Volveret Eurydicem, vox ipsa et frigida lingua,

ful nightingale, in the description of Evening in the Garden.

Ah miseram Eurydicem! anima fugiente, vocabat;

"She all night long her amorous descant sung,"

:

We

Eurydicem toto referebant flumine ripæ." This idiotical note Mr Prendeville makes his own by adoption. shall never find fault with any thing in Virgil; and we know that there are moods of mind in which that fanciful passage may be read with that peculiar kind of pleasure which he intended it to produce. But for bringing it alongside, by way of parallel, with one of the sublimest in Milton, N, that is Noodle, and P, that is Prendeville, ought to be made

"Hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,

Through Eden take their solitary way." "Then feed on thoughts that voluntary

Integrat, et mæstis late loca quæstibus im* plet.'

- See Odyss. xix. 518."

Omitting the circumstance of the nightingale's lamentation for her lost brood, as being unsuited to him!! Why will not Mr Prendeville for a single moment make use of his ears, which appear to be long enough for all the ordinary purposes of life? Virgil's nightingale fills the night with her grief. If he is deaf, let him use his eyes, and look at the words "merens," "flet," " miserabile," " mœstis," and "quæstibus," and he will see that her heart, though breaking all night long, is never broken; whereas that other 1 nightingale is sublimely happy, tunes her nocturnal note, and sings in Paradise.

Mr Prendeville shows himself equally blind and deaf, indeed utterly senseless, in his short note about the wake

"That is," says Mr Prendeville, "showing affection, in allusion to her lamentation for her lost young!!!! - Virg, Georg. iv. 514."

Does he mean to say that a cat had got into the garden of Eden and devoured the young ones, and that "silence was pleased" with the "miserabile carmen" of the bereft mother?

Hear him on Milton's picture of Paradise.

"It is unnecessary to call attention to this famous description, which contains more than the condensed beauties of Homer's description of the gardens of Alcinous, and the grotto of Circe; of Virgil's descriptions; of Ariosto's picture of the garden of Paradise; Tasso's garden of Armida; and Marino's garden of Venus; also Spenser's descriptions. Faëry Queen, II. XII. 42; VỊ. X. 6; Dante, Purg. XXVIII. (See N., Th., H., T.)"

Here we have the concentrated essence of the folly of four commentators, produced by the "chemist's magic art," which, at the same time, has "crystallized the sacred treasure." The moment we come in sight of Paradise, this nether world loses its existence; and creation is confined within those bounds of bliss. Milton was then inspired as no poet had ever been before, and he poured forth his own poetry, unconscious of any other, embodied in words. These five blockheads believe that he was all the while laboriously occupied in "condensing beauties;" that is, in robbing Homer, Virgil, Ariosto, Tasso, Marino, Spenser, and Dante. Not a mother's son of them did Milton remember. How could he? The oldest of them was not born for Heaven knows how many thousand years after! Circe! Armida! Venus! Faugh! faugh! faugh! Hence! avaunt! 'Tis holy ground!

But let us smooth our ruffled temper by a bit of Bishop Newton. The Bishop, conceiving that Milton has not painted the Mount of Paradise with sufficient distinctness-a defect, perhaps, naturally incident to poetry - thinks it expedient to assist our imagination of the scene by a prose sketch, traced by a firmer and a heavier hand. Poetry is a very fine thing, no doubt, but for common use, for wear and tear, commend us to prose-good, plain, thick, stout homespun, linsey-woolsey prose equally well adapted for a petticoat or a wraprascal.

"The Mount of Paradise was situated in a champaign country, on the top of a steep hill, whose sides were overgrown with impassable thickets at the foot, and,

above them, with stately trees, rising row above row, like seats in an amphitheatre hence forming a kind of natural theatre; and above these was the wall of Paradise, like a bank set with a green hedge, which was low enough for Adam to look over it downwards on Eden; and above this hedge grew a row of the finest fruit-trees; and the only entrance was by a gate on the eastern side.- (N.)"

"And oft be warn'd

of all, let us quote the line fairlythat is entirely.

"Discite justitiam, moniti et non temnere divos."

