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A genius universal as his theme,—
Astonishing as chaos; as the bloom

Of blowing Eden fair,- -as heaven sublime."

Iliad," Addison speaks of the characteristics of Homer, in his “ and of Virgil, in his " Eneid," and adds that Milton, in "Paradise Lost," combines the merits of the two classic poets. He even goes so far as to say that, if " Paradise Lost" falls short of the "Iliad" or Eneid," we must blame the English language, and not the poet. "So divine a poem in English," he continues, "is like a stately palace, built of brick, where one may see architecture in as great a perfection as in one of marble, though the materials are of a coarser nature." In his remarks upon the diversity of style possessed by Milton, Addison is very just, for the most fickle taste cannot fail to find passages of interest within "Paradise Lost." The grandeur of Homer is rivalled in the gloomy scenes of Pandemonium, or in the fierce wars in heaven. The beauty of Virgil is rivalled in the exquisite picture of Eden; and Ovid, in his fluty warblings of a country life, is rivalled in the Orient daybreaks, the gorgeous sunsets, the balmy zephyrs, and the perfumed groves of "Paradise Lost.' We, however, take exception to the latter remark of the great essayist, which sets such bounds to the capabilities of the English language; but if Addison is correct, we then congratulate ourselves on our inability to acquiesce, and still delight to think of the author of "Paradise Lost" as careering, like a royal bird, through the vast ethereal field, with buoyant wing and unabated strength, towards an ever-receding horizon. Granting that Addison is correct, what follows? We take from "Paradise Lost" one of its greatest merits-its inartificialness. There are many poems which never seem to have thrown off their scaffolding --this never needed scaffolding. There are many poems that are nothing more than inflated prose, savouring strongly of a rhyming dictionary, and which, if ever possessed of that most reasonable sine qua non, intelligibility, must have parted with it in the inflation. Is there, in "Paradise Lost," aught of this? Is there one indication, throughout the whole poem, that the full pith of a sentiment has been lost, or an idea smothered by reason of its being committed to such a vehicle as the English language? Not one that we have ever heard of-not even a hiatus. The stream of the poem runs smoothly, spontaneously, and unrestricted, recalling to us many forgotten beauties of our language, but never aught of its weakness or imperfections. It is one thing contentedly to revel in, and well nigh exhaust the resources of a language; it is quite another thing to sigh, like a second Alexander, for new excellencies of language which it does not possess.

We cannot find space to illustrate by quotation the infinitude of Milton's intimacy with his mother tongue. Where there is so Take but one much of excellence, it is difficult to select. the terrible"-as it occurs in Belial's example—an instance of " speech:

"What, if the breath that kindled those grim fires,
Awaked should blow them into sevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or, from above,
Should intermitted vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us! what if all
Her stores were opened, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps
Designing or exhorting glorious war,

Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurl'd,
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and play
Of wracking whirlwinds; or for ever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains,
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,

Ages of hopeless end! this would be worse."

In common with the many ornaments to English literature, "Paradise Lost" is an earnest of the abiding-place which our tongue will still possess throughout long ages, as a language comprehending the gathered treasures of its predecessors and contemporaries. Whatever may be the destiny of England, whether it may reach its bourne and follow into obscurity those departed nations whose zenith of greatness was not less splendid than ours is; whether the sceptre of supremacy among the nations is soon to be entrusted to another's keeping; of this we may confidently rest assured, that the fame of Great Britain will never die out so long as the rare beauties which its language possesses shall bespeak the character of its people. Had we but two volumes to leave behind us as heirlooms to posterity, these would be enough,—William Shakespeare's Plays, and John Milton's Poems. Shakespeare, who, of all men, came nearest to looking in at the little window of his neighbour's soul, and Milton, who transfixes his audience in admiring wonder while he sings his mournful songs. These were sufficient; for though at this moment the nation were reduced to a condition of inanition, yet, through these two great representatives -memorials more eloquent than pyramid or temple-England would receive that exalted place which she deserves in the esteem and admiration of the world. Edinburgh.

