It appears from the most authentic accounts that Milton conceived the idea of establishing his fame by writing an epic poem, and for the accomplishment of his great purpose he travelled to various parts of the Continent, learned many languages, and laboriously culled the beauties of each, gave himself up for years to study, explored the vast fields of English, Roman, and Grecian literature; added to which, a devout observation of nature in her most magnificent aspects. Ultimately we find him devoted to his great work for years in solitude and unbroken thought. These were his circumstances. We know not that they could have been more favourable. His blindness, on the whole, advanced his purpose, for the great probability is that, had it not been for that affliction, he would have been so engaged in public life and political warfare that he would have never found time sufficient for his elaborate design.

In the circumstances which attended Shakspere we find essentially the reverse of all this. "Alas! (says one who apprehended the poet's circumstances and mighty genius) Shakspere had to write for the Globe playhouse: his great soul had to crush itself, as it could, into that and no other mould." So lucid a passage, in contrast with our condensed view of Milton's circumstances, needs little comment. What does not rise out of it, suggestive of the greatness of that genius which, under such" cramping circumstances," emits through dramatic forms those "bursts of radiance," "that come upon you like splendour out of heaven?" Truly of Shakspere we may say, disjecta membra are all that we find of him in literature; yet what fragments! of themselves worlds; heights, depths, of thought and beauty, that stand forth to our view like suns in the glowing concave of the empyrean!

Let the reader now reflect on H. B.'s deduction from all this circumstantial evidence, viz., that because Milton and Shakspere wrote under the above-mentioned indisputable circumstances, every impartial judge, though convinced of Shakspere's poetic superiority, ought not to admit it! If this is not the height of absurdity and un-reason, we know not what is.

Thus have we but briefly commented on

subject to which he has devoted only five columns of his article, leaving scarcely three to the actual point, on which, as the reader might expect, we have little to say, from its consequent brevity and unavoidable superficiality. H. B.'s definition of poetry is true, as far as it goes; but it is only half truth, and hence error. "The object of poetry is simply to afford pleasure, and not instruction." Is he not aware that he denies the primary principle on which Milton's poetic fame stands, to which he gives the most marked prominence in the opening of his first book:

"That to the height of this great argument I may assert Eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to man." If H. B.'s definition of poetry be correct, the fame of Milton is a myth, because based on a wrong principle. This we deny in toto. Milton's object was more to instruct than to please; and so far he apprehended the voca tion of poesy, and made practical use of it in "Paradise Lost." Horace teaches us that the object of poets is twofold:

"Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare, poeta."

This palpable defect in H. B.'s estimate of poetry, particularly Milton's, we might, indeed, have used as a mighty weapon of attack taken from his own resources. With his definition of poetry, he claims for Milton poetic superiority to Shakspere. We never yet met with a person who reduced the terrible magnificence of "Paradise Lost" to so mean a standard as to say, after perusing any part of it, "It has a very pleasing effect on the mind." Surely H. B. read it to very little service, by way of self-illumination, if such was the result of his perusal. Rob Milton of this resource, and he is no longer to be considered worthy of even comparison with the world's poet. Reduce "Paradise Lost" to H. B.'s standard, and it is no longer poetry. We are amazed to find Milton suffering such sacrilege at his professed friend's hands!

In the cases of our other opponents, we are happy to say that a milder treatment is required, and one, if space permitted, characterized with acknowledgments of merit and real literary insight. We admire sound thought and fair play; it exerts a healthy influence over the mind of every candid

reader. This we find in B. W. P.'s article for November. He opens with many remarks on criticism, and the true or false spirit of criticism, with which we perfectly agree; and displays throughout considerable tact and insight in the conduct of his defence of Milton. From the very conditions of our debate, on either side of the question we are set in comparative opposition to one of these master-spirits, an opposition altogether foreign and alien to our feelings. Though we assign the poetic superiority to Shakspere, Milton is not depreciated in our estimation. He is dear to us beyond all utterance. He has infused into us much that is priceless and soul-precious,-much, we oftimes think, that immortality itself may purify, but never obliterate. The reading of the former part of B. W. P.'s article called to mind this thought, and brought home yet again our sympathies with the great epicist with greater enthusiasm. That B. W. P. should devote so much of his space to this point we think not strictly right, considering his position; yet we cannot but exult under its happy influence, and exculpate him on that score. He proposes the question with admirable tact, we need scarcely say in palpable contradiction of H. B.'s definition of poetry. He moves on the broad principle that both Milton and Shakspere were the benefactors of humanity. How? By being its best teachers. But here ends our harmony of thought. B. W. P. considers Milton the greater benefactor of the two.

