offices filled by his aunt's husbands. Milton's daughters, who were taught the trade of embroidery in gold and silver, by which they earned their bread, could read many ancient languages, though they did not understand them. This is not surprising; for it was in accordance with the domestic strictness of those times. His youngest daughter, Deborah, his amanuensis "for Paradise Lost," was subsequently married to a master weaver, Mr. Clarke, in Spitalfields, and is represented as an intellectual woman. Her youngest daughter, who was married to a man named Foster, a weaver, in Spitalfields, kept a little chandler's shop in Cock Lane, near Shoreditch Church. Her condition attracted public sympathy; the Queen, Addison, and others, presented her with purses of gold; and, in 1750, the Mask of Comus was acted for her by way of benefit, which brought her 130/. ; yet so simple and secluded was her mode of life, that she did not know the meaning of a benefit. She used to speak of her grandfather with a kind of reverential awe. They all thought him inspired. Though his descendants were numerous, the race is supposed to be now

extinct.

Milton's reading embraced, —for his industry was as indefatigable as his genius was boundless,—the whole range of ancient and modern learning; but, in the maturity of his age and intellect, he became fastidious in the subjects of his study. He then began to confine himself, as appears from many passages in his prose works, to an intense meditation of the standard writers, when he contemplated that work which he triumphantly anticipated his "country would not willingly let die." Of all these, ancient and modern, he was a complete master. Those who had best opportunities of knowing him tell us, that there were certain authors among them who were his peculiar favourites. The Hebrew Bible was the subject of his daily study. Homer, Euripides, Plato, Xenophon, and Demosthenes, were his favourites among the Greeks. Among the Latins, Ovid and Sallust. Among the English, Spenser, (whom he used to call his master,) Shakspeare, and Cowley. Among the Italians, Tasso and Dante. It appears he set but little value on the French writers. Some of these partialities may appear to many men strange; but they should, I think, consider the cast and structure of Milton's mind. There runs through Euripides a high and continued tone of moral sentiment, which was congenial to Milton's taste, and which was more than a counterbalance to the daring sublimities of Aschylus. The one was a steady guide; the other may present dangerous allurements: and he did not want the example of sublimity; for he possessed within him, in the most eminent degree, the elements of the highest sublimity. The fancy and versatility of Ovid, together with the vast variety of subjects he descants on, could furnish the mind of Milton with more intellectual food, than the judicious imitations, or the metbodical evenness of Virgil. And Sallust, (whom Tacitus copies, both imitating Thucydides,) from his concentration

of thought, his purity and vigour of style, was more to his purpose, than the poetic imagery and declamatory diffuseness of Livy. Of Cicero's works, (except the philosophical,) he seems to have been no high admirer. Cicero, like most of the Latin authors, borrowed much from the Greeks; and Milton, who knew tbe originals thoroughly, preferred to follow him whenever he drew from tbe primitive source. Hence his speeches, often cast in the mould of Demosthenes, have little of the verbose swell of Cicero. Dryden was a constant visitor of his; yet he spoke of Dryden as a mere rhymer. But it must be recollected that Dryden had not then reached the meridian of his fame, or intellectual vigour.

It has been often remarked, that his occasional vituperations in his prose essays, are not very consonant with his general character of a sedate, tolerant, and composed reasoner. The following passage will be enough to show, that he sometimes thought it necessary, in the fiery warfare he was engaged in, to hurl fiery bolts against his adversaries: for thus he speaks in his "Apology for Smectymnuus: —"Some also were endued with a staid moderation, and soundness of argument, to teach and convince the rational and sober-minded; yet not therefore is that to be thought the only expedient course of teaching, for in times of opposition, when either against new heresies arising, or old corruptions to be reformed, this cool impassioned mildness of positive wisdom is not enough to damp and astonish the proud resistance of false and carnal doctors; then (that I may have leave to soar, as the poets use) Zeal, whose substance is ethereal, arming in complete diamond, ascends his fiery chariot drawn by two blazing meteors, figured like beasts, but of a higher breed than any the zodiac yields, resembling two of those four, whom Ezekiel and St. John saw; the one visaged like a lion, to express power, high authority and indignation; the other of countenance like a man, to cast derision and scorn upon perverse and fraudulent seducers; with these the invincible warrior Zeal, shaking loosely the slack reins, drives over the heads of scarlet prelates, and such as are insolent to maintain traditions, bruising their stiff necks under his flaming wheels."