By leaving out "discite," Mr Prendeville has it all his own way, like a bull in a china shop. By reinstating "discite," Mr Prendeville is shown by that imperative dactyl out of the door. Will Mr Prendeville please to observe the cæsural pause is upon the last syllable of " justitiam," showing that Virgil intended that word to be connected in thought with "discite," and not with "moniti." Had he intended "justitiam" to be connected with "moniti," he would have constructed the line so as to have had the cæsural pause upon " moniti," instead of having the final "i" elided, as at present. The elision of "i" shows that "moniti" is not emphatically connected with "justitiam."

times," &c.-B. iii. I. 160.

This is a classical syntax of a very unusual kind. It is a principle laid down by the Latin grammarians, that a verb governing in the active voice two cases, one being in the accusative, governs still the accusative in the passive; accordingly state' must be the accusative or objective case after 'warn'd.' The conjunetion copulative and,' in place of coupling, according to its strict use and meaning, a like case, mood, or tense, couples sometimes an accusative case, with an infinitive mood; 'state' and 'to appease,' both depending on warned.' The following passage will be a sufficient classical authority, Æn. vi. 620.

'Justitiam moniti, et non temnere divos.'

"But, strictly speaking, and utterly abandoning the subtleties of the grammarians, I may say that the accusative case, as in Greek, is governed by a preposition understood, (secundum, κατα,) as such phrases are ellip

tical."

We have no great idea of Mr Prendeville's scholarship; but all this is sufficiently pompous, pedantic, and true; and must be familiar to every schoolboy sitting above the middle of the third form. But we cannot go along with Mr Prendeville's reading of the celebrated line in Virgil. First

"discite" looks somewhat absurd, standing upon three feet, and ejaculating what no sinner can comprehend. By the way, Gibbon, we believe, in his animadversions on Warburton's Dissertation on the Sixth Book of the Æneid, ridicules the admonition of Phlegyas, as if it were intended for his fellow-sufferers in the infernal regions, to whom it could be of no avail. But it is addressed to his fellow-mortals still in the upper regions, and whom the poet makes him thus address with a loud voice, "per umbras," for their good. "Ye sons of men, learn justice, being warned also" (that is, "and be warned" by our punishment) "not to despise the gods." Mankind were supposed to be already aware of their several crimes and punishments. Phlegyas had been slain by Apollo for plundering and setting fire to the temple at Delphi, and consigned to punishment commensurate with the enormity of his crime. He, miserrimus, is well entitled to call upon all to take warning by his fate. The line looks like a translation from some Greek poet, and has in it something of Pindaric grandeur.

But Mr P. is no Grecian. He speaks of the expression " ες αει κτημα,” as having been used by Herodotus. Let him say “ κτημα ες αει," Thucydides and then he will be right.

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Though all admire Paradise Lost as the greatest poem in our language,

- or of modern ages," says Mr Prendeville," while most of the eminent literati contend for its supremacy over any poem in any language or age, though it is a work now more generally read and esteemed than any other poetic work ever published; yet it is a fact to be regretted that com- paratively but a few fully understand it."

We hope this is a mistake. As far as our own experience goes, we do not believe that one, ordinary reader - of poetry in a hundred has once read through Paradise Lost. We believe that its frequent perusal is confined to = readers of high imaginative and in⚫tellectual character. Supposing, how:ever, that Mr Prendeville is in the right, then it certainly is a fact to be - regretted, that by so few of the multitudes by whom it is esteemed should it be understood. This general ig- norance results, Mr Prendeville informs us, from the character of the poem, and of the commentaries upon : it. "Such an abundance of profound erudition, and of all the embellish-ments of poetry has been condensed in it, that even a sound scholar, unaided, should expend in acquiring a ✓ correct knowledge of it the labour of years; while the good editions are so voluminous and expensive, that many who could afford to purchase them would not undergo the labour of their perusal, and many who would undergo it could not well afford to purchase them." To remove this general ignorance of a work now more generally read and esteemed than any other poetic work ever published, is the avowed object of our Christian and philanthropical editor. "I conceived - long since," says he, "the idea of giving an edition of this poem, embodying often the words, and sometimes the essence, of whatever I could find practically instructive in all the previous editions and commentaries; together with the subsidiary remarks that I had been compiling during a careful examination of the book for many years. Thus by omitting what is really useless in these editions, and supplying what was necessary, furnishing to the learned and unlearned in Europe, in a single and cheap volume, a complete and easily understood commentary."

