 61 is here wanting. As far us I can judge, the deficiency refers to a period of about 5 or 6 months, and I think the pages must have been destroyed by the writer

A CHARM.

———

BY A. J. REQUIER.

———

I knownot why a touch can thrillThe soul, till it doth seemA single drop would overfillHer pleasurable dream.I know not, yet such moments areOf measureless delight,When fancy flashes, as a starThat falleth through the night!A weary night, a solemn night,Is Life, so stern and slow,And gentle forms like thine, the lightWhich guides us as we go.Then, say not, maiden—never sayThy heart in like the snow,Thine eyes have far too fond a ray,That we should deem it so.I, too, have sought, with studied art.To stay the tides that speak,But still, the struggle at my heartWas written on my cheek.And now, my tuneless measure talksOne of the lonely laysWhich haunt my spirit when it walksThe melancholy ways.I sing, and singing dwell on thee—The Pilgrim of a Star!Who, straining, deems he yet can seeSome solace, though afar.Oh! in such times my harp will breakForth in a fleeting tone,But, ere its echo dies, I wake,To find—I am alone!

I knownot why a touch can thrillThe soul, till it doth seemA single drop would overfillHer pleasurable dream.

I knownot why a touch can thrill

The soul, till it doth seem

A single drop would overfill

Her pleasurable dream.

I know not, yet such moments areOf measureless delight,When fancy flashes, as a starThat falleth through the night!

I know not, yet such moments are

Of measureless delight,

When fancy flashes, as a star

That falleth through the night!

A weary night, a solemn night,Is Life, so stern and slow,And gentle forms like thine, the lightWhich guides us as we go.

A weary night, a solemn night,

Is Life, so stern and slow,

And gentle forms like thine, the light

Which guides us as we go.

Then, say not, maiden—never sayThy heart in like the snow,Thine eyes have far too fond a ray,That we should deem it so.

Then, say not, maiden—never say

Thy heart in like the snow,

Thine eyes have far too fond a ray,

That we should deem it so.

I, too, have sought, with studied art.To stay the tides that speak,But still, the struggle at my heartWas written on my cheek.

I, too, have sought, with studied art.

To stay the tides that speak,

But still, the struggle at my heart

Was written on my cheek.

And now, my tuneless measure talksOne of the lonely laysWhich haunt my spirit when it walksThe melancholy ways.

And now, my tuneless measure talks

One of the lonely lays

Which haunt my spirit when it walks

The melancholy ways.

I sing, and singing dwell on thee—The Pilgrim of a Star!Who, straining, deems he yet can seeSome solace, though afar.

I sing, and singing dwell on thee—

The Pilgrim of a Star!

Who, straining, deems he yet can see

Some solace, though afar.

Oh! in such times my harp will breakForth in a fleeting tone,But, ere its echo dies, I wake,To find—I am alone!

Oh! in such times my harp will break

Forth in a fleeting tone,

But, ere its echo dies, I wake,

To find—I am alone!

LIFE’S VOYAGE.

———

BY TH. GREGG.

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A gallantbark is wildly tossingUpon the briny wave,Freighted deep with human treasure—With earnest hearts and brave.For many a day that bark is rollingOver the trackless sea;For many a day those hearts are beating—Are beating to be free!At length the shore is dimly loomingOn the horizon’s verge,When that frail vessel boldly plungesUnto the boiling surge.A moment—and the ship is stranded!—A number gain the shore—Whilst others ’neath the boiling billowsSink down for evermore!’Tis thus Life’s waves are ever bearingOur fragile bark along—Whether freighted with Sin and SorrowOr joyous Mirth and Song:And thus the surges are ever beatingAgainst the wreck-strewn strandThat stays the tide of Life’s rough OceanAnd bounds the Spirit-Land!

A gallantbark is wildly tossing

Upon the briny wave,

Freighted deep with human treasure—

With earnest hearts and brave.

For many a day that bark is rolling

Over the trackless sea;

For many a day those hearts are beating—

Are beating to be free!

At length the shore is dimly loomingOn the horizon’s verge,When that frail vessel boldly plungesUnto the boiling surge.A moment—and the ship is stranded!—A number gain the shore—Whilst others ’neath the boiling billowsSink down for evermore!

At length the shore is dimly looming

On the horizon’s verge,

When that frail vessel boldly plunges

Unto the boiling surge.

A moment—and the ship is stranded!—

A number gain the shore—

Whilst others ’neath the boiling billows

Sink down for evermore!

’Tis thus Life’s waves are ever bearingOur fragile bark along—Whether freighted with Sin and SorrowOr joyous Mirth and Song:And thus the surges are ever beatingAgainst the wreck-strewn strandThat stays the tide of Life’s rough OceanAnd bounds the Spirit-Land!

