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soul with high and pure moral feelings, as it is to infuse intellectual vigour into the mind. You will have seen, from the quotations already made, how lofty were Milton's own views of purity and honour. It is, however, not merely by the opinion's expressed in his poetry, but more especially by the soul and energy with which they are imbuded, that I would speak of their adaptation to moral usefulness. One characteristic of his poetry that I might have dilated upon is, its being instinct with vital energy in every part thereof. Each poem, and almost each line, bears the image and superscription of the author's pure and lofty mind. It has been truthfully remarked, that the holy and intrepid angel, Abdiel, is just John Milton transferred to heaven. After recording his fine, spirited, and noble protest against the suggestions and foul blasphemies of the rebellious archangel, Milton thus speaks of him; and here, especially comes out the spirit of the man

So spake the seraph Abdiel, faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he;
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
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 passed,
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 towers to swift destruction doom'd. Professor Wilson has remarked, with much truth and discrimination, that through the sublime pages of Paradise Lost, there is a voice ringing, which in effect says—“Cleave, O child of dust and heir of immortality, cleave and cling inwardly, by thy love,--by thine obedience, outwardly,to the All-wise and All-righteous Will, which has called the worlds and their inhabitants into being, and has imposed upon the worlds, and upon those which inhabit them, its beautiful and upholding laws! O cleave, and

immovably cling to that holy and gracious Will, which the angels forsook and fell; which Man deserted and he fell; which the Son of Man fulfilled, and he lifted up fallen and lost, but now restored, Man, to the peace of God upon this earth, and to the bosom of God in heaven. Thus explicitly worded is the admonishment, grave and high, which continually peals amidst the majestic and profound harmonies of this consecrated poem ---the admonishment the most loudly, the most distinctly heard."

The last advantage resulting to a susceptible mind from the study of the poetry of Milton, that I shall now mention, is, the promotion of an admiration for, and cultivation of, intelligent and manly piety. There are those, my dear young friends, who profess to soar so high, and become so great, as to look down with a kind of supercilious contempt on the man of piety and prayer. They scorn his humility--they laugh at his devotion. I wish you, my young friends, to be prepared for calmly and meekly bearing the ignorant, and silly, and conceited, scorn of these deluded men. I wish you to have lofty and worthy notions of religion. I wish you to understand that it raises, to the highest dignity, of which man is capable, its intelligent votary. All Christians, it is true, are not mental giants, and it is equally true that all mental giants have not been infidels. Those mysteriously awful beings, of whom Milton says so much, “believe and tremble.” And the Bible brands the brow of the Atheist with “fool.” The greatest and loftiest of the sons of men have bowed with the lowliest reverence before the cross of Jesus. As you, my dear young friends, prostrate yourselves there, you will have, as your companions, many little children, with closed hands and lisping tongues, saying ,

“ Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,

Look upon a little child,
Pity my simplicity,

Suffer me to come to Thee."
By their side you will find kneeling the most large-hearted

philanthropists that ever lived, such as Howard, Wilberforce, and Wesley. And there, too, with humble and prostrate, yet glowing and seraphic, minds, you will find the most mentally gifted of our race, Paul, Newton, Pascal, and Milton. I know no other writings that are calculated to excite more of salutary influence, on susceptible minds, than those of John Milton. With a most glowing and sublimely inspired poem, which I hope you will commit to memory, as Uncle Joseph has done, I shall close what I have to write on the poetry of Milton. Lines equal to these with which I close this letter I never remember seeing until I saw them. You will see that they were composed by the blind bard, when he was aged, poor, and despised. But 0, his sublime consolations May they become mine and yours !

LINES Lately discovered among the papers of MILTON, and published

as his composition, in the recent Oxford Edition of his works.

I am old and blind !
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown,
Afflicted and deserted of my mind,

Yet I am not cast down.

I am weak, yet strong;
I murmur not that I no longer see;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,

Father Supreme! to Thee.

O merciful One!
When men are farthest, then Thou art most near;
When friends pass by, my weakness shun,

Thy chariot I hear.

Thy glorious face
Is leaning towards me, and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place,

And there is no more night.

On my bended knee
I recognise Thy purpose clearly shown;
My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may see

Thyself; Thyself alone.

I have nought to fear;
This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing;
Beneath it I am alnost sacred; here

Can come no evil thing.

O, I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been,
Wrapped in the radiance of Thy sinless hand,

Which eye hath never seen.

Visions come and go;
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow

Of soft and holy song.

It is nothing now
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
When airs from paradise refresh my brow,

The earth in darkness lies.

In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture; waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit; streams sublime

Break over me unsought.

Give me now my lyre!
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine,
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,

Lit by no skill of mine.

Leaving, with admiring regret, the subject of the Poetry of Milton, and hoping to have something to say next month on his “Prose Works,”

I am yours, very truly,





A correspondent of The Galveston News gives an account of a desperate fight between Mr. Absolem Williams, who is about seventy years of age, his wife, and an enormous tiger, which occurred about the 1st of December last. While Mr. and Mrs. Williams, were sitting in their house, the rest of the family being absent, they were startled by a strange noise in the yard. Mr. Williams, on going out, discovered his dog engaged with a tiger. He seized an ox-yoke and aimed a blow at the beast, but missing it, struck his dog, which immediately retreated. In an instant the tiger sprang upon Mr. Williams, and seized him by the hand. The old gentleman, finding himself in the powerful grasp of the wild animal, courageously determined to give it the best “rough and tumble fight” in his power, and having no weapon within reach, he seized the tiger by the throat with the other hand, and throwing his whole strength forward, bore the animal to the ground, both falling side by side. At this time Mrs. Williams came to the rescue, with a gun, which she snapped at the tiger, but there being no priming in the pan, it would not go off. Mr. Williams then, with one arm round the tiger's body, and grasping its throat with his other hand, by an effort, disengaged himself. The tiger, discovering a new adversary in the person of Mrs. Williams, jumped at her, and attempted to grasp her head within its jaws, while it struck and lacerated her breast with its fore paws. She tried to avoid the monster, but was felled to the ground. The tiger made another grasp at her head, his upper teeth penetrating the skin at the top of the skull and sliding along the bone, peeled off the skin till they met the lower teeth, which penetrated on the right side of her face. In the meantime Mr. Williams had seized the ox-yoke again, and, giving the tiger a tremendous blow, caused it to leave Mrs. Williams, when it leaped into the house and got under the bed. The door was immediately closed, and the monster secured. Mr. Williams was exhausted from the effects of his wounds,

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