rance of the people; and the ferocity Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, and ignorance of the people will be who, by some mysterious law of her proportioned to the oppression and nature, was condemned to appear at degradation under which they have certain seasons in the form of a foul been accustomed to live. Thus it was, and poisonous snake. Those who inin our civil war. The heads of the jured her during the period of her dischurch and state reaped only that guise were for ever excluded from parwhich they had sown. The govern ticipation in the blessings which she ment had prohibited free discussion bestowed. But to those who, in spite it had done its best to keep the people of her loathsome aspect, pitied and unacquainted with their duties and their protected her, she afterwards revealed rights. The retribution was just and herself in the beautiful and celestial natural. If our rulers suffered from form which was natural to her, accompopular ignorance, it was because they panied their steps, granted all their had themselves taken away the key of wishes, filled their houses with wealth, knowledge. If they were assailed with made them happy in love and victoblind fury, it was because they had rious in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. exacted an equally blind submission. At times she takes the form of a hateIt is the character of such revolu- ful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, tions that we always see the worst of she stings. But woe to those who in them at first. Till men have been disgust shall venture to crush her! some time free, they know not how to And happy are those who, having use their freedom. The natives of dared to receive her in her degraded wine countries are generally sober. In and frightful shape, shall at length be climates where wine is a rarity intem-rewarded by her in the time of her perance abounds. A newly liberated beauty and her glory! people may be compared to a northern There is only one cure for the evils army encamped on the Rhine or the which newly acquired freedom proXeres. It is said that, when soldiers duces; and that cure is freedom. When in such a situation first find themselves a prisoner first leaves his cell he cannot able to indulge without restraint in bear the light of day he is unable to such a rare and expensive luxury, no- discriminate colours, or recognise faces. thing is to be seen but intoxication. But the remedy is, not to remand him Soon, however, plenty teaches discre-into his dungeon, but to accustom him tion; and, after wine has been for a to the rays of the sun. The blaze of few months their daily fare, they be- truth and liberty may at first dazzle come more temperate than they had and bewilder nations which have ever been in their own country. In the become half blind in the house of same manner, the final and permanent bondage. But let them gaze on, and fruits of liberty are wisdom, modera- they will soon be able to bear it. In tion, and mercy. Its immediate effects a few years men learn to reason. The are often atrocious crimes, conflicting extreme violence of opinions subsides. errors, scepticism on points the most Hostile theories correct each other. clear, dogmatism on points the most The scattered elements of truth cease mysterious. It is just at this crisis that to contend, and begin to coalesce. its enemies love to exhibit it. They And at length a system of justice and pull down the scaffolding from the half-order is educed out of the chaos. finished edifice: they point to the flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless rooms, the frightful irregularity of the whole appearance; and then ask in scorn where the promised splendour and comfort is to be found. If such miserable sophisms were to prevail, there would never be a good house or a good government in the world.

Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a selfevident proposition, that no people ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story who resolved not to go into the water till he had learnt to swim. If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and

and sword from one part of the empire
to another, who hanged, drew, and
quartered his adherents, and attainted
his innocent heir, were his nephew and
his two daughters. When we reflect
on all these things, we are at a loss to
conceive how the same persons who, on
the fifth of November, thank God for
wonderfully conducting his servant
William, and for making all opposition
fall before him until he became our
King and Governor, can,
on the
thirtieth of January, contrive to be
afraid that the blood of the Royal
Martyr may be visited on themselves
and their children.

66

good in slavery, they may indeed wait | turned him out of it, who broke in for ever. upon his very slumbers by imperious Therefore it is that we decidedly messages, who pursued him with fire approve of the conduct of Milton and the other wise and good men who, in spite of much that was ridiculous and hateful in the conduct of their associates, stood firmly by the cause of Public Liberty. We are not aware that the poet has been charged with personal participation in any of the blameable excesses of that time. The favourite topic of his enemies is the line of conduct which he pursued with regard to the execution of the King. Of that celebrated proceeding we by no means approve. Still we must say, in justice to the many eminent persons who concurred in it, and in justice more particularly to the eminent person who defended it, that nothing can be more absurd than the imputations which, for the last hundred and sixty years, it has been the fashion to cast upon the Regicides. We have, throughout, abstained from appealing to first principles. We will not appeal to them now. We recur again to the parallel case of the Revolution. What essential distinction can be drawn between the execution of the father and the deposition of the son? What constitutional maxim is there which applies to the former and not to the latter? The King can do no wrong. If so, James was as innocent as Charles could have been. The minister only ought to be responsible for the acts of the Sovereign. If so, why not impeach Jefferies and retain James? The person of a King is sacred. Was the person of James considered sacred at the Boyne? To discharge cannon against an army in which a King is known to be posted is to approach pretty near to regicide. Charles, too, it should always be remembered, was put to death by men who had been exasperated by the hostilities of several years, and who had never been bound to him by any other tie than that which was common to them with all their fellow-citizens. Those who drove James from his throne, who seduced his army, who alienated his friends, who first imprisoned him in his palace, and then

We disapprove, we repeat, of the execution of Charles; not because the constitution exempts the King from responsibility, for we know that all such maxims, however excellent, have their exceptions; nor because we feel any peculiar interest in his character, for we think that his sentence describes him with perfect justice as a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public enemy;" but because we are convinced that the measure was most injurious to the cause of freedom. He whom it removed was a captive and a hostage: his heir, to whom the allegiance of every Royalist was instantly transferred, was at large. The Presbyterians could never have been perfectly reconciled to the father: they had no such rooted enmity to the son. The great body of the people, also, contemplated that proceeding with feelings which, however unreasonable, no government could safely venture to outrage.