’Tis thus Life’s waves are ever bearing

Our fragile bark along—

Whether freighted with Sin and Sorrow

Or joyous Mirth and Song:

And thus the surges are ever beating

Against the wreck-strewn strand

That stays the tide of Life’s rough Ocean

And bounds the Spirit-Land!

MILTON.[5]

———

BY B. H. BREWSTER.

———

Wehave had lying on our table, for some years, this beautiful edition of Milton’s Select Prose Works, and we have often, while reading it, resolved to set about that which we have at last attempted. But we have been deterred not more by the importance of the subject, than by the recollection of the great spirits who have already earned rich harvests of applause in this field. The article by Mr. Macaulay, published in the Edinburgh Review, would seem to forbid further comment, where the critic has left his reader in doubt which most to admire, the splendor of his criticism, or the lofty grandeur of his original. Then, too, Mr. St. John, the editor of these neat and elegant volumes, has given a preliminary discourse, which displays a keen and warm admiration for these writings, expressed, in a fervid strain of noble eloquence, which inspires that gentle apprehension for the “bright countenance of truth,” so soothing “in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.”

In a fine London edition of the Prose Works of John Milton, published in the year 1838, there is a well written review by the editor, Mr. Robert Fletcher, in which he laments that some effort had not before been made to “popularize, in amultum in parvoshape, the prose works of our great poet.” We have here an edition that completes his desires; an edition in which great judgment has been exercised in selecting, from various tracts, those portions likely to prove most agreeable to the public. While they give a proper conception of the opinions of Milton, they also contain some of the purest specimens of his style. Indeed, we think that some one of our own publishing houses would find it to their interest to bring out an edition of this work. The nice taste and the correct discrimination displayed in this selection would command for it a ready sale. It would be of great use to many, who know nothing of these writings, and of service to some, who, while they know of them, yet neglect and turn away from these rich well-springs of truth.

Like all great messengers, Milton was, while living, persecuted, and since his death has been the object of malignant hatred, by those whose place of abiding is fast by the “seat of the scorner.” He whose “words are oracles for mankind, whose love embraces all countries, and whose voice sounds through all ages,” has been slighted, misrepresented, abused, and reviled by those whose greatest glory should have been, that they were the countrymen of Milton—not Milton the poet—but Milton the statesman. He who wielded a pen that made Europe quake, and perpetuated political truths based upon eternal justice—truths that were to warm and kindle up mankind forever after in the pursuit of right against might.

Before we approach these fountains of living light, let us turn and see how it was that he, who had been educated in seclusion, and mingled with the scholars, the gentle and well-bred in his youth, did desert all, and peril his life in the wild tumult and hot strife of religious and political dissension, only that he might bear witness to the light that was in him.

John Milton was the son of John Milton, a scrivener of good repute, in the city of London. He was born in the year 1608, and was carefully educated under the supervision of his father, who was a man of refined taste. He was destined for the Church, and gave great promise of eminence; for he was an assiduous and diligent youth, and was noted for his complete learning and elegant scholarship, at the University of Cambridge, where he obtained his degrees. But he declined to take orders, and refused to subscribe to the articles of faith, considering that so doing was subscribing, slave.

In thus early displaying his independence of opinion in his religious belief, he did but follow the example set him by his father, while he obeyed the honest impulse of his nature; for his father had been disinherited by his grandfather for deserting the Roman Catholic faith.

Shortly after he left the University he retired into the country with his father, who had then relinquished business with a handsome estate; and while there he continued his studies, selecting no particular profession, but devoting himself to the cultivation of all.

It was in these years of sweet scholastic solitude, that he produced his Mask of Comus, than which there is not a nobler poem in any language. This brought him great fame among the polite and refined of the day, and was widely circulated for a while in manuscript; so that when he started on his travels soon after this, (which was in 1638,) he carried with him letters commanding, in his behalf, attention from the most eminent men of the Continent.

He went first to France, and while in Paris was introduced by Lord Scudamore, the English ambassador, to Hugo Grotius, with whom he had a very interesting interview. From Paris he went into Italy, and coming to Florence, in that city he mingled freely with the refined and learned, and, by the elegant displays of his own accomplishments and learning, won the admiration and regard of all. The scholars and wits of that place vied with one another in entertaining him, and celebrated his many merits in their compositions.

With many of those brilliant spirits of that favored land he formed an intimacy, which was continued for years after his return home, as we find by his familiar letters. From Florence he traveled to Rome, and was there again treated with marked kindness and attention by Lucas Holstensius, the librarian of the Vatican, the Cardinal Barberino, and other persons of distinction in that famous city. From Rome he proceeded to Naples, and there made the friendship of the Marquis of Villa, a man of “singular merit and virtue,” and who was afterward celebrated by Milton in a poem, as he had been by Tasso, in his Jerusalem Delivered, and his Dialogue on Friendship. Happy and fortunate lot! thus to be the object of regard, and to have his merits recorded, and his virtues enshrined, for the admiration of posterity, in the works of these great poetic minds!