'

To all this he promises to add ex

planations of many difficult passages overlooked or misunderstood by his predecessors, and among these, some of the most difficult as to syntactical structure. Explanations, moreover, of many of Milton's most idiomatic and classical phrases and expressions, and new illustrations from the best ancient authors. "In fine," quoth he, "I have taken pains to make this edition perfect for all classes of readers, and by reducing it to one volume, to save them labour and expense.' By this perfect edition, Mr Prendeville hopes greatly to benefit the cause of classical literature and Christian faith. Boys at school, and students at the universities, get disgusted with the classics on account of phrases, combination of words, uses of metaphor, illustration, and comparison, turns of thought, and modes of allusion inconsistent with the common rules and principles of English composition. But clap this edition of Paradise Lost into their hands, and they will have an English poem in which all the peculiarities of the style and sentiments of the classics will be made familiar and alluring. Homer and Virgil will thus be understood and enjoyed, and the cause of classical and polite literature advanced in our high schools and colleges. Some years ago, Mr Prendeville had the boldness to propound this doctrine in a note in the third book of the first volume of his edition of Livy, and it has now, he tells us, become universal. But it is not alone as a subsidium to classical instruction that this book is useful, it is preeminently useful for an easy, a pleasing, and complete acquisition of a knowledge of all the great elementary truths and facts of the Bible. We are informed that all Milton's most eminent critics, no matter the complexion of their creed, declare that he is always perfectly orthodox. Hitherto we had imagined that many of his most eminent critics had declared that he is often extremely heterodox; but Mr Prendeville has set all our doubts at rest, by telling us that a learned German has assured him that Paradise Lost is read in German families, not alone as the sublimest of all poems, but as one of the most religious of all books. " It is in truth," he adds, "a synopsis of all the elegances of ancient literature; and indispensable to the study of the Iliad the Eneid, and the Bible." The Preface is followed by a Memoir of Milton's Life. In it Mr Prendeville tells us he has compressed whatever he could find of interest or advantage to the reader in the numerous biographies, from the Sketches of his Nephew to the elaborate Life by Symmons; and that he has endeavoured to combine, with the chief incidents of his life, a correct exposition of his views, principles, and feelings. For that purpose, he has very properly quoted a good many passages from his prose works. "These quotations," says Mr Prendeville, "I have adopted from the best accredited translations, (for most of the passages are taken from his Latin prose works,) although these translations I think objectionable in point of style and fidelity." They are so indeed; and pray, what is the use of an editor if he have not the sense and spirit to give good translations? Mr Prendeville tells us that he has been engaged on this edition of Milton for many years: and yet he foists upon the rising generation translations, which he thinks objectionable in point of style and fidelity, of some of the most interesting passages, in which Milton has spoken of himself, his cha racter, and his condition. For such stupid laziness Mr Prendeville de serves to be soundly whipped. But we are in a good humour, and there fore content ourselves with remarking, that his own version of the character and vindication of Cromwell, in which he says he has preserved, as far as possible, the character and spirit of the original, while at the same time it is more correct than any former one, is immeasurably inferior to Wrangham's in Symmons' Life Thus he translates - " Tu igitur, Cromuelle, magnitudine illa animi macte esto." "Success, then, O Crom well, in that greatness of soul."-" Reverere de te spem patricæ unicam," he calls "Revere the main hope which your country entertains of you." "Quæ si tam cito quasi aborta evanuerit," he translates, "Which if it per ish abortively so soon." Besides such weaknesses, inaccuracies, and vulgarities as these, we could quote a dozen from this much vaunted version. Yet it

is not without merit. He deserves praise for his manifest efforts to be literal; and his failure proceeds less from an

imperfect knowledge of the Latin, than from his circumscribed command of the English tongue. The Memoir is very poorly written indeed, and cannot be read with patience after the animated and accurate works, all published within these very few years, of Mitford, Bell, and Brydges. As to

a

"correct exposition of the views, principles, and feelings" of John Milton, Mr Prendeville must be satisfied, on a moment's reflection, that he has given none at all. His political principles he is afraid either to praise or blame, and speaks of them mawkishly thus:-" It is vulgarly imagined that his republicanism tended to inculcate a system of general equality. Nothing can be more erroneous. He has left living records in his writings that he contemplated no such absurdity. No: he only wished for constitutional freedom such as we now enjoy; and, had he lived in these times, he would have been a bold defender of our limited monarchy, if not of our now more tolerant Church. He opposed the hierarchy and monarchy of his time, because he conceived both hostile to civil and religious liberty. It was against their abuse of power he contended: and it cannot be denied that there were abuses. If he advocated the abolition of those institutions, it was because he did not imagine they could be brought under control through the independence of Parliament. However, hear himself. At the opening of his Areopagitica, he says, when complaints are freely heard, deeply considered, and speedily reformed, there is the utmost bound of civil liberty that wise men look for.' There is nothing extravagant in this, Whig and Tory say the same. This liberty we now enjoy; but his contemporaries did not. So he also says in Paradise Lost:

