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JOHN MILTON

AND HIS TIMES

AN HI8T0BIOAL NOVBL.
MAX RING.

COMPLETE IH ONE VOLUME.

aaliH Illu3t:iation3 ba "Pastan I'aa-

NEW TOEK:
D. APPLETON ifc CO., 90, 92 & 94 GEAND STEEET.

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Ehteeed, BCFOrdlJig to Act of OongtssB, In the year 1868, t
D. APPLETON & CO.,
le Cleik'B 0«ca of Bie District Court of the Unifed States for the Bi
Now YorS.

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COKTEI^TS.

BOOK I.

CHip. I.— Lost in Httywoofl Foreet,
n,— The Forest ConyBntlcle,
in.— Alice and Conrns, .
IV.— TheKfiecne, .
v.— Tlie Belarn,
VI.— A Morning at Lndlow Castle,
TH— Alice HDd Mi"
V 111.— Eendezvons oC TiiomaB
Lncy,

xvn,-

.— Milton and Lis W'lfe— War da-

clarea,
. — Separation of Hilton and his

-Anna Davies— Rennion of Hns-

IX,— The Meeting,
X,— Sir Eenelm Dlgby,
XL— Maton and Dlgby,
SH.— CStholic Plane and Progresa,
XIIL— Milton's ChoBen Vocation, .
XIV.— Love's Sacriflce (o FrieadsMp, ,
XV.— Keheataal of tlia Maekof Comna,
XVI.— The Peribcmance,
XVn.— Sir Eenehn Digby fciled,

■lacy's Escape and Flight, .
XIX.— The Beal Father— The Purenit,
XX.— Death of Edward Kuig,

Chap. I.— Patifl— Htigo GrotinB. .
n.— Flocence-Oallleo. .
—Rome— Leonora Baroul,
.—The Poet and hta Mnae, .
.—The StrngglB of Love andFaith,
.— TheHennit, .
,— Naplea-Taeso,

tecall to England— Escape ftom

Assassination,
farewell to Leonora^" Adamo
Cadato," ....
liomus BgertOD at Conrt,
,— Charlea I. and his Qneen and

Conncillora,
[.-Parliament— Trial of StiaSord,
he Qoeen'a Conspiracy- Ese-
cnUonofBtrafTord,
v.— Milton' a Marriage— Euplnre be-
tween the King and Parlia-

XXI.— Marriago of Thomas and Lncj-

Capture of the Caatle,
Xm.— Eiacution of Oliarlea I— Crom-
well and the Levellers,

BOOK m.
Chip. L— Milton and Darenant— I^y
Alice' a Diary.
n.-rlaar Alice m London-Mllton

and Salmaalas, .
in.— DiaperBal of Parliament— Crom-
well made Lord Protector,
IV.— The Lord Protector's Conrt, .
v.— The Crown refnaed by Cromwell,
VL— Lady Claypole—" Killing no

Murder," .
VH.— Lacy and her Father— Crom-
well's Last Days,
Vm.— General Monk— Milton and
lady Alice, .
IX.— The Restoration— Mliton'B Con-

cealmont,
X.— Arrest and Pardon of Milton,
XI.— Second Marriage,
Xn.— Milton and the Dnke of York,
Xni.— Publication of " Paradise Lost "

—Milton and Drydcn, . . :

XIV.— England under Charles n.— Old

Henderaon'a Insurrection, !

XV.— Mlla. de Queronallle— Alliance

with LoniB XIV,, . . :

XVI.— " Samson Agonistea,"
SVIL—Millon'a Death, . . - :

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

BOOK I.

Two jouBg noblemeD, accompanied bjtheir
sisl^r, rode in the most b«antiful month of
spring throagh Hajwood Forest, one of those
splendid woods which formerly adorned Old
England eo charminely, and which are fast
disappearing from the surface of the country.
They had paid a visit to their relatives at
Hacefield, the nohle house ofDerbj, and were
now returning to Ludlow Castle, the r^dence
of tbeir father, who was no other than the
Earl of Bridgewater, at that time Lord Preai-
d t fW 1 Th 1 th son of Thorn.
Ej, t n fh 1 b t d j st, who, oniJer
th 'm f Qu El b th and her suc-
e. b d h Id th ; ble and com-
m dmg po t f L rd E per of the Seal

d Ch 11 -of E gland th the greatest
■1 ti t d dp od of his life.

Th d d t f th mmcnt man were

t thy of him. His grandsons, mere

youths at the time at which our story opens,
had not become degenerate; and charmmg
Lady Alice Egerton was considered everywhere
one of the most beautiful and amiable young
ladies in Merry Old England. She and her
brothers were in the full bloom of youth.

beauty, and vivacity. They were tenderly at-
tached to each other, and no calamitous event
had hitherto disturbed the clear and even cur-
rent of their lives. Joy and hilarity beamed
from their sparkling eyes and blooming cheeks.

Thus they rode, ch.itting gayly and care-
lessly, through the verdant, fragrant for^t
Merry jeals, such as only the young know and
like, caused them from time to time to burst
into ringing laughter, in which the birds of the
forest joined now and then harmonioualj with
their sweet warbling and chirping. Haywood
forest, like the larger portion of the county of
Hereford, in which it is situated, consists of a
series of undulating knoUa and heights, densely
covered with tall, gigantic oaka and beeches.
The highway,on which, the travellers weterid-
ing at the time, led theni first past a deep
goi^e, and then along the base of a precipitous
hill, from which a email rivulet rushed noisily
into the depth below. Many a by-path inter-
sected the road and penetrated deeper and
deeper into the thicket. There were still re-
mot* partB«f the forest which human feet had
rarely or never trodden, and into which no
murderous aie had yet penetrated — virginal
sanctuaries, clad with all the weird charmg of
lonely and undefiled nature.

The three travellers had entered one of these
by-paths, in the eagerness of Iheir c

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

tion, without noticing that ttey had left tlio
bighwaj. Tlio wonderful charms of this beau
tiful wilderness fascinated them. Oh, bow
glorious was this verdant solitude of the for
eat! There stood those primeval oaks, the
patriarchs of creation, spreading their inotty
arms, as if to bless the forest, over the younger
generations of .slender birch, raaple, and chest-
nut trees. Flexible ivy encircled their gigantic
trunlis with tender graeefiilness; and on their
bark grew long-haired, silver-colored mosses,
resembling gray beards, light-brown mush-
rooms, and the mysterious mistletoe, parasifc
plants deriving life and nourishment from thi
cuiioua soil. On the ends of the branches
gleamed reddish shoots like quivering flames,
symptoms of the stil! imdiminished vigor of
the trees.

"Those are splendid fellows," remarked
Tliomas Egerton, the younger brother, point-
ing gayly to the giants of the forest, " I do
not remember ever having seen here such
beauUful oaks, although I have passed through
Haywood Forest more than fifty times."

"I believe we haie strayed from the high-
way and penetrated too far mto the forest,"
replied John, the elder brother, who, during
his fetter's hfetime, bore the name and titio
of Lord Brackley. "This part of the forest is
entirely unknown to me."

"But !t ia gloriously beautiful," exclaimed
fair Alice, who was riding on her white palirey
between her two brothers, with radiant eyes.
" I should lilte Ui slay here all day."

" Like Ccha in the play," said Thomas, jest-
ingly. " That remark ia charaoteristie of my
dear sister, who always thinks of her Shake-
speare. Very well, I am at jour service ; let
us stop here. I shall be your Orlando, if our
aelancholy Jaqucs docs not object to it,"

The merry youth applied this name from
Shakespeare's " As You Like It " to his graver
brother, who, as the first-bom
to the custom of thi

1 son, according

t^ln authority over his younger brother and
sisler However, far fi:om avaJ^ug himself of
his authority now, John yielded to their
wishes, although their straymg from the high-
way rendered hun more uneasy than he ad-
mitted to them.

"Very well," he siud, with seeming care-
lessness, "if you are tired^ we may rest here
for an hour or so. The sun is yet high in the
heavens, and I hope we shall reach the high-
way again. Let us, in Ihe mean time, take our
dinner here in the forest, like Robm Hood,
and encamp in the shade of these trees."

"You speak as though you were Solomon
himself," exclaimed Thomas, merrily." I say
like Oriando: 'If this uncouth forest yield
any thing savage, I will cither be food for it, or
bring it for food to thee.' "

With this classical quotation from the well-
tuowu old poet, the vivadoua youth jumped
from his horse ajid hastened to offer his ser-
vices OS equerry to his beloved sister, while he
left to his more sedate brother John the care
of fastenhig the reins of the horses to a tree,
ipacMng the provisions whieh they had
brought with them. The young travellers were
""' accompanied by their servants as the two
iths were sufficient for the protection of
their sister, and would not tolerate any vex-
atious companions near them.

merry company sat down on the soft
urf, in tho shade of one of the primeval
oaks, to partake of the frugal repast. The
brothers had converted their cloaks 'into a
eat for Alice, whom they treated in
every respect with the Mndeat attention and
BoUcitude. lii their conduct toward her, they
' combined tho tone of fraternal love with the
then customaiy delicate gallantry which dated
from the times of Queen EUzabeth, when eXl
England lay admiringly at the feet of the
Maiden Queen. The homage rendered to the
foremost lady of the worid was soon trans-
ferred to tho whole female sei, and became a

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LOST IN HAYWOOD POREST.

matter of fashion. The gentlemeit adopted a
most sentimenlai demeanor toward the ladies,
and addresacd them only in terms of peeiUiar
delicacy and politeness. This exaggerated
lai^age of courtesy imparled a certain fan-
tastic charm to the conversation of the broth-
era with their amtee, and added to their mu-
tual sallies the piqnancj of a pleasant, arch
irony. Thomas, the younger brother, escelled
particularly in this respect. He played with
evident relish the assumed part of a knight-
errant and sentimental shepherd, and it was
nnd^iabtc tliat his performance nas highly
successful. He treated his ^ster precisely like
an imagicary mistress,' and laviahed on her
the most tender and rdcely-construeted love-
phrases, which he borrowed very happily from
the fashionable authors of that period, Sir
Phihp Sidney and Sir Walter Ealeigh.

" Noble .lady," he said, placing a dish before
her, and speaking in a tone slightly tinged with
merry sarcasm, " will you not partake of this
tender venison pie ? This wing of the grouse
longs, to make the acquaintance of your sweet
lips. Can you be so cruel as to refuse it that

Laughing and gayly entering into his jest,
Alice thanked him exactly in the spirit of the
rille of a romantic young lady.

"What! you ace not hungry?" he asked.
" Soble lady, is there a secret grief gnawmg at
your heart, and have you lost your heart with
your appetite t Is it the fair-haired Carbury,
the cavaUer from Wales, who has robbed me
of your aff -lions ' or is it our philosopher,
'' r E n Im D gbv w! o by h b ma^o arts, has
mraeshed already many a female heart, al-
though he Edil pi ys the hLartbroken wid-
ow An we or bv Jove I this weapon,
wh h has ju..t (arved the ju cy mutton ham,
will put an end to my miserable eiistence if
you deprive me of all hopes."

"St^pl" cried Alice, with feigned terror.
" I swear by chaat&Siana and all her nymphs,

that neither Carbury nor our cousin Digby is
nearer to my heart than you."

"B t th d dm r, either? There was
at th h f g il aunt Derby a young

poet w th P y d sentimental a face,
tha I f It n hn d take him for a giri in
disg e, an A d n hepherdcss. This poet
paid th m t p rtj 1 attention to my sweet
little sister, and he did not once avert his
fiery and eloquent eyes from her eharmint;

"I really do not know whom you refer to,"
said the blushing ^rl, in evident confiiaon.

"0 Dissimulation, thy name is woman!"
eiolaimed the youth, in a tone of mock gravity.
" Can you really not have noticed at the house
of our aunt, the Countess of Derby, a certain
John Milton, the poet of the Arcades f "

"I did, of course," replied Alice, with seem-
mg indifference. "I have even esehanged a
few words with him. He seemed to me tacitimi
and misanthropic."

" Say rather awkward and clumsy, lite moat
men who hold more intercourse with their
books than with the world and men," remark-
ed the elder brother, who had hitherto listened
to their cDnversatioh in silence.

" I do not con^der this awkwardness by any
means ridiculous," replied the beautiful girl, in
a tone of slight irritation. " Poets are like
nightingales ; they are silent in' a noisy crowd,
and sing most beaulifhily in sohtude."

" Well said," remarked Thomas, playfully.
" But I prefer this roast phe^ant to all jour
poetical nightingales and similar useless sing-
ing-birds."

Ahce scoffed, smilingly, at her brother's prosy
nature, while he derided merrily and gracefully
her predilection for poets and poetry. The
elder brother listened for some time to this
exchange of witty and amusing sallies, but
without forgetting his habitual caution. Al-
ready more than once he had anxiously inter-
rupted the playful conversation by the request

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JOHN MILTON AKD HIS TIMES.

passing bj with winged speed.

" Only a quarWr of an hoar jet," begged
his lovely sister, wlio could not make up her
mind to leave the delightful spot already.

In fact, Nature had lavished her choicest
charms on the place irhere thej were reposing.
The green turf and soft moss formed a most
beautiful carpet, while the primeval oak
arehed like a splendid canopy over their youth-
ful heads. Wild rose-bushes covered with fra-
grant blossoms, snow-white blackthorns, and
evergreen laurels formed the neat and graceful
Ijotder of this natural dining-haJL Aromatic
thyme, rnint, and the nhole countless host
of forest herbs and flowLrs, impregnated the
bahny air with sweet perfume". Vernal air
and vernal life filled the beautiful green
forest. Knches and linnets vied with each
other in singing, and enlivened the silence of
nature. At a distance the cuckoo sounded its
monotonous jet sweet melancholy notes, and
the tlirush warbled boldly from ]ofty tree-tops.
Blue and yellow butterflies flitted past, turn-
ing around the cups of the flowers and sip-
ping their sweet nectar with their long, fine
tongues from golden bowls. Lady-birds with
red outside wings, dotted with Hack, were
climbing up the flexible twigs and pcaotismg
thdr breakneck acrobatic feats ; while a brown
squirrel was rocking itself in the highest
branches of a slender white birch, and curi-
ously looking down with its piercing eyes.
At times a pliable lizard slipped through the
soft moss, and a sunbeam plded its greenish;
lustrous body. All these beings were moving
in the bright sunshine, and rejoicing in the
bliss of their existence ; and the young people
reposed in the midst of this blessed solitude,
theroselvea the happiest and moat contented
creatures in the glorious forest All three
were young, handsome, and as yet undcfilcd
by the contSot of life and the world, children
of Spring, blossoms of May, Therefore, they

felt glad and happy in Ihe&e kindred surround-
ings. Free from all restraints, they surren-

the charms of the forest,
D loth to leave. Hours glid-
nts, and when they were at
let out, it seemed to them as

dered willingly t
which they were i
ed by like mom
length obliged to
though ihey were parting wilh their paradise.

The elder brother had to exhort them re-
peatedly and urgently before the little caval-
cade resolved to continue the journey. Even
the horses which had found here a splendid
pasture shook their he'ids as it were, dis-
approvm£,ly and allowed themselves to be
saddled a an lelucttndj and amid loud, in-
dignant neifehs Eapec ally did Alice's white
palfrev =eem to shire the predilection of Ms
mistress for this romantic spot More tJian
once he turned back his head toward the rich
pasture which had pleased him so well. At
times he even stopped, contrary to his haiiit^
to nibble with his rosy lips at a few herbs and
low shrubs on the wayside. Alice willii^ly
pernutted these little diversions of her palfrey,
and from time to time turned her lovely face
toward the cozy nook where she had passed
such blissful hours.

Her seii^hle brother John led the way with
restless haste. He did not yet give up the
hope of reaching again the highway with which
he was thoroughly familiar ; but the further
thej advanced, the stranger and more alarm-
ing appeared to him the path which they had
taken. Moreover, it soon became quite nar-
row and impassable. Dense thorn-bushes and
raniding weeds bordered it on both sides, and
naked roots crept across it like blaek snakes.
The landscape bad gradually lost ila graceful
character, and became gloomier and gloomier.
Sombre pines bad taken the places of the leafy
trees, and shed & melancholy twilight on the
scene. The most profound silence reigned far
and near; for even the tread of the horses
sounded wdrd and dnll on the ground, which
was covered with pohited leaves, and, by its

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lOST m HAYWOOD F0EE8T.

eiipperinesa frequently caused the uauallj
fffet of the animals to stumble. The appre-
hension that they had lost thdr way became
soon a certainty in the mind of the ansioug
leader of the oaTaloade.