He had intended, after having thus visited the finest parts of Italy, to go over into Sicily, and thence to Greece; but the news from England of the difficulties between the Parliament and the King changed his mind, and he determined to return home, to mingle with his countrymen in their toil for freedom, thinking it unworthy of him to be loitering away his time in luxurious ease, while his native land was distracted, and his fellow men at home were battling in fierce strife for liberty.

He returned to Rome, notwithstanding the desire of his friends that he should remain away; for by the freedom of his speech when there he had aroused the vindictive feelings of many of his hearers. And to this he was no doubt provoked by having himself seen the dreadful persecution undergone in the prison of the Inquisition, by one of the finest scientific minds the world ever knew—by Galileo—whom he visited when imprisoned for asserting the motion of the earth, and opposing the old notions of the Dominicans and Franciscans.

From Rome he went to Florence; and after being there a while he went to Venice, and from that port he shipped his books and music for England. He then took his route by Verona and Milan, and along the lake of Leman to Geneva; and thence he returned through France the same way he came, and arrived safe in England after an absence of one year and three months, “having seen more, learned more, and conversed with more famous men, and made more real improvement than most others in double the time.”

On his return home, he again devoted himself to the solitude of his study, and to the teaching of several youths (among whom were his nephews) who were intrusted to his care; and in his own house he formed quite an academic institute, where his scholars, like the disciples of the philosophers of old, gathered around him, and by assiduity added to their stores of knowledge, while with his advice and counsel they were purifying and elevating their feelings.

In the year 1641, the nation was in great ferment with the religious disputes of the day, which were intimately connected with the chief political questions then agitated. This roused Milton, who was alive to the close association of the two subjects; and for the furtherance of his political designs, the support of liberty, he issued a powerful tract upon Prelatical Episcopacy. This served to work out a good end, and strengthen the cause of the liberalists. For this, as for other reasons of a like nature, he was prompted to write several other polemical tracts, during that year, and then he dropped the subject forever.

In 1643 he married, being then thirty-five years old. After a month his wife, by his permission, went to visit her relations; and when sent for by him—for reasons which are as yet unexplained—she refused to return, and dismissed his messenger with contempt.

He was deeply wounded by this treatment, and maintained toward her a dignified and resolute indifference. Mortified, and full of sorrow, he found relief in the contemplation of his very source of wo; and after reflection upon it, he projected and published his work upon Divorce, which is to this day one of the most famous works on the subject ever printed.

Affairs had now assumed a new aspect, and the Presbyterian party had, after a great struggle with Royalty, gained the ascendency, and then ruled supreme in the councils of the nation.

The King and his abettors were fighting in the field for that authority, they had before vainly endeavored to establish with the arm of civil power. The Presbyterians were now in their day of prosperity; they had been oppressed but were now triumphant. Adversity had not been of use to them. They did not learn charity, or humanity, from her lessons, but now exercised authority with a lordly air, and wielded the sword of State with presumptuous arrogance. Among other acts of great inconsistency and oppression, they established a supervision of the press under the control of an authorized licenser, and at the same time endeavored to suppress the freedom of speech. This base desertion of the principles for which they had contended, this mean exercise of authority in that, in which they had suffered the most, and against which they had clamored the loudest, excited Milton to the writing of the Areopagitica. This pamphlet was written by him upon this shameful abuse. He had before acted in concert with them, as the movement party of the day; but when they abandoned and treasonably betrayed the rights of Man, they left him where he had always been, standing on the rock of truth fast by his principles.

There is not a nobler vindication of the freedom of speech, and the liberty of the press, to be found any where, than in this pamphlet.

This book was published in 1644, and in this year he was reconciled to his wife, who sought him out, and unexpectedly to him fell at his feet, and with tears besought his love and forgiveness. In this, as in other instances, have we a strong evidence of the mildness and gentleness of his feelings; for although his resentment had been aroused by her wicked abandonment of him, yet when she returned home, repentant and in sorrow, he joyfully received her, and forgave all. Nay more, when defeat and route had fallen upon the royal standard, he generously took home her father, and his whole family—who were attached to the cause of the monarchy—protected them during the heat of his party triumph, and finally interested himself to secure their estates from confiscation, although they had in their days of prosperity prompted his wife to her disobedience and desertion of her republican husband; thus showing a high-heartedness which was above malice, and in keeping with and but a practical domestic application of the pure, upright faith professed by him, which was stern and unyielding in the pursuits of right, but humane and gentle in the use of power and advantage.