But though we think the conduct of the Regicides blameable, that of Milton appears to us in a very different light. The deed was done. It could not be undone. The evil was incurred; and the object was to render it as small as possible. We censure the chiefs of the army for not yielding to the popular opinion; but we cannot censure Milton for wishing to change that opinion. The very feeling which would have restrained us from committing the act would have led us, after it had been

committed, to defend it against the | which had at that time been known in ravings of servility and superstition. the world. He reformed the represenFor the sake of public liberty, we wish tative system in a manner which has that the thing had not been done, while extorted praise even from Lord Clathe people disapproved of it. But, for rendon. For himself he demanded the sake of public liberty, we should indeed the first place in the commonalso have wished the people to approve wealth; but with powers scarcely so of it when it was done. If any thing great as those of a Dutch stadtholder, more were wanting to the justification or an American president. He gave of Milton, the book of Salmasius would the parliament a voice in the appointfurnish it. That miserable perform- ment of ministers, and left to it the ance is now with justice considered whole legislative authority, not even only as a beacon to word-catchers, who reserving to himself a veto on its enactwish to become statesmen. The cele- ments; and he did not require that the brity of the man who refuted it, the chief magistracy should be hereditary “Æneæ magni dextra," gives it all its in his family. Thus far, we think, if fame with the present generation. In the circumstances of the time and the that age the state of things was dif- opportunities which he had of aggranferent. It was not then fully under-dising himself be fairly considered, he stood how vast an interval separates the will not lose by comparison with Washmere classical scholar from the political philosopher. Nor can it be doubted that a treatise which, bearing the name of so eminent a critic, attacked the fundamental principles of all free governments, must, if suffered to remain unanswered, have produced a most pernicious effect on the public mind.

We wish to add a few words relative to another subject, on which the enemies of Milton delight to dwell, his conduct during the administration of the Protector. That an enthusiastic votary of liberty should accept office under a military usurper seems, no doubt, at first sight, extraordinary. But all the circumstances in which the country was then placed were extraordinary. The ambition of Oliver was of no vulgar kind. He never seems to have coveted despotic power. He at first fought sincerely and manfully for the Parliament, and never deserted it, till it had deserted its duty. If he dissolved it by force, it was not till he found that the few members who remained after so many deaths, secessions, and expulsions, were desirous to appropriate to themselves a power which they held only in trust, and to inflict upon England the curse of a Venetian oligarchy. But even when thus placed by violence at the head of affairs, he did not assume unlimited power. He gave the country a constitution far more perfect than any

ington or Bolivar. Had his moderation been met by corresponding moderation, there is no reason to think that he would have overstepped the line which he had traced for himself. But when he found that his parliaments questioned the authority under which they met, and that he was in danger of being deprived of the restricted power which was absolutely necessary to his personal safety, then, it must be acknowledged, he adopted a more arbitrary policy.

Yet, though we believe that the intentions of Cromwell were at first honest, though we believe that he was driven from the noble course which he had marked out for himself by the almost irresistible force of circumstances, though we admire, in common with all men of all parties, the ability and energy of his splendid administration, we are not pleading for arbitrary and lawless power, even in his hands. We know that a good constitution is infinitely better than the best despot. But we suspect, that at the time of which we speak, the violence of religious and political enmities rendered a stable and happy settlement next to impossible. The choice lay, not between Cromwell and liberty, but between Cromwell and the Stuarts. That Milton chose well, no man can doubt who fairly compares the events of the protectorate with those of the thirty years which succeeded it, the darkest

and the jests of buffoons, regulated the policy of the state. The government had just ability enough to deceive, and just religion enough to persecute. The principles of liberty were the scoff of every grinning courtier, and the Anathema Maranatha of every fawning dean. In every high place, worship was paid to Charles and James, Belial and Moloch; and England propitiated those obscene and cruel idols with the blood of her best and bravest children. Crime succeeded to crime, and disgrace to disgrace, till the race accursed of God and man was a second time driven forth, to wander on the face of the earth, and to be a by-word and a shaking of the head to the nations.