" We cannot get through here, and must re-
turn to the former path," said John,

" We must retrace our steps, eh ? " replied
the bolder Thomaa, who was attracted by
every adventure. "By the memory of our
great ancestor Robert Malpsa, who fought in
the battle of Hastinga, the motto of our house
sonnda otherwise : ' iSi'ii donee I ' "

A slight stroke of the riding-whip incited
the fiery horse oo which the youth was mount-
ed to renewed efforts. Alice kept close behind
Mm, and the more prudent John was obliged
to follow the two, contrary to his better con-
Tietioa. Id the oulaelj fortune seemed to favor
the daring brother and sister. The path Be-
came for some time again auffloiently broad
and convenient, so that the travellers
able to follow it without any special difficulty
for more than_half a mile. Already they in-
dulged in the pleasant hope that they were in
a iidr way of reachmg tie highway again, hut
they were doomed to a sad disappointment.
The insidious path terminated suddenly in
close proximity to a gorge which had probably
been tho bed of a sylvan rivulet. It was in
vain that the three turned their eyes with
prying glances in all directions. After long
and fruitless search, they discovered a narrow
footpath which was barely wide enough to af-
ford to a single daring horseman room to pene-
trate through a labyrinth of thorny hedges and
rankling weeds and shrubs. It was impoasible
for the brothers to expose their delicate sister
to the fatiguea and even dai^ers of such a

After a brief consultation, John resolved to
follow the path, which, in his opinion, would
lead him to some human habitation, the hut
of a cbarooal-hurner or the lonely house of a

gome-keeper. There he hoped to find a guide
through ttis intricate wilderness. Thomas
was to remam with his sister, whom he was
not to leave under any drcurastauces. The
elder brother enjoined the rash youth repeat-
edly not to violate this order, and then set out,
accompanied by the heart-felt wishes of his
brother and sister.

Thomas and Alice remained with their
horses near the gorge, which presented a by
no means invitmg spectacle to their eyes.
The traces of the destruction which the swol-
len forest rivulet caused every spring were dis-
tmcUy visible all around. The country far
and oearlooked barren and sandy, and covered
with the fragments which the furious waters
had detached from the mount^ns. Scanty,
dwarfed herbs and ferns cropped out between
these d^ris. Sparse and isolated pines and
firs of wretj;hed appearance stood here and
there. The insidious waters had laid baro the
roots, and the fra^le trees awaited thmr down-
full whenever a livelier breeze should spring
up. Other trees had already succumbed to
the violejico of the equinoctial storms and the
rising waters. These tree-corpses lay broken,
with dead branches, atid half-rotten. From
the moist, decayed bark cropped out poisonous
mushrooms, and impudent crows skipped with
dismal croaking round t!ie sear, withered twigs.
This gloomy scenory could not but esert a
sombre effect on tho spirits of Alice and
Thomas. Tho witticism, by which Thomas
unuse his sister became somewhat
forced. The conversation soon ceased entirely,
both awaited impatiently the return of
■ brother John. Time hung heavy upon
I, and minutes seemed like hours,
[ know brother John,'' said the youth,
after a long pause, almost angrily. "He la
always so slow, and I bet ho has arrived at
some cross-road, and he is so irresolute which
direction to take, that he does not stir from
the spot."

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JOHN MILTON AND I

"Tou do him injustieo," replied Alice, gen-
tly. " Hj9 caution is praLreworthy, at all eveuts,
and ho doea not deserye your ccnsare. If we
had followed his advice and retraced our steps
as soon as he asked us to do so, we sbould
doubtless Lave got Ijack to the right road,
and we ahould have been spaced Ihe eamii of
waiting here."

Notwithstanding the gentle tone in which
Ms EJstec uttered liieae words, they were suf-
fident to irritate and sadden the passionate
youth. He accused himself witb esaggerated
impetuosity of his former folly, and would
have shrank from no danger in order to ex-
tricate his beloved sister from the disagreeable
predicament in which his rashness had in-
volved her. Moreover, the inactive pact assign-
ed to hun was highly distasteful. His whole
nature ui^;ed him to take quick and resolute
steps. He jumped up uneasily fcam the stone
on which he had sat hitherto, and paced the
brink of the dismal gorge with a nervous step
in order to discover another path. Now he
looked at the footpath which John had taken,
now his eyes turned in the opposite direction,
whith at ill eventa would lead them some-
where Pcido and ambition filled him with
p'jssionate eiutemei-t He wished alone to
savL them ill The longing for distinction
slumbered unknown to bim in his young soul.
More than once, m his childlike dreams, he
had seen hunself at the head of a large army
and performed miracles of valor: The chival-
rous spirit of hia timta end the thirst for ad-
ventures for which his countrymen were noted
at that period, filled his bosom. He wished
to oscel all by his courage and intrepidity, and
especially hia elder brother, whose prepon-
derance, based as it was on birtb and custom,
he acknowledged only with the greatest rclue-

Thus 'this youthful heart concealed, under
the deceptive cover of rashness and reckless-
ness, a liuming ambition and thirst for distine-

lot allow U9 again to
t this very adventure
it the charming houra
g the oaka. Come,
land, and do not look

tion. Vainly did Ahco, who often exercised
a gceat deal of authority over him, and stood'
as a mediatcii between the two brotheca, ex.
hort hun to be quiet and patient.

" What matteca it," she said, soothingly, " if
we have to stay here another hour ? We shall
reach Ludlow Caalle even then in time. The
day is so fine, and we shall be at home before
sundown."

"And there I shall be scolded again," replied
the youth, in a tone of irritation. " John will
be praised for his pradence, and fofiier will
scold me for ray rashness."

" We may say that we left aunt's house at
an advanced hour of tho day. Father shaH
not learn from us that we lost our way. What
good would it do ? He
rily excited, and would
travel alone. And is ni
delightful 5 We owe to
which we passed amoi
Oclando, give me your 1
so gloomr which does not ^t well on you,
and which I do not like at all

In this am able manner the loiely sister
ti ed to soften the ai ger of the su len youth
But that whi h she had forme ly alwayj sue
needed lu accomphsh ng was frustrated this
time by ber brother's mtonae mortification
He started up at the si "htest nois and
hstened w th eager sn pcnia to every d =tatlt
sound. Now he beheved he heard approaeb-
ing footsteps, now the sound of human v

"Do you hear nothing? "he asked bis;
vehemently. "There must be men here, and,
moceovec, close by. The sounds I hear pro-
ceed distinctly fi:om the goi^ yonder."

" Perhaps you are deceived by tho rustling
of the wind, or the notes of a bird."

"No, na There are men in the gorge. I
will ascertain from them how we may get back
to the highway, and will cetumrto you in a few
momenta."

Before Alice could prevent Iiiro, the impa-

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lOST IN HAYWOOD FOREST.

tient jouth had already disappeaced. He pur-
sued hia object with a quick step. In the out-
Bet Thomas haetenad along the dry bed of the
riTulct, which afforded him a
path. But fragmenla of roclis and large
of Band Hoon obstructed the path, and rendered
it ahnost impassable. Tlie jouth
toleaTe it again. However, these obstacles
only incited his zeal bo redouhled efforts instead
of deterring him. On lie crest of a neighbor-
ing hill which he cEmbed, he found the diattact
traces of manjhumaa footsteps. Tiiese traces
soon increased in number, and intersected each
other in different directions. Knally all the
footsteps led back to the dry bed of the rivulet,
which became passable agam. Thomaa satis-
fied himself more and more, that hnman hands
had made this hidden path. It did not escape
hU keen eyes that even the fragments of the
rocks had been intentionally piled up in such a
manner aa to arrest the progress of the unini-
tiated. This unexpected discovery warned him
to be on hia guard, and caused him to hesitate;
his mtrepid heart, however, did not so easily
shrink from a dangerous adventure. On the
contrary, his daring spirit found only fresh fuel
in all these circumstances, and the secret which
was concealed here esdted hia t
last degree.

Hence, he bravely advanced without further
hesitation. The deeper be penetrated into the
gorge, the more it espanded at his fcel^ and it
seemed to lermmate in a deep, round cleft.
However, he was prorenled by groups of tall
trees and almost impenetrable shrubbery from
obtaining a fnll view of it, A natural hedge
of closely interwoven thorn-hushes and young
shoots and shrubs seemed sudderJy to put a
stop to his further progress. Already he had
drawn his sword, which, according to the cus-
tom of the period, never left his side, in order
to open himself a passage through the thicket
when he discovered aji artifidal door, skilfully
concealed behind ivy and pine-branches.

11
The youth hesitated for a moment, and re-
flected, contrary to his usual hahit, before re-
solving to penetrate into the mysteries of the
wilderness. Poachers and gangs of daring rob-
bers were by no means rare in (hose days, and
perhaps they carried on their unlawful profc^
aion in this maocessible solitude. It was, there-
fore, uaadvisable for a single man to plunge
recklessly into such a darker. Besides, Thomas
had often heard of secret meelin"8 and illicit
oi^nisations of such religions eeots as were,
ruthlessly persecuted by the government. Hia
own father. Lord President of Wales, had been
instructed by the government, more than once
to break up such conventicles by main force.
Bloody scenes had sometimes ensued, for the
Puritans, Separatists, or whatever thett names
might be, offered a bold and even desperate
mee to their assailflnls, whenever they
numerous enough to cope with them.
Thomas thought also of his slater Alice, whom
he had rashly left in tie forest all alone and
without protection.

All these considerations would have probably
induced him to turn back and retrace hia steps,
had he not been irresistibly captivated at this
by the loud and swelling nofes of a
solemn anthem. It was a simple but touching
melody which all at once broke the profound
ailence of the wilderness in so wonderful a
manner. He listened breathlessly lo the un-
preasive anthem which penetrated in subdued
notes to him from a distance. These notes
seemed to proceed from choirs of sphita, and
not from human lips. He was carried away l>y
them in spite of himself. With a quick motion
he opened the mysterious door, and hia eyes
glanced over the wonderful spectacle suddenly
exhibited to his view.

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

CHAPTER n.

At Ilia feet
plaiily visible.

COSTENTICLE.

gorge lay now
oil Mde3 by dark
oaks, it formed a natural
cliuriJii, a eatliedral which the power of the
Creator had erected with invisible hands. The
magnificent treeB loomed up like imposing
Gothic pillars, and tlieir green tops seemed to
be the gigantic organ animated by the Lord'
breath. The softened rays of the Betting sun
Btole through the foliage, B9 if througti painted
church-wlndowB, filling the gorge now with a
gplden light, now with a purple glow. The soft
turf was a comfortable carpet, and in its centre
welled forth a sparlclins spring as a baptismal
font. Tho first Christians of England had, per-
haps, celebrated thdr secret rites at the same
spot when dangers were still besetting them on
all aides. To-day their suecKSors were com-
pelled to resort to the aamehiding-plae^. The
whole hfe of humanity is but a repetition, and
one page of the history of the worid often liears
a most striking resemblance to another.

A numerous crowd, had assenjslcd hero to
worship the Lord in the open on- and aft«r their
own fa'ihion They were Christians, hated and
persecuted by Christians. Thdr only
consisted m their refusal to acknowledge the
Episcopal Church of England, and in basing
their ireed csclu^vely on the Bible and ils
teachmgs Hence, they were obliged to repair to
iids hiding-place ; but God Himself had built for
them the church which was refused to them bj
maujthsr Idng, and the then powerful bishops.
They had fled hither with then'
movable courage and faith in Gi
men, and children, lay around in picturesque
groups. On one side a rude pulpit had been
constructed with gray slabs of slate piled
above another. On it stood the worthy preacher
witii silvery hair and beard. His tall, emaciated

form was wrapped in a black Genevan coat,
devoid of any other marks of distinction. He
never would have donned the surplice of the
Anglican clergy ; for it was an abommation in
his eyes, because it remmded him of Babylon
and Antichrist, which were the titles he applied
to the Eoman Cathoho Church and the delesied
Pope, The pale fece of the preacher bore dis-
tinct traces of profound aufferlngs and the pris-
on air which he had breathed for a long time.
But all these persecutions had been unable to
damp his zeal, and no sooner had the faithful
pastor 'been released than he had rctarced to

ready at any monient to

ime martyrdom for the sake of his faith.
The 5ev. Samuel God-will-be-my-help {such
was the name which he had assumed in ac-
cordance with the custom of the Puritans of
that time) awaited the conclusion of the psabn
which his congregation was singing, when be
delivered one of those impassioned sermons so
wcU calculated to fire the hearts of his audi-

Tice and render them proof a-^iost the per-

ec t f h g n

m t nd th b h ps.

R d th pulp

d h pcah t d

t p f th

m diff t a,peot

Th m wh w

1dm ly by th

unk f a t was

bl t d ti -nn h th

several persons from h

setand-pomt. Most of

those present were poor people, of lowly con-

; butai

be B(
IT farmer oi

id there the form of a wealthiei
well to-do commoner

It Id true, the difference of their coslnmes
was but 'ihght Neiriy all wore plam bkok
woollen doublets and breeches, white stock
ing^, and shoes on which rosLttes of dark
colored ribbons filkd the places of silver
buckles Their heads were covered with
pointtd hata, hkewise devoid ot inv orna
mcnt'i There were no wavmg plumes, no
golden clasps, or bT^bt<Kilored trimmings,
ouch 1? were requited by the ostentatious
taste of that period Their ban wai ihpped

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CONVEN'TICLE.

ereo and aliort aroimd their heads. At that
time, when long and neatly-eurled lingleti
were deemed pecuHaily becoming, and wen
generaUy worn, the reverse eoald not bat bt
the more surprising, and therefore caUed forth
the mcknamo ol Eoundheada whith wa"
applied to the members of th s denomination
bv their enemiea Thej called themsclveo
children of God or the ohoaen people In
fuU hirmonv w th this snmbie 'amjloity of
dreaa was an a r of feloomy fanati lam previil
mgm the whde aaaemblj Almoit ill iii.t:i
eihibited the bami, espreaaion of Bullea d^
fiante and self-consi, ous eneigr Sufftrmga
of every description had aroused their power
of reiiistanoe and the firm conviction of the
truth of Iheir principles, and the ultunate vic-
tory of the good cause, had imparted to them
a pride which was not devoid of hai^hlineas,
and which greaUy increased the exasperation
of their enemies. It was plainly to be seen
that these strong, heavy-buUt men submitted
to ehrciunatajices only with inward, rage; and
that they were wailing impatienHy for the day
of retribution, A dose obaervec might have
read in their faces, besides the marked expres^
sion of piety, an almost savage determination ;
and whQe their lips were sragmg the psalm
with great unction, their eyea shot fire when-
©rer the worda alluded to tte adversaries of
the Lord— a designation wMch they applied,
of course, to their own hated enemies,

His austere and repulsive impression waa
somewhat softened by the presence of the
women and children. Even among the former,
there were not wanting sombre forms, with
hard, disagreeable features; the m^^ority, how-
ever, and particularly the younger generation
among tlieni, were distinguished for a certam
mild enthusiasm, which lent an additional
ehann to Uieir generally fresh and beautiful
laces. Their dress, too, notwithstanding its
Furitanie simplicity, was not so monotonous
and sombre as that of the men. Female vanity

and coquetry found even under the most un-
favorable cireutnataneea a way of skilfully
adding here a ribbon, there a pretty littie
tnot. The small whito, close-fitting caps im-
parted even a siogulariy prepoasessing appeir
anoc U many a vouthlul fac and worldly
fee mg ropped out now -md th n notwith
standing the semblance of asee pey
Thomas who possessed a most rclmea tast
in su h matters not ed imon" the yoang
gills several who might have risked a com-
irison with his beautiful sister Alice.
The youth made such observations from his
hiding-piaoe only long after the notes of the
anthem, which had attracted him so powei^
fully, had died away. After a brief pause, Uie
preacher was about to begin his sermon. The
Gongregation thronged closer round the pulpit,
probably to hear better what the worthy min-
would say to them. Curiosity, and his
adventurous spirit, induced Thomaa Utewise
to leave hia safe hidmg-place. Be stole, slip-
ping along cautiously between the trees, tow-
ard the ^de of the gorge where the pulpit had
been erected. This was not noticed by any-
body, and the first success restored his former
boldness to the daring youth. He had long
wished to bear -a sermon from a Puritan
preacher, and h s me ry spur t dep cted to h m
I enjffvment which he would der ve
from the speakers na-fal tone inl nd culous
for, n acco dauce v, th the um
versal belief of the Ep seopahan he tbou^ht
every Puritan minister must prea h n that
^tjle.