He was now an eminent man, and his bold pen had won for him a public fame and name. About this time he was well-nigh being swept into the mid current of popular politics, and it was contemplated making him the adjutant general, under Sir William Waller; but this design was abandoned upon the remodeling of the army, and he was left at his studies.

The king was imprisoned and tried, and then it was that the true faith and intentions of many were made clear. The Presbyterian party, who had professed democratic republicanism, while their hopes of office were high—like many in our own days, who, when they have attained their hopes, or been rejected by the people for better men, desert their cause, abandon their principles, while they hold on to their name, and fight under their old banners, that they may more surely but more basely injure truth—being now in the minority and out of power, became noisy in their lamentations over the king’s fate, and endeavored by every means to prevent his execution, using all arguments, and stopping at nothing to undo what they themselves had brought about. For when they found that there was an unflinching determination of the democracy to punish this man for his enormities and wicked misgovernment.

“They who”—to use Milton’s language—“had been fiercest against their prince, under the notion of a tyrant, and no mean incendiaries of the war against him, when God out of his providence and high disposal hath delivered him into the hands of their brethren, on a sudden and in a new garb of allegiance, which their doings have long since concealed, they plead for him, pity him, extol him, and protest against those who talk of bringing him to the trial of justice, which is the sword of God, superior to all mortal things, in whose hand soever, by apparent signs, his testified will is to put it.”

Upon the happening of this event, Milton published his “Tenure of Kings,” from which is quoted the above passage, so applicable in its spirit to our own times, so true of all political trucksters, who shout loudly for the democracy, while they have hopes of using and abusing it, but who basely betray its confidence and abandon it, whenever they are required to put in practice their own professions. This book was published 1649, and served very much to tranquilize and calm the public mind upon that which had passed.

After the establishment of the Commonwealth, he was called to the post of Latin Secretary, by the Council of State, which station he held till the Restoration. This was an office of great importance, inasmuch as all the public correspondence with foreign States devolved upon him. While holding this high and honorable public station, one so congenial with his feelings, and one for which he was so well fitted, he produced many state papers of great merit, and which contributed to advance the fame of the republic abroad.

Upon the execution of Charles Stuart, there was published a book which was styled “Eikōn Basilikē,” and which was pretended to have been written by the king, and left by him as a legacy and parting word to the world. It had a most unprecedented sale, owing to the curiosity excited by its appearance. As it was a work which was then likely to excite public sympathy, when public sympathy would be thrown away upon a bad and unworthy object, while at the same time it would abuse and mislead the public mind, the Parliament called upon Milton to write an answer to it, and to furnish an antidote for this lying poison, which it is well believed was never written by the king, but was manufactured and industriously circulated by the enemies of the people, and the friends of arbitrary power, with a hope that by its means they could unsettle the public mind, weaken the republic, and reëstablish the tyranny.

Milton accordingly wrote hisEikonoklastes; and truly was he an image-breaker; for with merciless force he entered the temple, and with his own right arm shattered the idol that they had bid all mankind bow down before.

Charles the Second, who was then residing upon the Continent, hired Salmasius, a man of great learning, and the successor of the celebrated Scaliger, as honorary professor at Leyden, to write a work in defense of his father and of the monarchy. For this work Charles paid Salmasius one hundred jacobuses. In the execution of this book, Salmasius filled it pretty plentifully with insolent abuse of all the public men of the Commonwealth, and those prominent in the Revolution; both from a natural inclination, and according to directions. In this he was quite expert; for though he was a fine scholar and very famed for his learning, yet as it has been said of him—“This prince of scholars seemed to have erected his throne upon a heap of stones, that he might have them at hand to throw at every one’s head who passed by.”

Immediately upon the appearance of this book, the Council of State unanimously selected Milton to answer it; and he, in obedience to this call, prepared and published his Defense of the People of England, a work of great worth and power, and which was written at intervals, during the moments snatched from his official duties, when he was weakened and infirm. This book was read everywhere. Europe rang with it, and wonder at its force filled all minds.

By some it has been said that the Council presented him with £1000 as a reward, which was no mean sum in those days of specie circulation. But empty thanks were all that he received. Neither this nor any other of his writings ever obtained one cent for him from the public purse, as he asserts in his Second Defense. While Milton was thus receiving attentions from all quarters, it was much otherwise with his arrogant opponent; for he suffered not only by the severity of Milton’s reply, but was slighted and treated ill by Christiana, Queen of Sweden, who had invited him to her court, among other learned men. Upon the reading of Milton’s “Defense,” she was so delighted therewith, that her opinion of Salmasius changed, and she became indifferent to him, which he perceiving, left her court, and retired to Spa, in Germany, where he shortly after died of chagrin.