and most disgraceful in the English | pocketed, with complacent infamy, her annals. Cromwell was evidently lay-degrading insults, and her more deing, though in an irregular manner, the grading gold. The caresses of harlots, foundations of an admirable system. Never before had religious liberty and the freedom of discussion been enjoyed in a greater degree. Never had the national honour been better upheld abroad, or the seat of justice better filled at home. And it was rarely that any opposition which stopped short of open rebellion provoked the resentment of the liberal and magnanimous usurper. The institutions which he had established, as set down in the Instrument of Government, and the Humble Petition and Advice, were excellent. His practice, it is true, too often departed from the theory of these institutions. But, had he lived a few years longer, it is probable that his institutions would have survived him, and that his arbitrary practice would have died with him. His power had not been consecrated by ancient prejudices. It was upheld only by his great personal qualities. Little, therefore, was to be dreaded from a second protector, unless he were also a second Oliver Cromwell. The events which followed his decease are the most complete vindication of those who exerted themselves to uphold his authority. Fi's death dissolved the whole frame of society. The army rose against the parliament, the different corps of the army against each other. Sect raved against sect. Party plotted against party. The Presbyterians, in their eagerness to be revenged on the Independents, sacrificed their own liberty, and deserted all their old principles. Without casting one glance on the past, or requiring one stipulation for the future, they threw down their freedom at the feet of the most frivolous and heartless of tyrants.

Then came those days, never to be recalled without a blush, the days of servitude without loyalty and sensuality without love, of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices, the paradise of cold hearts and narrow minds, the golden age of the coward, the bigot, and the slave. The King cringed to his rival that he might trample on his people, sank into a viceroy of France, and

Most of the remarks which we have hitherto made on the public character of Milton, apply to him only as one of a large body. We shall proceed to notice some of the peculiarities which distinguished him from his contemporaries. And, for that purpose, it is necessary to take a short survey of the parties into which the political world was at that time divided. We must premise, that our observations are intended to apply only to those who adhered, from a sincere preference, to one or to the other side. In days of public commotion, every faction, like an Oriental army, is attended by a crowd of camp-followers, an useless and heartless rabble, who prowl round its line of march in the hope of picking up something under its protection, but desert it in the day of battle, and often join to exterminate it after a defeat. England, at the time of which we are treating, abounded with fickle and selfish politicians, who transferred their support to every government as it rose, who kissed the hand of the King in 1640, and spat in his face in 1649, who shouted with equal glee when Cromwell was inaugurated in Westminster Hall, and when he was dug up to be hanged at Tyburn, who dined on calves' heads, or stuck up oak-branches, as circumstances altered, without the slightest shame or repugnance. These

we leave out of the account. We take our estimate of parties from those who really deserve to be called partisans.

were mere external badges, like the signs of freemasonry, or the dresses of friars. We regret that these badges We would speak first of the Puritans, were not more attractive. We regret the most remarkable body of men, that a body to whose courage and perhaps, which the world has ever pro- talents mankind has owed inestimable duced. The odious and ridiculous obligations had not the lofty elegance parts of their character lie on the sur- which distinguished some of the adface. He that runs may read them; herents of Charles the First, or the easy nor have there been wanting attentive good-breeding for which the court of and malicious observers to point them Charles the Second was celebrated. But, out. For many years after the Res- if we must make our choice, we shall, toration, they were the theme of un-like Bassanio in the play, turn from the measured invective and derision. They specious caskets which contain only the were exposed to the utmost licentious- Death's head and the Fool's head, and ness of the press and of the stage, at the fix on the plain leaden chest which contime when the press and the stage were ceals the treasure. most licentious. They were not men The Puritans were men whose minds of letters; they were, as a body, un- had derived a peculiar character from popular; they could not defend them- the daily contemplation of superior selves; and the public would not take beings and eternal interests. Not them under its protection. They were content with acknowledging, in genetherefore abandoned, without reserve, ral terms, an overruling Providence, to the tender mercies of the satirists they habitually ascribed every event and dramatists. The ostentatious sim-to the will of the Great Being, for plicity of their dress, their sour aspect, whose power nothing was too vast, their nasal twang, their stiff posture, their long graces, their Hebrew names, the Scriptural phrases which they introduced on every occasion, their contempt of human learning, their detestation of polite amusements, were indeed fair game for the laughers. But it is not from the laughers alone that the philosophy of history is to be learnt. And he who approaches this subject should carefully guard against the influence of that potent ridicule which has already misled so many excellent writers.

"Ecco il fonte del riso, ed ecco il rio
Che mortali perigli in so contiene:
Hor qui tener a fren nostro desio,
Ed esser cauti molto a noi conviene."

for whose inspection nothing was too minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on his intolerable brightness, and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference between the greatest and the meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. They recog nised no title to superiority but his favour; and, confident of that favour, they despised all the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If they were unacquainted with the works

Those who roused the people to resistance, who directed their measures through a long series of eventful years, who formed, out of the most unpromising materials, the finest army that Europe had ever seen, who trampled down King, Church, and Aristocracy, of philosophers and poets, they were who, in the short intervals of domestic sedition and rebellion, made the name of England terrible to every nation on the face of the earth, were no vulgar fanatics. Most of their absurdities

deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splendid