As Salmasius reproached Milton with losing his eyes in the quarrel, Milton delighted himself with the belief that he had shortened Salmasius's life, and both perhaps with more malignity than reason. Salmasius died at the Spa, Sept. 3, 1653; and as controvertists are commonly said to be killed by their last dispute, Millon was flattered with the credit of destroying him. quence is not merely satirical; the rudeness of his invective is equalled by the grossness of his flattery. “Deserimer, Cromuelle, tu solus superes, ad te summa nostrarum rerum rediit, in te solo consistit, insuperabili tuæ virtuti cedimus cuncti, nemine vel obloquente, nisi qui a quales inæqualis ipse honores sibi quærit, aut digniori concessos invidet, aut non intelligit nihil esse in societate hominum magis vel Deo gratum, vel Cromwell had now dismissed the parliament rationi consentaneum, esse in civitate nihil æquiby the authority of which he had destroyed mo- us, nihil utilius, quam potiri rerum dignissinarchy, and commenced monarch himself, under mum. Eum te agnoscunt omnes, Cromuelle, ea the title of Protector, but with kingly and more tu civis maximus et gloriosissimus,* dux publici than kingly power. That his authority was consilii, exercituum fortissimorum imperator, lawful, never was pretended; he himself found- pater patriæ gessisti. Sic tu spontanea bonoed his right only in necessity; but Milton, hav- rum omnium et animitus missa voce salutaris." ing now tasted the honey of public employment, Cæsar, when he assumed the perpetual dictawould not return to hunger and philosophy; torship, had not more servile or more elegant but, continuing to exercise his office under a ma- flattery. A translation may show its servility; nifest usurpation, betrayed to his power that li- but its elegance is less attainable. Having exberty which he had defended. Nothing can be posed the unskilfulness or selfishness of the for. more just than that rebellion should end in sla- mer government, “We were left," say Milton, very; that he who had justified the murder of " to ourselves: the whole national interest fell his king, for some acts which seemed to him un-into your hands, and subsists only in your abili lawful, should now sell his services and his flat-ties. To your virtue, overpowering and resistteries to a tyrant, of whom it was evident that he could do nothing lawful. He had now been blind for some years; but his vigour of intellect was such, that he was not disabled to discharge his office of Latin secretary, or continue his controversies. His mind was too eager to be diverted, and too strong to be subdued. less, every man gives way, except some who, without equal qualifications, aspire to equal honours, who envy the distinctions of merit greater than their own, or who have yet to learn, that in the coalition of human society nothing is more pleasing to God, or more agreeable to reason, than that the highest mind should have the sovereign power. Such, sir, are you by About this time his first wife died in child-general confession; such are the things achievbed, having left him three daughters. As he probably did not much love her, he did not long continue the appearance of lamenting her; but after a short time married Catharine, the daughter of one Captain Woodcock, of Hackney; a woman doubtless educated in opinions like his own. She died, within a year, of child-birth, or some distemper that followed it; and her husband honoured her memory with a poor sonnet. ed by you, the greatest and most glorious of our countrymen, the director of our public councils, the leader of unconquered armies, the father of your country; for by that title does every good man hail you with sincere and voluntary praise." Next year, having defended all that wanted defence, he found leisure to defend himself. He undertook his own vindication against More, whom he declares in his title to be justly called "the author of the "Regii Sanguinis Clamor." In this there is no want of vehemence or eloquence, nor does he forget his wonted wit. "Morus es? an Momus? an uterque idem est ?" He then remembers that Morus is Latin for a mulberry-tree, and hints at the known transformation: The first reply to Milton's "Defensio Populi' was published in 1651, called "Apologia pro Rege et Populo Anglicano, contra Johannis Polypragmatici (alias Miltoni) defensionem destructivam Regis et Populi." Of this the author, was not known: but Milton, and his nephew Philips, under whose name he published an answer so much corrected by him that it might be called his own, imputed it to Bramhal; and, knowing him no friend to regicides, thought themselves at liberty to treat him as if they had known what they only suspected. -Poma alba ferebat Quæ post nigra tulit