Thomas Babington Macaulay Essay On Milton


Towards the close of the year 1823, Mr. Lemon, Deputy Keeper of the State Papers, in the course of his researches among the presses of his office, met with a large Latin manuscript. With it were found corrected copies of the foreign despatches written by Milton, while he filled the office of Secretary, and several papers relating to the Popish Trials and the Rye-house Plot. The whole was wrapped up in an envelope, superscribed "To Mr. Skinner, Merchant." On examination, the large manuscript proved to be the long lost Essay, on the Doctrines of Christianity, which, according to Wood and Toland, Milton finished after the Restoration, and deposited with Cyriac Skinner. Skinner, it is well known, held the same political opinions with his illustrious friend. It is therefore probable, as Mr. Lemon conjectures, that he may have fallen under the suspicions of the Government during that persecution of the Whigs which followed the dissolution of the Oxford Parliament, and that, in consequence of a general seizure of his papers, this work may have been brought to the office in which it has been found. But whatever the adventures of the manuscript may have been, no doubt can exist that it is a genuine relic of the great Poet.

Mr. Sumner, who was commanded by his Majesty to edite and translate the treatise, has acquitted himself of his task in a manner honourable to his talents and to his character. His version is not indeed very easy or elegant; but it is entitled to the praise of clearness and fidelity. His notes abound with interesting quotations, and have the rare merit of really elucidating the text. The preface is evidently the work of a sensible and candid man, firm in his own religious opinions, and tolerant towards those of others.

The book itself will not add much to the fame of Milton. It is, like all his Latin works, well written, — though not exactly in the style of the Prize Essays of Oxford and Cambridge. There is no elaborate imitation of classical antiquity, no scrupulous purity, none of the ceremonial cleanness which characterizes the diction of our academical Pharisees. He does not attempt to polish and brighten his composition into the Ciceronian gloss and brilliancy. He does not in short sacrifice sense and spirit to pedantic refinements. The nature of his subject compelled him to use many words

That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

But he writes with as much ease and freedom as if Latin were his mother tongue; and where he is least happy, his failure seems to arise from the carelessness of a native, not from the ignorance of a foreigner. What Denham with great felicity says of Cowley, may be applied to him. He wears the garb, but not the clothes of the ancients.

Throughout the volume are discernible the traces of a powerful and independent mind, emancipated from the influence of authority, and devoted to the search of truth. He professes to form his system from the Bible alone; and his digest of Scriptural texts is certainly among the best that have appeared. But he is not always so happy in his inferences as in his citations.

Some of the heterodox opinions which be avows seem to have excited considerable amazement; particularly his Arianism, and his notions on the subject of polygamy. Yet we can scarcely conceive that any person could have read the Paradise Lost without suspecting him of the former; nor do we think that any reader, acquainted with the history of his life, ought to be much startled at the latter. The opinions which he has expressed respecting the nature of the Deity, the eternity of matter, and the observation of the Sabbath, might, we think, have caused more just surprise.

But we will not go into the discussion of these points. The book, were it far more orthodox, or far more heretical than it is, would not much edify or corrupt the present generation. The men of our time are not to be converted or perverted by quartos. A few more days, and this Essay will follow the Defensio Populi to the dust and silence of the upper shelf. The name of its author, and the remarkable circumstances attending its publication, will secure to it a certain degree of attention. For a month or two it will occupy a few minutes of chat in every drawing-room, and a few columns in every magazine; and it will then, to borrow the elegant language of the playbills, be withdrawn, to make room for the forthcoming novelties.

We wish however to avail ourselves of the interest, transient as it may be, which this work has excited. The dexterous Capuchins never, choose to preach on the life and miracles of a saint, till they have awakened the devotional feelings of their auditors, by exhibiting some relic of him — a thread of his garment, a lock of his hair, or a drop of his blood. On the same principle, we intend to take advantage of the late interesting discovery, and, while this memorial of a great and good man is still in the hands of all, to say something of his moral and intellectual qualities. Nor, we are convinced, will the severest of our readers blame us if, on an occasion like the present, we turn for a short time from the topics of the day, to commemorate, in all love and reverence, the genius and virtues of John Milton, the poet, the statesman, the philosopher, the glory of English literature, the champion and the martyr of English liberty.

It is by his Poetry that Milton is best known; and it is of his poetry that we wish first to speak. By the general suffrage of the civilized world, his place has been assigned among the greatest masters of the art. His detractors, however, though outvoted, have not been silenced. There are many Critics, and some of great name, who contrive in the same breath to extol the poems and to decry the poet. The works, they acknowledge, considered in themselves, may be classed among the noblest productions of the human mind. But they will not allow the author to rank with those great men who, born in the infancy of civilization, supplied, by their own powers, the want of instruction, and, though destitute of models themselves, bequeathed to posterity models which defy imitation. Milton, it is said, inherited what his predecessors created; he lived in an enlightened age; he received a finished education; and we must therefore, if we would form a just estimate of his powers, make large deductions for these advantages.

We venture to say, on the contrary, paradoxical as the remark may appear, that no poet has ever had to struggle with more unfavourable circumstances than Milton. He doubted, as he has himself owned, whether he had not been born "an age too late." For this notion Johnson has thought fit to make him the butt of his clumsy ridicule. The poet, we believe, understood the nature of his art better than the critic. He knew that his poetical genius derived no advantage from the civilization which surrounded him, or from the learning which he had acquired; and he looked back with something like regret to the ruder age of simple words and vivid impressions.

We think that, as civilization advances, poetry almost necessarily declines. Therefore, though we admire those great works of imagination which have appeared in dark ages, we do not admire them the more because they have appeared in dark ages. On the contrary, we hold that the most wonderful and splendid proof of genius is a great poem produced in a civilized age. We cannot understand why those who believe in that most orthodox article of literary faith, that the earliest poets are generally the best, should wonder at the rule as if it were the exception. Surely the uniformity of the phenomenon indicates a corresponding uniformity in the cause.

The fact is, that common observers reason from the progress of the experimental sciences to that of the imitative arts. The improvement of the former is gradual and slow. Ages are spent in collecting materials, ages more in separating and combining them. Even when a system has been formed, there is still something to add, to alter, or to reject. Every generation enjoys the use of a vast hoard bequeathed to it by antiquity, and transmits it, augmented, by fresh acquisitions, to future ages. In these pursuits, therefore, the first speculators lie under great disadvantages, and, even when they fail, are entitled to praise. Their pupils, with far inferior intellectual powers, speedily surpass them in actual attainments. Every girl who has read Mrs. Marcet's little Dialogues on Political Economy, could teach Montague or Walpole many lessons in finance. Any intelligent man may now, by resolutely applying himself for a few years to mathematics, learn more than the great Newton knew after half a century of study and meditation.

But it is not thus with music, with painting, or with sculpture. Still less is it thus with poetry. The progress of refinement rarely supplies these arts with better objects of imitation. It may indeed improve the instruments which are necessary to the mechanical operations of the musician, the sculptor, and the painter. But language, the machine of the poet, is best fitted for his purpose in its rudest state. Nations, like individuals, first perceive, and then abstract. They advance from particular images to general terms. Hence the vocabulary of an enlightened society is philosophical, that of a half-civilized people is poetical.

This change in the language of men is partly the cause and partly the effect of a corresponding change in the nature of their intellectual operations, a change by which science gains and poetry loses. Generalization is necessary to the advancement of knowledge, but particularly in the creations of the imagination. In proportion as men know more and think more, they look less at individuals and more at classes. They therefore make better theories and worse poems. They give us vague phrases instead of images, and personified qualities instead of men. They may be better able to analyze human nature than their predecessors. But analysis is not the business of the poet. His office is to pourtray, not to dissect. He may believe in a moral sense, like Shaftesbury. He may refer all human actions to self-interest, like Hevetius, or he may never think about the matter at all. His creed on such subjects will no more influence his poetry, properly so called, than the notions which a painter may have conceived respecting the lacrymal glands, or the circulation of the blood will affect the tears of his Niobe, or the blushes of his Aurora. If Shakespeare had written a book on the motives of human actions, it is by no means certain that it would have been a good one. It is extremely improbable that it would have contained half so much able reasoning on the subject as is to be found in the Fable of the Bees. But could Mandeville have created an Iago? Well as he knew how to resolve characters into their elements, would he have been able to combine those elements in such a manner as to make up a man, — a real, living, individual man?

Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind, if any thing which gives so much pleasure ought to be called unsoundness. By poetry we mean, not of course all writing in verse, nor even all good writing in verse. Our definition excludes many metrical compositions which, on other grounds, deserve the highest praise. By poetry we mean, the art of employing words in such a manner as to produce an illusion on the imagination, the art of doing by means of words what the painter does by means of colours. Thus the greatest of poets has described it, in lines universally admired for the vigour and felicity of their diction, and still more valuable on account of the just notion which they convey of the art in which he excelled.

As imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

These are the fruits of the "fine frenzy" which he ascribes to the poet, — a fine frenzy doubtless, but still a frenzy. Truth indeed, is essential to poetry; but it is the truth of madness. The reasonings are just; but the premises are false. After the first suppositions have been made, every thing ought to be consistent; but those first suppositions require a degree of credulity which almost amounts to a partial and temporary derangement of the intellect. Hence of all people children are the most imaginative. They abandon themselves without reserve to every illusion. Every image which is strongly presented to their mental eye produces on them the effect of reality. No man, whatever his sensibility may be, is ever affected by Hamlet or Lear, as a little girl is affected by the story of poor Red Riding-hood. She knows that it is all false, that wolves cannot speak, that there are no wolves in England. Yet in spite of her knowledge she believes; she weeps, she trembles; she dares not go into a dark room lest she should feel the teeth of the monster at her throat. Such is the despotism of the imagination over uncultivated minds.