After the usual murmuring and hemmmg
which are heard m all large assembl es on such
occasions, had died away the Eev •Samuel
God -will -be -my h Ip commenced apeak ng
amidst a siience bo profound th t the ruatl ng
of the foliage in the breeze and the bubbi n^
of tiie spiing were distinetly to he h icd Th
men looked grave ind gloomy and e en th
female part of the o ng e i on ninte t d

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

unusual attention. It was eriilent that tlieee
people yearned sincerely for ttie Word of God,
for the Bake of which thej had come from dis-
tant parts of the country, and were incurrmg
the g^e^test dan "era

People of Israel listen to me ad the
m n slec m a 1 w t emulous to e wh h
d ng the progress of th sermon became
loaler and 1 uJe Your nemies ore n-

crea n^, from d y to day md the number of
your adversaries is legion ; but fear not, for
the Lord is with you. He will be yout pro-
tector, and strike down your odreraaries with
the strength of His arm. A kins has arisen
in our midst worse than Pharaoh, who op-
pressed the chosen people, and imposed the
most laborious services on them ; but we still
likewise have a Moses, who wlU strike him
down with the keen edge of his sword, aod
b rj hun and b wh b d p b d

fh B w hp h ff s

wh 1

I w h >Ti d

EgTp w m

d rs H

hip h gn d

k h n

h p re ru ng b

tri a n mean h p fl k o

deviate from the right path. They threaten
the true believers with shackles and unprison-
ment, and lacerate their backs with sharp
scourges. Who is there among us that could
not bear testunony to their cruel rigor ? "

A low murmur of assent broke the solemn
stillness for a moment. On remembering the
oppresaons which they had undergone, the me
clinched th^ fists iavoluntarily, and thei
threatening. faces betrayed only too plainlythe
n^ which they restrained with ^EBculty,

"Heavy penalties in person or properi;y,"
continued the aged minister, "have 1>een m-

fficted more or less.upon us all ; but the sun will
sooner deviate from his course, and rise in the
west mstead of the east, than we should prove
recreant to the Lord and His commandments.
He will not forsake His faithful believers, but
raise them from the dust to greater splendor.
Only a brief space of time, and all Israel will
rise as one man, and wreak vengeance on his
tormentors. I fell you, and the Lord speaketh
out t>f my mouth, the day will soon dawn
when the children of God shall enter the New
Jerusalem. Then tl o cho en people w 11
rejoice exceedingly and the imp on wee cl es
will tremble on account of the r ru h e sness
Therefore, be glad and hojef 1 1 ear new bnr
dens with patience ntd the moment comes
when you may throw h m off But we will
not await the day of ret ibution n yam die-
Let the peasant grni h a scy he for
the harvest is drawing nigh let the warr or
whet his sword for the bloody wo k wh eh is
in store for us. Up I n y p ople p pare
for the day of retribution ; arm yonr hands,
and unfurl your holy standard 1 "

The preacher paused agahi, exhausted by
his effort. His fragile body was no longer suf-
fident for the fiery zeal of this soul, esaspor-
ated by ail sorts of sufferings and persecutions.
He fried to gather fresh strength, in order to
continue m the samcTiolent strain. While he
was speaking, his deep-lyhig eyes, concealed
under the gray slgggy brows, shot fire, and Ma
emaciated form seemed to grow in size. His
words fired the suESdently prepared and sus-
ceptible hearts of his audience. The whole
congregation was carried away and plunged into
a state of violent escitement. Old and new
wrongs which they bad endured rankled in the
breasts of the men, and they remembered with
gnashing teeth the tortures which they had suf-
fered but recently.

Somewhat different was the impression which
the sermon produced upon the youth who hap-
pened to have fallen among these enthusiasia.

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THE POREST CONYENTICLE.

He oonld not langh at it as he lad expected at
first, for hia own position was too alarming for
tiiat, and the bearing of the whole assembly
was too grave and etem. A miitore of sym-
pathy and repugnance capUrated him in spite
of himself. The eon of the Lord President of
Wales had been edneated in the strictest prin-
ciples of loyalty and attachment to his king and
the Episcopal Church of England, and ho
shared, moreover, the pr^adieea of bis age,
and of most of the members of his class,
agamst the votaries of Puritanism. Their aus-
tere, morose bearing, and thar simple, sombre
c/)6tnme were looted upon as hypocrisy, and
w»re by no means calculated to enlist the syn
pathies of merry youlhs and overbearing cou
tiers. The seditious words of the preachi
woanded his loyal ferhngs, nevertlieleis, he
could not deny that what he heard and saw
eihibiled ik certain digmtj and sunple gran-
deur. He wai fescmated in spite of hunself,
and disregarded the roqmrements of c^ution,
BO far as to give up his reserve, and approach
graaually closer and closer to the circle of the
audience. While the worthy min
speaking, his sermon engrossed the atl^'iltion
of the congregation so eielusively, that they
overlooked the appearance of the young new-
comer. It was only during the pause now en
aniQg that tho immediate bystanders perceived
him. The presence of a stranger, whose riih
and striking dress, and defiant bearing, seemed
to indicate that he was an impudent intruder
and an enemy of the children of Qod, was suf
ficient to inflame still further the excitement
already prevailing among the Puritans. The
rage and hatred of the assembly had suddenly
found a definite target. The rash youth was
immediately surrounded by a threatening
crowd; wild and distrustful glances met him,
and loud impreeaaons burst forth in whatever
direction be tried to tnrn. The universal exas-
peration increased from second to second. Al-
ready some of the men had stretched out their I

arms toward him ; already Thomas, who awoke
only now to a full sense of his dangerous posi-
tion, had put his hand on the hilt of his sword,
in order, if need be, to repel violence by vio-
le&ee, even though without any prospect of
success ; when, all at once, a vigorous gentle-
man of distinguished and almost chivalrous
bearing, ordered the eidted crowd to be still.
Theprneher too beiuj, preventei by the sud-
den uproar from reoucoing the thread of his
sermon hid dtscended from the pulpit and
hastened to the scene of the d ''tuibaa-e as
quickly aa his mfirmity permitted.

"Who IS this youth, and what dots he want
here?"askcd the before-mentioned gentleman,
who seemed to eierdse a certain authority
over the Puritans.

" -A. spy who has watched tia and intends to
betray us," cried the men on all sides.

"Tou lie I" replied Thomas, courageously.
" Aa accident has brought me hither and made
me a witness of your meeting. What should
your cant and sanctimonious doings concern
me otherwise ? I care not so much as that
about them."

"Hear the impious rascal ! " roared the fu-
rious crowd. "Down with the wretch, down
withthesonofB*elia!i"

The unprudent words which the rash youth
had uttered had aggravated hia danger maten
ally Vamly did the aged mimster and hu
companion enleavor to alliy the fury of the
esciled congregation. Some of the men laid
thLir hands upon Thomas, who, with quick de
nnsheathed his sword. How-
before he had been able to make a dan-
la use of hia weapon, it had akoady been
wrested from his hand. Thua disarmed, the
youth was exposed to the wrath of his exas-
perated adversaries. He stamped angrily with
foot, and his impotent rage drew a tear from
his eye. Thus he stood, with glowing cheets
and defiant face, in the midst of the crowd,
had hastened to the spot, and

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JOHN MILTON AND HK 1

were now contemplating, with a mixture of
oompasaioa and anxiety, the handsome joutb,
who seamed to them bj no means so dajiger-
ous Bs he did to the rude and distrustfiil

The Mght of the flashing blade, which fortu-
nately had done no iuither hacm, had filled
them with increased rage. The imprecations
and threats ItTelled at the intruder became
more violent from minute to minute. Only tlie
presence of the worthy mmisler and the other
gentleman protected Thomas from corporal
injuries. After reestablishing some degree of
order, tliese two held a brief consultation.
■Thej spoke in a low whisper of the' entirely
unexpected incident which, to them also,
seemed fraught with danger. While this con-
saltation was gomg on, the congregation ob-
served a grave and measured attitude toward
the prisoner, whose arras were held by two
■ strong men, for the purpose of rendering it im-
pos^ble for him to escape or offer further re-
After a short pause, during which Thomas
liad bad an opportunity to indulge in not over-
pleasant reflections upon the predicament iu
which he was placed, the gentleman who
seemed to be leader or, elder of the congrega-
tion approached and addressed him.

" Ton have intruded in a manner entirely
uncalled for into this asylum," he said to
youth, with calm dignity. " Our safety
quires me to put to you some questions wh
you will answer frankly and-iru'thlully. AbovL.
all things give me your name."

" I do not know with what right you dare
subject rae to a regular esammation," replied
Thomas, whose defiant spiiit was not broken,
but rather sirengtheued Jiy the danger.

" Our right is the right of the stronger, and
we make the same use of it to-day as our ad.
Tersaries. Take the advice of an older and
more esperieneed man, and do not aggravate
your position by such untimely supercihons-

ness. I request you once more, sb, to give

' 1 shall not do so before you have told me

This bold reply excited another outburst of
indignation among the Puritans, and it re-
quired all the authority of their leader to quiet
the exasperated men. After he had Bueeeeded
in so doing, he turned with a smile to the rash

"I do not know," he replied, " why I should
conceal my mmt from tou It is Overton." ■

"Overton, Sii John Overton!" exclaimed
the youth in surprise " Tour name is not
unknown to me If I am not mistaken, I
have heird it mentioned repeatedly, and with
great respect, at my fathers house. Tou are,
therefore, a cavalier like myself."

"Now you will certainly not hesitate to
comply with my request, and will no longer
conceal your name from me."
" My name is Tbomaa Egerton."
" Son of the Lord President of Wales."
"And I can 'bear witness that the young
man tells yon the truth," interposed a deep,
grave voice, which issued from the mouth of a
gloomy-looking old man.

Thomas turned his eyes involnutarily to the
side where stood the speaker, whom he bad
not hitherto notiCLd m the crowd. He liUe-
wi e now reco"iuzed the old man, by whose
side was standing a lively young girl in the
tostume ot the riral population. Her blue
eyes met the dirk ones of the youth, and a
sudden blush suffused the fine and highly-ei-
presaive face of the beautiful girl. No one in
the assembly took any notice of this brief
intej7rteiH0, and yet it was a significant meet-
ing after a long separation. The features of
the yonng ^1 awakened many feelings and
reminiscences in the soul of the youth. Lucy
Henderson (that was the name of the old
man's dai^hter) had been Ahce's foster-gister
and the playmate of her brothers while they

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TEE FOREST COJ^VENTICLE.

wero children. At that time she passed whole
days at the castle of the EgertonE, and partici-
pated in aH the games and amusements of the
highborn jonng people. She even attended
their lessons very frequently, and in this man-
ner Lucy had reeeiTcd an education such as is
to be found only in exceptional eases amon
persoDS of hor class. Her father, morose ol
Henderson, had artiTed here years ago from
distant country, and settled in the nelghboi
hood of Ludlow Castle. His wife, who ha.
died since then, liad nursed Alice Egerton i:
hec infancy; and thus the two ^rls, of the
same age, grew up together. Their friendship
continued even after Mrs. Henderson's death;
but for a long time past these intimate re-
lations had been, interrupted. The older Mr.
Henderson became, the more stubhom and
sombre became his temper, which had always
been strongly tinctured with melancholy. The
neighbors atttibnfed this change, which did
not escape them, to the loss of his hdoved
wife ; for while she was alive he was hy far
more sociable and kind in his own peculiar
way toward his fellow-men. Gradually, how-
ever, be retii'ed more and more from the world,
and broke off all intercom'se with the inmatoa
of Ludlow Castle, who had done nothing to
justify such neglect. The Countess of Bridge-
water especially bad always manifested the
greatest kindness toward the Henderson fam-
ily, and lavished favors and presents on little
Lucy. These kindnesses were rejected now
by the rough widower with insultmg haughti-
ness ; and he allowed his daughter no longer
to hold intercourse with her aristocratic play-
mates and friends.

Despite her tears and objections, she was
finahy ohliged to yield and give up the mter-
course which was so dear to her. Tears had
elapsed since then, and Luey had becomo a
blooming young girl, while her friend Thomas,
whom she had always preferred to his elder
and graver brother, was now a TJgoroua and

fine-looking youth. Under t
altered occurred the first meeting of the for-
merly so intimate young friends after their long
separation.

This was neither the rigbi place nor the
right time for Ihem to give espression to their
mutual surprise. The two greeted each other
silently with a scarcely perceptible nod of the
head, accompanied by a tender glance on the
pact of the youtb, and a sweet blush and joy-
ous tremor on that of the lovely Lucy. The
old acquaintances renewed thac former friend-
ship on this strange occasion without eichang-
ing their sentiments, and engraved each
other's portraits on their hearts. Had they
been at liberty to give expression to their feel-
ings, they would certainly have burst out mto
the exclamation; "Oh, how handsome and
tall you have grown ! "

In the presence of this large assembly, how-
over, ihey wore obliged to repress any such
utterances ; but the more silent their lips re-
mained, the more eloquent was \he language
of their eyes.

Under such circumstances, a moment often
decides the course of a whole human life, and
the inclination violently repressed for the time
soon seeks and finds an opportunity to reveal
itself in its full extent and irrepressible inten-
sity. Never before had the young ^rl ap-
peared so charming and desirable to the
youth ; never had lovely Lucy had an inkling
the passion with which the unespected as-
pect of her former playmate filled her heart,
longed to approach each other after so
jong a separation ; both felt irresistibly drawn
toward each other. No one hi the whole as
sembly, and least of all old Henderson, sus-
pected what was taking place in these young
hearts. Only a remnant of his former grati-
tude, perhaps, inUueed the old Puritan to in
tercede in behalf of the vonth.

Thomas was bo embarrassed on account of
his wonderful meeting with Lucy, that he for-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

got its immeiKate cause and his still bj no
means pleasant position. Henderson's words,
however, had eTidently produced im effect de-
cidedly favorable to him. The immediate bj-
Etandera assiimed a more peaceable attitude
toward him, and no longer uttered anj threats
against him. Both the reverend minister and
the chivalrous Overton even fised looks of
sympathy on tte more rash than guilty youth.

"I am glad," said Overton, "that so good
a man as our friend Henderson bears testimony
ta the truthiuInesB of your words ; but tliis
does not yet explain or escusc jour uncalled-
for intrusion into this asylum. How did you
get here J "

" That is easily esplained. I lost my way
in Haywood Forest."

" I bel'eve you, as your whole bearing
breitl es outhful sincerity, and as I cannot
imagine that jou have come hither for the
p itpose of watcbmg or even betcajmg our
meeting

'sir I believe my name alone is suEScicnt
to protect me from any snch suspicion," cried
Thomas, vehemently.

"I will admit that," replied Overton, whose
calmness and firmness contrasted strikingly
with the rash vehemence of the youth. " But
who warrants us that you will not betray here-
after what you have seen heref You may
purposely or rashly commnnioate to otLera
what au accident made you discover."

"Sir John Overt;OB I " eiolajmed Thomas,
crimsoning with indignation, " onlf my pres-
ent helplessness allows you to nse such un-
chivalrous language. By the escutcheon of mj
ancestors, had I my sword at my side, I should
call you to a bloody account for this insult."

" You would do better to repress your some-
what proud and imperUnent language. Look
around ; these good people here are not in a
very playful humor, as you have found out al-
ready. Their safety, their property, nay, per-
haps their lives are at stake, for the cruelty of

their tormeators knows no compassion. For
this reason, you cannot blame either them or
myself, if we ask of you some better security
than the mere name of Egerton and the worm-
eaten escutcheon of your ancestors."

" I hope you will be satisfied with a noble-
man's word of honor," replied the youth,
gnashing his teeth, and scarcely able to re-
strain another outburst of his rage.

"A nobleman's word of honor, perhaps,
might satisfy me ; but those men yonder will
demand additional security. They know what
it is worth since the first nobleman of Eng-
land, King Charles, has broken bis word and
violated his sacred pledges more than ten

This was too much for the deoply-morUfied
youth. Brought up in sentiments of unhoimd-
ed loyalty, he could sooner bear insultshcaped
on himself than the least attack upon the
honor of his king. With a cry of rage, he
broke loose from the men who held him, and
rushed upon Overton, after having previously
wrested his sword from the hands of the Puri-
tan who had taken it from him. Overton
avoided the impetuous lunge of the furious
youth by s skilful turn. At the next moment
he had likewise unsheathed his sword, and one
who beheld the firmly-knit form of the man,
his strong arm, the coolness and composure
of his whole bearing, and compared it with the
blind fury and scarcely-developed form of the
youth, could not for a moment entertain the
slightest doubt as to the issue of this imequal

Only the predilection which the English en-
tertain at all times for scenes of this descrip-
tion, and respect for courage and manly de-
portment^ prevented the assembly from inter-
fering between the two. Despite their Puritan
austerity, these grave men had preserved their
former relish for such spectacles. The circle
widened at once, that the two fencers might
have BuSdent room. The duellists, so unlike

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THE FOREST CONVENTICLE.

eacli other, stood in the centre and crossed
their flashing awordg. All aronnd reigned
anxioua silence, which even the worthy minis-
ter did not venture to break by a word of
peace. Thomas attacked his adTersary with
his customarj wild impetuoaity, so that Over-
ton had enough to do to ward off the strokes
and thrusts showered down upon him in rapid
succession. At Srst the calmer Overton seem-
ingly intended U> remain entirely on the defen-
sive ; but no sooner had the impetuous youth
rashly eihflusted his strength, than the prac-
tised swordsman turned this advantage to ac-
count and gave up his passive attitude.