R. STEWART PATTERSON.

RULE FOR DISCUSSION.-Controversialists should always consider, in the case of questions which, by their very nature, are not yet ripe for a final decision, that their real purpose and true advantage does not lie in check-mating their opponent, but in calmly considering the possible moves and counter-moves, so as to judge beforehand on which side the victory is likely to incline. IMMANUEL HERMANN FICHTE.

The Reviewer.

Essays in History and Art. By R. H. PATTERSON, author of "The New Revolution; or, the Napoleonic Policy in Europe." London and Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons.

MR. R. H. PATTERSON for some time occupied the post of conductor of one of the high-class news-sheets, published in the Scottish metropolis, and held a distinguished place-as he yet does -among the contributors to the best Conservative magazine of the day-Blackwood. From the time when his critique of Alison's History of Europe," for its width of reading, and rapidity of production, startled the readers-we think, of "Fraser" till now, when he wields the bâton of the Press, and is the representative literary Conservative in London, his progress has been regularly upward. The papers from Blackwood and the Press, recently published under the title of "The New Revolution; or, the Napoleonic Policy in Europe," though written weekly as leaders, and monthly as magazine papers, were so continuous in thought and sustained in manner, as to require only a few connecting pages, and a simple revision, to constitute one of the most remarkable and readable books on modern politics. That work contained a masterly exposition (we had almost written, exposure) of the designs and tactics of Napoleon. It was full of cogent reasoning, singularly lucid explanations of the means, purposes, and results of imperial manœuvres, and almost prophetic deductions from past facts regarding future exigencies. The style was vigorous and idiomatic, and the far-seeing sagacity and sleuth-hound-like pertinacity of logic in tracking the political purposes of the Ulysses of the Tuileries, supplied it with nerve, eloquence, and invective, as well as argument. The work before us also consists of a series of re-published articles from various sources, pruned of so much of the original matter as was of an ephemeral nature, and in some measure re-cast, and thrown into a form more adapted for permanence, and instructive, because consecutive, perusal. It consists of fourteen articles altogether; and in all of them there may be found profitable reading and able writing-profound thought, and the issues of a mind of singularly prolific suggestiveness and breadth of culture-of a nature of excellent original material, well-culturea and trained. The subjects chosen are sufficiently various to afford pleasant change in reading, yet sufficiently akin to be comprised in the two categories holding their place in the title-page. The first essay dissertates through upwards of forty pages, on "Colour in Nature and Art," and occupies itself with remarks on the theories of Goethe, Field, Hay, &c.; Lord Jeffrey's exposition of Beauty;

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Ruskin's claims to rank as a reliable critic; and an abstract of, as well as a commentary on "Chevreul on Colour." The style of the discussion is poetical, yet exact, and so managed as to gratify men and delight women. The second essay, on "Real and Ideal Beauty," is a finely thoughtful notice of theories of beauty. It attempts to bring out a law of harmonics as regulative of all beauty, and to show how philosophy controlled art in the olden time by its scientific legislativeness, and that a true æsthetic is now requisite to overrule the mere empiricism of artists; and it strives to prove that association adds to the delight derivable from beauty, but does not constitute it. Essay third, on Sculpture, almost reads like a chip from "Laokoon,"-it is so critical, informing, and philosophic. The Ethnology of Europe is popularly expounded in a brief, telling manner in essay fourth; and a sort of intermezzo on Utopias" is given in essay fifth: but this subject, we think, has been defectively treated in extent and in allusiveness, although the composition is homogeneous and good. Essays six and thirteen, respectively entitled, "Our Indian Empire" and "India, its Castes and Creeds," are wonderful reproductions of book-knowledge, and singularly able expositions of their respective topics, and contain, in the 173 pages they occupy, an extraordinary amount of historical information, philosophical speculation, political discussion, moral hints, and religious suggestions, evidently at once the results of wide study and profound thought. The seventh essay, "On China," is also the quintessence of many books carefully read, clearly apprebended, completely understood, diligently compared, and then re-constructed into a finished and original whole, most meritorious in execution and admirable in conception. It enters more completely into the state of thought, feeling, being, culture, and the influences of politics on these, than any book we have ever read on the Melchisedec of nations. The perceptive capacity of the author is, in this disquisition, equalled only by the sympathetic criticism on the state and prospects of China, which is supplied throughout the article, especially those on China's adaptability for Christianization.