Morus. he from this time gave himself up to his private With this piece ended his controversies; and studies and his civil employment. Next year appeared "Regii Sanguinis clamor ad Cælum." Of this the author was Peter du to have written the declaration of the reasons As secretary to the Protector, he is supposed Moulin, who was afterwards prebendary of Can- for a war with Spain. His agency was consiterbury; but Morus, or More, a French minis-dered as of great importance; for, when a ter, having the care of its publication, was treated as the writer by Milton in his "Defen- treaty with Sweden was artfully suspended, the sio Secunda," and overwhelmed by such vio- delay was publicly imputed to Mr. Milton's in lence of invective, that he began to shrink under voked to express his wonder, that only one man disposition; and the Swedish agent was pro the tempest, and gave his persecutors the means in England could write Latin, and that man of knowing the true author. Du Moulin was now in great danger; but Milton's pride operated against his malignity; and both he and nis friends were more willing that Du Moulin should escape than that he should be convicted of mistake. blind. Being now forty-seven years old, and seeing It may be doubted whether gloriosissimus be here used with Milton's boasted purity. Res gloriosa is an In this second defence he shows that his elo-gart, as is miles gloriosus.-Dr J illustrious thing; but vir gloriosus is commonly a brag. himself disencumbered from external interruption, he seems to have recollected his former purposes, and to have resumed three great works which he had planned for his future employment; ar epic poem, the history of his country, and a dictionary of the Latin tongue. To collect a dictionary, seems a work of all others least practicable in a state of blindness, because it depends upon perpetual and minute inspection and collation. Nor would Milton probably have begun it after he had lost his eyes; but, having had it always before him, he continued it, says Philips, "almost to his dying day; but the papers were so discomposed and deficient, that they could not be fitted for the press." The compilers of the Latin dictionary printed at Cambridge, had the use of those colfections in three folios; but what was there fate afterwards is not known.* To compile a history from various authors, when they can only be consulted by other eyes, is not easy, nor possible, but with more skilful and attentive help than can be commonly obtained; and it was probably the difficulty of consulting and comparing that stopped Milton's narrative at the Conquest; a period at which affairs were not very intricate, nor authors very numerous. For the subject of his epic poem, after much deliberation, long choosing, and beginning late, he fixed upon "Paradise Lost;" a design so comprehensive, that it could be justified only by success. He had once designed to celebrate King Arthur, as he hints in his verses to Mansus; but "Arthur was reserved," says Fenton, "to another destiny." It appears, by some sketches of poetical projects left in manuscript, and to be seen in a library at Cambridge, that he had digested his thoughts on this subject into one of those wild dramas which were anciently called Mysteries:§ and Philips had seen what he terms part of a tragedy, beginning with the first ten lines of Satan's address to the sun. These mysteries consist of allegorical persons; such as Justice, Mercy, Faith. Of the tragedy or mystery of "Paradise Lost" there are two plans: The Cambridge Dictionary," published in 4to. 1603, is no other than a copy, with some small additions, of that of Dr Adam Littleton in 1635, by sundry persons, of whom, though their names are concealed, there is great reason to conjecture that Milton's nephew, Edward Philips, is one; for it is expressly said by Wood, Fasti, vol. i. p 235, that "Milton's Thesaurus" came to his hands; and it is asserted, in the preface thereto, that the editors thereof had the use of three large folios in manuscript, collected and digested into alphabetical order by Mr. John Milton. It has been remarked, that the additions, together with the preface above mentioned, and a large part of the title of the "Cambridge Dictionary," have been incorporated and printed with the subsequent editions of Littleton's Dictionary," till that of 1735. Vid. Biog. Brit. 285, in not.-So that, for aught that appears to the contrary, Philips was the last possessor of Milton's MS.-H. Id est, to be the subject of an heroic poem, written by Sir Richard Blackmore.-H. Trinity College -R. The dramas in which Justice, Mercy, Faith, &c. were introduced, were Moralities, not Mysteries. Malone. Conscience cites them to God's examination. Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise. Labour, Grief, Hatred, Envy, War, Fa-) mine, Pestilence, Sickness, Discon- Mutes. To whom he gives their names. Likewise, Winter, Faith, Hope, Charity, comfort him and instruct him Chorus briefly concludes. Such was his first design, which could have produced only an allegory, or mystery. The following sketch seems to have attained more maturity, Adam unparadised; The angel Gabriel, either descending or entering; showing, since this globe was created, his frequency as much on earth as in heaven: describes Paradise. Next the Chorus, showing the reason of his coming to keep his watch in Paradise, after Lucifer's rebellion, by command from God: and withal expressing his desire to see and know more concerning this excellent new creature, man. The angel Gabriel, as by his name signifying a prince of power, tracing Paradise with a more free office, passes by the station of the Chorus, and, desired by them, relates what he knew of man: as the creation of Eve, with then the year of the Restoration he bated no jot of heart or hope, but was fantastical enough to think that the nation, agitated as it was, might be settled by a pamphlet, called "A ready and easy Way to establish a free Commonwealth;" which was, however, enough considered to be both se The obstinate enthusiasm of the commonwealth-men was very remarkable. When the King was apparently returning, Harrington, with a few associates as fanatical as himself, used to meet, with all the gravity of political importance, to settle an equal government by rotation; and Milton, kicking when he could strike no longer, was foolish enough to publish, a few weeks before the Restoration, "Notes upon a sermon preached by one Griffiths, entitled The Fear of God and the King."" To these notes an answer was written by L'Estrange, in a pamphlet petulantly called "No Blind Guides." 1ove and marriage. After this, Lucifer appears; | friends to the new commonwealth; and even in after his overthrow, bemoans himself, and secks revenge on man. The Chorus prepares resistance on his first approach. At last, after discourse of enmity on either side, he departs: whereat the Chorus sings of the battle and victory in heaven, against him and his accomplices: as before, after the first act, was sung a hymn of the creation.riously and ludicrously answered. Here again may appear Lucifer, relating and exulting in what he had done to the destruction of man. Man next, and Eve, having by this time been seduced by the Serpent, appears confusedly covered with leaves. Conscience in a shape accuses him; Justice cites him to a place whither Jehovah called for him. In the mean while, the Chorus entertains the stage, and is informed by some angel the manner of the fall. Here the Chorus bewails Adam's fall. Adam then and Eve return: accuse one another; but especially Adam lays the blame to his wife; is stubborn in his offence. Justice appears, reasons with him, convinces him. The Chorus admonisheth Adam, and bids him beware Lucifer's example of impenitence. The angel is sent to banish them out of Paradise: but before causes to pass before his eyes, in shapes, a mask of all the evils of this life and world. He is humble, relents, despairs; at last appears Mercy, comforts him, promises the Messiah; then calls in Faith, Hope, and Charity; instructs him; he repents, gives God the glory, submits to his penalty. The Chorus briefly conc.udes. Compare this with the former draught. These are very imperfect rudiments of "Paradise Lost;" but it is pleasant to see great works in their seminal state, pregnant with latent possibilities of excellence; nor could there be any more delightful entertainment than to trace their gradual growth and expansion, and to observe how they are sometimes suddenly improved by accidental hints, and sometimes slowly improved by steady meditation. Invention is almost the only literary labour which blindness cannot obstruct, and therefore he naturally solaced his solitude by the indulgence of his fancy, and the melody of his numbers. He had done what he knew to be necessarily previous to political excellence; he had made himself acquainted with seemly arts and affairs: his comprehension was extended by various knowledge, and his memory stored with intellectual treasures. He was skiltul in many languages, and had by reading and composition attained the full mastery of his own. He would have wanted little help from books, had he retained the power of perusing them. But while his greater designs were advancing, having now, like many other authors, caught the love of publication, he amused himself, as he could, with little productions. He sent to the press (1655) a manuscript of Raleigh, called "The Cabinet Council;" and