bitious machinations, he confined himself as much as possible to the privacy of domestic life. Finally on a full and fair review of all the intercourse between Milton and Cromwell, there is not the smallest ground to suspect, that Milton ever spoke or acted as a sycophant or a slave; he bestowed indeed, the most liberal eulogy, both in prose and rhyme, upon the protector; but at a period when it was the general opinion, that the utmost efforts of panegyric could hardly equal the magnitude and the variety of the services rendered to his country by the acknowledged hero and the fancied patriot; at a period when the eulogist who understood the frailty of human nature, and foresaw the temptations of recent power, might hope that praise so magnificent, united to the noblest advice, would prove to the ardent spirit of the protector the best preservative against the delirium of tyranny. These generous hopes were disappointed; the despotic proceedings of Cromwell convinced his independent monitor, that he deserved not the continued applause of a free spirit;

and though the atchievements of the pro tector were so fascinating, that poetical panegyrics encircled even his grave, yet Milton praised him no more, but after his decease fondly hailed the revival of parliamentary independence, as a new dawning of God's providence on the nation. In contemplating these two extraordinary men together, the real lover of truth and freedom can hardly fail to observe 'the striking contrast of their characters; one was an absolute model of false, and the other of true grandeur. Mental dignity and public virtue were in Cromwell fictitious and delusive; in Milton they were genuine and unchangeable; Cromwell shews the formidable wonders that courage and cunning can perform, with the assistance of fortune; Milton, the wonders, of a superior kind, that integrity and genius can accomplish, in despight of adversity and affliction.

An eager solicitude to vindicate a most noble mind from a very base and injurious imputation has led me to anticipate some public events. From these observations on

the native and incorruptible independence of Milton's mind, let us return to the incidents of his domestic life.

Soon after his removal to his house in Westminster, his fourth child, Deborah, was born, on the second of May, 1652. The mother, according to Philips, died in childbed. The situation of Milton at this period was such as might have depressed the mind of any ordinary man: at the age of fortyfour he was left a widower, with three female orphans, the eldest about six years old, deformed in her person, and with an impediment in her speech; his own health was very delicate; and with eyes that were rapidly sinking into incurable blindness, he deeply engaged in a literary contest of the highest importance. With what spirit and success he triumphed over his political and personal enemies the reader is already informed. When these in 1654, were all silenced and subdued by the irresistible power of his superior talents and probity," he had leisure again (says his nephew) for his own studies and private designs."

It seems to have been the habit of Milton to devote as many hours in every day to intense study as the mental faculties could bear, and to render such constant exertion less oppressive to the mind, by giving variety to the objects of its application, engaging in different works of magnitude at the same time, that he might occasionally relieve and inspirit his thoughts by a transition from one species of composition to another. If we may rely on the information of Philips, he now began to employ himself in this manner on three works; a voluminous Latin Dictionary, a History of England, and an Epic Poem; of the two last I shall speak again according to the order of their publication. The first, and least important, a work to which blindness was peculiarly unfavorable, was never brought to maturity, yet served to amuse this most diligent of authors, by a change of literary occupation, almost to the close of his life. His collection of words amounted to three folios; but the papers, after his decease, were so discomposed and deficient (to use the expression of his ne

phew) that the work could not be made fit for the press. They proved serviceable however to future compilers, and were used by those who published the Latin Dictionary at Cambridge, in 1693.

Though he had no eyes to choose a second wife, Milton did not long continue a widower. He married Catherine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock, a rigid sectarist, says Mr. Warton, of Hackney. This lady appears to have been the most tender and amiable of the poet's three wives, and is the only one of the three, whom the muse of Milton has immortalized with an affectionate memorial. Within the year of their marriage she gave birth to a daughter, and very soon followed her to the grave. "Her husband" says Johnson" has honored her memory with a poor sonnet ;" an expression of contempt, which only proves that the rough critic was unable to sympathise with the tenderness that reigns in the pathetic poetry of Milton in the opening of this sonnet;