Milton had been for many years suffering from a weakness in his eyes, arising out of his severe application to his studies. Year after year his sight became more and more dim, until his physicians warned him that unless he ceased his continual toil, he would become totally blind. This for a while he heeded; but the urgent call made upon him in the production of this answer to Salmasius, led him again to over-application, and he became wholly blind. Notwithstanding his blindness, he still continued the discharge of his official duties, and employed his leisure moments in the production of various other political tracts, in answer to the many abusive works issued by the royalists.

On the death of Oliver Cromwell, and the taking place of the difficulties that followed, he wrote a “Letter to a Statesman,” [supposed to be General Monk,] in which he gave a brief delineation of a “free Commonwealth, easy to be put in practice, and without delay.” Finding affairs were growing worse and worse, the people more and more unsettled, and that a king was likely to be reëstablished, and the Commonwealth subverted, he wrote and published his “Ready and Easy Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth, and the Excellence thereof, Compared with the Inconveniences and Dangers of admitting Kingship in this Nation.” This short paper was published in 1659-60, and even after this he published his “Notes on a late Sermon entitled the Fear of God and the King, preached at Mercer’s Chapel, on March 25th, 1660, by Dr. Matthew Griffith,” the very year, and within a month of the Restoration; so that his voice was the last to bear witness against the overthrow of liberty and the restoration of tyranny.

Upon the return of Charles, he fled, and lay concealed, during which time his books, theEikonoklastes and “Defense of the People of England,” were burned by the common hangman! An indictment was found against him, and a warrant for his arrest placed in the hands of the sergeant-at-arms. The act of indemnity was passed, and he received the benefit of it, and came forth from his concealment, but was arrested, and shortly after, by order of the House of Commons, discharged, upon his paying the fees to the sergeant-at-arms, who had endeavored to exact them from him, which he resisted, and appealed to the House. And thus, although a prisoner, he still displayed a determination and resolution to oppose that oppression in his own person, against which he had so stoutly battled for the whole people.

He now retired from public life forever; and when an offer was afterward made to him by the king, to return to his old post of secretary, he refused it, although pressed by his wife to accept it, and to her entreaties answered thus: “Thou art in the right; you and other women would ride in your coach; for me, my aim is to live and die an honest man.”

This offer has been denied by Doctor Johnson, in his life of Milton, and that, too, without sufficient foundation, for the contradiction is made without proof; and when Dr. Newton, in his admirable account of Milton, published in his splendid edition of the Poetical Works of Milton, confirms it, and asserts that these very words were from Milton’s wife only twenty years before the publication of his edition. The Doctor has in this, as in other instances, displayed a malicious desire to detract from his merits; his envy no doubt being excited by this unbending integrity of one, whose political opinions were serious enough in the Doctor’s eyes to affect even his merits as a poet. For this, as for other offenses, has he received again and again that censure which he so richly deserved; but from no one with more force than from Mr. St. John, in his able Preliminary Discourse to these volumes. We quote a passage.

“Another sore point with Johnson was, that Milton should be said to have rejected, after the Restoration, the place of Latin Secretary to Charles the Second. Few men heartily believe in the existence of virtue above their own reach. He knew what he would have done under similar circumstances; he knew that had he lived during the period of the Commonwealth, a similar offer from the Regicides would have met with no ‘sturdy refusal’ from him; he knew it was in his eyes no sin to accept of a pension from one whom he considered an usurper; how, then, could he believe, what must have humiliated him in his own esteem, that the old blind republican, bending beneath the weight of years and indigence, still cherished heroic virtues in his soul, and spurned the offer of a tyrant! Oh, but he had filled the same office under Oliver Cromwell!

