been so frequently drawn to its disparagement between that poem and Paradise Lost. The latter opened a wide and untrodden sphere, and to a mind that could soar beyond the clouds, and discourse of the vast intellects and angelic multitudes that inhabit the realms of space, presented a full and noble subject, to which there was no limit but the imagination of the poet. In Paradise Regained there was less scope for the creative powers. It is grand, it is lofty, it is full of rich poetry and fine pathos; but it wants the unbounded expanse, the massive chiaro scuro, the breadth and the character of Paradise Lost. It was no degradation of the lofty mind that conceived the one to pen the other, and if when placed together the one appear less masculine in feature, it is only by comparison; but who could compare the expressive dignity of the Apollo with the broad muscle and sinew of the Farnese Hercules ! The Paradise Regained has been damaged only by the connection in which it has been placed, until it is almost necessary to speak with an apology of a poem that has never been equalled by any but its author. That it should have found especial favour from Milton was natural from his fervour and zeal, and the labour and polish with which the work was wrought; but it was worthy both of that labour and that esteem, and will remain fresh and sublime as long as our language and literature, or even our common faith shall endure.

Cowley, Waller, Denham, &c., Milton's contemporaries, receive individually brief notices in the pages before us, which uniformly, however, convey a distinct conception of the merits of each. But these we pass over, having already exhibited enough of Mr. Busby's analysis and sketch to recommend his work to general study, which though slender in point of bulk, is significant and satisfactory beyond many of larger pretensions that have treated of the same extended and intricate subject.

In conclusion, to return to the author of Paradise Lost for a moment, it is with pleasure that we copy the following passages, in which Mr. Busby has, with a fine hand and an arousing sympathy, touched and appreciated the Great Poet's mental, moral, and political character.

After the restoration the crowd of wits who had fluttered about the former court again appeared, and the king was hailed to his throne with the congratulations of poets and courtiers, each eager to outdo his fellows in the fervour of his compliment and exultation, and to lay the richest offering at the shrine of revived royalty-but it was far different from Milton;-poor, blind, disgraced, with nothing but his virtues to console, and his intrepid mind to support him, he was driven into concealment until the first flush of public excitement had subsided. The Government content with the sacrifice of nobler victims, pursued him not with vigilance, but caused some of his political writings to be burned by the ignominous hands of the common hangman. To a mind of less natural vigour or more relaxed discipline than Milton's, his successive family afflictions, the overthrow of his present ambitions, the insecurity of his person, his blindness, and his infirmities, would have produced a despondency destructive to its best and noblest powers-but he remained

firm and serene through all, triumphing in the integrity of his purpose, with a temper chastened, and a judgment matured by the mighty and conflicting scenes he had beheld, with an intellect accustomed to grapple with weighty arguments, and grown unconquerable by the very process through which it had been nurtured."

"It is with some feelings of pride for human nature, that we follow the disgraced and afflicted man to the seclusion of his study, and view him who had held converse with the master spirits of his time, meditating upon the loftier beings that people more spiritual realms, contemplating in fallen angels the passions and ambitions he had observed in human life, and looking beyond the world for the source of those virtues and principles that dignify the better part of mankind."