It is vulgarly imagined, that his republicanism tended to inculcate a system of general equality. Nothing can be more erroneous. He has left living records in his writings, that he contemplated no Buch absurdity. No; he only wished for constitutional freedom, such as we now enjoy; and had he lived in these times, he would have been a bold defender of our modern and limited monarchy, if not of our now more tolerant Church. He opposed the hierarchy and monarchy of his time, because he conceived both hostile to civil and religious liberty. It was against their abuse of power he contended; and it cannot be denied that there were abuses. If he advocated the abolition of those institutions, it was because he did uot imagine they could be brought under popular control through

the independence of parliament. However, hear himself. At the opening of his "Areopagitica," he says, "When complaints are freely heard, deeply considered, and speedily reformed, there is the utmost bound of civil liberty that wise men look for." There is nothing extravagant in this—Whig and Tory say the same. This liberty we now enjoy; but his contemporaries did not. So he also 6ays, in "Paradise Lost "—

·for ordert and degrees jar not With liberty, but well consist."

Indeed, the subject and scope of " Paradise Lost" present a moral, that revolt against a just monarch is an act of high guilt, and that nothing but high misdemeanour on the part of the sovereign ruler could warrant it.

No man ever showed a more fervid patriotism than he does. Whenever he speaks of the regeneration of his country, he becomes enthusiastic and poetic in the highest degree. One example is enough. He thus alludes to the regeneration of England in his "Areopagitica: "—"Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation, rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks: methinks I see her as an eagle muing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam; purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms."

It has been asked, and often, why did Milton, the Republican^ So closely unite himself with the usurper, and the autocrat, Cromwell? Milton justifies himself in the following passage, near the end of his "Defensio Secunda." It is one of the most remarkable in all his prose works, or even in all English history. The picture of such a man, drawn by such a master, is indeed a valuable curiosity. I may observe, that, to preserve the style and character of the Latin original, I found it necessary to give a new translation. The translation by the Rev. Dr. Fellowes is considered the best; but it is full of omissions and errors, and is rather a paraphrase than a translation. It gives the English reader no idea of the terseness and vigour of Milton's style. I have adhered closely to the original, and endeavoured to convey its spirit. I may add, that Milton's literary character suffers injury from the loose and inaccurate translations we have of these great prose works, which in his life-time raised him to the highest pitch of fame at home and abroad.

"Oliver Cromwell sprung from a noble and illustrious family. The name was formerly famous under the monarchy in the good administration of government, and slill more famous in the restoration, or establishment, then for the first time, of true religion