In a rude state of society men are children with a greater variety of ideas. It is therefore in such a state of society that we may expect to find the poetical temperament in its highest perfection. In an enlightened age there will be much intelligence, much science, much philosophy, abundance of just classification and subtle analysis, abundance of wit and eloquence, abundance of verses, and even of good ones, — but little poetry. Men will judge and compare; but they will not create. They will talk about the old poets, and comment on them, and to a certain degree enjoy them. But they will scarcely be able to conceive the effect which poetry produced on their ruder ancestors, the agony, the ecstacy, the plenitude of belief. The Greek Rhapsodists, according to Plato, could not recite Homer without almost falling into convulsions. The Mohawk hardly feels the scalping-knife while he shouts his death-song. The power which the ancient bards of Wales and Germany exercised over their auditors seems to modern readers almost miraculous. Such feelings are very rare in a civilized community, and most rare among those who participate most in its improvements. They linger longest among the peasantry.

Poetry produces an illusion on the eye of the mind, as a magic lantern produces an illusion on the eye of the body. And, as the magic lantern acts best in a dark room, poetry effects its purpose most completely in a dark age. As the light of knowledge breaks in upon its exhibitions, as the outlines of certainty become more and more definite, and the shades of probability more and more distinct, the hues and lineaments of the phantoms which it calls up grow fainter and fainter. We cannot unite the incompatible advantages of reality and deception, the clear discernment of truth and the exquisite enjoyment of fiction.

He who, in an enlightened and literary society, aspires to be a great poet, must first become a little child. He must take to pieces the whole web of his mind. He must unlearn much of that knowledge which has perhaps constituted hitherto his chief title to superiority. His very talents will be a hinderance to him. His difficulties will be proportioned to his proficiency in the pursuits which are fashionable among his contemporaries; and that proficiency will in general be proportioned to the vigour and activity of his mind. And it is well if, after all his sacrifices and exertions, his works do not resemble a lisping man, or a modern ruin. We have seen in our own time great talents, intense labour, and long meditation, employed in this struggle against the spirit of the age, and employed, we will not say absolutely in vain, but with dubious success and feeble applause.

If these reasonings be just, no poet has ever triumphed over greater difficulties than Milton. He received a learned education. He was a profound and elegant classical scholar: he had studied all the mysteries of Rabbinical literature: he was intimately acquainted with every language of modern Europe from which either pleasure or information was then to be derived. He was perhaps the only great poet of later times who has been distinguished by the excellence of his Latin verse. The genius of Petrarch was scarcely of the first order; and his poems in the ancient language, though much praised by those who have never read them, are wretched compositions. Cowley, with all his admirable wit and ingenuity, had little imagination: nor indeed do we think his classical diction comparable to that of Milton. The authority of Johnson is against us on this point. But Johnson had studied the bad writers of the middle ages till he had become utterly insensible to the Augustan elegance, and was as ill qualified to judge between two Latin styles as a habitual drunkard to set up for a wine-taster.

Versification in a dead language is an exotic, a far-fetched, costly, sickly, imitation of that which elsewhere may be found in healthful and spontaneous perfection. The soils on which this rarity flourishes are in general as ill suited to the production of vigorous native poetry as the flower pots of a hot-house to the growth of oaks. That the author of the Paradise Lost should have written the Epistle to Manso was truly wonderful. Never before were such marked originality, and such exquisite mimicry found together. Indeed, in all the Latin poems of Milton the artificial manner indispensable to such works is admirably preserved, while, at the same time, the richness of his fancy and the elevation of his sentiments give to them a peculiar charm, an air of nobleness and freedom, which distinguishes them from all other writings of the same class. They remind us of the amusements of those angelic warriors who composed the cohort of Gabriel:

About him exercised heroic games
The unarmed youth of heaven. But o'er their heads
Celestial armoury, shield, helm, and spear,
Hung bright, with diamond flaming and with gold.

We cannot look upon the sportive exercises for which the genius of Milton ungirds itself, without catching a glimpse of the gorgeous and terrible panoply which it is accustomed to wear. The strength of his imagination triumphed over every obstacle So intense and ardent was the fire of his mind, that it not only was not suffocated beneath the weight of its fuel, but penetrated the whole superincumbent mass with its own heat and radiance.

It is not our intention to attempt any thing like a complete examination of the poetry of Milton. The public has long been agreed as to the merit of the most remarkable passages, the incomparable harmony of the numbers, and the excellence of that style which no rival has been able to equal, and no parodist to degrade, which displays in their highest perfection the idiomatic powers of the English tongue, and to which every ancient and every modern language has contributed something of grace, of energy, or of music. In the vast field of criticism on which we are entering, innumerable reapers have already put their sickles. Yet the harvest is so abundant that the negligent search of a straggling gleaner may be rewarded with a sheaf.

The most striking characteristic of the poetry of Milton, is the extreme remoteness of the associations by means of which it acts on the reader. Its effect is produced, not so much by what it expresses, as by what it suggests, not so much by the ideas which it directly conveys, as by other ideas which are connected with them. He electrifies the mind through conductors. The most unimaginative man must understand the Iliad. Homer gives him no choice, and requires from him no exertion; but takes the whole upon himself, and sets his images in so clear a light that it is impossible to be blind to them. The works of Milton cannot be comprehended or enjoyed, unless the mind of the reader cooperate with that of the writer. He does net paint a finished picture or play for a mere passive listener. He sketches, and leaves others to fill up the outline. He strikes the key-note, and expects his hearer to make out the melody.

We often hear of the magical influence of poetry. The expression in general means nothing, but, applied to the writings of Milton, it is most appropriate. His poetry acts like an incantation. Its merit lies less in its obvious meaning than in its occult power. There would seem, at first sight, to be no more in his words than in other words. But they are words of enchantment. No sooner are they pronounced, than the past is present, and the distant near. New forms of beauty start at once into existence, and all the burial places of the memory give up their dead. Change the structure of the sentence; substitute one synonyme for another, and the whole effect is destroyed. The spell loses its power; and he who should then hope to conjure with it, would find himself as much mistaken as Cassim in the Arabian tale, when he stood crying "Open Wheat," "Open Barley," to the door which obeyed no sound but "Open Sesame!" The miserable failure of Dryden in his attempt to rewrite some parts of the Paradise Lost is a remarkable instance of this.

In support of these observations, we may remark, that scarcely any passages in the poems of Milton are more generally known, or more frequently repeated, than those which are little more than muster-rolls of names. They are not always more appropriate or more melodious than other names. But they are charmed names. Every one of them is the first link in a long chain of associated ideas. Like the dwelling-place of our infancy revisited in manhood, like the song of our country heard in a strange land, they produce upon us an effect wholly independent of their intrinsic value. One transports us back to a remote period of history. Another places us among the moral scenery and manners of a distant country. A third evokes all the dear classical recollections of childhood, the school-room, the dog-eared Virgil, the holiday, and the prize. A fourth brings before us the splendid phantoms of chivalrous romance, the trophied lists, the embroidered housings, the quaint devices, the haunted forests, the enchanted gardens, the achievements of enamoured knights, and the smiles of rescued princesses.

In none of the works of Milton is his peculiar manner more happily displayed than in the Allegro and the Penseroso. It is impossible to conceive that the mechanism of language can be brought to a more exquisite degree of perfection. These poems differ from others as ottar of roses differs from ordinary rose water, the close packed essence from the thin diluted mixture. They are indeed not so much poems, as collections of hints from each of which the reader is to make out a poem for himself. Every epithet is a text for a Canto.

The Comus and the Samson Agonistes are works, which, though of very different merit, offer some marked points of resemblance. They are both Lyric poems in the form of Plays. There are perhaps no two kinds of composition so essentially dissimilar as the drama and the ode. The business of the dramatist is to keep himself out of sight, and to let nothing appear but his characters. As soon as he attracts notice to his personal feelings, the illusion is broken. The effect is as unpleasant as that which is produced on the stage by the voice of a prompter, or the entrance of a scene-shifter. Hence it was, that the tragedies of Byron were his least successful performances. They resemble those pasteboard pictures invented by the friend of children, Mr. Newberry, in which a single moveable head goes round twenty different bodies; so that the same face looks out upon us successively, from the uniform of a hussar, the furs of a judge, and the rags of a beggar. In all the characters, patriots and tyrants, haters and lovers, the frown and sneer of Harold were discernible in an instant. But this species of egotism, though fatal to the drama, is the inspiration of the ode. It is the part of the lyric poet to abandon himself, without reserve, to his own emotions.

Between these hostile elements many great men have endeavoured to effect an amalgamation; but never with complete success. The Greek Drama, on the model of which the Samson was written, sprung from the Ode. The dialogue was ingrafted on the chorus, and naturally partook of its character. The genius of the greatest of the Athenian dramatists cooperated with the circumstances under which Tragedy made its first appearance. Aeschylus was, head and heart, a lyric poet. In his time, the Greeks had far more intercourse with the East than in the days of Homer; and they had not yet acquired that immense superiority in war, in science and in the arts, which, in the following generation, led them to treat the Asiatics with contempt. From the narrative of Herodotus it should seem, that they still looked up, with the veneration of disciples, to Egypt and Assyria. At this period, accordingly, it was natural that the literature of Greece should be tinctured with the Oriental style. And that style, we think, is clearly discernible in the works of Pindar and Aeschylus. The latter often rewinds us of the Hebrew writers. The book of Job, indeed, in conduct and diction, bears a considerable resemblance to some of his dramas. Considered as plays, his works are absurd: considered as choruses, they are above all praise. If for instance, we examine the address of Clytomnestra to Agamemnon on his return, or the description of the seven Argive chiefs, by the principles of dramatic writing, we shall instantly condemn them as monstrous. But, if we forget the characters, and think only of the poetry, we shall admit that it has never been surpassed in energy and magnificence. Sophocles made the Greek drama as dramatic as was consistent with its original form. His portraits of men have a sort of similarity; but it is the similarity not of a painting, but of a bas-relief. It suggests a resemblance; but it does not produce an illusion. Euripides attempted to carry the reform further. But it was a task far beyond his power perhaps beyond any powers. Instead of correcting what was bad, he destroyed what was excellent. He substituted crutches for stilts, bad sermons for good odes.

