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 superstition. They not only discuss metaphysical puzzles, but are themselves metaphysical entities. The difficulty reaches its height when it compels him to introduce the Creator as an actor in the story, and leads to those strange incongruities upon which it is needless to dwell. If we do not accuse him of profanity, it is because he is plainly abashed by his own daring. Most people—in spite of enthusiastic critics—agree with Johnson that no one ever wished Paradise Lost longer. Readers are generally bored when a poet is bored himself; and Milton, if not bored, is clearly writing under constraint, which has much the same effect. His imagination, if not quenched, is paralysed. He has to cling closely to the text, or moves cautiously, and diverges into a common-place historical summary. The contrast between the incomparable majesty of the opening, and the flagging which begins when he ventures into heaven, makes itself felt in spite of the continued dignity of style.

The criticism represented by Addison did not trouble itself with this problem. The theodicy dropped out of sight. Addison, indeed, though he declines to admit with Le Bossu that every epic poet 'pitches upon a certain moral' as a starting-