The spectators followed the course of the
contest with increasing suspense, and their
Bashing eyes and flushed faces plainly indi-
cated that a majority of them were no stran-

applause burst from the crowd whenever Over-
ton parried a stroke of his adversary witb the
coolness peeuhar to Mm, or skilfully evaded
one of his furious lunges ; just acknowledg-
ments were likewise rendered to the courage
of the youth, but the homage thus paid to him
was blended with eipressions of the dissatis-
faction felt at iiis hai^htj- conduct. But no
one contemplated the scene with more intense
agitation than charmingLucj Henderson. She
had advanced aa close as possible to the duel-
lists, and watched them witb flushed cheeks,
trembling limbs, and breathless suspense.

The decision was still in doubt- What was
wanting to the youth in strength and practice,
he made up for by his impetuosity, while Over-
ton supplied bis look of fire by bis caution, and
skill. It 1VLI3 a wonderful spectacle to behold
the blooming Thomas, with liis waving blonde
ringlets, his flushed face, and his slender form,
fighting with the heavyiset Overton, whose face
did not hetray even the slightest emotion. No
greater contrast could be imagined than that
presented by the impetuosity of the one and
the calmness of the other. Youth and mature

manhood seemed to measure theit strength in
this arena. Neitlier could hardly find again
worthier representatives of their respective ad-

The contest bad lifted a considerable time,
when tho cool Overton thought it was best to
put a stop to it. In doing so, however, he by
no means intended to inflict great bodily harm
on our courageous Thomas. With keen-eyed
sagacity, he seemed to account the many ad-
vantages which the rash vjlor of his adver-
sary offered to him. He parried i^uietlyand
skilfully the stroke which Thomas levelled at
him, and then, witb Ms Ml strength, struck
the sword from the youth's hand before the
latter was able to prevent it. In doing this,
lie could not avoid inflicting on Thomas a
slight wonnd, whence the red warm blood
trickled down ajid fell in dark drops on the
green turf.

No sooner did Lucy perceive that the friend
of lier youth was wounded, than she uttered a
piercing cry, and sank, fainting and with eyes
closed, into the arms of the bystanders.

The vanquished Thomas stood blushing and
disarmed before his triumphant adversary.
Overton, however, was not inclined to follow
up the advantage which he had obtained. He
magnanimously lowered his sword, which he
sheathed with his wonted calmness. His chiv-
alrous conduct did not foil to eiert a soothing
effect upon the youth. Overton h.id given
him his life, which had been at his mercy.
The feeling of gratitnde which animated him,
however, was dimmed by the mortification of
bis wounded vanity.

" You have spared me," he said, in a tremu-
lous voice. " According to the old-established
custom, I am m jour debt You may fii the

" Let the silence which you will ohserve in
regard to what yon have seen here be your
ransom. You will give me your word of
honor as a cavalier that you will do so."

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JOHN MILTON AND I

i TIMES.

" I promise upon honor uot to betray jou."

" Tou must not inform anybody of this

mjsterioaa hiding-place ichich im nccident

caused jou to discoter, nor evea speak of it

to your neureat relatives. Wlicncvep and

whereyer oi

of those present here may meet
c that you will fe'gn not to know

r you ate free, and may leave tlie
turn by the same road by which

The youth proceeded immediately to avail
himself of the permission thus given to him,
and leave the mee^g which he bad disturbeiT.
It nas iritb the most varied feelings filling bis
heart that he set out to retrace his steps.
Shame and mortification at his diseomfiture
took the foremost jllaee among these feeUnga.
ThODgh obliged to render homage to Overton's
magaanimous conduct, he nished to meet him
soon agaip, aword in hand, and measure bis
strength with him under more favorable eir-
cumstanceB. His prejudices against the secta-
riftnism of the Puritans had been increased
rather than lessened by his meeting with them.
Only the image of lovely Lucy Henderson shed
a pleasant light on all the clouds nsing in his
sotil. He thoi^tfully entered tbe path which
was to lead him back to his sister Alice.

The pious congregation, too, was in a state
of anjious suspense and absence of mind.

The ^

terbed bj the events that had taken place.
Some of the Puritans were not at all satisfied
Tilth Overton's conduct. In their opinion, he
ought not to have contented himself with the
mere parole of the haughty youth, but should
have demanded of him a solemn oath on the
Bible, Tlie more fanatical in ttie assembly
went further, and censured Overton for allow-
ing Thomas to depart on any conditions.
There were among them men who did not
even shrink from the thought of a bloody deed.

They would have unhesitaiingly committed a
crime when their suiety was at stuke. Ttiey
murmured aloud now, and it required Over-
ton's whole authority and the soothing elo-
i^uenoe of the venerable minister to prevent
them from taking further steps. They wished
to pursue Thomas and jet carry out their cruel
purpose. To justify this, they quoted a num-
ber of passages from the Bible, especially the
Old Testament, which they -interpreted after
their peculiar fashion.

While the men were discussing in this man-
ner, the compassionate women attended to
Lacy, who had not yet recovered from her
swoon, Tliey fetched water from the neigh-
boring spring in the vessels which they had
brought with them, and sprinkled with it the
pulo cheeks and forehead of the yonng girl.
A few experienced matrons,
rubbed fragrant forest-hevbs,bywhose piquant
ethereal odor they wished to arouse her slum-
bering vital spirits. At length thei
efforts succeeded in restoring Lucy
sciousness. She opened her eyes
and turned her first glance to the spot where
the duel had just taken place.

"Where is he?" she breathed, in a faint
voice, on not heliolding the youth.

The wondering women deemed this, to them,
incomprehensible question a new wandering of
her mind, and were unable to answer it, or
even interpret it correctly. It was only from
the lips of her father that Lucy learned the
fate of her playmate, and that he had left the
place without sustaining any severe mjuries.
This agreeable news brought about her speedy
recovery, and she was able to accompany her
father when he departed with the whole con-
gregation and returned to his home.

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ALICE AND COMUS.

Is the mean time, Alice awaited in eolitude
the return of her brother. His sudden disap-
peara ot d her at first but little un-

in '« h w already familiar with (he
"ip h proceedings. She believed,

li 60 h ouM not hare gone very

w Id b b ek in the course of a few
•D a until he ha ed

nt b n„ fa e had csp

becam rmed. She p

m h rag y woman w

d il IT m nces, and so d

th re ce ming her a^m„

and found
b oughts. S h

b the gorge w fl w rs,

forget-me-nots and pansies, which she resolted
to gather and malie a wreath of them. She
■went quickly to work, and it was not long be-
fore she was dtne With ch Idlike jn she
placed the pretty wreath oa her blond hiad
alter removing the incoaM.mect barret cap
But Thomas bad not yet retumpd aiii she
gave way ag^m to hir aniiety, although she
tried to overcome it by deridmg it and thmk
ing of other and more pleasant subjects. In
the first place, she remembered the beautiful
hours which she had passed at the hospitable
houseof her relative?. The castleof her aunt,
' the Countess of Derby, had always heen the
rendcivous of the high aristocracy and the
neighboring gentry. la i(g high and ancient
halls reigned a cheerful tone of refined soci-
ability and culture. Alice had there made the
aciiuidntanoe of ladies and gentlemen of emi- '
nent accomplishments and faacmatmg man-
ners, and had found among the latter many
an admirer of hec budding charms. Although
no one had made a deeper impression on her
innocent heart, she had not been insensible tfl |

the attentions and homage rendered to her.
With feminine, but certainly venial vanity, she
now dwelt in her recollections mostly npOn
those who had distinguished her in this man-
ner. There appeared before her excited ima-
gination now the image of the nobleman from
Wales to whom her brother Thomas had Bl-
inded, now the expressive face of Kenelm
Digby, a gentleman then already famous both
for his eccentricities and his learning — a rela-
tive of the Derby family, who had abducted

m d nga M h

which always mflames the susceptible imagina-
tion of women and interests their Benlimenlal

A third gentleman pkyed a prominent part
m her recollections. It was a modest poet,
named John ITilton, with delicate, almost
girhsh features, of great intellectual beauty.
Only in moments of enthusiasm and inspira-
tion did he overcome his innate timidity, aid
display a wealth of sublime and charming
ideas which could not but surprise the listener
the more, the less be had previously suppeeted
him to be possessed of such faculties. It had
not escaped Alice that hia dreamy hazel eyes
followed her whenever they could do so with-
out being noticed. Besides, she herself had
witnessed the triumph which bis poetical ge-
nms had achieved, A charming mask, en-
titled "The Arcades," and written by Milton,
was performed at the aunt's house and received
with rapturous applause hj the whole audi-
Only Eenelm Digby did not seem to
share the favorable opinion of all others ; hut
Alice was delighted with the melodious verses
and their poetical sentiments. She deemed it

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

even ineiimbeDt on her to express her joy to
the poet, and her heart-felt praise had ctilleil a
blush of modesty to his cheeka, paled by noc-
turnal studies. Butmodesty,pcrhap8,was not
the only cause of his blushing; it was oeea-
eioned even more by his rising love for the
sweet girl. Like the poets of all times, young
Milton possessed a heart Buaocptible of the
power of ioTe. Whether the charming Alice
pecceived or even shared his affection, we ven-
ture to decide the less, as she herself, not yet
fulij conscious of her own sentiments, resem-
bled a bud, filled much more with vague an-
ticipations and longing than well-defined wishes
and thoughts.

All these reeolleoUons did not assume a
definite shape, but passed before the girl's
soul like dissolving views and fleeting shadows.
This dreaming with open eyes, something by
no means unusual in young persons of the
hopeful age of seventeen, soon passed into a
real, gentle slumber. The long journey and
unwonted sojourn in tSe open air had rendered
Alice tired and exhausted. Her weariness
was increased by the stillness surrounding
her, broken only by the monotonous rustling
of the wind in the treo-topa, or the mournful
notes of a bird which had strayed ii
melancholy wilderness. Vainly
against her sleepiness; her beautiful eyes
closed gradually, and her fair head sank down
to the soft turf. The images and ideas of her
fancy became confused and dissolved like tidn
clouds, from which the fantastic god of drearna
shaped all sorts of wonderful forms. As echo
renders the real tone, these dissolving views
echoed the events of her immediate past. Be
fore the closed eyes of the girl appeared the
.lofty halls of Castle Derby, with its pinnacles
and towers glistening in the rays of the setting
Bun Th unbeams were transformed into
e ng flames which seized her dress, and
1 at ned to burn her. Already she believed
h rJ If trievably lost, when a heavenly

form bearing the familiar features of John
Milton flitted down to her. With a strong
m he lifted hecfrom the burning rains, rising
th her above the smoke and the hissing
imes, and borne aloft by the powerful silrer
ings growing from his shoulders. Only after
reaching a golden star did he repose with his
sweet burden; sacred music received them
there ; choirs of angels intoned hymns sweeter
than she had ever heard before. Hef Saviour,
too, seized a harp han^ng on a golden pillar,
and the most suhl me mekdies fell tiom IIis
lips. The poet grew taller and tiller, his
whole form glowed with the light of trans
figuration, and the strings of the harp turned
into radiant rivers flowing from heaven down
to earth. His words became figures and as
snmed now human, now suptrnatural forma
A man and a woman stood under a tree fiill
of tempting fruits ; but coiled around its trunk
she saw the serpent, whose head bore the fea-
tures of the famous Kenelm Dighy. Suddenly
the modest Carbury approached, unsheathed
his sword, and sondered the head of the ser-
pent with a powerfiil blow from the trunk;
but from the drops of its blood sprang count-
less infernal demons, who were danomg with
horrible grimaces and scornful laughter about
the terrified ^tl.

Louder and louder grew the laughter of the
demons, and, blended with it, she seemed to
hear the notes of wild musie. Alice opened
her eyes wonderlngly, but she thought she was
dreaming on, for the demons whom she had
seen m her slum! trs surtounded her couuh
It was a troop of wild daring fellows m all

was headed by a bjn 1 of stranQely-dres'Jed
inueiiians nho made an infernal nuise with
their instruments Some of thtm were dis
gui ed a^ Moors, and hjd blackened their
fices, m their handi thev held small diums,
tambo«raie=, and cymbals, whii,h tliev were
strliiiiig together. Others were dressed in Iho

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ALICE AND COMUS.

skins of wild beasts, and had placed vfreatha
of young osk-leaTes and evci^reen ivy on their
slui^j heads ; they were plajiog on the shawm
or soundiug well-knowu atreetaire on squeal!-
ing pipes.

The longer Alice stared at these strango
forms, the foster retomed her conaciousnesa.
Her fear of the demons soon gave place to a
EtlU greater aniiety. She perc^Teti at once
that ahewa^ in the jnidstot a merry, ilrunkea
gang of so-called May-aancers, who were re-
turning from some rural feslivfll, and into
whose hands she had fallen alone and defence-
less. . A majority of the band consisted of
jour^ peaaant-Iada who would treat a aolitary
young girl with little or no delicacy. Escape
was not to be thought of; hence, Alice sub-
mitted to her fate, firmly resolved to ward off
all undue familJarilJea oi the danccra by her de-
termiued bearing, and by mendoning her name
and poaition.

The band had surprised the fair sleeper
under the trees and awakened her by tbeir
deafening noise. Alice had Jumped up in ter-
ror; with flushed cheeks, and her heart throb-
bing witb ansiety, she awaited the result of
the dangerous adventure, She yet wore the
wreath of forget-me-nota on her blond bair,
which had beeomclooaened during her slumber,
and was flowing in golden ringlets round her
forehead and her white neck. Her slender,
sylph-like form was wrapped in a green hunt-
ing-dress, and a short silken mantilla of the
same color waved on her shouldcra in the
breeze. She had hastily picked up the riding-
whip, the only weapon with which she could
defend liersel f. On the ground lay her barret-
cap with the waving plume, and her white
palfrey and the horse of her absent brother
were grazmg close by.

Whether it was owing to the surpaswcg'
beauty of the young girl, whose appearance
made a fairy-like impression upon the beholder,
or the expression of innoccneo and noble di.;^-

ity animating her features, the rude band
seemed to hesitate at first and keep aloof re-
spectfully, feeding their eyes with the beauti-
ful spectacle so suddenly preaented to them,
volgar persons feel in such momenta the
Ity eurrounding the head of an innocent
ia, aa if with a protecting halo, and the pow-

,r men like a revelation, from above, and
silence all worldly deairea. A murmii^ of ap-
plauae greeted the fair girl.

"By St. George," excJaimed one of the dan-
cers, "there stands the fairy of Haywood
Forest."

" I will accost her," said another.

"Beware! Do you not see that she holds
her ma^c wand in her hands? If you irritate
her, she will transform you into a donkey."

" And you into a sheep."

"Let me manage it," shouted a stout lad,
who seemed to be the leader of the band. " I
shall speak a confidential word to the beauty
of the forest, and I will bet a rose-aoble that
she will not bewitch me for it immediately.
You do not know how to speak to apirita and
sylphs."

" Yea, BiUy knowa it," cried the first speaker ;
" his grandmother was an old witch, and he
learned it from her."

" And your grandmother ia the devil's couain.
Attention now, and ace how I am going to man-
ago it."

The merry lad now advanced toward Ahce
with all sorla of odd leaps and laughable bows.
He waa about twenty-four years old ; his form
was short and wiry ; two esceedingly shrewd
black eyes flashed m his keen face. His red
noso indicated an intimate acquaintance with
the bottle, and Ms fiiU, fleshy cheeks, aa well
as his round paunch, sluiwed that he was an
epicure of the lowest class. His low forehead
and shaggy hair were covered with a green

hieh hi

the long plume of a peacock was waving. The

dhy Google

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES,

short doublet wliiuh he wore was held togeiher
by a broad leathern belt, in which hung alai^e
soup-ladle in place of a sword. His ttiiek neck
and broad breast were covered wltli a yerj
Bliort cloak, which was tiinimed with lambs'
taQsmateadof princely ermine, and set all over
with diminutive bells, tinkling merrily at every
step he made. In hia hands ho held a half-
emptied bottle and a bromi staff, the top of
which ftaa a fool's head, ruddy carved out of
the wood, ihia queer figure rested, moreover,
on two crooked legs, looaely encased m white
stockings, covering only a part of his plump
hairy calves.