Milton, it is well known, admired Euripides highly; much more highly than, in our opinion, he deserved. Indeed the can which this partiality leads him to bestow on "sad Electra's poet," sometimes remind us of the beautiful Queen of Fairyland kissing the long ears of Bottom. At all events, there can he no doubt that his veneration for the Athenian, whether just or not, was injurious to the Samson Agonistes. Had he taken Aeschylus for his model, he would have given himself up to the lyric inspiration, and poured out profusely all the treasures of his mind, without bestowing a thought on those dramatic proprieties which the nature of the work rendered it impossible to preserve. In the attempt to reconcile things in their own nature inconsistent he has failed, as every one else must have failed. We cannot identify ourselves with the characters, as in a good play. We cannot identify ourselves with the poet, as in a good ode. The conflicting ingredients, like an acid and an alkali mixed, neutralize each other. We are by no means insensible to the merits of this celebrated piece, to the severe dignity of the style, the graceful and pathetic solemnity of the opening speech, or the wild and barbaric melody which gives so striking an effect to the choral passages. But we think it, we confess, the least successful effort of the genius of Milton.

The Comus is framed on the model of the Italian Masque, as the Samson is framed on the model of the Greek Tragedy. It is certainly the noblest performance of the kind which exists in any language. It is as far superior to the Faithful Shepherdess, as the Faithful Shepherdess is to the Aminta, or the Aminta to the Pastor Fido. It was well for Milton that he had here no Euripides to mislead him. He understood and loved the literature of modern Italy. But he did not feel for it the same veneration which he entertained for the remains of Athenian and Roman poetry, consecrated by so many lofty and endearing recollections. The faults, moreover, of his Italian predecessors, were of a kind to which his mind had a deadly antipathy. He could stoop to a plain style, sometimes even to a bald style: But false brilliancy was his utter aversion. His Muse had no objection to a russet attire: But she turned with disgust from the finery of Guarini, as tawdry and as paltry as the rags of a chimney-sweeper on May-day. Whatever ornaments she wears are of massive gold, not only dazzling to the sight, but capable of standing the severest test of the crucible.

Milton attended in the Comus to the distinction which he neglected in the Samson. He made it what it ought to be, essentially lyrical, and dramatic only in semblance. He has not attempted a fruitless struggle against a defect inherent in the nature of that species of composition; and he has therefore succeeded, wherever success was not impossible. The speeches must be read as majestic soliliques; and he who so reads them will be enraptured with their eloquence, their sublimity, and their music. The interruptions of the dialogue, however, impose a constraint upon the writer, and break the illusion of the reader. The finest passages are those which are lyric in form as well as in spirit. "I should much commend," says the excellent Sir Henry Wotton in a letter to Milton, "the tragical part, if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain dorique delicacy in your songs and odes, whereunto, I must plainly confess to you, I have seen yet nothing parallel in our language." The criticism was just. It is when Milton escapes from the shackles of the dialogue, when he is discharged from the labour of uniting two incongruous styles, when he is at liberty to indulge his choral raptures without reserve, that he rises even above himself. Then, like his own Good Genius bursting from the earthly form and weeds of Thyrsis, he stands forth in celestial freedom and beauty; he seems to cry exultingly,

Now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly or I can run,

to skim the earth, to soar above the clouds, to bathe in the Elysian dew of the rainbow, and to inhale the balmy smells of nard and cassia, which the musky wings of the zephyr scatter through the cedared alleys of the Hesperides.

There are several of the minor poems of Milton on which we would willingly make a few remarks. Still more willingly would we enter into a detailed examination of that admirable poem, the Paradise Regained, which, strangely enough, is scarcely ever mentioned except as an instance of the blindness of that parental affection which men of letters bear towards the offspring of their intellects. That Milton was mistaken in preferring this work, excellent as it is, to the Paradise Lost, we must readily admit. But we are sure that the superiority of the Paradise Lost to the Paradise Regained is not more decided than the superiority of the Paradise Regained to every poem which has since made its appearance. But our limits prevent us from discussing the point at length. We hasten on to that extraordinary production which the general suffrage of critics has placed in the highest class of human compositions.

The only poem of modern times which can be compared with the Paradise Lost is the Divine Comedy. The subject of Milton, in some points, resembled that of Dante; but he has treated it in a widely different manner. We cannot, we think, letter illustrate our opinion respecting our, own great poet, than by contrasting him with the father of Tuscan literature.

The poetry of Milton differs from that of Dante as the hieroglyphics of Egypt differed from the picture-writing of Mexico. The images which Dante employs speak for themselves: — they stand simply for what they are. Those of Milton have a signification which is often discernible only to the initiated. Their value depends less on what they directly represent, than on what they remotely suggest. However strange, however grotesque, may be the appearance which Dante undertakes to describe, he never shrinks from describing it. He gives us the shape, the colour, the sound, the smell the taste; he counts the numbers; he measures the size. His similes are the illustrations of a traveller. Unlike those of other poets, and especially of Milton, they are introduced in a plain business-like manner, not for the sake of any beauty in the objects from which they are drawn, not for the sake of any ornament which they may impart to the poem, but simply in order to make the meaning of the writer as clear to the reader as it is to himself. The ruins of the precipice which led from the sixth to the seventh circle of hell, were like those of the rock which fell into the Adige on the south of Trent. The cataract of Phlegethon was like that of Aqua Cheta at the monastery of St Benedict. The place where the heretics were confined in burning tombs, resembled the vast cemetery of Arles!

Now, let us compare with the exact details of Dante the dim intimations of Milton. We will cite a few examples. The English poet has never thought of taking the measure of Satan. He gives us merely a vague idea of vast bulk. In one passage the fiend lies stretched out huge in length, floating many a rood, equal in size to the earth-born enemies of Jove, or to the sea-monster which the mariner mistakes for an island. When he addresses himself to battle against the guardian angels, he stands like Teneriffe or Atlas; his stature reaches the sky. Contrast with these descriptions the lines in which Dante has described the gigantic spectre of Nimrod. "His face seemed to me as long and as broad as the ball of St Peter's at Rome; and his other limbs were in proportion; so that the bank, which concealed him from the waist downwards, nevertheless showed so much of him, that three tall Germans would in vain have attempted to reach to his hair." We are sensible that we do no justice to the admirable style of the Florentine poet. But Mr. Cary's translation is not at hand; and our version, however rude, is sufficient to illustrate our meaning.

Once more, compare the lazar-house in the eleventh book of the Paradise Lost with the last ward of Malebolge in Dante. Milton avoids the loathsome details, and takes refuge in indistinct but solemn and tremendous imagery, — Despair hurrying from couch to couch to mock the wretches with his attendance, Death shaking his dart over them, but in spite of supplications, delaying to strike. What says Dante? "There was such a moan there, as there would be if all the sick who, between July and September, are in the hospitals of Valdichiana, and of the Tuscan swamps, and of Sardinia, were in one pit together; and such a stench was issuing forth as is wont to issue from decayed limbs."

We will not take upon ourselves the invidious office of settling precedency between two such writers. Each in his own, department is incomparable; and each, we may remark, has, wisely or fortunately, taken a subject adapted to exhibit his peculiar talent to the greatest advantage. The Divine Comedy is a personal narrative. Dante is the eyewitness and earwitness of that which he relates. He is the very man who has heard the tormented spirits crying out for the second death, who has read the dusky characters on the portal within which there is no hope, who has hidden his face from the terrors of the Gorgon, who has fled from the hooks and the seething pitch of Barbariccia and Diaghignazzo. His own hands have grasped the shaggy sides of Lucifer. His own feet have climbed the mountain of expiation. His own brow has been marked by the purifying angel. The reader would throw aside such a tale in incredulous disgust, unless it were told with the strongest air of veracity, with a sobriety even in its horrors, with the greatest precision and multiplicity in its details. The narrative of Milton in this respect differs from that of Dante, as the adventures of Amadis differ from those of Gulliver. The author of Amadis would have made his book ridiculous if he had introduced those minute particulars which give such a charm to the work of Swift, the nautical observations, the affected delicacy about names, the official documents transcribed at full length, and all the unmeaning gossip and scandal of the court, springing out of nothing, and tending to nothing. We are not shocked at being told that a man who lived, nobody knows when, saw many very strange sights, and we can easily abandon ourselves to the illusion of the romance. But when Lemuel Gulliver, surgeon, now actually resident at Rotherhithe, tells us of pygmies and giants, flying islands and philosophizing horses, nothing but such circumstantial touches could produce for a single moment a deception on the imagination.

Of all the poets who have introduced into their works the agency of supernatural beings, Milton has succeeded best. Here Dante decidedly yields to him: And as this is a point on which many rash and ill considered judgments have been pronounced, we feel inclined to dwell on it a little longer. The most fatal error which a poet can possibly commit in the management of his machinery, is that of attempting to philosophize too much. Milton has been often censured for ascribing to spirits many functions of which spirits must be incapable. But these objections, though sanctioned by eminent names, originate, we venture to say, in profound ignorance of the art of poetry.

What is spirit? What are our own minds, the portion of spirit with which we are best acquainted? We observe certain phenomena. We cannot explain them into material causes. We therefore infer that their exists something which is not material. But of this something we have no idea. We can define it only by negatives. We can reason about it only by symbols. We use the word; but we have no image of the thing; and the business of poetry is with images, and not with words. The poet uses words indeed; but they are merely the instruments of his art, not its objects. They are the materials which he is to dispose in such a manner as to present a picture to the mental eye. And, if they are not so disposed, they are no more entitled to be called poetry than a bale of canvas, and a box of colours to be called a painting.