next year gratified his malevolence to the clergy, by a "Treatise of Civil power in Ecclesiastical Cases, and the Means of removing Hirelings out of the Church." Oliver was now dead, Richard was constrained to resign: the system of extemporary govern ment, which had been held together only by force, naturally feil into fragments when that force was taken away, and Milton saw himself and his cause in equal danger. But he had still hope of doing something. He wrote letters, which Toland has published, to such men as he thought | But whatever Milton could write, or men of greater activity could do, the King was now about to be restored, with the irresistible approbation of the people. He was therefore no longer secretary, and was consequently obliged to quit the house, which he held by his office; and, proportioning his sense of danger to his opinion of the importance of his writings, thought it convenient to seek some shelter, and hid himself for a time in Bartholomew-close, by West Smithfield. I cannot but remark a kind of respect, perhaps unconsciously, paid to this great man by his biographers: every house in which he resided is historically mentioned, as if it were an injury to neglect naming any place that he honoured by his presence. The King, with a lenity of which the world has had perhaps no other example, declined to be the judge or avenger of his own or his father's wrongs; and promised to admit into the Act of Oblivion all, except those whom the parliament should except; and the parliament doomed none to capital punishment but the wretches who had immediately co-operated in the murder of the King. Milton was certainly not one of them; he had only justified what they had done. This justification was indeed sufficiently offensive, and (June 16) an order was issued to seize Milton's "Defence," and Goodwin's "Obstructors of Justice," another book of the same tendency, and burn them by the common hangman. The attorney-general was ordered to prosecute the authors; but Milton was not seized, nor perhaps very diligently pursued. Not long after (Angust 19) the flutter of innumerable bosoms was stilled by an act, which the King, that his mercy might want no recommendation of elegance, rather called an Act of Oblivion than of Grace. Goodwin was named, with nineteen more, as incapacitated for any public trust; but of Milton there was no exception.* Of this tenderness shown to Milton, the curi osity of mankind has not forborne to inquire the disqualified from bearing any office: but Toland says, Philips says expressly, that Milton was excepted and he was not excepted at all, and consequently excluded in the General Pardon, or Act of Indemnity, passed the 29th of August, 1660. Toland is right; for I find Goodwin and Ph. Nye, the minister, excepted in the Act, but Milton not named. However, he obtained a special pardon in December, 1660, which passed the privy-seal, but not the great-seal.—Malone be mistaken." reason. Burnet thinks he was forgotten; but tendant; and therefore, by the recommendation this is another instance which may confirin Dal- of Dr. Paget, married Elizabeth Minshul, of a rymple's observation, who says, that "whenever gentleman's family in Cheshire, probably without Burnet's narrations are examined, he appears to a fortune. All his wives were virgins; for he has declared that he thought it gross and indelicate to be a second husband: upon what other prin ciples his choice was made cannot now be known; but marriage afforded not much of his happiness. The first wife left him in disgust, and was brought back only by terror; the second, indeed, seems to have been more a favourite, but her life was short. The third, as Philips relates, oppressed his children in his lifetime, and cheated them at his death. Forgotten he was not; for his prosecution was ordered; it must be therefore by design that he was included in the general oblivion. He is said to have had friends in the House, such as Marvel, Morrice, and Sir Thomas Clarges: and, undoubtedly, a man like him must have had influence. A very particular story of his escape is told by Richardson,* in his Memous, which he received from Pope, as delivered by Betterton, who might have heard it from Davenant. In the war between the King and parliament, Davenant was made prisoner, and condernned to die; but was spared at the request of Milton. When the turn of success brought Milton into the like danger, Davenant repaid the benefit by appearing in his favour. Here is a reciprocation of generosity and gratitude so pleasing, that the tale makes its own way to credit. But, if help were wanted, I know not where to find it. The danger of Davenant is certain from its own relation; but of his escape there is no