among us.1 He grew up quietly at home to maturity and vigour of manhood, which he spent in privacy; remarked for nothing more, than for his rigid observance of pure religion, and his integrity of life and he silently cherished in his breast a confident reliance on the Deity, and a greatness of soul, to meet the most critical emergencies. Elected by the suffrages of his native borough, he obtained the senatorian office, in the last parliament convoked by the king, There he soon became eminent for the surpassing justness of his opinions, and firmness of his counsels. When the appeal was made to arms, he offers his services, and is appointed to a troop of horse. Then, having obtained a great accession to his forces by a concourse of the good flocking from all quarters to his standard, he surpassed in a short time almost the greatest generals by the magnitude of his operations, and the rapidity of his execution. Nor was this surprising; for he was a soldier thoroughly disciplined in a knowledge of himself; and had previously extinguished, or held in subjection, whatever internal enemies he may have had—vain hopes—fears— desires. First, the commander of himself—of himself the conqueror, he had learned over himself to obtain the most signal triumph: therefore, on the very diy he first appeared in the camp, he grew a veteran, consummately skilled in all the science of war. It is impossible for me, adequately with the dignity of the subject, to detail, within the limits of this discourse, the many cities that he took, the battles—even the great ones, that he won. Never defeated or discomfited, he swept over the whole surface of Britain in one career of continued victories. These require the great work of a per/ect history—a new field, as it were, of elocution; and a scope of narrative coextensive with the deeds. This alone is sufficient proof of his singular and almost godlike merit—that there was active within him sueh vigour, whether of soul and genius, or of discipline moulded not alone to the rules of warfare, but to the rules and holiness of Christianity, that he attracted from all quarters to his camp, as to the best school, not merely of military science, but of religion and of piety, the good and the brave; or, mainly by his example, made his followers such; and that during the whole war, and sometimes during the periods of intervening peace, under all the vicissitudes of public opinion and events—under many oppositions, he kept, and still keeps them to their duty—not by largesses and military indulgence—but by his sole authority and his mere pay. Greater praise than this is not bestowed on Cyrus, Epaminondas, or any of the greatest generals of antiquity. Hence no other general, in a shorter time, collected an army more numerous and better equipped than his—an army obedient to his word in all things—

i He alludes chiefly to the celebrated Cromwell, earl of Essex, (the ancestor of the Protector,) in the reign of Henry VIII.

beloved and cherished by their fellow-citizens; formidable indeed to the enemy in arms; but entitled to the admiration of those who wished for peace, in whose lands and under whose roofs they lived without oppression or harm; so that when the people reflected on the outrage, the drunkenness, the impiety, and the debauchery ol the Royalists, they, in their delight at their altered condition, looked on them not as enemies, but as friends—a safeguard to the good—a terror to the bad, and the promoters of all piety and virtue.

"Nor is it right to omit thee, Fairfax, in whom nature, and the bounty of Heaven, have united with the greatest bravery, the greatest moderation, and sanctity of life. Justly and deservedly indeed ought you be summoned to receive your meed of praise, though you have as far as possible now kept aloof in your retirement, like the great Scipio Africanus at Liternum. Nor was it the external enemy alone you subdued; but you subdued ambition, and that which subdues the greatest of men—the love of glory. And now you enjoy the fruits of your virtues and illustrious deeds in your charming and glorious ease, which is the end of all human toiLs and actions, even of the greatest—such ease as that, which when the heroes of antiquity enjoyed, after a career of war and glory not greater than yours, the poets, who endeavoured to extol them, despairing of adequately describing it, feigned that they were received into heaven, and reclined at the banquets of the gods. But, whether it be your state of health, which I principally believe, or any other cause, that induced you to retire; of this am I entirely persuaded, that nothing could tear you from the service of your country, had you not seen what a powerful protector of liberty—what a firm and faithful pillar and bulwark—of the state of England, you were leaving behind in your successor!

"For while you, O Cromwell, are preserved among us, he shows but little confidence in the Deity, who fears for the safety of England; when he sees you so evidently the object of the Divine favour and assistance. But there was another field of the war in which you were to act the champion alone. In short, I shall, if possible, detail your most memorable achievements, with the same rapidity that you performed them. All Ireland being lost, except one city, you conveyed your army across; and quickly in a single battle crushed the Irish forces. There you were day by day engaged in the completion of your labours, when you are suddenly recalled to the war in Scotland. Thence you proceed with energies untired against the Scotch, then making an irruption into England, with the monarch at their head; and in about a year you completely subdued, and added that kingdom to the dominion of England; what for 800 years our monarchs were unable to effect. The remainder of their forces—powerful and well equipped, who in a fit of desperation had made a sudden incursion into England—then almost naked of garrisons, and had proceeded as far as Worcester, you overtook