Logicians may reason about abstractions. But the great mass of mankind can never feel an interest in them. They must have images. The strong tendency of the multitude in all ages and nations to 'idolatry can be explained on no other principle. The first inhabitants of Greece, there is every reason to believe, worshipped one invisible Deity. But the necessity of having something more definite to adore, produced, in a few centuries, the innumerable crowd of Gods and Goddesses. In like manner the ancient Persians thought it impious to exhibit the Creator under a human form. Yet even these transferred to the Sun the worship which, speculatively, they considered due only to the Supreme Mind. The history of the Jews is the record of a continued struggle between pure Theism, supported by the most terrible sanctions, and the strangely fascinating desire of having some visible and tangible object of adoration. Perhaps none of the secondary causes which Gibbon has assigned for the rapidity with which Christianity spread over the world, while Judaism scarcely ever acquired a proselyte, operated more powerfully than this feeling. God, the uncreated, the incomprehensible, the invisible, attracted few worshippers. A philosopher might admire so noble a conception: but the crowd turned away in disgust from words which presented no image to their minds. It was before Deity embodied in a human form, walking among men, partaking of their infirmities, leaning on their bosoms, weeping over their graves, slumbering in the manger, bleeding on the cross, that the prejudices of the Synagogue, and the doubts of the Academy, and the pride of the Portico, and the fasces of the Lictor, and the swords of thirty legions, were humbled in the dust! Soon after Christianity had achieved its triumph, the principle which had assisted it began to corrupt it. It became a new Paganism. Patron saints assumed the offices of household gods. St. George took the place of Mars. St. Elmo consoled the mariner for the loss of Castor and Pollux. The Virgin Mother and Cecilia succeeded to Venus and the Muses. The fascination of sex and loveliness was again joined to that of celestial dignity; and the homage of chivalry was blended with that of religion. Reformers have often made a stand against these feelings; but never with more than apparent and partial success. The men who demolished the images in Cathedrals have not always been able to demolish those which were enshrined in their minds. It would not be difficult to show, that in politics the same rule holds good. Doctrines; we are afraid, Must generally be embodied before they can excite a strong public feeling. The multitude is more easily interested for the most unmeaning badge, or the most insignificant name, than for the most important principle.

From these considerations, we infer, that no poet, who should affect that metaphysical accuracy for the want of which Milton has been blamed, would escape a disgraceful failure. Still, however, there was another extreme which, though far less dangerous, was also to be avoided. The imaginations of men are in a great measure under the control of their opinions. The most exquisite art of poetical colouring can produce no illusion, when it is employed to represent that which is at once perceived to be incongruous and absurd. Milton wrote in an age of philosophers and theologians. It was necessary therefore for him to abstain from giving such a shock to their understandings as might break the charm which it was his object to throw over their imaginations. This is the real explanation of the indistinctness and inconsistency with which he has often been reproached. Dr. Johnson acknowledges that it was absolutely necessary for him to clothe his spirits with material forms. "But," says he, "he should have secured the consistency of his system by keeping immateriality out of sight, and seducing the reader to drop it from his thoughts." This is easily said; but what if he could not seduce the reader to drop it from his thoughts? What if the contrary opinion had taken so full a possession of the minds of men as to leave no room even for the quasi-belief which poetry requires? Such we suspect to have been the case. It was impossible for the poet to adopt altogether the material or the immaterial system. He therefore took his stand on the debateable ground. He left the whole in ambiguity. He has doubtless, by so doing, laid himself open to the charge of inconsistency. But, though philosophically in the wrong, we cannot but believe that he was poetically in the right. This task, which almost any other writer would have found impracticable, was easy to him. The peculiar art which he possessed of communicating his meaning circuitously, through a long succession of associated ideas, and of intimating more than he expressed, enabled him to disguise those incongruities which he could not avoid.

Poetry which relates to the beings of another world, ought to be at once mysterious and picturesque. That of Milton is so. That of Dante is picturesque, indeed, beyond any that ever was written. Its effect approaches to that produced by the pencil or the chisel. But it is picturesque to the exclusion of all mystery. This is a fault indeed on the right side, a fault inseparable from the plan of his poem, which, as we have already observed, rendered the utmost accuracy of description necessary. Still it is a fault. His supernatural agents excite an interest; but it is not the interest which is proper to supernatural agents. We feel that we could talk with his ghosts and demons, without any emotion of unearthly awe. We could, like Don Juan, ask them to supper, and eat heartily in their company. His angels are good men with wings. His devils are spiteful ugly executioners. His dead men are merely living men in strange situations. The scene which passes between the poet and Facinata is justly celebrated. Still Facinata in the burning tomb is exactly what Facinata would have been at an "auto da fe." Nothing can be more touching than the first interview of Dante and Beatrice. Yet what is it, but a lovely woman chiding, with sweet austere composure, the lover for whose affection she is grateful, but whose vices she reprobates? The feelings which give the passage its charm would suit the streets of Florence, as well as the summit of the Mount of Purgatory.

The Spirits of Milton are unlike those of almost all other writers. His Fiends, in particular, are wonderful creations, They are not metaphysical abstractions. They are not wicked men. They are not ugly beasts. They have no horns, no tails, none of the fee-faw-fum of Tasso and Klopstock. They have just enough in common with human nature to be intelligible to human beings. Their characters are, like their forms, marked by a certain dim resemblance to those of men, but exaggerated to gigantic dimensions, and veiled in mysterious gloom.

Perhaps the gods and demons of Aeschylus may best hear a comparison with the angels and devils of Milton. The style of the Athenian had, as we have remarked, something of the vagueness and tenor of the Oriental character; and the same peculiarity may be traced in his mythology. It has nothing of the amenity and elegance which we generally find in the superstitions of Greece. All is rugged, barbaric, and colossal. His legends seem to harmonize less with the fragrant groves and graceful porticoes in which his countrymen paid their vows to the God of Light and Goddess of Desire, than with those huge and grotesque labyrinths of eternal granite, in which Egypt enshrined her mystic Osiris, or in which Hindostan still bows down to her seven-headed idols. His favourite gods are those of the elder generations-the sons of heaven and earth, compared with whom Jupiter himself was a stripling and an upstart, — the gigantic Titans and the inexorable Furies. Foremost among his creations of this class stands Prometheus, half fiend half redeemer, the friend of man, the sullen and implacable enemy of heaven. He bears undoubtedly a considerable resemblance to the Satan of Milton. In both we find the same impatience of control, the same ferocity, the same unconquerable pride. In both characters also are mingled, though in very different proportions, some kind and generous feelings. Prometheus, however, is hardly superhuman enough. He talks too much of his chains and his uneasy posture: he is rather too much depressed and agitated. His resolution seems to depend on the knowledge which he possesses that he holds the fate of his torturer in his hands, and that the hour of his release will surely come. But Satan is a creature of another sphere. The might of his intellectual nature is victorious over the extremity of pain. Amidst agonies which cannot be conceived without horror, he deliberates, resolves, and even exults. Against the sword of Michael, against the thunder of Jehovah, against the flaming lake, and the marl burning with solid fire, against the prospect of an eternity of unintermittent misery, his spirit bears up unbroken, resting on its own innate energies, requiring no support from any thing external, nor even from hope itself!

To return for a moment to the parallel which we have been attempting to draw between Milton and Dante, we would add, that the poetry of these great men has in a considerable degree taken its character from their moral qualities. They are not egotists. They rarely obtrude their idiosyncracies on their readers. They have nothing in common with those modern beggars for fame, who extort a pittance from the compassion of the inexperienced, by exposing the nakedness and sores of their minds. Yet it would be difficult to name two writers whose works have been more completely, though undesignedly, coloured by their personal feelings.

The character of Milton was peculiarly distinguished by loftiness of thought; that of Dante by intensity of feeling. In every line of the Divine Comedy we discern the asperity which is produced by pride struggling with misery. There is perhaps no work in the world so deeply and uniformly sorrowful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of time can be judged, the effect of external circumstances. It was from within. Neither love nor glory, neither the conflicts of earth, nor the hope of heaven, could dispel it. It twined every consolation and every pleasure into its own nature. It resembled that noxious Sardinian soil of which the intense bitterness is said to have been perceptible even in its honey. His mind was, in the noble language of the Hebrew poet, "a land of darkness, as darkness itself, and where the light was as darkness!" The gloom of his character discolours all the passions of men and all the face of nature, and tinges with its own livid hue the flowers of Paradise and the glories of the Eternal Throne! All the portraits of him are singularly characteristic. No person can look on the features, noble even to ruggedness, the dark furrows of the cheek, the haggard and woful stare of the eye, the sullen and contemptuous curve of the lip, and doubt that they belonged to a man too proud and too sensitive to be happy.

Milton was, like Dante, a statesman, and a lover — and, like Dante, he had been unfortunate in ambition and in love. He had survived his health and his sight, the comforts of his home, and the prosperity of his party. Of the great men by whom he had been distinguished at his entrance into life, some had been taken away from the evil to come; some had carried into foreign climates their unconquerable hatred of oppression; some were pining in dungeons; and some had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. That hateful proscription, facetiously termed the Act of Indemnity and Oblivion, had set a mark on the poor, blind, deserted poet, and held him up by name to the hatred of a profligate court and an inconstant people! Venal and licentious scribblers, with just sufficient talent to clothe the thoughts of a pandar in the style of a bellman, were now the favourite writers of the Sovereign and the public. It was a loathsome herd — which could be compared to nothing so fitly as to the rabble of Comus, grotesque monsters, half bestial half human, dropping with wine, bloated with gluttony, and reeling in obscene dances. Amidst these his Muse was placed, like the chaste lady of the Masque, lofty, spotless, and serene — to be chattered at, and pointed at, and grinned at, by the whole rabble of Satyrs and Goblins. If ever despondency and asperity could be excused in any man, it might have been excused in Milton. But the strength of his mind overcame every calamity. Neither blindness, nor gout, nor age, nor penury, nor domestic afflictions, nor political disappointments, nor abuse, nor proscription, nor neglect, had power to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. His spirits do not seem to have been high, but they were singularly equable. His temper was serious, perhaps stern; but it was a temper which no sufferings could render sullen or fretful. Such as it was, when, on the eve of great events, he returned from his travels, in the prime of health and manly beauty, loaded with literary distinctions, and glowing with patriotic hopes, such it continued to be — when, after having experienced every calamity which is incident to our nature, old, poor, sightless and disgraced, he retired to his hovel to die!

Hence it was, that, though he wrote the Paradise Lost at a time of life when images of beauty and tenderness are in general beginning to fade, even from those minds in which they have not been effaced by anxiety and disappointment, lie adorned it with all that is most lovely and delightful in the physical and in the moral world. Neither Theocritus nor Ariosto had a finer or a more healthful sense of the pleasantness of external objects, or loved better to luxuriate amidst sunbeams and flowers, the songs of nightingales, the juice of summer fruits, and the coolness of shady fountains. His conception of love unites all the voluptuousness of the Oriental haram, and all the gallantry of the chivalric tournament, with all the pure and quiet affection of an English fire-side. His poetry reminds us of the miracles of Alpine scenery. Nooks and dells, beautiful as fairy land, are embosomed in its most rugged and gigantic elevations. The roses and myrtles bloom unchilled on the verge of the avalanche.