This fellow now approached Alice, who was
by no meaaa reassured at Ms s^ht. Distort-
ing hia large mouth, which was dotted with
white, pointed teeth, into a broad erin, he sa-
luted her with eiaggerated and ludicrous polite-

"Most beautiful of all fairies," he said to
her, "pardon me if I fake the libertyof ap-
proaching you ; but it would l>e wrong in me
not to render homage to' so estraordinary a
beauty. Permit me, therefore, to drink first
your health out of thla bottle, and then hand it
to you, that you may do likewise."

So saying, ho raised the bottle to his thick
lips and drank a long draught from It, after
which he preaented it to her. She pushed back
his rude hand with a gesture of horror, so that
the bottle fell to the ground and broke noisily
in pieces.

"Aha I" cried the fellow, angrily; "you are
proud, and refuse to drink with me. Do you
know, my little sweetheart, my supercilious
fairy princess, whom you have insulted? lam
at least aa good as you, if not better. You be-
hold in my person the king of all fools, the
prince of folly, the sovereign of all merry peo-
ple, the king of jest. Just distend your lovely
eyes, and however disdainfully you may turn
up your tiny nose, however contemptuously
YOU may curl your sweet cherry-lips, you will

whistle another tune so soon aa you have heard
my name, rank, and title ; for there stands be-
fore you no other than Gorans, the god of fes-
tive joy and mirth, whose rale is aeknowledged
by all England, Condescend, therefore, to
pledge mo."

At a beck which the man made to his com-
panions, another bottle was brought to him.
He presented it to the girl. In order not to
increase his anger, Alice resolved reluctantly
to comply with his request, and, bowing slight-
ly, she raised the bottle to her lipa,

" That is right," said the extemporized god,
" I see that you are submissive, and I hope we
shall get along very well with each other. It
was my intention long since to give up my
bachelor life and marry a lady of equai rank .
Your heavenly appearance has kindled the
flame of love in my heart, and I feel that its
ardor is increasing every minute. Fair Glori-
ana, moat beautiful of fairies ! give me your
soft white hand, that we may form an everlast-
mg union. I place you on my throne. From
this hour you shall share my crown ami be the
queen of the kingdom of fools."

painful; she did not know what to reply, or
what course she ought to adopt under such cir-
cumstances. After a brief reflection, she
deemed it beat to join in the jolly tone of the

le with tl

1 the BS

strain. The fellow who had addressed her
displayed, despite hia rudeness and imperti-
nence, uncommon wit and a jolly kindhearted-
nesa which somewhat reassured her; and she
resolved to gain him by her eomplaiaance, in-
stead of irritating Mm bv ill-advised defiance,
Aljove aU things, it w mp an f her to
gain time, as she m gh m m n ok for

the return of her ab n b h A these
reasons induced he ad a n iatory
manner, and turn he p ea an ad enture
i,joke. She, therefore, rephed as follows:
ireat and powerful Comus! your pro-

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ALICE AND COMUS.

po=ila tjke me -o muth by ourprise that
leiUy feci (.mbarrassed lour power and
rank are well known to me , fur all England
la aware that you ire one of the most liistin-
guisbei goii Your realm 13 iirta nly the
largest in the world, for fools will never bo
■ wanting to it. The renown of yonc exploits
has penetrated to my ears, and I have often
heard of you and the brilliant court which you
hold in various parts of Ihis island, and par-
tieularly»in Oakley Park. I bless my star
therefore, for permitting me to see jou and
your peers face to face, and obtain the convic
lion that the fame of your courteous manntrh
gallantry, and wit, is by no means uadcserved
But aa foe jour honorable propoaalg, I must
confess that I consider myself unworthy t)
share the throne of so powerful a ruler and to
live by the side of a god. I am no fairy, anl
least of all the famous Gloriana. My parents
are only poor mortals, ami I myself am a plain
young girl, and by no means worthy to be-
come the consort of so powerGil a spirit."

" Hold on," cried the young fellow, with an
ecstatic grin. " Your words only serve to fan
the flame of my love. Whoever you may be,
whether the fairy of this forest, or the daugh-
ter of a sooty cbareoal-bumer, your beauty
and understanding hayefaaeina,ted me so much
that I will never part with you. Ton shall be
queen of the fools, and receive immediately
the homage of my lords and my other subjects.
Kneel down, jou rogues, blackguards, and
fools 1 Shout with me; 'Long live our
Queen I'"

" Long live our queen ! Long live the great
Comusl" roared the chorus of the merry

At tbe same llrae the band struck np again
its noisy masic The drums rolled, the fifes
Equeakcd, and all expressed ihrfr assent to,
and delight at, the selection which Comus had
made, by the most ludicrous leaps and deafen-

" Come, bring me the throne," commanded
the leader, whom the otiera willingly obeyed.
A few lads made a sort of chair of branches
which they cut quickly from the trees. Alice
was requested to seat herself on it. Before
she was able to object or desist, strong arms
lifted her up easily and softly. She sat on
the shoulders of her bearers, and had to sub-
mit to being carried bj them in triumphant
procession. Her white palfrey was led after
her while the leader of the band momitod her
brother a liorse and rode by her side.

The htungt proi,esaion was headed by the
maoke 1 mua c ins who struck up a noisy
mirth Behind then followed a number of
masks dresied m the oltins of wild beasts.
They formed as t were the body-guard, and
earned for tl is [.mpose large staves adorned
with flowers and Jibbons Then came various
dancers in their gay costumes and covered all
over with small bells ; they danced on both
sides, and performed all sorts of ludicrous
leaps. Alice was carried on tlie quickly-ei-
temporized throne in their midst. The golden
rays of the setting sun illuminated tbe sweet
picture. Nothing more beautiful and graceful
could be traced by a painter's pencil. A mix-
ture of girlish anxiety and childlike archness
brought a smile of confusion and hilarity i/t
her sweet Ups and roay cheeks. The merry
spirits of jest and mirth played round her
ohirmmg dimples and her BneU chiselled ohin.
Her blond ringlets fell down on her green
udicg druBS, whith chastely veiled her exquis-
ite form The wreath on htr head imparted
a queenly appearance to her, and was suitable
to the part which had been toiced upon her.
A laot Testii^e of embarrassment and ansiety
remained in her eye, which she dropped, thus
adding to her beauty the still greater charm
of modesty and humility

firaduulli this anxiety wore ofi; and Ahce
warned her usual courage. Her merry spirit
ren delighted to some extent in the anespect-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMEa

pd advtnture ''he appeired to btraelf a
queen traTbUmg trmmphantlj tbrougt htr
realm and receiving homage at fbe hinds of
her '(uhjel.ts "^e jielded unwittingly to the
lantastio <hinng (f the place, aad the whole
wODderful scenery BurrounJing hor The
dancecs (reattd her wilh Btuhtd politeness,
and before long she had acquired more con-
fidence in them. These rude lads were as if
fasoinaleci by tlie power of beauty and the
wild outbursts of their rough and unbridled
humor assumed more and more the shipe of
jovial and even graceful witticisms. The stout
carriers strutted about, evidently proud ot
tbdr fair burden; Comus, the god, rode slnwly
by her side, and devoted himself now tu mam.
taJidng good order in the procession now to
amusing his intended consort. Eventhewild
est dancers tried to impart a chaster character
to tbOT somewhat indecent leaps. All with
out exception endeavored visibly to please
thdr new queen, who manifested her grat tnde
by pleasant glances and kind words

Nutwithstanding this favorable turn of her
adventuie, Alice longed for the return of hci
brothers, aa the thought of what would be the
end of all this filled her with serious misgiv-
ing)' Dangers might threaten her every mo-
ment alone ind unprotected as she was amidst
thia horde of lads flushed with wine, mirth,
and hcentiousness. Moreover, the procession
moved farther and farther away from the spot
where her brothers would look for her. Her
cocfnsion therefore increased at every step .
but she took care to conceal her embarrass-
ment from her companions. With ardent
patience she turned her eyes in the direction
in whi(Ji she thought her brothers would ap-
proach, hut not a trace was to be discerned
of ihem. She overcame her dqcction, how-
ever, for she was stilt in hopes that she wonld
epeedily be extricated froia her embarrassing

OHAPTEE rV.

At the same time two young men were
wandering in a similar direction through Hay-
wood Forrat. They were friends, nearly of
e same age, and had been tenderly attached
eath other for many years. One of them,
ho Wis a, httle older thin Ids companion,
■esenled i refintd and anstoeratie' appear-
lee. Slender and tall his whole bearing in-
dicated a certam firnjuess and the distin-
guished manners nhn,h the sons of wealthy

diess likewise letokenod the wealth of bis
familj His high forehead and carefully- curled
dark hair were covered w th a plumed hat,
which was adorned with a golden agraffe set
w th brilhanta H s dark, well-kept beard,
which, after the fathion of that period, was
perfumed w th fragrant oil, surrounded hia
blooming, bronzed cheeks An air of careless
giyetyplajed round his fimly-chiselled mouth,
ind happmess and content beamed from his
dark ejcs. His doublet, of costly Dutch vel-
vet, and the golden chain eneirohng his neck,
completed the picture of a wealthy young no-
bleman of that time. Fortune seemed to have
been less favorahle to his younger companion,
the unusual neatness of whose burgher-like
dress made up for the plainness ol the tuff of
which it was made His shorter and almost
girlish form, moreover p esenied a not very
advantageous contrast with that of his fine-
looking friend B it a glance at his noble
face, at his high, esipans ve furehead anl his
deep, unfathomable eyes satuSei attentive
otservers at oni,e that he w IS amanof ortraor-'
dinarj gemus Despite the delicacy of these
features, which made him appear much younger
than he really was, they indicated a rare ripe-
ness of the mind. The color of hia cheeks,
I without being sickly, showed the traces of his

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THE

nocturnal ^luriic? ind txhiualmg medititDni
An indi/acribable cbaim phved couad his
flnelj chiselled lips, and on air ot mtLllcttual
beauty illuminaied the lyhok eipressive face,
in whose deUcate T^t sharp lineimenta fcmi
nine gentleness was cuupled with manly, ear
ne^t, and evLn btubboru firmness

The two rnung waaderers weie homeward
bound from one of tlicir usu
Thej were very foul of roaming
fine SLasOn hand in hand throu^
an S Th

vetj fond of his jounger fnend M n,
father was a lawyer. The two y
together the trcaaurea of olassi
whoBo ardent admirers they were T
"Of the noblo Greeks and Romana k
their souls an ardent enthusiaam
great and beautiful. Especially M

distinguiahed himself by the zeal
neas with which he yielded to the
tiquity and rendered himself fimlar w"th it.
He had soon obtained a thorough knowledge
of the writings of the greateat ph losophers
and poets of Athena and Kome, aud mastered
the difficulties of both lar^uages so nell that
he himself was able to write heautiful poetry
in them. But hia indefatigable nduitrj did
not content [taelf with this: pruloundlj im
pressed with tlia sublime beauties of the B hie
he devoted himself w the arduous itudy of
the Hebrew language, and, afle neeosant
toils, he succeeded to his ntmost joy in read
iug and undecetandiog " Gftd's Worl m the

A rare good fortune preaecred hitn from the
lamentable pedantry which so often clings to
learned men. His lively imajdnalion proteeied
him from conGntng himself to one-sided studies,
and always led him back from his dusty study |

to the forest and fields, and to the bustle of
the world. .Art, too, shielded him from such
aberrationa. Milton's father was an cicellent
musician, and oomniunioated to his son at an
early age a taste for harmonioua beauty.
Ne ther did young Milton neglect bodily ei-

oLiUed in the practice of arms and in horse
m books

floon became very extcnsite, and the
3 of the moat remote countriea poured
eoffora of Great Britain. Important
les and territorial acquisitions in dis-
tant pirts of the world added to the wealth
ind prosper tj of the people. While haughty
to her gloomy intolerance and
declining more and more, the
treatn s and commerce of England, under the
sceptre of th sagacious and powerful Eliza-
eth had been constantly on the inoreaac.
rht, more enhohtened apirit of Protestantism
'o te ed and [.romoted this grand development
f the country and aroused the moral and
natcr il cuerj,r of the people. The progress
and prosperity had cousiderahle
awakening the desires of the peo-
ple for increased culture and education. Eliza-
beth herself was a lover and pro

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

eeieaee and poetrj. At hep court were to be
found tlie moat eminent Echolars and poets —
Bacon, the father and restorer of modem
science, Sir WaJWr Raleigh, and many others.
At that time the gveat Shakespeare wrobe his
immortal plajs, nnd enjoyed the protection of
his queen, the acquidntanee and friendship of
the most distinguished noblemen, and the love
and admiration of hia contemporarieg. Under
Elizabeth's suoeeeaor, the pedantic but learned
James I,, science and culture were treated
with the highest distinction. In this way it
happened that the whole nation took a lively
part in the awakening of this taste for science
and culture, and men of scholarly attainments
occupied a distinguished posiUon in public and
social life. The most aristocratic families
opened their hiKpitablo mansions to ihcm,
and the nobility of the mind marched hence-
forth hand-in-hand with the nobility of birth.

In this manner Milton, by his talents, had
obtained access to the noble house of the
Earl of Derby, and this wag also the reason
why the aristocratic and wealthy Edward
King felt highly honored and flattered by his
friendship for, and intercourse wiUi, the young
poet aod savant. Their mutual friendsliip had
grown more ardent from day to day, and it
was still conatandy on the increase. When-
ever they could, tlie friends passed their time
together, exchanging their views and feelings.
They lilted best to roam in the
sunny days, and feast theh^ eyes on h bea
of the landscape and the varied
Nature. Such walks seemed to b x d
ingly deJightful and refreshing. ^ w h
traversed the green forest, engage a m
animated conrecsatiou; now they d

the soft moss in the shade of a ta k d
partook of the repast which they h d b „
with them, and with which they drank watcc
from the bubbling spring. At times they bad
on such occasions some little adventure which
gave them additional topics of conversation.

cans of these deiightful escnrsions they
became intimately acciuainted with the whole
neighborhood. During their trips they oflen
with solitary shepherds, sooty chareoal-
er3, and simple-minded farm-laborers, and
lot disdain to walk with them for a while.
In this Banner they obtained a better insight
the peculiarities of the different classes,
their simple mode of hfe, then' views, wishes,
d wants. The ever-attentive poet received
these meetings many a poetical subject, and
learned popular songs which had hithetlo been
unknown to him. At other times they visited
the chenls of Milton's father, well-to-do-farm-
era, who received them with open-handed hos-
pitality.

The moat delightiul Bours, however, they
passed in the solitude of the forest. Here all
the great events of the past arose before them,
and their lively imaginations revelled in recall-
ing the beauties of ancient Hellas and the
power and grandeur of Home. They lived
then in the past, and the present disappeared
from their eyes. They felt transformed, as it
were, and thdr aurroundinga seemed to as-
sume the stamp of remote times and countries.
Over thdr heads rustled the sacred oaks of
Dodona, and ui the whispers of their foliage
they fancied they heard the voice of the Oracle.
At other times they walked with Plalo through
thegroveaof the Academy, and listened to the
wi h g h d m Th

d P la D nd

Pytlu , w h mod w m tr

emulate. Their ordinary names sufficed them
no longer, and they adopted in their stead the
euphonic ones of Thyrsis and Lycidas, by
which they called each other henceforth. In

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doing so, they thought of tbe friendships of
faithful shephenia, such m Virgi] and Theoc-
ritus celebrated ia their bucolics.

With these aymbolio fancies, however, thej
coupled a lofty eamestnesB, and the ze
endeavor not only to equal those sublime
ela, but to surpass them. Both were at
happy age when the mind soars from earth
toward the stars, and seelzs its ideals there.
Kothmg seemed henceforth impossible to them,
and they thought they could reach the highest
goals. As yet friendship and poetry filled the
whole realm of their thoughts and feelings,
and these benign genii accompanied them
everywhere.

The animated eonrereation of the two friends
was unespeotedly interrupted by the deafening
notes of music which resounded very near
them. The dense shrubbery surrounding them
prevenled their seeing the cause of the up-

which would, of course, leave me ineonsol-

" So far as I am concerned, you need not
be afraid," replied Milton, entering with a
pleasant smHe into his ftiend's jest. "I am
as yet any thing but si

Them

1 bard as Or-
is of my lyre neither stay

"What does this mean?" asked Milton,
droppii^ the prerions subject of their conver-

" It must be a eh'
plied his friend, still continuing ia their former
strain.