“Milton regarded ‘Old Noll’ as a greater and better ‘Sylla,’ to whom, in the motto to his work against the restoration of kingship, he compares him, and evidently hoped to the last, what was always, perhaps, intended by the Protector, and understood between them, that as soon as the troubles of the times should be properly appeased, he would establish the Republic. In this Milton consented to serve with him, not to serve him; for Cromwell always professed to be the servant of the people. And after all, there was some difference between Cromwell and Charles the Second. With the former the author of Paradise Lost had something in common; they were both great men, they were both enemies to that remnant of feudal barbarism, which, supported by prejudice and ignorance, had for ages exerted so fatal an influence over the destinies of their country. Minds of such an order—in some things, though not in all, resembling—might naturally enough coöperate; for they could respect each other. But with what sense of decorum, or reverence for his own character, remembering the glorious cause for which he had struggled, could Milton have reconciled his conscience to taking office under the returned Stuart, to mingle daily with the crowd of atheists who blasphemed the Almighty, and with swinish vices debased his Image in the polluted chambers of Whitehall. The poet regarded them with contemptuous abhorrence; and, if I am not exceedingly mistaken, described them under the names of devils, in the court of their patron and inspirer below. Besides, even had they possessed the few virtues compatible with servitude, it would have been a matter of constant chagrin, of taunt and reviling on one side, and silent hatred on the other, to have brought together republican and slave in the same bureau, and to have compelled a democratic pen to mould correct phrases for a despicable master. So far, however, was the biographer from comprehending the character of the man whose life he undertook to write, that he seems to have thought it an imputation on him, and a circumstance for which it is necessary to pity his lot, that the dissolute nobles of the age seldom resorted to his humble dwelling! The sentiment is worthy of Salmasius. But was there then living a man who would not have been honored by passing under the shadow of that roof? by listening to the accents of those inspired lips? by being greeted and remembered by him whose slightest commendation was immortality? Elijah, or Elisha, or Moses, or David, or Paul of Tarsus, would have sat down with Milton and found in him a kindred spirit. But the slave of Lady Castlemain, or the traitor Monk, or Rochester, or the husband of Miss Hyde, or that Lord Chesterfield, who saw what Hamilton describes, and dared not with his sword revenge the insult, might forsooth have thought it a piece of condescension to be seen in the Delphic Cavern in England, whence proceeded those sacred verses which in literature have raised her above all other nations, to the level of Greece herself!”

Upon his release from arrest he retired to the obscurity and solitude of his own dwelling, where he passed his time in the composition of his Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes. During this time he also produced a History of Britain, with several other prose works. In 1674 he expired, worn out with illness and a life of toil; he died without a groan, and so gentle and placid was his departure, that they who were round him did not perceive it.

Although all of his political writings were called forth by the events that were passing before him, and were for that reason local in their immediate application, yet they are so catholic and elemental in their spirit, that we can hardly believe that they were written in an age when feudal tenures were not abolished, and before any people had as yet secured their own freedom.

His Areopagitica was his first political work; and although it was written for a special purpose, and with a view to a then existing evil, it is still a pamphlet that might very well be published at this day, as the declaration of our opinions upon this subject of the liberty of the press.

The very motto of the book, taken from Euripides, and translated by himself, indicates the whole spirit and intent of it.

“This is true liberty when freeborn men,Having to advise the public, may speak free,Which he who can, and will, deserves high praise,Who neither can, or will, may hold his peace;What can be juster in a state than this?”

“This is true liberty when freeborn men,

Having to advise the public, may speak free,

Which he who can, and will, deserves high praise,

Who neither can, or will, may hold his peace;

What can be juster in a state than this?”

After discussing the real merits of the question then before him, he departs altogether from that topic; and as he always did, generously claimed the same right for mankind, that he had sought for Englishmen. And then it is he utters this fine sentence, which shows a noble enthusiasm in his cause, and a firm belief in its justice. “Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience aboveall liberties!”

After this work he wrote his “Tenure of Kings.” The design of this pamphlet has been already explained. We may judge of its liberal character by these few passages. At first he alludes to the treasonable desertion of principles by those, who were then turbulent for the king’s release, and who had mainly helped to provoke and carry on the war. Afterward he declares this general principle; “No man, who knows aught, can be so stupid as to deny that all men naturallywere born free, being the image and resemblance of God himself.” And after this proclamation of that essential truth, he proceeds to analyze the history of society, and shows by reason, scriptural authority, general history, and the universal opinions of mankind, that all government proceeds from the people, is created by them for their comfort and good, and is subject to their control, whether it be patriarchal, despotic, or aristocratic; and that no king or potentate holds by any other authority than the consent of the people; which being withdrawn his rule ceases, and for his crimes his life may be forfeited—declaring that this must be so, “unless the people must be thought created all for him singly, which were a kind of treason against the dignity of mankind to affirm.”

And after all this he shows his charity for his fellow men, wherever they may be, by saying, “Who knows not that there is a mutual bond of amity and brotherhood between man and man all over the world; neither is it the English sea that can sever us from that duty and relation.” It is this sentiment, and such like this, that demands of us our admiration and regard for this purest of men.

In the same manner does he fight the same fight in hisEikonoklastes, and “Defense of the English People,” fearlessly breaking new ground in behalf of the “Rights of Man,” as if he considered it to be his greatest glory to be the champion of his race, while he was defending his countrymen.

In the Eikonoklastes, after refuting the many lies uttered by the king’s lip-workers, he says, “It is my determination that through me the truth shall be spoken, and not smothered, but sent abroad in her native confidence of her single self, to earn how she can her entertainment in the world, and to find out her own readers.” Hearken then again to his words, which now, near two hundred years after they were published, come like a solemn and prophetic voice from out the writings of the old, blind republican.