Traces indeed of the peculiar character of Milton may be found in all his works; but it is most strongly displayed in the Sonnets. Those remarkable poems have been undervalued by critics who have not understood their nature. They have no epigrammatic point. There is none of the ingenuity of Filicaja in the thought, none of the hard and brilliant enamel of Petrarch in the style. They are simple but majestic records of the feelings of the poet; as little tricked out for the public eye as his diary would have been. A victory, an expected attack upon the city, a momentary fit of depression or exultation, a jest thrown out against one of his books, a dream, which, for a short time restored to him that beautiful face over which the grave had closed for ever, led him to musings which, without effort, shaped themselves into verse. The unity of sentiment and severity of style which characterize these little pieces, remind us of the Greek Anthology, or perhaps still more of the Collects of the English Liturgy — the noble poem on the Massacres of Piedmont is strictly a collect in verse.

The Sonnets are more or less striking, according as the occasions which gave birth to them are more or less interesting. But they are, almost without exception, dignified by a sobriety and greatness of mind to which we know not where to look for a parallel. It would indeed be scarcely safe to draw any decided inferences as to the character of a writer, from passages directly egotistical. But the qualities which we have ascribed to Milton, though perhaps most strongly marked in those parts of his works which treat of his personal feelings, are distinguishable in every, page, and impart to all his writings, prose and poetry, English, Latin and Italian, a strong family likeness.

His public conduct was such as was to be expected from a man of a spirit so high, and an intellect so powerful. He lived at one of the most memorable eras in the history of mankind; at the very crisis of the great conflict between Oromades and Arimanes — liberty and despotism, reason and prejudice. That great battle was fought for no single generation, for no single land. The destinies of the human race were staked on the same cast with the freedom of the English people. Then were first proclaimed those mighty principles which have since worked their way into the depths of the American forests, which have roused Greece from the slavery and degradation of two thousand years, and which, from one end of Europe to the other, have kindled an unquenchable fire in the hearts of the oppressed, and loosed the knees of the oppressors with strange and unwonted fear!

Of those principles, then struggling for their infant existence, Milton was the most devoted and eloquent literary champion. We need not say how, much we admire his public conduct. But we cannot disguise from ourselves that a large portion of his countrymen still think it unjustifiable. The civil war, indeed, has been more discussed and is less understood, than any event in English history. The Roundheads laboured under the disadvantage of which the lion in the fable complained so bitterly. Though they were the conquerors, their enemies were the painters. As a body, they had done their utmost to decry and ruin literature; and literature was even with them, as, in the long run, it always is with its enemies. The best book on their side of the question is the charming memoir of Mrs. Hutchinson. May's History of the Parliament is good but it breaks off at the most interesting crisis of the struggle. The performance of Ludlow is very foolish and violent; and most of the later writers who have espoused the same cause, Oldmixon for instance, and Catherine Macaulay, have, to say the least, been more distinguished by zeal than either by candour or by skill. On the other side are the most authoritative and the most popular historical works in our language, that of Clarendon, and that of Hume. The former is not only ably written and full of valuable information, but has also an air of dignity and sincerity which makes even the prejudices and errors with which it abounds respectable. Hume, from whose fascinating narrative the great mass of the reading public are still contented to take their opinions, hated religion so much, that he hated liberty for having been allied with religion — and has pleaded the cause of tyranny with the dexterity of an advocate, while affecting the impartiality of a judge.

The public conduct of Milton must be approved or condemned, according as the resistance of the people to Charles I. shall appear to be justifiable or criminal. We shall therefore make no apology for dedicating a few pages to the discussion of that interesting and most important question. We shall not argue it on general grounds; we shall not recur to those primary principles from which the claim of any government to the obedience of its subjects is to be deduced; it is a vantage-ground to which we are entitled; but we will relinquish it. We are, on this point, so confident of superiority, that we have no objection to imitate the ostentatious generosity of those ancient knights, who vowed to joust without helmet or shield against all enemies, and to give their antagonists the advantage of sun and wind. We will take the naked constitutional question. We confidently affirm, that every reason which can be urged in favour of the Revolution of 1688, may be urged with at least equal force in favour of what is called the Great Rebellion.

In one respect only, we think, can the warmest admirers of Charles venture to say that he was a better sovereign than his son. He was not, in name and profession, a Papist; we say in name and profession, — because both Charles himself and his miserable creature Laud, while they abjured the innocent badges of Popery, retained all its worst vices, a complete subjection of reason to authority, a weak preference of form to substance, a childish passion for mummeries, an idolatrous veneration for the priestly character, and, above all, a stupid and ferocious intolerance. This, however, we wave. We will concede that Charles was a good Protestant; but we say that his Protestantism does not make the slightest distinction between his case and that of James.

The principles of the Revolution have often been grossly misrepresented, and never more than in the course of the present year. There is a certain class of men, who, while they profess to hold in reverence the great names and great actions of former times, never look at them for any other purpose than in order to find-in them some excuse for existing abuses. In every venerable precedent, they pass by what is essential, and take only what is accidental; they keep out of sight what is beneficial, and hold up to public imitation all that is defective. If, in any part of any great example, there be any thing unsound, these flesh-flies detect it with an unerring instinct, and dart upon it with a ravenous delight. They cannot always prevent the advocates of a good measure from compassing their end; but they feel, with their prototype, that

Their labours must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil.

To the blessings which England has derived from the Revolution, these people are utterly insensible. The expulsion of a tyrant, the solemn recognition of popular rights, liberty, security, toleration, all go for nothing with them. One sect there was, which, from unfortunate temporary causes, it was thought necessary to keep under close restraint. One part of the empire there was so unhappily circumstanced, that at that time its misery was necessary to our happiness, and its slavery to our freedom! These are the parts of the Revolution which the politicians of whom we speak love to contemplate, and which seem to them, not indeed to vindicate, but in some degree to palliate the good which it has produced. Talk to them of Naples, of Spain, or of South America! they stand forth, zealots for the doctrine of Divine Right — which has now come back to us, like a thief from transportation, under the alias of Legitimacy. But mention the miseries of Ireland! Then William is a hero. Then Somers and Shrewsbury are great men. Then the Revolution is a glorious era! The very same persons, who, in this country, never omit an opportunity of reviving every wretched Jacobite slander respecting the Whigs of that period, have no sooner crossed St. George's Channel, than they begin to fill their bumpers to the glorious and immortal memory. They may truly boast that they look not at men but at measures. So that evil be done, they care not who does it — the arbitrary Charles or the liberal William, Ferdinand the Catholic or Frederick the Protestant! On such occasions their deadliest opponents may reckon upon their candid construction. The bold assertions of these people have of late impressed a large portion of the public with an opinion, that James II. was expelled simply because he was a Catholic, and that the Revolution was essentially a Protestant Revolution.

But this certainly was not the case. Nor can any person who has acquired more knowledge of the history of those times than is to be found in Goldsmith's Abridgment, believe that, if James had held his own religious opinions without wishing to make proselytes, or if, wishing even to make proselytes, he had contented himself with exerting only his constitutional influence for that purpose, the Prince of Orange would ever have been invited over. Our ancestors, we suppose, knew their own meaning. And, if we may believe them, their hostility was primarily not to Popery but to Tyranny. They did not drive out a tyrant because he was a Catholic; but they excluded Catholics from the Crown, because they thought them likely to be tyrants. The ground on which they, in their famous Resolution, declared the throne vacant, was this, "that James had broken the fundamental laws of the kingdom." Every man, therefore, who approves of the Revolution of 1688, must hold, that the breach of fundamental laws on the part of the Sovereign, justifies resistance. The question then is this. Had Charles I. broken the fundamental laws of England?

No person can answer in the negative, unless he refuses credit, not merely to all the accusations brought against Charles by his opponents, but to the narratives of the warmest Royalists, and to the confessions of the King himself. If there be any truth in any historian of any party who has related the events of that reign, the conduct of Charles, from his accession to the meeting of the Long Parliament, had been a continued course of oppression and treachery. Let those who applaud the Revolution and condemn the Rebellion, mention one act James II. to which a parallel is not to be found in the history of his father. Let them lay their fingers on a single article in the Declaration of Right, presented by the two Houses to William and Mary, which Charles is not acknowledged to have violated. He had, according to the testimony of his own friends, usurped the functions of the Legislature, raised taxes without the consent of Parliament, and quartered troops on the peeple in the most illegal and vexatious manner. Not a single session of Parliament had passed without some unconstitutional attack on the freedom of debate. The right of petition was grossly violated. Arbitrary judgments, exorbitant fines, and unwarranted imprisonments, were grievances of daily and hourly occurrence. If these things do not justify resistance, the Revolution was treason if they do, the Great Rebellion was laudable.

But, it is said, why not adopt milder measures? Why, after the King had consented to so many reforms, and renounced so many oppressive prerogatives, did the Parliament continue to rise in their demands at the risk of provoking a civil war? The Ship-money had been given up. The Star-Chamber had been abolished. Provision had been made for the frequent convocation and secure deliberation of Parliaments. Why not pursue an end confessedly good, by peaceable and regular means? We recur again to the analogy of the Revolution. Why was James driven from the throne? Why was he not retained upon conditions? He too had offered to call a free Parliament, and to submit to its decision all the matters in dispute. Yet we praise our forefathers, who preferred a revolution, a disputed succession, a dynasty of strangers, twenty years of foreign and intestine war, a standing army, and a national debt, to the rule, however restricted, of a tried and proved tyrant. The Long Parliament acted on the same principle, and is entitled to the same praise. They could not trust the King. He had no doubt passed salutary laws. But what assurance had they that he would not break them? He had renounced oppressive prerogatives. But where was the security that he would not resume them? They had to deal with a man whom no tie could bind, a man who made and broke promises with equal facility, a man whose honour had been a hundred times pawned — and never redeemed.