As our reply must be brief, we will thus embody our objections:-First. The sphere of Milton's epic is too far removed from human experience. Secondly. His personages, or characters, have too much of the supernaturalism of evil or good spirits, or illustrate abstract qualities, rather than appear to the mind as free, isolated, rational, and intelligent members of the divine government. In fact, they appear rather subservient to a given scheme, than the direct objects of the scheme itself. In the Shaksperian drama we find the poet, as teacher, labouring under no such serious disadvantages. The sphere of his action lies within the circle of human experience. His personages are from our very midst; and when he passes beyond human limits into the supernatural, he fails of his object by so much. We see embodied in his characters our own

virtues or vices. If we are wise, we learn to cultivate the former and abhor the latter. We have a personal interest in all he brings before us. In this respect the dramatic will ever be superior to the epic. Notwithstanding all this, Shakspere avails himself of the illustration of the divine attributes-justice, mercy, and goodness-in the furtherance of man's moral excellence. These are the grounds of our objection to B. W. P.'s position, and which we should further illustrate, did our space permit.

In conclusion, we shall briefly review the articles signed "L'Ouvrier” and “Þλaλŋ0ŋç.” In the former of these we have a sad confounding of the two subjects, moral character and poetic power. This characterizes the entire production, and is a grand defect; for it seems to have had great weight in his decision. Let the reader expunge the question of morals from the article, and what remains but the bare assertion of Milton's superiority? There is an evident discrepancy between his definition of what "a divine poem" ought to be, and the one for which he claims the highest honours,-one which, as in H. B.'s, nullifies the claim altogether. The discrepancy is twofold:-First. "L'Ouvrier" affirms of this divine poem, "Its character must be varied and consistent." When our friend framed this model, he must have been conscious of what all criticism attests on the subject,-the inconsistency of one of Milton's characters, which is, doubtless, the greatest defect of the poem; we mean the character of Satan. Again, he adds:-" The sentiments must be varied and sublime, elevated and pure." Is not "L'Ouvrier" aware that the first book of "Paradise Lost" derives its grandeur from the oratory of fallen spirits, whose sentiments, however "varied and sublime," could not be "elevated and pure," since intensely indicative of fiercest hate towards the Highest? This idea, like his decision, we think sprang from the fatal error of confounding moral character and poetic power. Moral purity is not the standard of decision in this debate; it has nothing essentially to do with it. The question is not, Which was the best. man? but, Which the greatest poet? far from "L'Ouvrier" having proved Milton to be the greatest, he, like H. B., has nullified his claim by his own definition. The acme of his error stands forth in his con

So

cluding sentence, the deduction of which is truly illogical.

The same error characterizes the article of "pidaλnong," though in a less evident degree. He does not even attempt to show Milton the greater poet by actual contrast; but, after considerable rhapsody ("ah!" and "oh!") on Milton, he abruptly turns to our Shakspere, whom he thinks justly termed "divine," and, after agitating the moral question, concludes, because the Shaksperian drama is not so pure in some given instances as an epic which embodies the Bible revelations, its author cannot be the greater poet. Such sophistry is an anomaly, indeed, in the British Controversialist, the light of which it cannot bide.

It is folly, indeed, to subject an illogical deduction to the readers of, and debaters in, our magazine. “ Φιλαλήθης,” in concluding, really begins the inquiry:-"How, then, can we say that the one (Milton) is a greater

poet than the other? By careful examina tion?" The result, however, of this examination is too unsatisfactory and brief (being put in nineteen lines, by way of climax!) to convince any impartial reader. It assumes that in Milton we find imagination and beauty in the highest perfection. Unfortu nately, it is only an assumption, without the shadow of a proof, and as such requires not our time and space, as all assumptions, on the arena of debate, stand pro nihilo. Shakspere has given us the shadow of his sublime and unrivalled genius in his own immortal words:

"The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name."

Buckingham.

We have given precedence to Milton, because his poetry indicates a genius purer and more sublime than Shakspere's. We love not the invidious comparison of great men; too often one is exalted at the expense of truth, and envious detraction mars the fair reputation of the other. It has been our care studiously to avoid the abuse of our privilege in the present debate, and we hope to have realized the happy discretion to

"Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes Error a fault, and truth discourtesy."

We presume not to follow our Shaksperian friends in all the airy flights of their manywinged imagination. Prudence and reason restrain us from the pursuit of their erratic vagaries, and limit us to the regions of common sense, while calmly inquiring vis à vis with the topic of debate, What is Poetry? Philosophy? Genius ?

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E. W. S.

E. W. S. has quoted from Channing a definition of poetry (p. 300), in which he says it "has a natural alliance with our best affections. It delights in the beauty and sublimity of the outward creation, and of the soul, and it helps faith to lay hold on the future life." Cosmopolite says (p. 421) that poetry is "the blushing forth of transcendent truth and beauty." We will categorize these definitions thus: Poetry is the expression of truth, beauty, and sublimity in melodious language, so as to excite the best affections of man. Philoso phy is either the sum of general principles or knowledge attainable, or it is the system of rules by which those general principles, or that knowledge, is attained; thus we read of

"Divine philosophy! by whose pure light We first distinguish, then pursue the right; Thy power the breast from every error frees, And weeds out all its vices by degrees."

Genius is that faculty of the mind by which man produces original works of art, or makes new discoveries in science, or by which either science or art is advanced er

See Channing's "Essay on the Poetica! Genius of Milton," p. 16.