"His learning was vast and deep, his imagination soaring and masculine, his judgment solid and profound, his integrity spotless, his affections warm and sure, his zeal firm and faithful. His mind was severely disciplined, he loved truth for her own sake, and forsook her not in the time of trial and temptation. In peril and adversity be remained still at his post unflinching and determined. With keen sensibility he had resolute self-command, with warm passions he had strong moral power, with the susceptibility of a delicate spirit he had the nervous courage of a hero. He desponded not in affliction, and the weight of years and sorrows could not overcome his soul; but he sank grey and venerable to the grave, and bequeathed to posterity the productions of his genius and the ensample of his life-and both have well stood the test of time, and passed unscathed through the fiery ordeal of fierce and cavilling comment. In our institutions we now recognize the success of the principles he advocated, and boast as our best bulwark the privileges he helped to purchase. In our social condition we feel the influence of his stern morality, and render homage to the broad and unwavering light of his constant integrity. In our studies, the grandeur and state of his imagination lift us from the poverty of earth to the colossal regions where all, even passion, is sublime; and we gaze on him, like a traveller on those huge piles of antiquity that rise from the desert, old, majestic, and eternal, and point their unshaken summits to that heaven which has looked upon them for ages. Such indeed was Miltonhe needs no panegyric, his fame is still fresh in our memories; and it is a proud pleasure, amidst the stormy and violent times when the elements were in convulsion and society rocked around him, to trace him still intrepid, faithful and uncompromising, directing with steady and unreluctant hand his sure and straightforward course, and leaving the measureless results of his upright zeal and boundless intelligence as a heritage to mankind."

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ART. III.

1. The Honours of the Table; with Hints on Carving. By TRUSSLER REDIVIVUS. pp. 72. Glasgow: Symington and Co.

2. Female Beauty, as preserved and improved by Regimen, Cleanliness, and Dress, &c. &c. By MRS. A. WALKER. pp. 435. London :

Hurst.

3. My Book; or, The Anatomy of Conduct. By JOHN H. SKELTON. London: Simpkin and Co. 1837.

Ir is not easy to pitch upon any one general title for these several works more fitting than the one suggested by the last of them, and upon which we are about to dwell principally. A few remarks, however, may be conveniently offered concerning the class of publications to which they belong, and which has recently been receiving an extraordinary accession. Of late, our Glasgow friends have been particularly busy in this walk of literature, bestowing upon it no inconsiderable share of learning, as may be presumed from the fact, that "The Ladies' Science of Etiquette" published by J. Reid, and "The Philosophy of Courtship and Marriage" by Symington and Co., of that city, are by such erudite scholars, that nothing less than signatures in Greek can serve the authors. Whether this vast show of learning, and the rules which these Glasgow Grecians promulgate, be indicative of an advance in the style of manners or of public taste in the western metropolis of Scotland, is a matter that remains to be examined by us. It might be as well to extend the criterion to other parts of the empire, and to the centre of England itself; for it is notorious that one of these works has been the source and occasion of an expensive law-suit in the English courts of law, as a piracy of the "Hints on Etiquette," the whole proceedings, the finding of the jury, and the judgment of the court, proving that the infringement was one which affected a lucrative and large sale. Who the purchasers of such works may. happen to be, whether of bon-ton, the liveried race, or the intermediate classes, we cannot tell; but one thing is manifest, that a deplorable prevalence of vulgarity must exist somewhere, otherwise no such demand for several of the works now referred to could possibly be continued. "The

It would not be difficult to treat such productions as Ladies' Science of Etiquette," "The Philosophy of Courtship and Marriage," " and "The Honours of the Table; with Hints on Carving," with jocoseness: but we think their merits will be best shown, if a grave and solemn dulness of manner be employed, such as pervades themselves. We therefore, with all imaginable seriousness, cull a few lessons from each of these emanations of Glasgow VOL. III. (1837). NO. 11.

intellect and gentility-" Female Beauty," by Mrs. Walker, and "My Book," by Mr. Skelton, claiming a different sort of notice.

To begin with "The Ladies' Science of Etiquette," although, like "The Philosophy of Courtship," we have not thought it necessary to crowd formally into the list at the head of this article, contains some most significant canons for the observance of the fair. Think of the following being required-" Avoid all indelicate expressions, and appear not to understand any that may be uttered in your presence. Some ladies (ladies!) not only relish double entendres, but actually use them. Yet, however much it may create a feeling of cleverness at the moment, cool reflection is afterwards sure to condemn it, both on the part of the speaker and listener. Such discourse, wanton glances, and lightness of carriage, are considered by men as gauntlets to dare them to speak and act in a more free and unguarded manner than they otherwise would have boldness to do." Again-"We should not leave the table before the end of the entertainment, unless from urgent necessity.' And again-" Custom allows ladies, at the end of an entertainment, to dip their fingers into a glass of water, and to wipe them with their napkins; it allows them, also, to rinse the mouth, using their plate for this purpose. The custom, however, is tastefully objected to by this master of table etiquette, who says that it is "of itself disgusting." Such are samples of a science for the study of the

ladies.