Here, indeed the Long Parliament stands on still stronger ground than the Convention of 1688. No action of James can be compared, for wickedness and impudence, to the conduct of Charles with respect to the Petition of Right. The Lords and Commons present him with a bill in which the constitutional limits of his power are marked out. He hesitates; he evades; at last he bargains to give his assent, for five subsidies. The bill receives his solemn assent. The subsidies are voted. But no sooner is the tyrant relieved, than he returns at once to all the arbitrary measures which he had bound himself to abandon, and violates all the clauses of the very Act which he had been paid to pass.

For more than ten years the people had seen the rights, which were theirs by a double claim, by immemorial inheritance and by recent purchase, infringed by the perfidious King who had recognised them. At length circumstances compelled Charles to summon another Parliament another chance was given them for liberty. Were they to throw it away as they had thrown away the former? Were they again to he cozened by "le Roi le veut?" Were they again to advance their money on pledges which had been forfeited over and over again? Were they to lay a second Petition of Right at the foot of the throne, to grant another lavish aid in exchange for another unmeaning ceremony, and then to take their departure, till, after ten years more of fraud and oppression, their Prince should again require a supply, and again repay it with a perjury? They were compelled to choose whether they would host a tyrant or conquer him. We think that they chose wisely and nobly.

The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other malefactors against whom overwhelming evidence is produced generally decline all controversy about the facts, and content themselves with calling testimony to character. He had so many private virtues! And had James II. no private virtues? Was even Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest enemies themselves being judges, destitute of private virtues? And what, after all, are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, not more sincere than that of his son, and fully as weak and narrow-minded, and a few of the ordinary household decencies which half the tomb-stones in England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good father! A good husband! — Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of persecution, tyranny, and falsehood!

We charge him with having broken his coronation-oath — and we are told that he kept his marriage-vow! We accuse him of having given up his people to the merciless inflictions of the most hot-headed and hard-hearted of prelates — and the defence is, that he took his little son on his knee and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the articles of the Petition of Right, after having, for good and valuable consideration, promised to observe them — and we are informed that he was accustomed to hear prayers at six o'clock in the morning! It is to such considerations as these, together with his Vandyke dress, his handsome face, and his peaked beard, that he owes, we verily believe, most of his popularity with the present generation.

For ourselves, we own that we do not understand the common phrase, a good man but a bad king. We can as easily conceive a good man and an unnatural father, or a good man and a treacherous friend. We cannot, in estimating the character of an individual, leave out of our consideration his conduct in the most important of all human relations. And if, in that relation, we find him to have been selfish, cruel, and deceitful, we shall take the liberty to call him a bad man, in spite of all his temperance at table, and all his regularity at chapel.

We cannot refrain from adding a few words respecting a topic on which the defenders of Charles are fond of dwelling. If, they say, he governed his people ill, he at least governed them after the example of his predecessors. If he violated their privileges, it was because those privileges had not been accurately defined. No act of oppression has ever been imputed to him, which has not a parallel in the annals of the Tudors. This point Hume has laboured, with an art which is as discreditable in a historical work as it would be admirable in a forensic address. The answer is short, clear, and decisive. Charles had assented to the Petition of Right. He had renounced the oppressive powers said to have been exercised by his predecessors, and he had renounced them for money. He was not entitled to set up his antiquated claims against his own recent release.

These arguments are so obvious, that it may seem superfluous to dwell upon them. But those who have observed how much the events of that time are misrepresented and misunderstood, will not blame us for stating the case simply. It is a case of which the simplest statement is the strongest.

The enemies of the Parliament, indeed, rarely choose to take issue on the great points of the question. They content themselves with exposing some of the crimes and follies to which public commotions necessarily give birth. They bewail the unmerited fate of Strafford. They execrate the lawless violence of the army. They laugh at the Scriptural names of the preachers. Major-generals fleecing their districts; soldiers revelling on the spoils of a ruined peasantry; upstarts, enriched by the public plunder, taking possession of the hospitable firesides and hereditary trees of the old gentry; boys smashing the beautiful windows of Cathedrals; Quakers riding naked through the market-place; Fifth-monarchy-men shouting for King Jesus; agitators lecturing from the tops of tubs on the fate of Agag; — all these, they tell us, were the offspring of the Great Rebellion.

Be it so. We are not careful to answer in this matter. These charges, were they infinitely more important, would not alter our opinion of an event which alone has made its to differ from the slaves who crouch beneath the sceptres of Brandenburgh and Braganza. Many evils, no doubt, were produced by the civil war. They were the price of our liberty. Has the acquisition been worth the sacrifice? It is the nature of the Devil of tyranny to tear and rend the body which he leaves. Are the miseries of continued possession less horrible than the struggles of the tremendous exorcism?

If it were possible that a people brought up under an intolerant and arbitrary system could subvert that system without acts of cruelty and folly, half the objections to despotic power would be removed. We should, in that case, be compelled to acknowledge, that it at least produces no pernicious effects on the intellectual and moral character of a people. We deplore the outrages which accompany revolutions. But the more violent the outrages, the more assured we feel that a revolution was necessary. The violence of those outrages will always be proportioned to the ferocity and ignorance of the people: and the ferocity and ignorance of the people will be proportioned to the oppression and degradation under which they have been accustomed to live. Thus it was in our civil war. The rulers in the church and state reaped only that which they had sown. They had prohibited free discussion-they had done their best to keep the people unacquainted with their duties and their rights. The retribution was just and natural. If they suffered from popular ignorance, it was because they had themselves taken away the key of knowledge. If they were assailed with blind fury, it was because they had exacted an equally blind submission.

It is the character of such revolutions that we always see the worst of them at first. Till men have been for some time free, they know not how to use their freedom. The natives of wine countries are always sober. In climates where wine is a rarity, intemperance abounds. A newly liberated people may be compared to a northern army encamped on the Rhine or the Xeres. It is said that, when soldiers in such a situation first find themselves able to indulge without restraint in such a rare and expensive luxury, nothing is to be seen but intoxication. Soon, however, plenty teaches discretion; and after wine has been for a few months their daily fare, they become more temperate than they had ever been in their own country. In the same manner, the final and permanent fruits of liberty are wisdom, moderation, and mercy. Its immediate effects are often atrocious crimes, conflicting errors, scepticism on points the most clear, dogmatism on points the most mysterious. It is just at this crisis that its enemies love to exhibit it. They pull down the scaffolding from the half-finished edifice: they point to the flying dust, the falling bricks, the comfortless rooms, the frightful irregularity of the whole appearance; and then ask in scorn where the promised splendour and comfort is to found? If such miserable sophisms were to prevail, there would never be a good house, or a good government in the world.

Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, who by some mysterious law of her nature, was condemned to appear, at certain seasons, in the form of a foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her during the period of her disguise, were for ever excluded from participation in the blessings which she bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loathsome aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterwards revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form which was natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, made them happy in love and victorious in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times she takes the form of a hateful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, she stings. But woe to those who in disgust shall venture to crush her! And happy are those who, having dared to receive her in her degraded and frightful shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time of her beauty and her glory!

There is only one cure for the evils which newly acquired freedom produces — and that cure is freedom! When a prisoner first leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light of day: — he is unable to discriminate colours, or recognise faces. But the remedy is, not to remand him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder nations which have become half blind in the house of bondage. But let them gaze on, and they will soon be able bear it. In a few years men learn to reason. The extreme violence of opinions subsides. Hostile theories correct each other. The scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce. And at length a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos.

Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposition, that no people ought to be ice till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learnt to swim! If men are to wait far liberty till they become wise and good in slavery, they may indeed wait ever.

Therefore it is that which we decidedly approve of the conduct of Milton and the other wise and good men who, in spite of much that was ridiculous and hateful in the conduct of their associates, stood firmly by the cause of Public Liberty. We are not aware that the poet has been charged with personal participation in any of the blameable excesses of that time. The favourite topic of his enemies is the line of conduct which he pursued with regard to the execution of the King. Of that celebrated proceeding we by no means approve. Still we must say, in justice to the many eminent persons who concurred in it, and in justice more particularly to the eminent person who defended it, that nothing can be more absurd than the imputations which, for the last hundred and sixty years, it has been time fashion to cast upon the Regicides. We have throughout abstained from appealing to first principles — we will not appeal to them now. We recur again to the parallel case of the Revolution. What essential distinction can be drawn between the Execution of the father and the Deposition of the son? What constitutional maxim is there, which applies to the former and not to the latter? The King can do no wrong. If so, James was as innocent as Charles could have been. The minister only ought to be responsible for the acts of the Sovereign. If so, why not impeach Jeffries and retain James? The person of a King is sacred. Was the person of James considered sacred at the Boyne? To discharge cannon against an army in which a King is known to be posted, is to approach pretty near to regicide; Charles too, it should always be remembered, was put to death by men who had been exasperated by the hostilities of several years, and who had never been bound to him by any other tie than that which was common to them with all their fellow-citizens. Those who drove James from his throne, who seduced his army, who alienated his friends, who first imprisoned him in his palace, and then turned him out of it, who broke in upon his very slumbers by imperious messages, who pursued him with fire and sword from one part of the empire to another, who hanged, drew, and quartered his adherents, and attainted his innocent heir, were his nephew and his two daughters! When we reflect on all these things, we are at a loss to conceive how the same persons who, on the fifth of November thank God for wonderfully conducting his servant King William, and for making all opposition fall before him until he became our King and Governor, can, on the thirtieth of January, contrive to be afraid that the blood of the Royal Martyr may be visited on themselves and their children.

We do not, we repeat, approve of the execution of Charles; not because the constitution exempts the King from responsibility, for we know that all such maxims, however excellent, have their exceptions; nor because we feel any peculiar interest in his character, for we think that his sentence describes him with perfect justice as "a tyrant, a traitor, a murderer, and a public enemy;" but because we are convinced that the measure was most injurious to the cause of freedom. He whom it removed was a captive and a hostage: His heir, to whom the allegiance of every Royalist was instantly transferred, was at large. The Presbyterians could never have been perfectly reconciled to the father: They had no such rooted enmity to the son. The great body of the people, also, contemplated that proceeding with feelings which, however unreasonable, no government could safely venture to outrage.

