tary, especially after his sight began to fail him. His nephew, Edward Philips, for some time assisted him.

In 1652 he entirely lost his sight.

Todd has recovered a curious letter of Milton from the State-Paper Office, recommending his friend Andrew Marvell, the poet, for some employment:" A gentleman, whose name is Mr. Marvell,—a man, both by report and the converse I have had with him, of singular desert for the state to make use of; who also offers himself, if there be any employment for him. His father was the minister of Hull, and he hath spent four years abroad in Holland, France, Italy, and Spain, to very good purpose, as I believe, and the gaining of these four languages;-besides, he is a scholar, and well read in the Latin and Greek authors; and, no doubt, of an approved conversation; for he comes now lately out of the house of the Lord Fairfax, who was general, where he was intrusted to give some instructions in the languages to the lady, his daughter."

This letter of Milton was written in 1653: but Marvell was not joined to Milton in the office of Latin secretary till 1657. Marvell's commendatory poem on the 'Paradise Lost' is well known:— When I beheld the poet blind, yet bold,

In slender book his vast design unfold; &c.

Milton's salary as Latin secretary was £288 18s. 6d. a year. In 1659, he was only paid at the rate of £200 a year, having then retired.

In this retirement, about two years before the

Restoration, he began the Paradise Lost.' Though retired, he was visited by all foreigners of distinction, and some persons of rank at home; but he was known and admired more for his political services than for his poetry.

He had, as has been mentioned, done little in poetry for the last twenty years, except his few sonnets of these, Johnson speaks with a tasteless and unworthy contempt: that they are rich in thought, sentiment, and naked sublimity of language, is now undisputed.

It appears that Milton yet relaxed nothing of his mental activity. After the death of Cromwell he must have seen the incumbent danger of that republican form of government, which he had spent so much zeal and such gigantic talents to establish. Not only his head but his heart was involved in this establishment. He had worked himself to a fury against kings, and what he supposed to be the tyranny inseparable from their power. His ambition does not appear to have been in the least degree selfish ;-he had no views of personal aggrandisement: he did not look to riches or political honours: he had no familiarity with those who were called the great: even with Cromwell, his idol, he seems to have had no individual intimacy. Lawrence, " of virtuous father virtuous son," and Cyriac Skinner, were his chief friends. Of the former he says,—

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard season gaining?

He, who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

Even the genius of Milton could not have made the progress he did either in production or in learning, if he had admitted the frequent distractions of society. The history of his day is given by the biographers;-but it will not account for the immensity of his reading. The processes of such a mind it is too hazardous to attempt to analyse. His vast memory tempted him sometimes to incumber himself with abstruse and useless literature. One is a little astonished that a creative brain, which is constantly working its materials into new shapes and combinations, can reflect things precisely in the form and colours in which it receives them.-Even the 'Paradise Lost' is occasionally patched with allusions of this kind.-There is, however, an unaccountable charm in the manner in which the poet occasionally mentions remote names of persons and places. A single word calls up a whole train of ideas-but then this is a mere reference to an instructed and rich memory.

Milton's whole life ought to have been employed in creation, not reproduction.—But this opinion will not perhaps be commonly assented to, or even understood. The poet was a powerful reasoner in his political and theological discussions, but not always free from obscurity or sophistry. His heated mind saw certain questions in an exaggerated or partial view.

The time was now arriving, when it was neces

sary to throw away and forget politics. In spite of all his efforts the monarchy was at length restored. He had now reason to dread the fate of the other regicides: it was necessary for a time to conceal himself: Vane and others were taken, condemned, and put to death. The part which Milton had taken in justifying the decapitation of the late King, by arguments and in language insulting and contemptuous, might reasonably have been suspected to have marked him out to the Court for a signal object of vengeance. He was finally spared: by what influences this was effected, is now little known: this act of mercy reflects great honour on the government.

The

Though there are many reasons to suppose that Milton's poetical fame was yet but little acknowleged, this extraordinary regard shown to him by sparing his life raises a contrary inference.--He had no claims for forbearance from the King on account of his political talents :-these were powers which it must have been desirable to crush. greater part of those who had the monarch's ear were profligate men, who, even if they had been well acquainted with the poetry which the bard had hitherto put forth, would not have enjoyed it: even Lord Clarendon seems to have had no taste for this sort of genius: he commends Cowley as having taken a flight beyond other votaries of the Muses; and the historian's warm loyalism, in theory as well as personal attachment, would have felt abhorrence beyond other men for the immortal bard's political writings. We are con

VOL. I.

L

strained to leave the cause of this mercy in the dark, and give the glory to those who exerted it.

Now came in a flood of poetasters from the French school; dissolute, base-minded, and demoralising, with little genius, but some wit,epigrammatists, satirists, and buffoons, ridiculing all that was grave, praising nothing but what was worldly and unprincipled.

It is true that Dryden was now beginning to work himself into fame, but on the French model; which, however, he improved by the force of thought and language, and harmony of vigorous versification. I need not observe how unlike was the genius of Milton and of Dryden: Johnson has admirably analysed the latter, to which his own taste inclined. He who is partial to Dryden, will never, I think, much relish Milton; though it will be objected that the case was otherwise with Gray, who is said to have united his admiration of both. There is a want of grandeur, of sentiment, of creation, of visionariness in Dryden. His style is clear, powerful, and buoyant; but his thoughts are often common, and his imagery is unpicturesque and vague: he was more intellectual than imaginative: his mind was turned to the world, and the observances of actual and daily life he was often happy in acuteness of discrimination upon the manners and characters of the time witness his portrait of Achitophel (Lord Shaftesbury). Here the extreme subtlety of his understanding displayed itself in full force.

This was exactly what suited the reigning taste