account. Betterton's narration can be traced no higher; it is not known that he had it from Davenant. We are told that the benefit exchanged was life for life; but it seems not certain that Milton's life ever was in danger. Goodwin, who had committed the same kind of crime, escaped with incapacitation; and, as exclusion from public trust is a punishment which the power of government can commonly inflict without the help of a particular law, it required no great interest to exempt Milton from a censure little more than verbal. Something may be reasonably ascribed to veneration and compassion-to veneration of his abilities, and compassion for his distresses, which made it fit to forgive his malice for his learning. He was ow poor and blind: and who could pursue with violence an illustrious enemy, depressed by fortune, and disarmed by nature? The publication of the Act of Oblivion put him in the same condition with his fellow-subjects. He was, however, upon some pretence now not known, in the custody of the sergeant in December; and when he was released, upon his refusal of the fees demanded, he and the sergeant were called before the House. He was now safe within the shade of oblivion, and knew himself to be as much out of the power of a griping officer as any other man. How the question was determined is not known. Milton would hardly have contended, but that he knew himself to have right on his side. He then removed to Jewin-street, near Aldersgate-street; and, being blind and by no means wealthy, wanted a domestic companion and at It was told before by A. Wood, in Ath. Oxon, vol. ii. p. 412, 2d edit.-C. That Milton saved Davenant is attested by Aubrey and by Wood from him; but none of them say that Davenant saved Milton. This is Richardson's assertion merely. Malone. A different account of the means by which Milton secured himself is given by an historian lately brought to light. "Milton, Latin secretary to Cromwell, distinguished by his writings in favour of the rights and liberties of the people, pretended to be dead, and had a public funeral procession. The King applauded his policy in escaping the punishment of death, by a seasonable show of dying."-Cunningham's History of Great Britain, vol. i. p. 14.-R. Soon after his marriage, according to an ob scure story, he was offered the continuance of his employment, and, being pressed by his wife to accept it, answered, "You, like other women, want to ride in your coach; my wish is to live and die an honest man." If he considered the Latin secretary as exercising any of the powers of government, he that had shared authority, either with the parliament or Cromwell, might have forborne to talk very loudly of his honesty; and if he thought the office purely ministerial, he certainly might have honestly retained it under the King. But this tale has too little evidence to deserve a disquisition; large offers and sturdy rejections are among the most common topics of falsehood. He had so much either of prudence or grati tude, that he forbore to disturb the new settle ment with any of his political or ecclesiastical opinions, and from this time devoted himself to poetry and literature. Of his zeal for learning in all its parts, he gave a proof by publishing, the next year, (1661,)" Accidence commenced Grammar;" a little book, which has nothing remarkable, but that its author, who had been lately defending the supreme powers of his country, and was then writing "Paradise Lost," could descend from his elevation to rescue children from the perplexity of grammatical confusion, and the trouble of lessons unnecessarily repeated.* About this time, Elwood, the quaker, being recommended to him as one who would read Latin to him for the advantage of his conversation, attended him every afternoon except on Sundays. Milton, who, in his letter to Hartlib, had declared, that "to read Latin with an English mouth is as ill a hearing as Law French," required that El wood should learn and practise the Italian pro nunciation, which, he said, was necessary, if he would talk with foreigners. This seems to have been a task troublesome without use. There is little reason for preferring the Italian pronunciation to our own, except that it is more general; and to teach it to an Englishman is only to make him a foreigner at home. He who travels, if he speaks Latin, may so soon learn the sounds which every native gives it, that he need make no provision before his journey; and if strangers visit us, it is their business to practise such conformity to our modes as they expect from us in their own countries. Elwood complied with the directions, and improved himself by his attendance; for he relates, that Milton, having a curious ear, knew * Yelden, in his continuation