“Men are born and created with a better title to their freedom, than any king hath to his crown. And liberty of person and right of self-preservation is much nearer, and more natural, and more worth to all men than the property of their goods and wealth.”

This isourtruth, the corner-stone of our faith. Here we stand, and alone of nations have made this our practice, and thereby given a healthful example to all men. These things he believed, and, for the first time for ages, did he announce to the world those truths which were to unsettle tyranny and open the way to universal freedom.

When the king was about to return, he published “The Mode of Establishing a Free Commonwealth.” This was the last blast blown to rouse the people from their lethargy. With a prophetic energy did he predict the ills that would fall upon the nation, should the king again be established. How sadly have his words been realized in the gilded misery that now surrounds his country, where starving millions toil like beasts of the field to fatten a licentious and debased aristocracy!

In this book he told the people that “no government was nearer the precepts of Christ than a free Commonwealth, wherein they who are the greatest are perpetual servants to the public, and yet are not elevated above their brethren, live soberly in their families, walk the streets as other men, may be spoken to freely, familiarly, friendly, without adoration.” After extolling the excellent beauty of freedom, and exhorting them to stand by their rights, he thus concludes, with these passages so full of grand and pathetic eloquence.

“I have no more to say at present; few words will save us, well considered; few and easy things, now seasonably done. But if the people be so affected as to prostitute religion and liberty to the vain and groundless apprehension, that nothing but Kingship can restore trade, not remembering the frequent plagues and pestilences that then wasted this city, such as through God’s mercy we never have felt since; and that trade flourishes nowhere more than in the free Commonwealths of Italy, Germany, and the Low Countries, before their eyes at this day; yet if trade be grown so craving and importunate, through theprofuse living of tradesmen, that nothing can support it but the luxurious expenses of a nation upon trifles or superfluities, so as if the people generally should betake themselves to frugality, it might prove a dangerous matter, lest tradesmen should mutiny for want of trading; and that therefore we must forego, and set to sale religion, liberty, honor, safety, all concernments, divine or human, to keep up trading. What I have spoken is the language of that which is not called amiss, “The Good Old Cause;” it seem strange to any, it will not seem more strange, I hope, than convincing to back-sliders. Thus much I should perhaps have said, though I was sure I should have spoken only to trees and stones, and had none to cry to, but with the prophet, ‘O Earth, Earth, Earth!’ to tell the very soil itself what her perverse inhabitants are deaf to; nay, though what I have spoke should happen, [which Thou suffer not, who didst create mankind free! nor Thou next who didst redeem us from being the servants of men!] to be the last words of our expiring liberty.”

The political works of this great man have been diligently suppressed, and his political fame traduced; while they, who could not deny him merit, have been busy before the world in lauding him as a poet, thinking thus to lead men off from a knowledge of that wherein consisted his true greatness. We question much whether the dullest mind could read these books now, without being roused and filled with enthusiasm for this apostle of liberty, and for his cause.

In them he nobly vindicates the people and their rights. “The Good Old Cause,” as he calls it, warms him up, and he writes with an exulting energy that would make your blood gush with delight. His opinions were not the distempered thoughts of a factionist. He never allowed his feelings to be warped by a selfish regard for party advancement. He knew no party, but generously devoted his whole soul to the cause of his country, and in defense of the rights of mankind. In his old age his greatest glory was, that he had always written and spoken openly in defense of liberty and against slavery.

The truths which he wrote in his matured years, as applying to the condition of his unfortunate country, were but repetitions of the faith of his youth, as he had powerfully expressed it in his Comus.

“Impostor, do not charge most innocent Nature,As if she would her children should be riotousWith her abundance; she, good cateress,Means her provision only to the good,That live according to her sober laws,And holy dictates of spare temperance:If every just man, that now pines with want,Had but a moderate and beseeming shareOf that which lewdly pampered luxuryNow heaps upon some few with vast excess,Nature’s full blessings would be well dispens’d,In unsuperfluous even proportion,And she no whit encumbered with her store:And then the giver would be better thanked,His praise due paid; for swinish gluttonyNe’er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeous feastBut with besotted, base ingratitude,Crams and blasphemes his feeder.”

“Impostor, do not charge most innocent Nature,

As if she would her children should be riotous

With her abundance; she, good cateress,

Means her provision only to the good,

That live according to her sober laws,

And holy dictates of spare temperance:

If every just man, that now pines with want,

Had but a moderate and beseeming share

Of that which lewdly pampered luxury

Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,

Nature’s full blessings would be well dispens’d,

In unsuperfluous even proportion,

And she no whit encumbered with her store:

And then the giver would be better thanked,

His praise due paid; for swinish gluttony

Ne’er looks to heaven amidst his gorgeous feast

But with besotted, base ingratitude,

Crams and blasphemes his feeder.”

