elicacy of form which we know that he had, the same
music which we imagine there was in his voice. In both his character
and his poetry there was an ascetic nature in a sheath of beauty.

No book, perhaps, which has ever been written is more difficult to
criticize than "Paradise Lost." The only way to criticize a work of
the imagination is, to describe its effect upon the mind of the
reader,--at any rate, of the critic; and this can only be adequately
delineated by strong illustrations, apt similes, and perhaps a little
exaggeration. The task is in its very nature not an easy one: the poet
paints a picture on the fancy of the critic, and the critic has in some
sort to copy it on the paper; he must say what it is before he can make
remarks upon it. But in the case of "Paradise Lost" we hardly like to
use illustrations. The subject is one which the imagination rather
shrinks from. At any rate, it requires courage and an effort to compel
the mind to view such a subject as distinctly and vividly as it views
other subjects. Another peculiarity of "Paradise Lost" makes the
difficulty even greater. It does not profess to be a mere work of art;
or rather, it claims to be by no means that and that only. It starts
with a dogmatic aim: it avowedly intends to

"assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men."

In this point of view we have always had a sympathy with the Cambridge
mathematician who has been so much abused. He said, "After all,
'Paradise Lost' _proves_ nothing"; and various persons of poetical
tastes and temperament have been very severe on the prosaic
observation. Yet, "after all," he was right: Milton professed to prove
something; he was too profound a critic--rather, he had too profound an
instinct of those eternal principles of art which criticism tries to
state--not to know that on such a subject he must prove something. He
professed to deal with the great problem of human destiny: to show why
man was created, in what kind of universe he lives, whence he came and
whither he goes. He dealt of necessity with the greatest of subjects;
he had to sketch the greatest of objects. He was concerned with
infinity and eternity even more than with time and sense: he undertook
to delineate the ways and consequently the character of Providence, as
well as the conduct and the tendencies of man. The essence of success
in such an attempt is to satisfy the religious sense of man; to bring