But, though we think the conduct of the regicides blameable, that of Milton appears to us in a very different light. The deed was done. It could not be undone. The evil was incurred; and the object was to render it as small as possible. We censure the chiefs of the army for not yielding to the popular opinion: but we cannot censure Milton for wishing to change that opinion. The very feeling which would have restrained us from committing the act, would have led us, after it had been committed, to defend it against the ravings of servility and superstition. For the sake of public liberty, we wish that the thing had not been done, while the people disapproved of it. But, for the sake of public liberty, we should also have wished the people to approve of it when it was done. If any thing more were wanting to the justification of Milton, the book of Salmasius would furnish it. That miserable performance is now with justice considered only as a beacon to wordcatchers who wish to become statesmen. The celebrity of the man who refuted it, the "Aeneae magni dextra," gives it all its fame with the present generation. In that age the state of things was different. It was not then fully understood how vast an interval separates the mere classical scholar from the political philosopher. Nor can it be doubted, that a treatise which, bearing the name of so eminent a critic, attacked the fundamental principles of all free governments, must, if suffered to remain unanswered, have produced a most pernicious effect on the public mind.

The Online Books Page

Online Books by

Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay

(Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859)

Online books about this author are available, as is a Wikipedia article.

  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and Historical Essays, ed. by Alexander James Grieve
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The History of England from the Accession of James II
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859, contrib.: The Indian Penal Code, as Originally Framed in 1837, With Notes (Chennai: Higginbotham, 1888), by Indian Law Commission, also contrib. by J. M. Macleod, G. W. Anderson, F. Millett, C. H. Cameron, and D. Eliott (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Lays of Ancient Rome (Gutenberg text)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859, contrib.: The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay (2 volumes; London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1876), by George Otto Trevelyan
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Machiavelli (HTML and PDF at Bartleby)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The Miscellaneous Writings and Speeches of Lord Macaulay

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Additional books from the extended shelves:

