Several of the French, Italian,* and English poets, have given a loose to their

imaginations in the description of angels; but I do not remember to have met with any so finely drawn, and so conformable to the notions which are given of them in scripture, as this in Milton. After having set him forth in all his heavenly plumage, and represented him as alighting upon the earth, the poet concludes his description with a circumstance which is altogether new, and imagined with the greatest strength of fancy.

Like Maia's son he stood, And shook his plumes, that heav'nly fragrance fillid The circuit wide.'t Raphael's reception by the guardian angels; his passing through the wilderness of sweets; his distant appearance to Adam, have all the graces that poetry is capable of bestowing. The author afterwards gives us a particular description of Eve in her domestic employments.

So saying, with despatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent, What choice to choose for delicacy best, What order so contriv'd, as not to mix Tastes not well join'd inelegant, but bring Taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change, Bestirs her then,' &c. Though in this, and other parts of the same book, the subject is only the housewifery of our first parent, it is set off with so many pleasing

* See Tasso's description of Michael's descent from hea : ven, 69. v. 60.

† Homer's Il. 24. v. 339. Virgil's Æn. 4. v. 238.

images and strong expressions, as make it none of the least agreeable parts in this divine work.

The natural majesty of Adam, and at the same time his submissive behaviour to the superior being who had vouchsafed to be his guest; the solemn hail which the angel bestows upon the mother of mankind, with the figure of Eve ministering at the table, are circumstances which deserve to be admired.

Raphael's behaviour is every way suitable to the dignity of his nature, and to that character of a sociable spirit, with which the author has so judiciously introduced him. He had received instructions to converse with Adam as one friend converses with another, and to warn him of the enemy who was contriving his destruction; accordingly he is represented as sitting down at table with Adam, and eating of the fruits of Paradise. The occasion naturally leads him to his discourse on the food of angels. After having thus entered into conversation with man upon more indifferent subjects, he warns him of his obedience, and makes a natural transition to the history of that fallen angel who was employed in the circumvention of our first parents.

Had I followed Monsieur Bossu's method in my first paper on Milton, I should have dated the action of Paradise Lost from the beginning of Raphael's speech in this book, as he supposes the action of the Æneid to begin in the second book of that poem. I could allege many reasons for my drawing the action of the Æneid rather from its immediate beginning in the first book,

than from its remote beginning in the second; į and show why I have considered the sacking of

Troy as an episode, according to the common acceptation of that word. But as this would be a dry unentertaining piece of criticism, and perhaps unnecessary to those who have read my first paper, I shall not enlarge upon it. Whichsoever of the notions be true, the unity of Milton's action is preserved according to either of them; whether we consider the fall of man in its immediate beginning, as proceeding from the resolutions taken in the infernal council, or in its more remote beginning, as proceeding

from the first revolt of the angels in heaven. The occasion which Milton assigns for this revolt, as it is founded on hints in holy writ, and on the opinion of some great writers, so it was the most proper that the poet could have made use of.

The revolt in heaven is described with great fore of imagination and a fine variety of circumstances. The learned reader can not but be pleased with the poet's imitation of Homer in the last of the following lines.

At length into the limits of the north
They came, and Satan took his royal seat
High on a hill, far blazing as a mount
Rais'd on a mount, with pyramids and tow'rs
From diamond quarries hewn, and rocks of gold,
The palace of great Lucifer, (so call
That structure in the dialect of men
Interpreted)

Homer mentions persons and things, which he tells us in the language of the gods are called by different names from those they go by in the language of men. Milton has imitated him with his usual judgment in this particular place where

1

in he has likewise the authority of scripture to justify him. The part of Abdiel, who was the only spirit that in this infinite host of angels preserved his allegiance to his Maker, exhibits to us a noble moral of religious singularity. The zeal of the seraphim breaks forth in a becoming warmth of sentiments and expressions, as the character which is given us of him denotes that generous scorn and intrepidity which attends heroic virtue. The author doubtless designed it as a pattern to those who live

among

mankind in their present state of degeneracy and corruption.

So spake the seraph Abdiel, faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he;
Among innumerable false, unmov'd,
Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrifi'd,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;,
Nor number, nor example, with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,
Though single. From amidst them forth he pass’d,
Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustain'd
Superior, nor of violence fear'd aught:
And with retorted scorn, his back he turn'd
On those proud tow’rs to swift destruction doom’d.
ADDISON.

L.

No. 328. MONDAY, MARCH 17.

HOR.

Nullum à labore me reclinat otium.
No ease doth lay me down from pain.

CREECH.

"MR. SPECTATOR,

6 As I believe this is the first complaint that ever was made to you of this nature, so you are the first person I ever could prevail upon myself to lay it before. When I tell you I have a healthyl vigorous constitution, a plentiful estate, no inordinate desires, and am married to a virtuous lovely woman, who neither wants wit nor good nature, and by whom I have a numerous offspring to perpetuate my family, you will naturally conclude me a happy man. But notwithstanding these promising appearances, I am so far from it, that the prospect of being ruined and undone, by a sort of extravagance which of late years is in a greater or less degree crept into every fashionable family, deprives me of all the comforts of my life, and renders me the most anxious miserarable man on earth. My wife, who was the only child and darling care of an indulgent mother, employed her early years in learning all those accomplishments we generally understand by good-breeding and a polite education. She sings, dances, plays on the lute and harpsichord, paints prettily, is a perfect mistress of the French tongue, and has made a considerable progress in Italian. She is besides excellently skilled in all domestic sciences, as preserving, pickling, pastry, making wines of fruits of our own growth, embroidering, and needle-works of every kind. Hitherto you will be apt to think there is very little cause of complaint, but suspend your opinion till I have further explained myself, and then I make no question but you will come over to mine. You are not to imagine I find fault that she either possesses or takes delight in the exercise of those qualifications I just now mentioned; it is the immoderate fondness she has to them that I lament; and that what is only designed for the innocent amusement and recreation of life, is become the