" Tou are right, my Ly d I h d s-
tiocUy the niMsy pipe of g l-f t 1 P and
the loud drum and r g ymb L f the
furious Mienades. Evo B h D y nut
hear the rqoicings of the jublant chorus? I
should not wonder if Dionysus himself, crown
ed with ivy and vine-leaves, and seated in hL
chariot drawn by panthers, were to issue from
the thicket and turn round yonder comer of
the forest."

" Let as hasten, then, to greet the god, lest
we suffer the fate of those who once laughed
at his distress. To yon, my Thyrais, the meet-
ing with the fiirioua Baechaatea might ho
especially dangerous ; for you know that they
once tore the immortal Orphi
a poet you might easily auffi

the course of the

wild beasts of the forest. At the best, they
gain for me the applause of my too indulgent
Lyddaa, whose lore kindles in my heart the
hveliest gratitude toward the gods."

So saying, STilton ied the way, anxious to
discorer the source of the noisy music which
broke the silence of the forest so anddeuly.
King likewise accelerated his steps, and both
reached almost at the same time a small cleuc-
where they were able to sticvcy the epec-
e so uncipeetedly exhibited to them. The
i^ssion, in whose midst they beheld the
god Comus and Alice, moved past them at a
distance of a few yards. The wonderful scene
surprised the two observers greatly. Indeed,
the r jocular words seemed to be leal zed and
the r rem n seen es of the fea, t ot Bac bus
ap a ed b e fiei Tl e anc n the r
m sks and k ns of w Id beasts w th the
false wh k r and wre hs of o Lie Tes on
t r head rem nded the n t k n-ly of the
oTjat foot d choru ot ti e f,od of w ne E en
old S lenus se m d to be pre. en f r on a
small donkey hung a fat b oa ed d nka d
n th a red copper ftce whom hs wcjrv to(^
ter ng feet were no lonj,eE ahlo to u[ port
Tl e strangely-dreS'Jed mus an too were
end n^ the a r w th thorough j pigan strains
fron the r d urn fifes and sh wms Tbe as
toni^hment of the two friends, however, soon
turned mto the highest admiration when they
beheld the charming Alice seated on her
throne of branches and green leaves. She
occupied her lofty seat with the bearing of a
pieces. As young queen, iilnmmated by the purple glow
similar fate, I of the setting sun. The sweetest of fairies,

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

tlie most ravishing sjlph, seemed embodied In
hep to fjsdnatc every mortal eje. The daz-
zliog light prerented Milton at first from rec-
ognizing the features tvhieh were so well
known to him, while his companion believed
he waa beholding the most beautiful of the
wonders of antiquit j.

"By Jove I" esclaimed Edward King, en-
thusiasticallj, " we are at Naxos, and the lovely
girl yonder can be no other than Ariadne,
wliom the servants of Baecbus are carrying in
triumphal procession."

Milton made no reply, but suddenly ran
down the small knoll on which the friends
were standing, and hastened toward the pro-

IV ? " asked King, woq-

" It is she, it is sbe I " panted Milton,
breathlessly, dragging his surprised friend by
the hand with bim.

Alice heard his loud esolamation, and turned
her lovely head in that direction ; a new gleam
oFhope colored her cheeks and lit up ber blue
eyes. She thought she had rccogniaed the
Toice of a friend, cor was she mistaken. In a
few moments Milton and his fdthful friend,
Edward King, stood before ber.

"Lady Alice Egcrton, Lady Alice!" es-
claimed Milton.

" It is I," said Alice, to dispel Ms doubts.

"And what are you doing here In the midst
of these men » "

" For God's sake, extricate me from this
dreadful position," 6be cried, in an an

The beautiful girl bad to conflne herself to
these Tague words. She had no time for a
more extended esplanation, for tbe fellow who
was playing tbe part of Comus, and riding by
her side, was becommg impatient.

" Halloo, my little dove," he growled angri-
ly, "yon mean to violate your pligbted failb
and fly away I But that wUl not do. Stand

ide, gentlemen, and render homage to the

god Comus and his suite. If you do not clear

the way immediately, you stand a chance to

become acqaainted with his wand and the fists

' his subjects."

So Baying, tbe speaker brandished the staff
with the fool's bead, and the liody-guard like-
threatened the friends with their sticlis.
was too much for young King's chival-
courage. He thought he was able to cope
all alono with the rabble, whose nmncrieal
strength did not frighten him in the least. He
nnaheatbed hifl awotd quickly, and penetrated
resisllcssly close up to AJiee.

"Knock him down!" roared tbe leader to

But before tbe latter had time to recover
from their surprise, tbe bold youth bad
dragged tbe fellow from his horse, and thread
ened him with his flashing sword,

" If one of this rabble touches me with the
tip of bis finger, yon are a dead man!"

This threat had the desired effect. The
god's suite kept at a respectful distance, and
Comus himself made no effort to extricate him-
self from bis adversary's grasp. Meanwhile,
Milton had likewise hastened to the spot, in
order, if possible, to prevent bloodshed. He
devoted his first attention, however, to the
frightened girl, who was watching this new
incident tremblingly from her throne.

" Put down the lady," he said, imperatively.

The latter obeyed immediately, and, with
Milton's assistance, Alice's feet touched the
ground again. After rendering her this ser-
vice, he turned to the group snrronnding him.
The loud music bad ceased, and tbe performers
stood about with faces half confused and half
anxious. The body-guard of the god had low-
ered thdr staves, and tbe half-intosioated sub-
jects had fallen back in dismay. Comus him-
self lay on the groimd, and his former
grandiloquence bad given way to the most

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abject cowardice. His ted face liad suddenly
turned very pale, and liis elirewd ejea gianeed
aoaiouely from one of tbe bjatanders to an-
other. On his fat pauncii rested one foot of
his victorious adversary, wlioae left hand firmlj
grasped the fellow's throat, while his right
hand held the sword at Lis breast. The immi-
nent peri] wrung a heavy sigh from the fright-
ened Comua, and he durst not stir for fear of
irritating hia adversary. It was in this un-
pleasant predicament that Milton found the
poor fellow when he turned his attention to
him, aud was not a little astonished on recog-
nizing an old aciiuaintance.
" Billy Gi'een ! " he exelajmed, in surprise.
"Yes, 'ti? I, your honor," groaned the fel-
low, in ludicrous despair. " Dear Mr. Milton !
get me out of this difl5cully, and I will be for-
ever bound to you."

" I do not know whether it is advisable to
release so notorious a gaUows-bird, poacher,
and scapegrace. Tour conduct toward this
lady deserves the severest castigation."

" Aslt herself if I have addressed an insnlt-
ing word to her, I took the liberty of joking
her a little, that was all. And then I did not
knowwho and what she was. — Noble lady, just
say if I have offended you in any manner what-
ever, and pray intercede with these gentlemen
in my behalf. A word from your beautiful
lips, and a glance of your flashing eyes, will be
sufScieat to make poor merry Billy Green your
everlasting debtor."

This request, uttered in the most contrite
tone, escited Alice's compassion, and, turning
to her deliverer with a gracefUI smile and a
sweet blush, she said :

" Noble sir, pardon me, if I couple a request
with my thanks. Tou have acted towaid me
with trne chivalry, and manifested your bravery
in the most striking manner. But do not for-
get that virtue which always accompanies true
chivalry, to wit, pity, for the vanquished. I
confirm what he says to you. It is true, he

■, but did

jOked me in an unbeeomiug n
not insult me. As I pardon him, you must no
longer be inexorable. Allow him to rise and
withdraw immediately with his companions."
The tone of these words, her sweet voice,
and her lovely features, made a powerful im-
pression upon the youth, who now saw AEce
for the first time. Though usually not at a
loss for words, he needed a few momenla to
recover his presence of mmd.

" Noble lady," replied Edward King, after a
short pause, " your thanks make me blush, be-
cause I do not deserve them. Neither courage
noc bravery was required to dehver you from
such hands. Jlrst ^ve me an opportunity to
deserve your gratitude by shedding my blood
and risking my life for you, and then you may
thank me. This fellow is unworthy of your in-
tercession in his behalf, but should be punished
severely for hia impudence. However, your
request of course prevents me from chastising
him. I will only make him pledge Us his word,
for the safety of us all, that neither he nor liis
companions will molest us any more. My
friend Milton seems to be acquainted with bun,
and if he will be hia security, the rascal may
go, after Erst asking your pardon on his bended
knees. He will not cheat thegallows anyhow,"
"A thousand thanks," grinned Biily Green,
evidently not a little relieved. "I shall take
care not to fulfil your honor's propheey."

"Dear Edward," added Milton, "I have
known the fellow for a long time. He often
conies to our house, and my father has re.
peatcdly saved him from a punishment which,
aa a notorious poacher, be has deserved more
than once. However, I believe he is a fool
and jester rather tlian a rogue; and as Lady
Alice has already spoken in hia behalf, I will
add mj intercession to hers. Let him pledge
his word that be will not molest us any more
and then let him withdraw with hia compan-

" The devil take n

" cried the delighted

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

god, " if I ever forget what you have done for
me. I alivajs said that Mr. Milton deserved a
special seat in heaTen. If you need mo either
by day Or by nigbt, Just eend for merry Billy
Green. !For your sake, I would ttilUngly rob
aebureli, if need be."

Etcu the grave Edward King could not help
smiling a little at this well-meant efHision.

"Well, be it so," he said. "I submit to the
orders of tlie lady and the pi'ayers of my friend.
Rise, jou Eooundrel I First, however, swear
on your bended kneca that you repent of-what
you have done, and will do so no more."

" I Btvear, and may God punish tne if I break
my oath," said Billy Green, making an effort
to look grave and Bolcmn.

King thereupon withdrew his hand from the
fellow's tliroat, which he had grasped until
then. Tlie released Comua jumped with a wild
leaji from the ground, and hastened to the lady
and to Kilton in order to tbank tbem. He
gazed at Alice with luock raelaiichoiy and
waved his green cap humbly before her. The
peacock-plume had been broken and torn off
during the scufSe,

" Farewell, beautiful fairy," bo cried, with
laughable emotion. " Our union lasted only a
brief spell, but it was the happiest time of my
life. I see now that you are loo sensible to
remain tlie (jueen of the realm of fools. 'Tia
a pity ! I am afraid the reign of folly will soon
be at an end in merry Old England, and the
god Comua will no longer be permitted to dwell
oa this ialand. Our dmemakeSBsenaus &ce,
and the world hangs its bead. The drawling
PorilaDS ave becoming; more numeroos from
day to day. In their eyes every jest is a sin,
and every witticism dooms him who utters it.
They detest dandng and hate merry songs. If
this goes on much longer, merry Old England
will soon be as silent aa the grave. Ilenee, I
prefer to renounce my throne of my own accord,
and abdicate as you did. In plaee of this wand,
I will take a hymn-book in my hand, and es-

ige my fool's crown for a round Lead. For
^ime being I shall intrust you with the em-
blems of my power. Keep them until I ask
return Ihem to me. This folly will come
end too, as all folly does on earth. Good-
by, then, until we meet in better times."

The fellow burst into tears in the midst of
B iiueer address ; but no one could tell wheth-

hjs tears were natural or only simulated.

e laid down his cap and wand sobbingly at

Alice's feet. When Milton stooped to pick up

these emblems of foliy, the dethroned god

led:

"It is right in you, Mr. Milton, to take
charge of these things. I know that you aro
a scholar and a poet, that is U) Bay, a twofold
fool ; Iherefore you deserve to bo my succes-
sor. Share my inheritance with the beautiful
lady. And now, musicians, strike up once
more a meity march, before they beat your
heads with your fiddles. They will Boon have
a very different dance in England, and the
drums and fifes will play a crazier tune than
was ever heard before, Ponrard, boys ; dance
for the last time 1 Who knows if you will be
permitted to dance any longer tctmorrow ? "

The dancers were not leas surprised at the
strange mood and sudden sadness of their
leader than the lady and the two friends. The
muiiciaus, however, struck up a merry march
as he had ordered. Amidst its stirring notes
the procession moved on, the leader walking
at its head with a tottering step, from time to
time wiping away the tears running down hia
fat cheeks. Gradually the procession disap-
peared among the trees, veiled by the twilight
which was fast setting in. The notes of the
music grew fainter and fainter, iintii they fiually
died away entirely. The pale sickle of the
moon rose in the west, and profound silence
rdgned again in the forest.

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CHAPTER V.

Alice was now alone with the two friendu,
of whom onlj the young poet was aliglitly ac-
quainted with her. Milton now introduced
chivalrous Edward King to hpr. The tunid
girl soon overcame her embsirasstoent, sud
gave her deliTcrera a full account of the
strange advenfuie which had befallen ber.

"And what do jou intend to do now?"
asked Millon, BjmpathcticaUy.

" I really do aot know," replied Alice.

" We are at yoiu' command," said King, with
ofSeioua zeal, " We Hhall not leave jou until
yoii are perfectly safe."

" Certainly not," afflnnad Lis fiiend. "So
long as you have need of us, wo will, if jou
permit it, remain with yon. The question ia
now whether you prefer taking the direct
route to Ludlow Castle, or intend remaining
here until your brothers have returned."

" I deem it more prudent for you," re-
maclied King, " to leave the forest and return
to the liighway."

"But my brothers," objected Alice, "will
seek me, and if they find me no longer in the
forest, they will be needlessly ansious on my
account. Morcorcr, I should not hkc to trou-
ble you, gentlemen, any more than I have al-
ready done. I am sure that your route lies in
a different direction from mine."

" We know of no other duty just now," re-
plied King, politely, "but to serve an unpro-
tected hlv and it 13 of no consequence whit
ever whether wl get home an hour earlier or
later But tou, noble lady, must no longer
expose youciclf to the moonvenienoeB and
dangers of this w Idemess The fatigues of
the day must have exhausted your strength
and you need physical and mental repose
Moreover your absence will diublle&s ocoa
sion the hvehest anxiety to jour parents. As

to your brothers, 1 believe we shall meet with
them a great deal Sooner on the highway
Ihan here in the forest. They have deserved
somf punishment for being such bad custo-
dians of suth a treasure."

Aa Slilton assented to the opinion of hia
friend, Alice resolved to adopt the well-meant
advice. With King's assistance, she mounted
the palfrey, which had been taken from the
daneors, while the young man, leading her
brother's horse by the bridle, and John Milton,
walked on either side. Both were sufBeiently
familiar with the road, and the gentle rays of
moon illuminated the toierably smooth
. It was a splendid, fragrant May night ;
^ntle breeze murmured in the young fo-
liage; the blooming birches exhaled delicious
perfumes, and the nightingalea sang the joys

aof lo

The

young wanderers yielded alentlyfothe eiquis-
ite charms of Nature; the mysterious fasci-
nations of Spring, the time of buds and flow-
ers, floated round them and filled their hearts
witJi longing and delight.

Alice at length broke the silence, which
almost filled her with ansiety. She turned in
the first place to Milton, with whom she had
already been acquainted. She spoke with hirri
of her aunt's house, and of the last festival
which she had witnessed there.

" I envy my Aunt Derby," she said, in the

mora and more animated, " for being able to
gather around her a circle of ladies and gen-
tlemen anch as perhaps is not to be found any-
where else. What delightful amusements she
manages to prepare for her gueata. I shall
forget the days which I passed at her
house, and which glided away unfortunately

too rapidly."

M me assure you," said Milton, signifi-
cantly, " that I hkewise remember them with
giiteful emotion. A new life dawned upon
m that house."

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

He paused suddenlj, k> the great regret of
Alice, who longed to hem more from Iiiio, es-
pecially as to what and whom he referred to
in speaking of a "new life." She waa almost
afraid lest he would relapse into his bashful
cesccve, which he seemed to oyercome here
in the green forest with greal^c ease than in
the proud halls of her aunt's castle. For-
tunately his friend now took up the thread of

" If I am not mistaken," he said, " a mask,
written by you, was presented at the country-
seat of the noble Countess-dowager of Derby.
Aa usual, you have not yet told me any thing
about its success; heoce, I must apply for
pacUculars about the performance to you,
beautifiil lady,"

." I suppose you refer to 'The Arcades ?' "
asked Alice, Iiindly.

