moral liberty being complete, and aberrations only reprobated by ridicule, while civil liberty does not find the climate so favourable. Nor must the luxury of the theatres be forgotten, particularly the grand and expensive opera: so that in this respect, Paris probably rivals Rome, or any other luxurious metropolis ancient or modern.

MUSIC.

Extracts from Milton relative to Music.

MILTON, as stated in the last number, was a skilful performer on the organ. The following passage proves how well he understood, and how completely he felt the effects produced by this sublimest of instruments:

"But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars, massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:

There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness thro' mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.”

Il Penseroso, ver. 155, et seq.

How forcibly, how eloquently, how completely do these lines describe our feelings on entering one of our venerable cathcdrals, while the service of some of our fine church composers is performing, when,

How accurately is every striking feature in the building depicted, and each part, that tends to inspire the mind with awe and reverence, brought to our recollection. Surely nothing can

more elevate the soul above the cares and anxieties of the world, than the awful solemnity of the cathedral worship when performed in one of those majestic structures. Milton was early inspired with a reverence for these sublime edifices, and the service performed in them; for while a boy, at St. Paul's school, he constantly attended public worship at the old cathedral, which, so far as we can judge from the plates and descriptions which remain of it, was one of the finest specimens of ancient Gothic architecture in England. This early impression, not all the fanatical cant and puritanical illiberality of his republican friends could ever efface. Indeed Milton's soul was too great to be cramped and fettered by the narrow prejudices of the bigotted associates of Cromwell. An expression, in the above passage, was afterwards used by Tickell, in his lines on the death of Addison :

"What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire,

The pealing organ, and the pausing quire.”

And Pope certainly was indebted to Milton, for the idea of the following lines,

"Where awful arches make a noon-day night,
"And the dim windows shed a solemn light."

Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard, v. 143 & 144.

σε Ring out ye crystal spheres,

Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so;

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time,

And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow;

And, with your ninefold harmony,

Make up full concert to the angelic symphony."

Ode on the morning of Christ's nativity, ver. 125, et seq.

"In deep of night, when drowsiness

Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I

To the celestial syrens' harmony,

That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of men and gods is wound.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteady nature to her law,

And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heav'nly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with gross unpurged ear."

Arcades, ver. 61, et seq.

Milton has here given us Plato's system of the harmony of the spheres. In order to explain the passage, I cannot do better than transcribe Mr. Wharton's account of this singular doctrine. "Fate, or Necessity, holds a spindle of adamant, and, with her three daughters, who handle the vital web around the spindle, she conducts or turns the heavenly bodies. Nine Muses, or Syrens, sit on the summit of the spheres, which, in their revolu-, tions, produce the most ravishing musical harmony. To this harmony, the three daughters of Necessity perpetually sing, in correspondent tones. In the mean time, the adamantine spindle is also revolved. This music of the spheres, proceeding from the rapid motion of the Heavens, is so loud, various and sweet, as to exceed all aptitude or proportion of the human ear, and therefore is not heard by men. Moreover, this spherical music consists of eight unisonous melodies: the ninth is a concentration of all the rest, or a diapason of all those eight melodies, which diapason, or concentus, the nine Syrens sing or address to the Supreme Being." Milton was probably indebted to Shakspeare for the first idea on this subject:

"There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,

But, in his motion, like an angel sings,

Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims.

Such harmony is in immortal souls!

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it."

Merchant of Venice, Act 5, sc. 1.

Perhaps the passage above quoted, from the Ode on the Nativity, suggested to Dryden one of the lines in his first Ode on St. Cecilia's day :

"From harmony, from heav'nly harmony,
This universal fi ame began:

From harmony to harmony,

Through all the compass of the notes, it ran;

The diapason closing full in man."

Dryden's Ode, ver. 10. et seq.

In an organ, the stop called the diapason* is the lowest in pitch, and is consequently the base, or foundation, on which the rest of the instrument is built. It serves to bind, unite and close the other stops together, and to give strength and grandeur to the whole. Thus Milton and Dryden, in the following lines, seem to have taken their ideas from the effect or use of this stop:

"And let your silver chime,

Move in melodious time,

And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow."
"Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.”

MISCELLANY.

DEAN SWIFT'S CURE FOR FORGETFULNESS.

A SHOEMAKER of Dublin had a longing desire to work for dean Swift; he was recommended by Mr. James Swift, the banker, and Mr. Sican, a merchant. The dean gave him an order for a pair of boots, adding, "When shall I have them?" "On Saturday next," said the shoemaker. "I hate disappointments," rejoined the prelate, "nor would have you disappoint others: set your own time, but keep to it." "I thank your reverence," said Bamerick, for that was his name, "I desire no longer time than Saturday se'nnight, when you will be sure to have them without fail."

They parted, and the boots were finished to the time; but, through the hurry of business, Mr. Bamerick forgot to carry

* Had Dr. Johnson possessed a little of Milton's musical knowledge, he would have endeavoured to give a more satisfactory definition of this word, than merely saying that, “ Diapason is a term in music."

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them home until Monday evening. When the dean drew the boots on and found them to his mind, he said, "Mr. Bamerick, you have answered the commendations of your friends, but you have disappointed me, for I was to have been at sir Arthur Axheson's, in the county of Armagh, on this day." "Indeed! indeed, sir!" said Bamerick, "the boots were finished to the time, but I forgot to bring them home."

The dean then gave him one of his stern looks; and after a pause, asked him whether he understood gardening as well as bootmaking? Bamerick answered, "No, sir: but I have seen some very fine gardens in England." "Come," said the dean, in a good humoured tone, "I will show you improvements I have made in the deanery garden."

They walked through the garden to the further end, when the dean started, as if recollecting something; "I must step in," said he; "stay here till I come back:" then he ran out of the garden, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. Bamerick walked about till it grew dark, and not seeing the dean, he at last ventured to follow him, but found the door locked; he knocked, and called several times to no purpose, and at length perceived himself confined between high walls, the night dark and cold, in the month of March. However, he had not the least suspicion of his being intentionally confined.

The deanery servants went to bed at the usual hour, and the dean remained in his study until two o'clock in the morning. He then went into the hall, and drew the charge out of a blunderbuss, and other fire arms; then returned and rang his bell. He was immediately attended by one of his servants. "Robert," said he, "I have been much disturbed with noise on the garden side, I fear some robbers have broken in; give me a lanthorn, and call up Saunders." The dean then took the lanthorn and staid by the arms until the men returned. "Arm yourselves," said he," and follow me." He led them into the garden, where the light soon attracted poor Bamerick, who came running up to them. Upon his approach, the dean roared out, "there's the robber, shoot him, shoot him. Saunders presented, and Bamerick, terrified to death, fell on his knees and begged his life. The dean held the lanthorn to the man's face, and then gravely