were killed or scattered. Liberty was trodden under foot. His name was a bye-word among the Royalists. An order was issued to seize some of his works, and burn them by the common hangman. He had indeed, as he says, "fallen on evil days and evil tongues, with darkness and with danger compassed round." Few would have had the heart to do anything at such a time. But at such a time it was that our great poet devoted himself to the maturing and completion of the great work which he had undertaken in youth. It seems to us as noble a spectacle as any in history, to see this grand old man, having done his work for his own age, and being now blind, and poor, and neglected, calmly and confidently sitting down to write for future ages. He could do no more for his beloved country. On all political questions his mouth was gagged. The oracles of the great man were prized no more by his degenerate countrymen. But he heeded it not. Silently and steadily he worked on at that book which he dedicated to posterity

66

The Paradise Lost" was published in 1667. Milton sold the copyright to Samuel Simmons "for an immediate payment of five pounds, with a stipulation to receive five pounds more, when thirteen hundred copies of the first edition should be sold; and, again, five pounds after the sale of the same number of the second edition; and another five pounds after the same sale of the third. None of the three editions were to be extended beyond fifteen hundred copies." In two years, thirteen hundred copies of the first edition were sold; and Milton became entitled to the second payment of five pounds, for which the receipt was signed, April 26, 1669. The second edition was not published till 1674. Several improvements were made in that edition. The work was originally in ten books. In that edition the seventh and tenth books were divided into two; and the work, as it now stands, appeared in twelve books. The third edition was published in 1678.

1670. Milton presented a copy to
Elwood, and said,
"This is owing to
you; for you put it in my head by the
question you put to me at Chalfont,
which otherwise I had not thought of."
In the same year appeared the "History
of England" and "Samson Agonistes."

In closing this account of the poet's literary labours, we are sorely tempted to pause and criticise them. But we are reluctantly compelled to abandon the attempt. A superficial criticism would be worse than none; and, as this article has already reached an unreasonable length, and we have a good deal still to say of a biographical and historical character, any critical remarks which we might make cannot but be superficial.

This seems to be an appropriate place for gathering up the scattered threads of the poet's domestic life. His first wife died in 1653, and left him three daughters. It was not long before he married again. His second wife was Catherine Woodcock, daughter of a Captain Woodcock of Hackney. She seems to have been worthy of Milton, and, had she lived, would doubtless have made his home happy. But she died within a year, of childbirth. Several years after, he married Elizabeth Minshul, of a gentleman's family in Cheshire; and, according to Phillips, she oppressed his children in his lifetime, and cheated them at his death. His last days seem to have been embittered by her.

Happily we have several particulars handed down to us of the last years of his life. He took a small house in Bunhill Fields; and there he was seen sitting "at the old organ, beneath the faded green curtains." There his friend Elwood would go every afternoon, except on Sundays, to read Latin to him, and listen to his conversation. There he taught his daughters to read to him (by rote) in Hebrew, Syriac, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, French. There he has been found by Richardson, sitting "before his door in a grey coat of coarse cloth, in warm, sultry weather, to enjoy the fresh air." There, according to another account, he was seen When Elwood, Milton's Quaker friend, 'neatly enough dressed in black clothes, had read the "Paradise Lost," he re- sitting in a room hung with rusty green marked to the author, "Thou hast said-pale, but not cadaverous-with chalka great deal upon paradise lost; what stones in his hands. He said, that, if hast thou to say upon paradise found?" it were not for the gout, his blindness Milton took the hint; and this seems to would be tolerable." Richardson tells have been the germ of the "Paradise us, that, in composing his poem, "he Regained," which was published in would sometimes lie awake whole nights,

To the passing spectator he seemed fallen and forsaken. His blindness, as we have seen, was represented as a judgment from God. And, doubtless, there were moments when he felt his position keenly. He was poor. We have seen that he was paid just ten pounds (in all) for his "Paradise Lost," and proportionately for his other works. He had no private property. He would not stoop for money. It is said, that, shortly after

So quick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veil'd.
Thus with the year

Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of eve or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off; and, for the book of knowledge fair,
Presented with a universal blank

Of nature's works, to me expung'd and rased,
And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out."
This is certainly a sad picture. Aye,
but what is the poet's own sublime

conclusion?

his last marriage, he was offered the his two exquisite sonnets on his blindWe cannot refrain from quoting also continuance of his employment, as sec

ness:

retary, by Charles the Second's govern-When I consider how my light is spent
ment. As the story runs, his wife
pressed him to accept the offer; but he
answered, "You, like other women, want
to ride in your coach; my wish is to
live and die an honest man.' His dif-
He
ficulty in composing was great.
was too poor to employ a regular ama-
nuensis to take down his words. He
was obliged to beg any one that came
in his way, to copy down the majestic
thoughts of the "Paradise Lost." And,
then, he could not read. The joy of
beautiful sights was no longer his; and
to a mind like his, naturally so artistic,
and so admirably fitted to enjoy the
wonders of the physical universe, it must
have been hard indeed to be shut out of
the palace of the visible creation. He
could no longer roam about, at his own
will, amid the woods and green fields. He
sat, of a sunny morning, in the porch of
his house, enjoying the fresh air; but
this was in a confined garden, in the
suburb of the great city. He was at the
mercy of others. All was blank. We
can imagine that it was during one of
these moments of depression, that he
composed that touching line in "Samp-
son Agonistes-full of the concentrated
essence of sadness:

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more
bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He, returning, chide;'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not
need

Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best:
His state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait." The second sonnet is inscribed to Cyriac Skinner.