" That is the name of the mask, of which
I haye hitherto heard only detached frag-

" A trifle hardly irorth

posed the modest poeL

"Tou do injustice lo yourself and jour
work," said Alice, almost indignantly. "But
as you, like an unjust and cruel father, expose
and disown your own child, I shall have mercy
on it, and cherish and foster it in accordance

" Your irony is cruel. I wish you would
foi^et the ungainly child."

"I cannot, sir;- and, to prove how deeply
its beautiful features are engraved upon my
mind, I will quote some lines which struck me
as parliotilarly beautiful."

"Pray, don't," murmured Milton, blushing.

But the amiable girl did not heed bis objec-
tions, and commenced as follows :

" Such sweet compnldon doth in music lio,
To lulL the aanelit«ra of Necesstty,
Ana keep nnateady Nature to her law,
And the low world in meaanred motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of homan monld, with gross iLnpni^d ear.""

" la it not beautiful ? " said Alice, interrupts
ing her recitation, and turning inquiringly to
Edward King, who had Ustened to her atten-
tively. " Do not these lines themselves sound
Uke music."

" They certainly do in your mouth."

In the mean time Milton was bo much fas-
wnated that he could not utter a woi-d. Could
there be any thing more blissful for the poet
than tohearhis own words and thoughts from
the lips of his beloved ? It was the first time
that praise had intoxicated him. It is true he
was as yet far from giving another jnlerprela-
(ion to her homage, and reading in it the hid-
den confession which it conveyed ; hut her
words filled the poet's heart with an inde-
scribable ecstasy, betokening more than the
mere feeUng of gratified vanity. His heart
was too full for utterance ; dreaming blissfully,
be walked by the side of the fajr horsewoman,
looking up to her stealthily from time to lime,
aa if to the heavenly muse herself, nhich she
had become for him at this hour,

Hia friend was not less sensible of the
charms of the beautiful girl. By his position,
King had obtained a more extensive acquamt-
ance with distinguished ladies than hia bashfiil
friend Milton ; nevei'theless, he was obliged to
confess to himself that he had never met with
so perfect a beauty either at court or in so-
ciety. Alice combined with her youthful
channs an intellectual grace which Nature
grants only to her special favorites. Her
whole bearing breathed an indescribable love-
liness, and imparted a peculiar charm to her
most insignificant words and actions. Even
the most trivial sajings sounded attraetiye
from her lipa, and the listener believed he had
never heard any thing like it. This surpassing
grace was only the reflection of a highly-gifted
, in which the most delicate feelinga were
coupled with a firm will, and great lucidnesa
of understanding with the liveliest imagination.
And all these surpaeang gifts had been ha^

dbyGoogle

THE RETURN.

moniouslj oultivatPd and perfectly balanced
bj a most careful eduoalion.

Her joung companion had time enougti and
an esccilent opportunity to become acquainted
with bee accomplishments during this pro-
longed oonTecsation. The strange meeting io
the forest, the magnificent spring nighti were
well calculated to add to the susceptibility of
his heart and imagination. He felt that he
could never forget the noble, beautiM face to
which the moon's silver light lent an additional
charm. The sweet tone of her voice vied with
the nightingale, and her slender form on the
palfrey constantly reminded him of the won-
ders of fiction and of the world of fairies.
Wlian she bent over the neck of her palfrey
and caressed the fdthful animal with her soft
hand, King wished he were in its place ; when
her ringlets touched his flushed cheek, a sweet
shudder passed through hia frame. The whole
journey seemed to him a heavenly dream from
which he was afraid ho should be aroused too

After her first embai
Alice turned with confiding familiarity, in the
innocence of her pure heart, now to one of her
companio[is,'nowto the other. This beautiful
flower disclosed her accomplishments to them
more and more unreservedly. Those were
! never retvirn in a lifetime —
I capable of mailing amends
for Jong years of suffering ; for is there any
th ng mo e delightful on earth than such
chas e and ntimate intercourse between noble
Tou h nd a charming girt ? As yet no other
f el n„ than the purest benevolence miied
w 1 he converaation. The inclinstion slum-
beriDo unconsciously in the young hearts had
not yet assumed a definite shape, and did not
mar the confiding fiimiliarity of their inter-
Distant heat-lightning flashed up from time
to time neai' the dark horizon, and the low
thumler of a rising spring-storm admom'shed

the wanderers to make haste. Soon after, (hey
succeeded in reaching the highway.

"Oh, I know the read now," siud Alice;
"wo must he at Ludlow Castle in half an

" Then we shall reach it just in lime to es-
cape the thunder-storm," replied King.

" How splendidly the flashes of lightnuig
cross each olhcr! I am not afraid of the
thunder-storm, but you, gentlemen, cannot pos-
sibly get home to-night. My father will be
glad to lender the hospitality of his house lo
you. My deliverers will certainly be welcome
to him."

The friends tried vaialy to decline her polite
inritation. Alice insisted upon it, and they
had to promise her to stay at Ludlow Castle
at least till the following morning. The nearer
Alice approached her home, the merrier be-
came the turn which she managed to give to
the convoreation. With the perfect security
which she began to feel again, returned also
her good humor and eiuberant spirit.

"lam delighted," she said, smilingly, " with
the adventure which has ended so agreeably.
Like an errant lady, I come back now, accom-
panied by a valiant knight and an esccilent
minstrel. Suppose, sir minstrel, you write an
epic poem on our meeting ? "

"I will bct,"saidK;ng, "that he has already
finished it in his head. I know his ways.
When he does not apeak, he makes poetry."

" It ja true," said Milton, entering into the
jest, " the whole occurrence resembles a
poem ; but I scarcely feel able to treat the
beautiful subject in a becoming manner,"
"Oh, pray try it," said the charming girl.
But in doing so, you must
nit your own part in the adventure. We
all appear in your poem, my brother,
my deliverers, and Comus, the god, who
frightened me so badly."
As Milton made no reply, she added ans-

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIJCES.

"What, jou are silfint? I hope my child-
ish wish does not offend jou. It Is true, I can
imagine that a, poet who writes such elegant
Latin verses as jou do — verses ivhich I ua-
fortunately do not undersland, hut ivliich I
hare been told are very beautiful — must deem
it beneath Ma dignity to celebrate so insigaifi-
caQt an event in plain Enghsh."

"Tou are mistaken, coble lady," replied the
poet in a grave tone. "Prom my first years
it was found that whether aught was imposed
upon me by them that had the overlooking, or
betaken to of my own choice, in English or
other tongue, prosing or versii^, but chiefly the
latter, the style, by certain vital signs it had,
was Hkely to live. Perceiving at a later lime that
Borne trifles which I hud composed met with
acceptance above wbat was looked for, I began
thus far to assent to divers of my friends, and
not less to an inward prompting, which now
grew daily upon me, that by labor and intent
study, which I take to be my portion in iJiia
life, joined to tbe strong propensity of nature,
I might perhaps leave some so written to after-
times as they should not willingly let it die.
These thoughts at once possessed me, and
these otlier, that if I were certain to write as
men buy leases, for three lives and downward,
there ought no regard be sooner h' d than to

God

saf

out this island in the mother dialect. The
kind of poetry to which I aspire is a work not
to be raised from the heat of youth or the
vapors of wine, Uke that which flows at wa
from the pen of some vulgar amorist, or 1
trenoher-furj of a rhyming parasite; noc
be obtained hy the invocation of Dame Memory

and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer
to that Eternal Spirit, who can pnrich with all
utterance and knowledge, and sends out His
seraphim with the hallowed fire of His altar,
to touch and purify' the lips of whom He
pleases. Now you know my heart and its as-
pirations."

"And you will succeed," said Alice, pro-
foundly moved, and carried away by the poet's
enthusiasm. " I see already tbe laurels which
win one day wreathe your brow. The name
of Milton will be placed by the side of those
of Shakespeare and Spenser."

"Hold I" rephed Milton. "I am not worthy
as yet to unloose the shoestrings of these
great men, and least of all those of Shake-
speare, the immortal genius of England. What
have I accomplished hitherto that would per-

oliftm

■ eyes tc

" You are young, and the blossom ri]
into the fruit only in the course of years."

"Was Shakespeare older than I whei
wrote ' Romeo and Juliet,' the song of Bi
of love?"

"Every plant has its own time of devi
ment and maturity. YoBrs will come too

" Oh, I would you were a 1
How gladly would I devote day and night to
this subhme object 1 Before you, noblo lady,
and my fl'icnd here, I may speak frankly, for
I know that you will not misunderstand me.
You may hear it, but let me whisper my con-
fession mto your ear, lest I should blush. Yes,
I long for immortality. I am esercising and
strengthening my wings and preparing for a
bold flight ; but as yet the wings of my Pega-
sus are too feeble to soar as bigli as I would
like. Hence, I beheve I must be content with
less lofty aspirations."

The noise of horses and loud shouts inter-
rupted the effusions of the poet, who had sud-
denly become so eloquent. At the head of a
number of servants, whom the aniious parents
had sent out, appeared now young Lord

dbyGooi^le

Brackley In searcli of his sister. On perceiv-
ing her, he uttered a loud, joyful cry. Alice
introduced the ftiends as her deliverers to ber
brother, who thanked them cordiallj', and in-
vited them likenise, on account of tlic rising
thunder-storm, to slay overnight at Ludlow
Castle. Only Thomas was missing yet, but
his brother and sistfir were not over-aniions
on his aocouDt, for the courageous youth often
returned late at night from hia eieursions and
hunts. However, another party of servants
had been dispatched into Haywood Forest in
search of him

The young lord was "oon on verv friendly
terms with the tompauions of hia aister, of
whom only King wa^ unknown to him, na he
had already met with the poet at lug aun
house. At 1 beck from him, hrrsLS we e
brought for (he fnends, the servants, w h
their torches, lei the wav, and the whol
cavalcade moved towird Ludlow C^■'t!e, which
they reached before the thre^ening thunder-
storm had burst forth

The parent? received their guists m the
hall of the castle with old Enghsh politeness
and hospitality. An ample repast was served
up, and Alice, who was seated between the
friends, had to relate her adventure once
more. In doing so, she said as little as. pos-
^ble about the imprudent conduct of her ab-
sent brother; but he was nevertheless uni-
versally censured. Great was the praise
accorded to the chivalrous oondnct of the two
friends. Their noble host conversed with them
in the most cordial manner, and recLuested
them to spend several days at the castle, the
modest demeanor and the intelligent answers
of his young guests having made a very favor-
able impression npon Mm. As is nsual on
such occaeions, it turned out durii^ thdr con-
versation that there were many points of mu-
tual interest between them. The Lord Presi-
dent of Wales had formerly beeu a cquainted
with King's father. They had often met at

court and in London society, and had now and
then eschanged friendly words, so that the son
was received with increased cordiality on this
account, Milton, too, quite unexpectedly, met
at the table with an old aciiuaintance. Op-
posite him sat a young man who taught music
in the family of the Earl of Biidgewater. The
poet recognized the features of hia neighbor,
though he had not seen him for several years,
and did not hesitate to greet him as his former
fellow-student, Henry Lawes. Alice was the
more delighted with this incident, as the mod-
est and able teacher was a special favorito of
hers. The recognition gave rise to remims-
cencW by whi h the young lady, who listened

nof tl

fi'iei

ea ed many uterestmg events which had
taLen pla e a the early years of the poet.
1 es a uded larticularly to a former adven-

u wh h had happened to JTilton, and the
recollection of which seemed to embarrass the
modest poet.

" Do you remember the nickname which we
gave lo you at school f " said the musician to

" Oh, certainly " replied Milton blushing.
.".What nickname was it' asked Alice,
"We called fritnd Mdton onlv the Lady
of the College,' ' cephed the musician, gayly.
" This nickname wis applied to h m on ac-
count of his delicate girlish appearance. In-
deed, what with his shght form, his rosy
cheeks, and bashful demeanor, he resembled a
timid young lady rather than the wild, impetu-
ous boys who sat in the same class with Mm,
We teased him for this reason very often, but
at the bottem we were very fond of Mm, for
he was the best-hoartod fellow in the ivorld.
Kor was he lacking in courage, for all his soft-
ness and delicacy. When we t«ased him too
much, he defended himself bravely, and made
up by his agihty and skill for what he lacked
in brute strength. I would not have advised
anybody to challenge him. In wrestling, fen-

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

oing, and horaemansbip lie possessed est
dinarj skill. Nevertheless, we always e
him ' tlie Lady ; ' there was still another re

foroi

loing fi(

MiitOQ signed vdnly to lis fellow-student,
whom the joy of meeUog hia old friend, and a
few glasses of wine, had eicited a little.

"Ah, you need not motion tome," continued
the meiry mnaiciao, "Lady Alice shall hear
that story in spite of yonf objeotion= It
sounded at the time bo beautilul aud won-
drou'J, thit I felt almoat teiapted to helieve
that jou had dreamed, or had one of your
usual poetical tisiods."

"You really eieite my curiosity," inteipoaed
Alice, who seemed to be delighted with the
poet's confusion.

" One day," related the loquacious musician,
" IHend Milton lay under a tree in the college
garden, and fell asleep. An Italian lady, who
waa on a visit to Cambridge, is said to hare
seen the slumberiiig youth, and to have been
BO intcDsely delighted with his appearance,
that she dropped on him a rose which she held
in her hands. Eound llic stem waa tied a
piece of paper, which contained a few beauti-
ful lines in Italian on the sleeping Endymien,"

" Do yon sdil remember those lines ? " asked
Alice, archly.

" I do. If I am not mistaken, they were of
the following purport :

the whole occurrence w^ only a poor joke of
my fellow-students. I should hare liked best
consider the whole event only a dream of
my lively imagination, had I not, on awaking,
d the rose with those lines carefully wrap-
round the stem. Moreover, I really
thought I had, on opening my eyes, seen a
female form hurrying rapidly from the garden.
Kay, I even remembered her name, for I
thought I heard an older lady, aecompanying
her, calling out Ui her, ' Leonora 1 ' I confess
frankly that tliis strange affair engrossed my
mind for some time afterward."

" Maybe you will meet the lady at some fu-
ro tunc," sidd Alice, playEully. " Did you

' Oh, ISirest eyes, ye orliB ot
If cWed, JO such power ni
Tyiiat could my heart, ir ye

ul llgbt.

ileldt'"

" I think tjiese lines are really charming,"
remarked the young lady, " though they seem
to me more suitable to a woman than a man."

" That is what the whole class thought, and
henceforth we called Milton ' the Lady of the
College ■ more than ever before,"

" And yon heard nothing further from the
unknown lady?" said Alice to the cqnfiised

"How should If" he replied. "Perhaps

"Informer th

Lawea j
upon tb

who knows wh I

did, but it is a long while
who e oecurrenee, until
n nded me of it.' I look
w ly as a rather bold
unknown lady, and
I ht to desire to meet
the Signora Baam . The reality would prob-
ably undeceive me, as is usually the case under
such circumstances. As it is, she lives at least
in my imagination as a picture of the Muse
who visited her votary in Ms dreams."

"And you are afraid lest your Muse, on
meeting you agam, should be old and ugly ?
Ton may be right, so far as that is concerned,"
added Alice, smilingly.

In the mean time, the condescending host
conversed with young King on the affairs of
the ting, and on what was going on at court.
The noble earl spoke with a great deal of mod-
eration on these topics. He made no secret
of his apprehensions in regard to the quarrels
between Charles I. and his Parliament. He
expressed his hope and earnest desire, how-
ever, that these dissensions might be amicably
settled. At the conclusion of the conversation,
the Lord President of Wales took up the gob-
let Blanding before him.

" God grant," he said, raising his voice,

dbyGoogle

A MORNING AT LUDLOW CASTLE.

" peace and tranquillitj to our country ! But
let lue once more heartily welcome you, my
dear guests, to Ludlow Castle, and repeat my
invitation to you lo slay at my liouae as long
as you like it."

Thereupon be roso, thereby indicating iliat
the repast was at an end. The earl's steward
had prepared rootos in the side-wing of the
castle foe the reception of the friends. Pre-
ceded by a footman, and accompanied by the
kind-hearted musiciao, tbey retired after bid-
ding the earl's famQy good-night.

CHAPTER VI.

