the first scholar of his age, and standing forth almost solitary and alone, strong in the eternal principles he advocated, and in the depth of true religious feeling, the intellectual champion of freedom, the vindicator of the people of England, the admired of all Europe, the friend and confidant of that dark, stern man, whose name stands out in such bold relief in the history of his times after having lived to witness the destruction of all his hopes and all his friends, neglected, despised, blind, poor, in peril of his life, then his inner man again began to heave with the fierce throes of genius, and at length brought forth the perfection of his intellect, the glory of his name, Paradise Lost.

It has been already remarked, this great effort of Milton was not the product of a single year or a single era of his life, but the work of his whole existence, every moment of which had contributed something to its perfection. Conscious of his own transcendent powers, and confiding in his powerful intellect, from his earliest years he showed

"The spirit of a youth

Who means to be of note."

His ardent mind was continually glowing with the noble thought of contributing something to the happiness and intellect of his country and his race, and the inward impulse unceasingly urged him on to embody and embellish the ideal he had conceived. In his own simple language, he says, "I felt an inward prompting, which now grew daily upon me, that by labor and intent study, (which I take to be my portion in this life,) joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might, perhaps, leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die." Such was the language of Milton's youth, but it was not till forty years had elapsed that his early dreams of fame were fully realized-fully realized!-nay, more, the result has far surpassed the highest flights of his imagination, the wildest vagaries of his youthful fancy.

His country was his idol, and to augment her glory, he was willing to spend his talents, his energies, nay, life itself. His chief ambition was to gain the applause of his countrymen, and be said to have added somewhat to the literature of his native land.

"And it shall well suffice me, and shall be

Fame and proud recompense enough for me,
If Usa, golden-haired, my muse may learn;

If Alain, bending o'er his crystal urn,

Swift whirling Abra, Trent's o'er shadowed stream,

If lovelier far than all in my esteem,

Thames, and the Tamar tinged with mineral hues,
And northern Orcades, regard my muse."

How prophetic! For not only is his muse regarded, venerated, from Cornwall to Johnny Groat's, but wherever literature has a name, there Milton is known, and the Paradise Lost stands side by side with the Illiad and the Aeniad.

It was not our purpose to write a critiqué upon the great effort of Milton's genius-that were a task of the first magnitude, and it is not given to every one to bend the bow of Ulyssesbut simply to depict what we consider his poetical character and genius. But applying to it, as a whole, the quaint remark that Carlyle applies to Shakspeare, we would say, "it is decidedly the greatest thing England ever did."

The glowing imaginations of Homer and Virgil had been exercised upon vivid descriptions of the actions of men, and deities, but a slight remove from men, and these they had invested with a marvelous brilliancy and glory. Tasso had mounted a step higher, but still retaining much of earthiness in his descriptions of celestials, much that is unnatural in the characters of his men. Dante had pictured to the mind, with the pencil of a master, the inhabitants of two worlds, both distinct from earth, yet even his bold imagination could not entirely separate them from certain characteristics appertaining exclusively to the latter. The imagination of Spenser had reveled to satiety in all the luxuries of fabled "Faerie Lande," while Shakspeare had confined his muse to the faithful painting of human nature. Milton essayed a higher flight, and, like that bold spirit he has drawn with so much force, dared his adventurous way through chaotic confusion, the gloomy realms of night, and sought a world before unknown in poetry. He attempted it, and he triumphed, and in so doing, has exhibited powers of the imagination, limitless as the bright world to which he soared, and opened new scenes and objects of contemplation to the human mind. With a boldness equaled only by his success, he approached the awful seat of Omnipotence, around which are "clouds and darkness," and revealed to man the hidden secrets of heaven. With a most lavish hand, he piles glory upon glory, beauty on beauty, "Odrav i 'Ohuu," in his descriptions of the heavenly world, till he reaches a sublimity, where every mind but his own shrinks back appalled; still he pursues his onward course, surmounting every obstacle, overcoming every barrier, undazzled by the blaze of glory that burns around him, undismayed by the beaming faces of Cherubim and Seraphim, bent in wonder on the venturous mortal, nor stops his flight but before the throne of Omniscience, where he listens to the fearful counsels of eternity. Anon he plunges to the lower world, and hell, with its horrors, its shrieks, its woes, are all made to pass before our minds. We behold the Arch-fiend,

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strong in "native might," boldly daring "Omnipotence to arms,' in blasphemous but sublime language, infusing his own indomitable spirit into the trembling hearts of his rebel followers. Again he changes the scene, and we are ravished by the music of Paradise, and soothed by his delightful descriptions of nature in her pristine bloom, and with the tenderness and love of the two noble beings embowered within its grateful shades, in whose creation and tragic history we must ever feel a lively interest.