'Cyriac, this three years' day these eyes, though
clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of life, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou

ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them over-
plied

In Liberty's defence-my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the

world's vain mask,

Content, though blind--had I no better guide."

He had a "better guide." Though blind, he lived in light. His outward blindness did but strengthen his inward sight. As physical objects faded from his view, spiritual objects opened on him. As his material eye closed in everlasting night, his spiritual eye saw God and eternal realities all the more distinctly. His own noble prayer was fulfilled. The celestial light shone inward, and the mind, through all her powers,

irradiated;" and he lived to "see and in tens of thousands into the coffers of other booksellers. And at length, wearied and worn-tost and buffetedhe sank into his grave on the 10th of November, 1674.

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE.

Voilà un homme qui a eu beaucoup de chagrins;" while we have his oft-quoted and certainly unaffected lines,—

tradictions; “a great perturbation in fate;" whereas a French diplomatic nature," whether monstrous or super-personage, contemplating Goethe's phyhuman we are at a loss to decide. His siognomy, is said to have observed, admirers see in him an example of intellectual and moral manhood, nearly perfect. To them he is "totus teres atque rotundus." Gainsayers so far subscribe to the predicate of "many-sidedness," as to make it part of the indictment against him, that "he is every

man-in no man;" that we have here an

acknowledged poet, who can prose inter-
minably; a moralist, who traverses with
no hesitating step the most doubtful
ground; a man of science who thinks
he has outwitted Newton by aid of the
felicitous discovery, that geometry had
been overestimated as an organon of
physical research! He has written
plays for us which might elbow out
the 66
Stranger," or The Bleeding
Nun," on the boards of a penny thea-
tre; ballads that might be sung in
the streets- -even in translation; a
novel unequalled in world-wide popu-
larity, save by "Robinson Crusoe," or
"Uncle Tom." On the other hand, he
has indited whole volumes of dramatic
and poetic riddles, which perplex the
brains of those to whom Eschylus and
Pindar are child's play; and which leave
the most friendly and sympathising as
well as acute expositors in some degree
of unpleasant dubiety.

"Who never ate his bread in sorrow,

Who never spent the darksome hours, Weeping and watching for the morrow,

He knows you not, ye heavenly powers,"

and the pregnant Greek motto in his Autobiography, "He that is not scourged is not schooled."

Such an anomalous personal and literary existence is, indeed, an excellent basis for posthumous renown. Were we compelled to adopt Mr. De Quincy's general estimate of Goethe,† we should

infer with him that there was malice aforethought in the case,

"With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit."

66

Hác itur ad

For when the age shall find its prophet to speak out boldly one other of its to win it," as it has already in that on strivings in a treatise on " Fame, how "Money, how to get it," this receipt of premeditated obscurity may fairly take precedence of all others. astra." Disguise, voluntary or involuntary, has gained for the masqueraders in the Dance of Life, a prominence to which, as unhooded revellers, they could never have aspired. Had but one creThe critics have treated him accord-dible witness lifted the "Iron Mask," ingly. Edinburgh Reviewers allow him that redoubtable domino might not have to be a man of some genius; a connois-been mentioned except in the Chroniseur of no mean order. Nor can they deny that he occasionally expresses dignified sentiments in a style which is not common-place. But they find his master-work, for the most part, a low affair, with an unctuous kitchen odour about

Francis would hardly be a subject of cles of State Imprisonment. Sir Philip warm literary interest in this year 1853 at nearly a century's distance - had he been “Junius" confessed. Mystery - well devised and carried through

the mystifier who cunningly conceals himself, and the mystified who cunningly pretends to defeat his purpose.

it. Had it not come from such a be-attaches an infinite charm to the object lauded quarter, they would not have it encircles; chiefly for the simple reatouched it with the longest Ithuriel- son, that it confers a double boon: it flatters him that gives and him that spear ever invented to serve the dainty takes; purposes of fastidious criticism. Whether it is, that having been directed to a palace of art and beauty, they have (not without fault of their own) missed their way, stumbled upon the back offices instead of entering at the portal, and so turned back in disgust, we cannot now inquire. All we observe is the manifest paradox.

As finale to this catalogue of contrarieties, we may add, that, in the opinion of no mean judge- Mr. De Quincysunny prosperity was essential to his nature, and happily that was his

is better ground for perpetuated interest We hope, however, to show that there satisfied curiosity; that we have not yet in this case, than the cravings of undone with Goethe, because we have not fathomed his depth; because to many of answered question, how we may acquire us it is an all-important, but still unthat talisman by whose help he reached

* Carlyle's Miscellanies, vol. i.
+ Art." Goethe," Ency. Brit.