--'for orders and degrees jar not With liberty, but well consist',

Indeed the subject and scope of Paradise Lost present a moral, that revolt against a just monarch is an act of high guilt, and that nothing but high misdemeanour on the part of the sovereign ruler could warrant it."

Pappy stuff, indeed! But has Mr Prendeville read Milton's political writings? We suspect not. He says of the " Defensio pro populo Angli

cano," that it was every where read and admired for the great learning, genius, logical reasoning, and eloence it showed. Yes, we know that all Europe rang with it from side to side; but we again ask, has Mr Prendeville himself read it up to this day? A first-rate writer in the last Number of the Quarterly Review says justly, "Never, perhaps, was a great cause more unworthily pleaded, than in the Arraignment and Defence of the People of England for the Execution of Charles the First.' Milton could not write for a long time without flashes of his nobility of thought and language; but in general his victory over his antagonist Salmasius is obtained solely by his more perfect command of Latin Billingsgate. The controversy is more like that of two schoolmasters quarrelling about points of grammar and expression, and lashing each other into the coarsest personalities, than the advocates of two great conflicting principles debating a solemn question before astonished Europe." Mr Prendeville, of course, believes that the mortification Salmasius felt at his overthrow accelerated his death. If he had looked into Ro bert Bell's excellent Life of Milton, in the Cabinet Cyclopædia, he would have learned that there is no ground for supposing that it had the least effect even upon his spirits; and that his posthumous answer is as strongly marked with exultation as his original treatise was with confidence. He

could have had no fear that the glory of a long life was to be extinguished by a single blow; and though Milton unquestionably was the more powerful controversialist, Salmasius was justly proud of his own matchless erudition; and if, shortly before his decease, he met with contumely from any quarter, he no doubt treated it with scorn.

Mr Prendeville afterwards says, when speaking of Milton's life and condition after the Restoration-"He was not directly involved in the murder of the late King; he never took arms against him; never by speech or writing recommended his execution." How does he know that? Can he be ignorant, that though Milton's justification of Charles' execution was not published till after the King's death, much of it was written in anticipation

of that atrocious crime? Does Mr Prendeville deny that Milton was a regicide? But in all matters, great and small alike, where it was possible to be inaccurate or erroneous, Mr Prendeville is so. As, for example, he pronounces the well-established fact, that Milton had incurred severe academical censure, a pure fiction. He speaks, in a note, of Milton's "intimacy with Galileo," whereas it seems certain that they met but once. He twice mentions that Dryden was a "constant visitor" of his, which nobody can believe. He tells us indirectly that Milton's first wife died in childbed in 1652; but he will not tell us when the poet married his secondabsurdly saying, that it was after a proper interval. It was, we believe, in 1655. And he did right to marry again, having been for three years stone-blind, with three infant daughters. Neither will Mr Prendeville give us the date of Milton's third marriage. After his pardon, at the close of 1660, "he removed into Jewin Street, where his infirm state of health requiring some better attention than that of servants, he married, by the advice of his friend Dr Paget, Elizabeth Minshull, of a respectable family in Cheshire, and relation of that gentleman." Mr Prendeville then says, "He soon left Jewin Street, and removed to a small house in the Artillery Walk, leading to Bunhillfields, where he continued till his death." "In 1661, he published his Accidence Commence Grammar, and a Tract of Sir Walter Raleigh's, entitled "Aphorisms of State." Who would not suppose from this that Milton must have married Elizabeth Minshull immediately after his pardon ? But he did not do so before 1664. He says that Milton's youngest daughter, Deborah, was his amanuensis for Paradise Lost. It was finished, we know, in the summer of 1665, and few will believe it possible that it could have been written in less than five or six years. Suppose the first words, " Of man's first disobedience," were put on paper on the 1st of January, 1660, Deborah at that time was seven years and a half old, rather too tender an age to be called out of bed in the middle of the night, and employed as an amanuensis. Mr Prendeville says, "Milton had, no doubt, been preparing

a