of Langbaine's account of the Dramatic Poets, 8vo. 1693, says, that he had been told that Milton, after the Restoration, kept a school at or near Greenwich. The publication of an Accidence at that period gives some countenance to this tradition... Malone. by his voice when he read what he did not under- | noted by those with whom he was familiar; for In a short time he took a house in the Artillerywalk, leading to Bunhill-fields; the mention of which concludes the register of Milton's removals and habitations. He lived longer in this place than any other. he was obliged, when he had composed as many lines as his memory would conveniently retain, to employ some friend in writing them, having, at least for part of the time, no regular attendant. This gave opportunity to observations and reports. Mr. Philips observes, that there was a very reHe was now busied by "Paradise Lost," markable circumstance in the composure of "PaWhence he drew the original design has been va-radise Lost," which I have a particular reason," rously conjectured by men who cannot bear to think themselves ignorant of that which, at last, neither diligence nor sagacity can discover. Some find the hint in an Italian tragedy. Voltaire tells a wild and unauthorized story of a farce seen by Milton in Italy, which opened thus: Let the rainbone be the fiddle-stick of the fiddle of Heaven.* It has been already shown, that the first conception was a tragedy or mystery, not of a narrative, but a dramatic work, which he is supposed to have begun to reduce to its present form about the time, (1655) when he finished his dispute with the defenders of the King. says he, "to remember; for whereas I had the He long before had promised to adorn his na- Upon this relation Toland remarks, that in his Being driven from all public stations, he is yet too great not to be traced by curiosity to his retirement: where he has been found by Mr. Richardson, the fondest of his admirers, sitting "before his door in a gray coat of coarse cloth, in warm sultry weather, to enjoy the fresh air; and so, as in his own room, receiving the visits of the people of distinguished parts as well as quality." His visiters of high quality must now be imagined to be few; but men of parts might reasonably court the conversation of a man so generally illustrious, that foreigners are reported, by Wood, to have visited the house in Bread-street, where he was born. According to another account, he was seen in small house, "neatly enough dressed in black clothes, sitting in a room hung with rusty green; pale, but not cadaverous, with chalk-stones in his hands. He said, that, if it were not for the gout, his blindness would be tolerable." In the intervals of his pain, being made unable to use the common exercises, he used to swing in a chair, and sometimes played upon an organ. He was now confessedly and visibly employed upon his poem, of which the progress might be * It is scarcely necessary to inform the reader, that this relation of Voltaire's was perfectly true, as far as relates to the existence of the play which he speaks of, namely, the Adams of Andraini; but it is still a question whether Milton ever saw it-J. B. not easy to discover. This dependance of the soul upon the seasons, those temporary and periodical ebbs and flows of intellect, may, I suppose, justly be derided as the fumes of vain imagination. Sapiens dominabitur astris. The author that thinks himself weatherbound will find, with a little help from hellebore, that he is only idle or exhausted. But while this notion has possession of the head, it produces the Our powers owe inability which it supposes. much of their energy to our hopes; possunt quia posse videntur. When success seems attainable, diligence is enforced; but when it is admitted that the faculties are suppressed by a cross wind, or a cloudy sky, the day is given up without resistance, for who can contend with the course of nature? From such prepossessions Milton seems not to have been free. There prevailed in his time an opinion, that the world was in its decay, and that we have had the misfortune to be produced in the decrepitude of Nature. It was suspected that the whole creation languished, that neither trees nor animals had the height or bulk of their predecessors, and that every thing was daily sinking by gradual diminution.* Milton appears to sus *This opinion is, with great learning and ingenuity, refuted in a book now very little known, "An Apology or Declaration of the Power and Providence of God in the Government of the world," by Dr. George Hakewill, London, folio, 1635. The first who ventured to propogate it in this country was Dr. Gabriel Goodman, bishop of Gloucester, a man of a versatile temper, and the au |