"An Ideal Art Congress" is a long sweep of reflections originated by a splendid painting by Paul Delaroche, -a minglement of criticism, history, politics, and observations on fine art, poetry, and the progress of man. "The Battle of the Styles" ought, we think, from its title, to have been a little mock-heroic. It is a very clever critique upon some of the many vulnerable dicta of Ruskin, and it is clearly reasoned, well expressed, and is evidently the result of decided art-opinions. "Genius and Liberty" is almost a prose poem. Read just these scraps :

"Yonder, the lively impressible Athenians are pouring at mid-day from the open portals of the theatre, with heart and soul still vibrating to the wonderful tragedies of Eschylus and Sophocles,—the earliest which the world ever saw, and still uneclipsed in their stern colossal grandeur. As the crowd spread themselves over the public square, they are arrested by the ever-welcome sight of a master

piece of Zeuxis. A picture of a boy and grapes is suspended there for public criticism. So admirable is the limner's skill,-thus runs the legend,-that the passing birds stoop to peck at the glowing fruit. But beside it hangs a rival effort of painting, and the citizens must decide to which the prize of merit is to be awarded. The crowd gaze curiously upon a drapery which seems to hide it from view. They wonder what loom could produce so soft a texture-colours of such glowing harmony. 'Withdraw now your curtain!' exclaims Zeuxis, proud of the tribute which the wanderers of the air have rendered to his genius, and no longer able to control his curiosity. Parrhasius, his rival, smiles triumphantly. 'Zeuxis deceives birds; I deceive Zeuxis!' That drapery was the picture! It is the heyday of painting.

"A crowd in the Agora! The varying robes bespeak the mingling of noble and artisan alike; and that assembly is swaying to and fro with tempestuous impulses-shouting for the supremacy of Athens, demanding the gauntlet of mortal combat to be flung in the teeth of all Greece, and longing, as with the fiery vehemence of youth, to add the sword of Mars to the clive-bough of presiding Athené. But lo! how that surging crowd is stilling! Mark how the clang of voices subsides! Pericles is mounting the rostrum. Beautiful in form, fiery and comprehensive in intellect-ever self-possessed, as if the calm of the passionless gods was in his breast-supreme in wielding the hearts of men to all lofty purposes in that hour of a people's frenzy,

And it fell.'

'He called across the tumult,

His audience said it thundered and lightened as they listened to that rolling, flashing eloquence. It is the triumph of oratory."

"Youth and Summer" is redolent of the poetry of life in its heyday, and the throb of the heart gives its rhythm to the composition. "The Records of the Past-Nineveh and Babylon," are papers of appreciative interest on the discoveries of Layard, and take us back, in thought, feeling, and sympathy, to the vast civilizations of the youthhood of history.

The last paper was written in April, and published in May, 1854. On the 3rd of the former month, Professor Wilson-the eccentric, versatile, discursive mass of manhood, known in literature as Christopher North-had died, and was placed in the last Black-wood -the coffin-and laid in the grave on the 7th, amid the mourning and lamentation of Edina. It fell to the writer of the "Essays in History and Art" to compose an 'In Memoriam" tribute to the memory of the most consummate improvisatore Scotland ever reckoned among her sons, for the pages of that magazine into which he had thrown the choice and precious things of a life's thought, and this is the paper he then wrote.

Of the various estimates of the Colossus of periodical literature, this was markedly the most moderate and the most subdued. Written, as it were, by the grave's edge, and with the vision of the dead, solemn figure of an instructor, collaborateur, and friend, before him, and with the very hush of the heart that comes on one who has heard the fall of the cold clod on the mortal remains of a revered one, it is, perhaps, less elastic and springy, less frank and forth-going, less sweeping and grand, less rich and glowing, than if