Even now, while we conclude these few pages our pen falters, and we feel disposed to abandon the task. His magnificence overpowers us. How can we point out the excellence of that which commands the admiration of all men, and is beyond the loftiest praise of the most eloquent? Again and again have we turned over the leaves of this work, with the intention of selecting passages worthy of comment and regard, and so thickly have they flowed in upon us, that page after page has been exhausted, and we had not finished. How idle, then, to select from these masterpieces of eloquence and storehouses of truth! How vain to dwell upon his merits, when every line of his splendid composition tells of his measureless learning and infinite purity of thought. His style, at once grand and simple, is happily suited to convey conviction to the mind, and inspire the soul with fervid energy.

While his works are filled with noble conceptions, clothed in language of corresponding state and grandeur, we nowhere find any attempt at fine rhetoric for mere empty display. The whole subject sweeps on with solemn magnificence, but with no idle pomp. From the depths of his soul did he speak, and his words were as fire, scorching to his enemies, and life-giving and cheering to those who love “truth and wisdom, not respecting numbers and big names.”

The most inspiring view that can be taken of the soul of these writings is, that they are, even at this day, far in advance of the social condition that exists in this land of liberal and enlightened principles of government. The precepts by which he would wish us to be guided, are the pure and humane doctrines of the Savior of man. He did not fight only for the liberties ofEnglishmen, contending forEnglishrights, citing the charters ofEnglishliberty—no, not he—all mankind were alike to him, and formanalone he spake. No such Hebrew spirit animated his noble soul.

He proclaimed the rights of man, as man, and asserted his rights, natural and social, without ever launching out into Utopian speculations and visionary conceptions, the practical utility of which no one can affirm, and the application of which would have worked out ills innumerable, rooting up and overthrowing ten thousand times ten thousand social rights, that had grown up with the state itself. He asserted abstractions; but with an intimate knowledge of men and their affairs, he steadily avoided violating those relative rights, to suddenly encroach on which would have been even as great a despotism as the rugged foot of feudal barbarity, with which his country had been oppressed.

From the generous and life-giving precepts of the Gospel did he draw his faith. He there learned charity for the misdoings of men, as well as belief in their power to resist evil and attain truth. He there learned love for mankind, as he imbibed a stern, unyielding hate for tyranny and hypocrisy.

No timid navigator, skirting along the shores and headlands, but a bold, adventurous spirit, he pushed forth upon a wild, tempestuous sea of troubles, with murky night of ignorance and superstition surrounding him. The “Telemachus” ofFénelon, might have been the “first dim promise of a great deliverance, the undeveloped germ of the charter of the code,” for the whole French people. But in these writings of Milton, we have afulland manly assertion of those rights and duties which all men owe one to the other, and all to society, and which are far, far beyond the simple truths conveyed in that beautiful and easy fiction.

Well might the French monarch have “the Defense” burned by the common hangman! Well might he for whom “a million peasants starved to build Versailles,” look down with horror and fear upon that work, for in it were truths which have roused up men to assert their rights. It was the vindication of a noble people, who had trampled under their feet the yoke that oppressed them, and had brought to punishment the tyrant who reigned over them. These works and the events that produced them have an interest to us. Englishmen may slight them, but we look on them with exultation—they are associated with our own history—they are connected with our own family legends—and as they record the mighty struggle of the mighty with the powers and principalities of this earth, they should be reverenced and held sacred by us; they should be our household companions, as they were of those men whose blood now warms the hearts of an empire of freemen, who boast their lineage from a prouder source than kings—the Puritans of New England. The men of that Revolution have never been fully understood. He who would wish to know the justice of their cause, let him read Milton, and let him read the real documents of the times. They have been abused and misrepresented by most historians. Mr. Bancroft, in his History of his Country, has comprehended these martyrs in the cause of democratic rights, and dared to tell the truth concerning them. They and theirs were the settlers of this country. From them came the mighty forest of sturdy oaks, which in years after were to breast the storm of royal oppression and wrath, in this their refuge; and from which tempest we—WE THE PEOPLE, came out gloriously triumphant!

Think not ill of them. Tread lightly upon their memories as you would upon their ashes. They who perished upon the scaffold—they who found a home here—they who died upon the field in England, or worn out with anxiety and public care, sank to rest forever in their homes—they who, like Cromwell, fought in the field and ruled in the council—and they who, like Milton, have proclaimed from the study that “man is free,” have earned names that time will brighten, and have stood by truths that will secure the affections of a world hereafter.

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