66

"The Philosophy of Courtship and Marriage" is a more abstruse affair than even the "Science of Etiquette," and naturally calls for a more ambitious style, and soaring manner of speculation. It is delightful, however, to see how our philosopher can bring magnanimous ideas and profound sentiments prettily to bear upon commonplace events. He is not one of those clumsy or gross-minded sons of imagination that "splits a butterfly on the wheel." Not he, for mark how elegantly he intimates what are the inducements which ought not to be followed in the selection of a partner for life. Many a one chooses a wife with no greater forethought or consideration than he would a horse or a dog-looking merely at her external points." The originality of the remark is worthy of its dignified beauty. He can rise at will, and adopt the highest style of rhetorical composition-for he declares that "experience teaches, that when parties associate constantly, as in the married state, there comes an amalgamation of tastes and feelings, even as the tendril suits itself to the shape and direction of the tree around which it clings," &c. His moral dignity and just appreciation of true condescension are admirably illustrated, when speaking of the ordinary treatment of a wife. He says, "Make a companion of her, in the fullest acceptation of the term, and do not consider it beneath your dignity to suit your conversation to her tastes and intellect.

The price-current may contain matter vastly pleasing to you, but it is very probable that your young wife would as lief hear you discourse of other matters than the price of cotton, or the texture of broad cloth." Our philosopher's hints are really so abundant and sententious respecting the conduct of man and woman, that one or two must be added. For example, " there is a free-masonry in the returned pressure of the hand, which is more pregnant with meaning, than a whole portfolio of letters." "When a man once sees his way before him, he may not only safely but advantageously marry; for, by so doing, a spur will be given to his exertions, more effectual and quickening than any abstract maxims of prudence, or even ambition itself could supply. He will rise earlier in the morning, and sit later at night. "Be as much at home as possible. A pregnant source of discomfort in the nuptial state, is unsettled habits of the husband in this respect." All this time, however, the philosopher is supposing that the wife is young, and the husband of a suitable age; but what if the fair one be wedded to a man who might be her father? The occurrence draws eloquent indignation from the writer, for he exclaims-" Alas for the frequency of such cases! When will mothers cease to play the parts of shamelessly avaricious bawds? The term may sound harsh, but I have written it advisedly, and there it shall stand"-who, therefore, dare impugn the wisdom of the dictum? More fearful still-"The only fitting response which youth can make to the matrimonial solicitations of age is anathema maranatha."

way

We are not informed whether our philosopher's calling in life renders conversation on the "price of cotton, or the texture of broad cloth," most natural; but it would appear that he writes merely for the instruction of such of the gentry as are not stinted in the of domestics, or the means to secure the assistance of cooks. He assures his readers, that he "would not ask her (his wife) to compound a pudding, or ready a steak with her own hands; but I would have her to know something of the nature of such operations, in order that she might check carelessness, or instruct ignorance in the 'help.""

But we must on to "The Honours of the Table," by Mr. Trussler Redivivus, after one parting lesson from the philosopher concerning love-making.

"Love, like fire, is a good servant, but a bad master; and to follow, exclusively, its dictates, is as unsafe as to fetch a dangerous leap blindfolded. Whenever one begins to feel affection' tugging at his heart,' therefore he should put in exercise an extra proportion of caution and deliberation. A beautiful garden smiles before him; but if he rush headlong to banquet in its charms, he may, perchance, be overwhelmed in the bogs and quicksands which intervene, and the fair prospect vanish from his grusp,

'Like the elfin bell in the mountain pool.'