What a grossness of ignorance, both of man and his savior, to run to Greek and Roman schools to learn how to put off Adam, and to put on Christ? To drink at the fountains of pagan poets and orators, in order more divinely to drink of the cup that Christ drank of? What can come of all this, but that which is already too much come, a Ciceronian- gospeller, instead of a gospel- penitent? Instead of the depth, the truth and spirit of the humble publican, seeking to regain paradise, only by a broken heart, crying, "God, be merciful to me a sinner," the high-bred classic will live in daily transports at the enormous {See Milton's Enormous Bliss.} sublime of a Milton, flying thither on the unfeathered wings of high sounding words.