The genius of the language in which Milton wrote, was all too feeble and limited to express the workings of his inward spirit, or the brilliant images of his imagination. It broke beneath the mighty task imposed, but nothing daunted, he brought to its aid the richest tributes of all the classic languages, and thus enriched, he has incorporated into it some of the sublimest passages, the most exalted sentiments, to be found in any literature. Time and space would fail to enumerate all the glories of this great work; suffice it to say, that in respect to the three particulars already mentioned, strength of imagination, lofty sublimity, and power of language, no human production can compare with that of the great English Poet.

Such was Milton, his genius, and his character, and in whatever light we view him, he still presents the same noble characteristics, the same exalted powers, with "less of earth in them than heaven." Young, elegant, and accomplished, assiduously preparing himself for noble efforts, he wins our hearts with the sweetness of his lyric strains, and gives good earnest of better things to come. Stern, manly, and enthusiastic in his devotion to liberty, in maturer years, uncompromising in his defense of virtue, frank and candid in an age of hypocrisy, he gains our respect and veneration. In his old age, though shorn of all his honors, blind and poor, yet almost insensible to the wants of the outer man, he still sustains the inner spirit with the food of heaven, and commercing with the skies, draws from thence the materials for wreathing a garland to adorn the honored altar of his country's literature. Viewing him thus in his desertion and decay, we are wont to regret that we could not have been with him in his age, to sit at his feet, listening to the voice of his wisdom, lightening his sorrows by reading to him from his beloved authors, and by endeavoring to ease his noble mind from the bitter contemplation of his public and private wrongs, when he complains that,

"Dark in light, exposed

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong,
Within doors and without; still as a fool,

In power of others, never in my own,

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.”

We turn with loathing from that relentless bigotry, which could thus neglect and despise the noblest, bravest spirit of the age, to the more cheerful reflection of how nobly he redeemed the pledge given to his country in youth, that his sorrows were but for a season, while his fame is universal, immortal, and that the man is yet to be, who can bear away the palm of English poetry from MILTON.

THE MOSS ROSE.

THE Spirit of Beauty came one day

To visit the earth awhile-

To bathe young buds in the crystal dew,
And paint them o'er with her smile.

The carmine blush'd a deeper red,
The tulip's leaves grew bright,
The violet caught a purpler tint,
The lily a purer white.

Each flower received a richer hue

Than ever before was seen,

And each made known, in silent song,
Its love for the spirit queen.

At length she came to a half-blown rose,

With beautiful damask hue

And delicate leaves, that rock'd to sleep

A drop of the morning dew.

"Fairest and sweetest of flowers," she said,

"What boon wilt thou ask of me?

Speak, and the realm of beauty shall come
And pay its homage to thee."

With modest blush, the rose replied,

"Bright Spirit, but grant to me

One other grace to the charms now mine

'Tis all I can ask of thee."

The Spirit smiled-but swift as thought

To a fairy grotto flew,

As swift returned, and over the rose

A mantle of moss she threw.

And thus array'd in simple green,

When summer its charms disclose,

The fairest flower that blooms on earth,

For me, is the sweet moss rose.

H.

MANNERS AND THE FEELINGS.

It is often useful to observe, with some degree of attention, the various personages and scenes, in places of resort, that are lawful objects of public inspection. The recreation and advantage thus afforded, after the toils of daily study, are sufficient to attach one to this habit in such a degree, that the same springs and weights by which the clock strikes the usual hour, will also encircle the head with its covering, and put the boots in motion through the door.

A person who pursues this practice, will often be considerably amused with the variety of character that meets his view. If he be unknown, and himself eludes observation, he can successfully study the feelings concealed beneath strange faces, and gain, perhaps, no little insight into the history of the persons he meets with. He may examine at leisure, those who little suspect themselves the subjects of observation, and many curious speculations will thence arise in his mind, on the various motives and principles of human conduct. His thoughts will not, indeed, be infallible; his own feelings may influence him, and the characters or scenes that pass, may sometimes appear good or bad, according as he is in good or ill humor; but currents of reflection will be set in motion, that will conduce much to a salutary mental activity, and may store the mind with many valuable thoughts.

On an occasion of this kind, my attention was once caught by an old gentleman, of frank and open countenance, who was speaking with a lad, an apparent stranger to the town, and seemed to be giving him some kind and necessary advice. He was warning him against trusting the appearances he must constantly meet in life, and concluded with the observation, that "all good qualities lie deeper than the surface."

The remark of the old gentleman gave rise to a variety of reflections on the customs and practices of society, and on the qualities that constitute politeness. My thoughts at last rested in the conviction, that the old man was no common character, and that he had touched on a central truth, in the affairs of manners and behavior. The more I thought of his words, the greater seemed their importance. They should be placed on every school of manners, on every desk of instruction; they should be engraved on every mind that would learn its true dignity; and all should not only know, but have the knowledge fresh in their minds, that every good quality lies deeper than the surface.

Could this idea once be impressed on the mind of the com