  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: ... Johnson and Goldsmith; essays by Thomas Babington Macaulay; ed. by William P. Trent. (Boston, New York [etc.] Houghton, Mifflin and company, [c1896]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: [Macaulay's miscellanies.] ([S.l. : s.n., [between 1825-1899]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: [Macaulay's miscellanies.] ([S.l. : s.n., [between 1825-1899]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: [The complete works of Lord Macaulay] (Philadelphia, The University library association, [1910?]), also by Hannah More Macaulay Trevelyan and Frederick Lyman. PRO Geddes (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Addison, by Thomas Babington Macaulay; with notes by Margaret A. Eaton, A. B. (Boston, New York [etc.] Educational publishing company, [c1899]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Bįografiz bį Lord Makơle, kontribưted tu ðe Ensįklopįdia Britanika. Wið nơts ov hiz konekfon wið Edinburơ, and ekstrakts from his leterz and spi̦{u0063}ez. Riten in ðe repơrtiņ stįl ov fonơgrafi, wið ki̧ in fơnetik speliņ ... (Lưndon, F. Pitman, 1868) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Bi̜ografiz bi̜ Lord Makole, kontribưted tu đe Ensi̜klopi̧dia Britanika. Wiđ nơts ov hiz konekļon wiđ Edinburơ, and ekstrakts from hiz leterz and spi̦çez. Riten in đe reporti{u006E} stįl ov fonơgrafi wiđ k̦i in fơnetik speli{u006E} ... (Lưndon, F. Pitman, 1868) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical and historical sketches. (New York, D. Appleton and company, 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical and historical sketches, (New York, D. Appleton and company, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical essays. (Leipzig, Bernhard Tauchnitz, 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical essays / (Leipzig : B. Tauchnitz, 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical essays / (New York : John B. Alden, 1886) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographical essays / (Leipzig : B. Tauchnitz, 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies by Lord Macaulay. (New York, Macmillan and Co., 1894) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies by Lord Macaulay, contributed to the Encyclopædia Britanica. With notes of his connection with Edinburgh, and extracts from his letters and speeches. Written in the reporting style of phonography ... (London, F. Pitman, 1870) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies by Lord Macaulay contributed to the encyclopaedia Britannica. (Edinburgh, A. and C. Black, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies. : Lays and Poems / (New York : Brampton Society, [1885?]), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, and Hannah More Macaulay Trevelyan (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies. : Lays and Poems / (New York : Brampton Society, [1885?]), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, and Hannah More Macaulay Trevelyan (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Biographies. : Lays and Poems / (New York : Brampton Society, [1885?]), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay, and Hannah More Macaulay Trevelyan (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Canti di Roma antica / e, Poesie sulla schiavitù e frammenti, di E.W. Longfellow ; tradotti in versi italiani da Louisa Grace Bartolini. (Firenze : Le Monnier, 1869), also by Louisa Grace Bartolini and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Coleridge's Ancient mariner and selected minor poems. And, Macaulay' s essay on Warren Hastings [electronic resource] / (Toronto : Canada Pub. Co., 1885), also by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and J. M. Buchan (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Complete works. ([New York : Putnam, c1898]), also by Hannah More Macaulay Trevelyan (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete works of Lord Macaulay. (New York, London, G. P. Putnam's sons, [1898]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete works of Thomas Babington Macaulay. (Boston Houghton, Mifflin, 1910) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete writings of Lord Macaulay, with introductions, bibliographical note, indexes, etc. (Boston, New York, Houghton, Mifflin and co. [etc.], 1900), ed. by Henry Dwight Sedgwick (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete writings of Lord Macaulay : with introductions, bibliographical note, indexes, etc. (Boston : Houghton, 1899), ed. by Henry Dwight Sedgwick (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete writings of Lord Macaulay, with introductions, bibliographical note, indexes, etc. Illustrated with one hundred full-page photogravures. (Boston, New York, Houghton, Mifflin and co. [etc.], 1900, c1899) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The complete writings of Thomas Babington Macaulay. ([Boston, Houghton, Mifflin., 1901, c1899-1900]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays. (London, Dent, New York, Dutton, 1909) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays, (London, J.M. Dent & Co., Aldine House, 1900) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays / (London : J.M. Dent & co. New York : E.P. Dutton & co., [1907]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays / (London : J.M. Dent & Co.; New York : E.P. Dutton & Co., [1913]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays / (London : J.M. Dent ; New York : E.P. Dutton, [1935, c1907]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical & historical essays / (London : Dent ; New York : Dutton, [1966-67, c1907]), also by Alexander James Grieve (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, (Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1900) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, (London, J.M. Dent, 1900) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays. (Boston, Houghton Mifflin, [1900]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, (London, J. M. Dent; New York, E. P. Dutton, [1907]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, (London, Methuen, 1903), ed. by F. C. Montague and F. C. Montague (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays / (London : Dent ; New York : Dutton, 1907), also by A. J. Grieve (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays / (London : Longmans, Brown, Green, Longmans, & Roberts, 1858) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays and Lays of ancient Rome / (London : G. Routledge and Sons, 1898), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays and Lays of ancient Rome / (London : G. Routledge and Sons, 1898), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review (London : Longmans, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1848) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London : Longmans, Green, and co., 1890) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longmans, Green & co., 1883) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1853) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, 1870) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh Review. (London, F. Pitman, etc., 1870) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh Review. (London, 1852) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, contributed to the Edinburgh Review. (Leipzig, B. Tauchnitz jun., 1850) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, New York, Longmans, Green, 1895) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longmans, Green, and Co., 1866) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longmans, Green and co., 1877) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longmans, Brown, Green, Longmans & Roberts, 1856) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review, (London, Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts, & Green, 1865) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (New York, Albert Mason, 1875) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review. (London, Longmans, Green and Co., 1874) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1849) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longmans, Green, 1889) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays : contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1843) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longmans, Green, and co., 1880) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London ; New York : Longmans, Green, 1903) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh Review / (London : Longmans, Green & Co., 1882) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longmans, Green, 1898) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays, contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1852) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longmans, Green, 1877) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (London : Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1850) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh review / (New York : Hurd and Houghton, 1875) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and historical essays contributed to the Edinburgh Review [microform] / (London : Longmans, Green, 1885) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and Historical Essays, Volume III (of 3) (Gutenberg ebook)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays. (New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays, (Philadelphia, Carey & Hart, 1841-43) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays. (Boston, Weeks, Jordan & Co., 1840) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays (New York, D. Appleton and Company, 1895-96) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Appleton, 1861) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays. (New York : D. Appleton, 1857) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays. (Philadelphia : Carey & Hart, 1841) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays / (Philadelphia, PA : Carey & Hart, 1843-44) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays / (Philadelphia : Hart, Carey & Hart, 1854) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays / (New York : D. Appleton and company, 1880) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York : D. Appleton and Co., 1863) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays and poems / (New York : D. Appleton and co., 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical and miscellaneous essays and poems / (New York : D. Appleton and co., 1865) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Hurd and Houghton, 1875), also by Edwin Percy Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Sheldon and co., etc., etc., 1862) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Sheldon and company; Boston, Gould and Lincoln, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Sheldon and company; Boston, Gould and Lincoln, 1861) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays. (New York, Sheldon and company; Boston, Gould and Lincoln, 1860), ed. by Edwin Percy Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical historical, and miscellaneous essays. (New York : A.C. Armstrong & Son, 1897) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays : (New York : Hurd and Houghton, 1874) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays / (Boston : Houghton, Mifflin and Co. ; Cambridge [Mass.] : Riverside Press, 1894) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays / (Boston : Houghton, Mifflin, c1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays / (New York : A.C. Armstrong, 1860), also by Edwin Percy Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems (Boston : Aldine, [n.d.]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York, Lovell, Coryell & company, n.d) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York, A.C. Armstrong, [c1860]), also by Edwin Percy Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (Boston, Estes and Lauriat, 1882) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (Chicago : Donohue, Henneberry, [1885?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (Chicago, New York : Belford, Clarke & co., 1886) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York : American book exchange, 1880) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York, American Pub. Corp., [1880?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems. (New York : [s.n., 18--?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays and poems / (Chicago : Midland Book Co., [18--]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays and poems / (New York : W.L. Allison, [188-?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems / (Boston : Estes and Lauriat, [188-?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems / (New York : J.W. Lovell, [18--?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems / (Boston : Dana Estes & Co., [186-?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays and poems [microform] / (Boston : Estes and Lauriat, 1882), also by Schomburg Collection of Negro Literature and History (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems, by Thomas Babington Macaulay. (Boston, Aldine Book Pub. Co., [1890?]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays and poems, by Thomas Babington Macaulay. (Chicago : Donohue, Henneberry, 1890) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays with a memoir and an index. (New York, Hurd and Houghton, 1866) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays : with a memoir and an index / (New York : Hurd & Houghton, c1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays : with a memoir and an index / (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays. With a memoir and index. (New York, Hurd and Houghton, 1878,) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays, with a memoir and index. (New York, A. Mason, 1874 [cop. 1860]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical, and miscellaneous essays : with a memoir and index / (Boston : Hurd and Houghton, 1876), also by Edwin Perry Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays : with a memoir and index / (New York : A.C. Armstrong, 1893, c1860), also by Edwin Percy Whipple (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical, historical and miscellaneous essays : with a memoir and index / (New York : Sheldon and Co., 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Critical historical and miscellaneous essays with a memoir and index / (New York : Mason, Baker & Pratt, 1873) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The diary and letters of Madame d'Arblay (Frances Burney) (London, Vizetelly, 1890-91), also by Fanny Burney, ed. by William C. Ward (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The diary and letters of Madame D'Arblay (Frances Burney) / (London ; New York : Frederick Warne and co., 1892), also by Fanny Burney and William C. Ward (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Die geschichte Englands seit dem regierungsantritte Jakobs II. (Leipzig, T.O. Weigel, 1849-61) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Die geschichte Englands seit dem regierungsantritte Jakobs II / (Leipzig : T.O. Weigel, 1850-1861), also by Friedrich Bülau (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Dokumente zur Emanzipation der Juden : vier Reden / (Halle a.S. : Hendel, 1912) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Dr. Johnson, his friends and his critics / (London : Smith, Elder & co., 1878), also by George Birkbeck Norman Hill, Thomas Carlyle, and Philip Dormer Stanhope Chesterfield (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The Earl of Chatham. (New York, Cassell & co., [1887]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The Earl of Chatham. (Boston, Allyn and Bacon, [c. 1892]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: The Earl of Chatham / (London : W. Heinemann, 1908) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: England in 1685 [microform]; being chapter III of the History of England (Boston, New York [etc.] Ginn & Company, [c1905]), ed. by Arlo Bates (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: England in 1685, being chapter III of The history of England, (Boston: Ginn, c1897) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: England in 1685; being chapter III of the History of England, (Boston, U. S. A., and London, Ginn & company, 1897) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: England in 1685; being chapter III of the History of England (Boston, New York [etc.] Ginn & Company, [c1905]), ed. by Arlo Bates (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais d'histoire et de litterature, (Paris : Calmann Lévy, 1882), also by M. Guizot (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais historiques et biographiques / (Paris : Michel Lévy, 1860-62), also by Guillaume Guizot (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais historiques et biographiques / (Paris : Michel Lévy Frères, 1866) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais historiques et biographiques / (Paris : Michel Lévy Frères, 1862) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais littéraires / (Paris : M. Lévy , 1865), also by M. Guizot (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais politiques et philosophiques (Paris, Michel Lévy frères, 1862), trans. by Maurice Guillaume Guizot (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais politiques et philosophiques / (Paris : Michel Lévy Frères, 1862) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essais sur l'histoire d'Angleterre / (Paris : M. Lévy Frères, 1864) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay and speech on Jewish disabilities. (Edinburgh : Printed for the Jewish Historical Society of England by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co., 1909) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay and speech on Jewish disabilities (Edinburgh : Printed for the Jewish Historical Society of England by Ballantyne, Hanson, 1910), also by S. Levy and Israel Abrahams (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Addison, (New York, Cincinnati [etc.] American Book Company, [1904]), also by Charles Flint McClumpha (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Addison, (London, Macmillan & co., 1907), also by R. F. Winch (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Addison. (Boston, etc., Silver, Burdett and co., 1899) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Addison / (Boston : Allyn and Bacon, c1895), also by Samuel Thurber (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: An essay on Addison / (New York : Merrill, c1892) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Addison / (Boston : D. C. Heath, 1901, c1900), also by Albert Perry Walker (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Clive; (London : Oxford University Press, 1921), also by Vincent Arthur Smith (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Clive / (Boston : Allyn and Bacon, c1892), also by Samuel Thurber and Samuel Thurber (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: An essay on Frederic the Great / (New York : Maynard, Merrill & Co., 1893) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on John Hampden : with Bulwer Lyttons Essay on Lord Falkland / (London : J.M. Dent ; New York : E.P. Dutton, [1921]), also by Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton and R. T. Rees (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: An essay on John Milton (Chicago, Ainsworth, 1903), also by Clara Sterling Doolittle (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on John Milton, (Boston, Houghton, Mifflin, [1896]), also by William P. Trent (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: An essay on John Milton, (New York, Cincinnati [etc.] American book company, 1894) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Johnson / (Boston : Allyn and Bacon, c1891), also by Samuel Thurber (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Lord Clive, (Boston, New York [etc.] Houghton Mifflin company, [c1910]), ed. by Alan Abbott (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Lord Clive. (New York, etc., Macmillan co., 1907) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton, (Boston, Chicago [etc.] Houghton, Mifflin and company, [1896]), also by William Peterfield Trent (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton, (New York, Cincinnati, American book company, [1903]), ed. by Edward Leeds Gulick (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton, (Boston, Chicago [etc.] Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1896) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton. (Boston, Allyn and Bacon, [c1895]), ed. by Samuel Thurber and Samuel Thurber (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton; (New York, The Macmillan Co., 1914) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton. (New York, etc., The Macmillan co., 1899) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton. Life and writings of Addison / (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1896), also by William Peterfield Trent and Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton. Life and writings of Addison / (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1896), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay and William Peterfield Trent (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton ; Life and writings of Addison / (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1896), also by William Peterfield Trent and Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Milton ; Life and writings of Addison / (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, 1896), also by Thomas Babington Macaulay Macaulay and William Peterfield Trent (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Moore's Life of Lord Byron; (London, Rivingtons, 1874), also by Francis Storr (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Sir William Temple. (London, New York, Macmillan & co., 1905), also by G. A. Twentyman (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Warren Hastings. (New York, etc., Macmillan co., 1911) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essay on Warren Hastings / by Thomas Babington Macaulay ; edited by Allan Abbott. (Boston : Houghton Mifflin, c1910) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays and Lays of ancient Rome. (London, etc., Longmans, Green, and co., 1895) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays and reviews; or, Scenes and characters: being a selection of the most eloquent passages from the writings of Thomas Babington Macaulay ... (Buffalo, G.H. Derby and Co., 1849) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Boston, Phillips, Sampson, and Company, 1858) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Philadelphia, Carey and Hart, 1846) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Philadelphia, Carey and Hart, 1847) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Boston, Philips, Sampson, and Co., 1859) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Boston, Phillips, Sampson, 1858) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous, (New York, D. Appleton and Co., 1864) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Philadelphia, Carey and Hart, 1845) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (Boston, Phillips, Sampson and co., 1854) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (New York, D. Appleton & co., 1873) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. (New York, D. Appleton & co., 1869) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays : critical and miscellaneous / (Philadelphia : Carey & Hart, 1849) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (Philadelphia : Cary and Hart [T. K. & P. G. Collins], 1844) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (Philadelphia : Carey and Hart, 1844) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (Philadelphia : Carey and Hart, 1847) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (Philadelphia : A. Hart, 1853) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (New York : D. Appleton, 1860) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (Boston : Phillips, Sampson, 1856) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (New York : D. Appleton, 1863) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous / (New York : D. Appleton, 1875) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, critical and miscellaneous. By T. Babington Macaulay. (Boston, Phillips, Sampson, & co., 1856) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays, historical and literary : from the Edinburgh review / (London ; New York : Ward, Lock, & Co., [189-?]) (page images at HathiTrust; US access only)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Addison and Johnson. (New York, D. Appleton and co., 1910), also by George Briggs Aiton (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Addison and Milton. (Boston, Ginn, 1902 [c1898]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Addison, by Johnson, Macaulay and Thackeray, with twelve essays by Addison; (Oxford, Clarendon Press; [etc., etc.], 1915), also by Grace Eleanor Hadow, Joseph Addison, William Makepeace Thackeray, and Samuel Johnson (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Addison by Macaulay and Thackeray with twelve essays by Addison / (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1907), also by Grace E. Hadow, Samuel Johnson, Joseph Addison, and William Makepeace Thackeray (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Clive and Hastings. (New York, H. Holt and co., 1911) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Goldsmith by Scott, Macaulay, and Thackeray, (Oxford, The Clarendon press: [etc.], 1918), also by Oliver Goldsmith, William Makepeace Thackeray, Walter Scott, C. B. Wheeler, and Grace E. Hadow (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Lord Clive and Warren Hastings, (New York, Charles E. Merrill co., [c1910]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Lord Clive and Warren Hastings / (New York : C.E. Merrill Co., c1910), also by Cornelia Beare, ed. by Cornelia Beare (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on men and books, selected from the earlier writings of Lord Macaulay. (London, Tru bner, 1889), also by Alexander H. Japp (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison; (Boston, Allyn and Bacon, c1892), ed. by Samuel Thurber (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison, (Boston, B. H. Sanborn & co., [c1902]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison. (New York, D. Appleton and co., 1902) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison, (New York, Chicago, Globe school book company, [c1901]), ed. by Thomas Marc Parrott (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison, (New York, Longmans, Green, 1900 [c1897]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison. (Boston, etc., Leach, Shewell & Sanborn, [c. 1893]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison. (Boston, Allyn and Bacon, [c.1892]) (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison / (New York : Longmans, Green, 1904, [c1895]), also by James Greenleaf Croswell (page images at HathiTrust)
  • Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Baron, 1800-1859: Essays on Milton and Addison / (Boston : Benj. H. Sanborn & Co., c1902)

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