D spriog morning awakcnud the
sleepers, who had eigoyed the most delightfui
repose after the fatigues of the previous day.
Even the tiiuuder-storm had been unable to
disturb their sleep. It had burst forth at mid-
night, but passed away very soon, and the only
traces it had left behind were the heavy rain-
drops now hanging on every blade of green,
and sparkling magnificently in the golden sun-
shine. Milton wa<i tlio first to awolte, aud had
stepped Immediately to the open bay-window.
At his feet lav the largo ^rden, with the care-
fully and ingeniously arranged flower-beds,

by the morning breeze. A whole sea of flow-
ers and blossoms spread out before his eyes ;
the warm shower of the thnnder-storm had
called forth countless I ads and transformLd
the cherry and apple trees into fragrant wh te
snowballs. Amidst them gl stened th r d
dish blossoms of the chestnuts and apricots
and the young foliige in ill its variegated
colors, fiom vellow and gieen to tl e deep
black of the eomlir" cypre^aea the whole re
aembling the palett of an mduatr ous ja nter
The fresh mormnj, breeze swept merrHj over

it, and, like a color^;rinder, produced new and
surpnsing comiiinatioas of the^e difiererit
tints, while the hanging drops fell from the
foliage to the ground like a ram of flashing
diamonds Ai^oimng the lusunont garden
was the park, with its mighty trees, whose
tops seemed entirely bathed in tht mormng
light , beyond it extended the land'Jiipe with
its green meadows and fields, isolated groups
of trees and sparse cottages, from which blue
smoke was rising in straight lines. A gentle,
sloping chain of Mils, adorned here and there

fith ai

r the)

IS of a

castle, dating from the period of the Konmns,
bordered the horizon. There coald be no
more beautiful view than this fertile and withal
picturesque landscape in the full splendor of
the glorious May-time. The aiure sky was
clear and limpid ; not a cloudlet dimmed its
noble vault, and the first vigorous sunbeams
shed so bright 3 lustre, that even the broad
shades of the dewy fields resembled large
golden stripes, embroidered with pearls and
diatnonds. At the same time, morning had
filled the wide worid with new life. At a dis-
tance, the cook of the bam-yard uttered its
loud notes; the lark warbled up from the clo-
ver-fleld, or rang its sweet morning greetings
down from the clouds ; the industrious swal-
lows were building their nests chirpingly on a
decayed wall, and afl the other sweet smgers
of the forest and the fields joined in the early
concert of creation.

Amidst tiiia bcantiful and fertile landscape
rose Ludlow Castle, a proud structure in the
^Ol■man-Gothie style, Stuated on a precipi-
touarocli, this imposing edifice, which dated
from the tunes of William the Conqueror, com-
manded a splendid ^iew of the adjoming coun-
try according to the chronicler Leland, its
B lis hod a circuit of nearij a mile. Fortified
rimparls and drawbridges protected it from
hostile attacks. By the enormous entrance-
the lai^ inner court-

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

yard, which was eurroundecl by a number of
aide-buildings used for variouBpurpoBes. Fur-
ther back theTisitor beheld the imposing front
of the ancient castle, which the hands of giants
seemed to have built of tremendous blocks of
Btone, and whicii had defied tlie corrosive power
of centuries. Two enormous towers rose from
it, menacingly and imperiously ; they contained
embrasures, and were crowned with slender
pinnacles. Jomed to the main building, m
pictnresiiu© angles and projectionB, were tlie
wings, which were of later ori^ than the old
Btructure, to which they had been added from
time to time. Tbese additions imparted to the
whole the charm of variety, combined with

heavy Norman lines and forms of the original
builduig were covered and interrupted by the
handsome Gothic arches, plUara, and spires,
without lessening the grandeur and dignity of
the castle. Nature and art had thus combined
in rendering it a truly royal residence, and the
sorereigna of England had indeed owned it
since the death of Its first owner, Roger Mont-
gomery, and had often pereonally resided there
tt was not until the reign of Henry Till, that
Ludlow Castle had been assigned as the official
residence of the Lord President of Wales. At
the present time the Earl of Bridgewater, who
filled that distinguished posilioti, and his fam-
ily, occupied this magnificent country-seat. A
lai^e number of officers, such as every noble-
man of bis rant and position kept about him
at that period, oeeupied a, part of the wings
and outbuildings. Besides, there was a small
garrison at the castle, to defend it, if need be,
against foreign cr domestic foes. Numerous
guests in those days of liberal hospitality, met
wi awe ome receptionintheextensive suitia
of apa tmen s, of which there was no lacfe,
M on feasted his sesthetio eyes long and
wondenng on the imposing pile. A cbann-
in„ ular -d are floated ronnd the gray old
walls Abo e thewestem tower yet stood the

pale silver sickle of the moon, while the pin-
nacleswere BparkUng like goldelicrownsinthe
bright morning sun. Trom thence the raja
glided down the projections and pillars, hero
illuminating a Gothic window, there lighting
up a rose of stone or a jutting oriel Other
parts, however, were still veiled in the shade,
until the lustre of the victorious sun gradually
divested them of th'^ir gloomy physiognomy.
In the depth below fiashed the waters of the
Teme, which surrounded the ramparts of the
castle in picturesque meanderings and reflected
its proud pinnacles.

Gradually various sounds issued from the
interior of the castle, and indicated the re-
awakenmg of hfe. In the neighboring stables
neighed horses, and pointers and setters barked
in the court-yard ; doors opened noisily, and
many footsteps resounded on Jhe pavement.
At first busy servants passed hastily under
Milton's window ; noit came the steward with
Ma grave air, scolding the loiterers and brand-
ishing threateningly his staff with the laige
silver top whenever hia words were not
promptly listened to Buxom servant-girls,
their cheeks still flushed with sleep stood at
the well ch^ttlng gayly and cleaning the
earthen and copper vessels of the remnants of
last night's supper, or filhng the wooden buck-
ets with wafer from the bubbling spring. Others
stepped from the stables, preceded by the state-
ly housekeeper, and carrying the new milk on
their heads. Idle footmen and hunting-grooms
jested with them, which eicited the anger of
the old housekeeper and caused her to tell thera
indignantly to, go to work. The cook and his
assistants returned from the store-room, loaded
with ven'son and meat as if they bad to pre-
pare a weddmg banij let At the head of this
culinary process on was carr d tl e i Id boar
which the Lord Pres dent hid t lied with his
own hands a few days 1 tf re and whose
gilded head i as to be the ch ef oman cut of
to-day's dinner-table. In the midst of all these

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A MORNING AT LtlDIiOW CASTLE.

persona moved graye-Iooking elerka and
bailiff, rent-roll in hand, to receive the i
from a fanner or the tiiKes fram an humble
peasant who took off bis bat in the proaence
of the Etem genaeman. The buatle in
oourl-jard was constantly on the inereaae.
corpulent ohapljin walked yawningly from hia
rooms to the hall of the castle to aay grace at
the breakfastrtable. On paaaing the cook and
his assistanta, he caat a lon^ng glance on the
fat boar and the meata which were carried bj.
The agreeable prospect of a sumptuous dinner
imparted a highlj-benevolent expreaaon to his
face. With a pleasant smile he thankad the
steward, who greeted the clergyman with pro-
found respect.

" A fine morning," he Baid, trjing to open a
conversation with the chaplain. "Splendid
woather. The cornfields hDok twice as nice
after the ahowec aa they did yesterday. With
llall have good crops this

" Tea, jes, God'a goodness and patience with
sinful humanity are great," ropUed the clergy-
man, clasping his hands.

" Well, well, the world is not so very bad."

' What, not so bad ? " said the chaplain, in-
digmntly " Have you not beard that the dia-
aenters and contemners of our Church are daily
on the mcrease ? Not so bad, you say, Mr
BuIlLr' And in our own yieinitj there are
awarmf of Bectarians, Brownists, AaaSapliats,
Fimihhts, Antinomians, Socinlans, Puritans,
and whatever may be the names of the blas-
phemous scoundrels. And what ' w at,
they are performing the ofam u n q ite
unconcernedly."

"You do not say ao ph d he wo hy
steward, shaking his head n d

" What I say is as t h now

broad daylight. I have been credibly informed
that tbey bold in all sorts of out-of-the-way
hiding-places, in eaves and forests, their clan
destine meetings and conventicles, where tbej

inveigh against the Church of England, and
preach rebellion against the anointed head of
the kmg. But this la the consequence of the un-
timely patience and forbearance Of our author-
ities. I would proceed against them with lire
and sword, if I had the power of our graidouB
master, the Lord President." ■

" He ia a good master, God bless him ! " re-
plied the loyal steward, taking off hia hai

" But bis goodness is entirely out of place
here. This isa lime when nothing but aeverify
will be of any avail to citirpate the growing
evil of heresy. Some membora of my congre-
gation begin also to deviate from the true path.
I must speak a word in dead earnest with the
noble earl, that he may put a stop to the grow-
ing mischief, and that the faithful sheep may
not be infected bythe shabby on^. Hender-
son is one of the latter."

"James Henderson from Huntington? I
know him well ; he is an industrious, prompt,
and rcUable man ; only he is a little sullen and
morose ainfie bis wifo'a death."

" Say rather seditious and rebellious against
God and his king. I know this induatrions
Jamaa Henderson better. Industrious he is,
to be sure, but only in blasphemy, and prompt
in disobedience. Did he not assert the other
dav, loudly and in the presence of a great many
others, that no one ought to pay ship-money
and the tas on soap ? The rascal said these
now taies were illegal, inasmuch as they were
collected without the approval of Parliament.
Illegal, Indeed I Asif the king could do wrong;
and even though he should, is a aubject allowed
to resist hun ? Does not the Bible command
the people to be obedient to their rulers ? Did
not the Saviour Himself say, 'Render unto
Cresar the things which ace Csesar's!' And
that Ctesar was a heathen and not a confessor
of the true faith, like King Charles, whom God
bless and preserve for many years to come 1 "

"But what do we have a Parliament for ?"
timidly objected the steward, who, like most

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JOHN MILTOH AND HIS TIMES.

d dom<

EngliBhmen, was filled with profound
for the ancient constitution of his couutrj.
"According to Magna Charta, no additional
taxes can be imposed upon the people without
the approval of Parliament"

" H'm," murmured the clergyman, in a milder
tone. " Parliament 13 a good institution, and
I will saj nalliing against it. God forbid that
I Bhoulii deny its privileges and precogatJTea !
But we do not speak of that just now, but of
the accursed James Henderson, who speaks dis-
respectfully of our most gracioua king, and
who has not beeQ at church, nor listened to
my sermons, for upward of a year. It is on
his account that I wish to speuk a word in
earnest with our earl. As Lord President and
representative of his majesty, he must inflict
weil-merited punishment o
account of his infamous :
If he followed my advice, he would order Hen-
derson to bewhippedaitd confined in the deep-
est dungeon."

" You forget thai Hondoraon has a powerfiil
protectress. His dnugbt«r is the fosteivsister
of oup young lady."

"I do not care for that I shall do my duty
regardless of her protection. It will not avail
him before God."

So saying, the zealous chaplain proceeded,
as the breakfast-hour had struck in the mean
tune. The delicious odor of fresh-baked pies
which issued from the hall allayed his holy
wrath somewhat, and damped his eagerness to
persecute the Browni^ts, Anabaptists, and
otherseots, which were bo remorselessly perse-
cuted and punished by the Church and govern-
ment of England. The steward followed him
hastily, in order to miss neither the bleasing
nor the breakfast.

This conversation, to which Milton had lis-
tened, transferred the enthusiastic poet at once
from the contemplaiion of blooming Nature to
the dreary religious troubles and disseuaons
of his lames. Protestantism in England had

not reaalted, as in GermaQy, from the inteSll-
gence of the people, and their conviction that
a change was indispensable. The quarrel of
Henry VHL with the pope in regard to his
divorce had brought about the ruptuie be-
tween England and the Roman Catholic Church.
In direct opposition to the German Ecforma-
iion, which was based on the principle of re-
ligious freedom, and strove for it alone, the
English Reformation had been forced, at lenst,
upon a part of the people by thu arbLtcary de-
crees of a tyrannous kmg, Luther, the simple,
inspired monk, ventured upon his struggle
against all-powerful Eome with no other sup-
port than that of public opinion and the Bible.
Henry VTII., on the contrary, profited by
bis royai aulhoiity and the power which was
at his command. Personal considerations and
worldly advantages were the motives of the
latter, while the Germau Keformer commenced
and finished his immortal work solely in the

:e of tl

dthel

nof

The King of England took the place of the
pope in his country, but in most essential
points he remained a zealous Catholic, and,
with the exception of the pope's supremacy in
secular a^irs, and of the monastic system, he
made few important changes iu the old dogmas
of hia Church Thus the two Reformations
differed matetnlly it the outset They started
from opposite pomts, and pursued ever after-
ward a'widclj different course The reli^ons
current which originated in Germany rose
from below upward, from the people up to the
nobility and prmoes, who promoted the Refor-
mation parHy from inward conviction, partly,
hke Henry VIII., for the sake of worldly
advantages. The roverse was the case in Eng-
land; tho religious movement here extended
from the summit to the base, from the throne
down to the lower strata of the people. The
latter soon took in hand the reformation of
their faith, not as a secular, but as an cielu'
sively divine affeir. Regardless of the motives

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A MOKNPTC AT LUDLOW CA&TLE.

which had prompted the king in is d et n
from Rome, the people, instead oh h

lidiea for which the crown ha pn p
longed, sought for the eternal b
ation and freedom ef eoascieuce F m
rich inheritance of the Roman Ca rgy

from the treasuiiea of the convents h b
in place of the golden veasola, h p et
trinkets, and the e9ta,te9 of the Churcli, nothing
but the Bible, which had hitherto been with-
held from them. From the Word of God they
dedred an exuberance of information and an
entirely novel view of the government of the
world. The Bible became, in the hands of the
people the powe fnl weapon v th v.h ch they
ach ered the r nit mate v clorr over tyranny
ani conquered at lenf,(h relgoua and po
lit al freedom From th s t me on iro e the
struggle aga n t t e k ng a autho ty wb h
had ao arb trar ly arrogated the pla e of that
of the pnpt The su easors of Hen y 1 in
acted more or le-s n the same ap t Ha
great d ugh er Queen El zabetb, e tal hshed
the Chur h of EnHand npon that firmer footing
wh ch t has etdmed to the pre ent day and
left tfl upcrvaon n the ban is of the b hopa
and archl hopa By v rtue ol this arrange-
ment the severe gna a waya remained the
be^d of the Church and eierc sed sup ene
power n t the r power n th s resj cct naa
supported bj Ihe b hop who seconded the
knga autho ty on these oud t ona by all
meiiES it thoir command Th is ong n t il
the so-ealleii AagI an or Ep acopal Churcl
The king had taken tbe place of the pope, and
the bishops were only dependent officers of
unlimited authority in al! clerical affliirs.
Such a aystem could not possibly satisfy the
newly-awakened religious cravings of tlie peo-
ple, and it met at the very outset with deter-
mined opposition. The doctrines of tbe great
Swiss reformer, Calvin, had penetrated -from
Geneva to England, and with them the liberal
poUtical views which usually prevail in small

E ery religious reformation is oc-
ed b a similar movement in tiie
p tics. Hence, the crown was
d ha twofold danger ; not only its
p gatives, but even its political
s w disputed by the people. In
n the Episcopal Church, which
d 1 n the authority of the king and
ii" esercised by the bisbops,
the popular religious party demanded the free
election of their clergymen and superintend-
ents, who were called preabjters or elders,
whence their adhei^enls were afterward styled
Presbyterians. The people demanded the
r f,ht of regulating their own religious afiairs,
and n justification quoted the precepts of the
B Me and tie eiample of the first Christian
cong Ggations. Besides, most of the Presby.'
te ans rejected all the lites and uaagea of the
Catholic service, which the Episcopal Church
had partially retained, and which reminded
them of hateful Rome. Henee, they wore
called Puritans. This sectarian spirit had
mad especial headway in Scotland, where
many of Calviu's disciples preached their dog-
r as and enlisted the liveliest sympathies of
the people.

The religious parties were soon arrayed in
open hostility against each other. The perse-
us of the government aroused the resist-
of tlie people. The greater the pressure
ne on one side, the more intense grew
eal on the other, soon bursting into the
iring flames of irresistible fanaticism. At
the head of the Episcopal Church atood the
well-known Laud, Bishop of London, who es-
erted a most deplorable influence over the
waa tbe soul of those relentless per-
and the dreaded Star-Chamber,
which tried a31 religious offenders, proceeded,
under his leadership, with inexorable severity
and cruelty against the dissenters. But neither
the most eiorbitant fines, nor long imprison-
ment, nor the whole host of penalties of every

dhy Google

JOHN MILTON AKD HIS TIMES.

description, wore able to set bounds to the re-
ligious zeal and enthusiasm of the people. The

pie, and their mp w tm mi-

tated by otlie W h dm ge

they braved th m ru dj

and willing to g p h U' h n
their conTictio

AU these fa ood b

after he had 1 h

ateward. He b h e-

ligioua freedom h h h w d i-

tute of fanat m d . F m he

esample set him by his own father, ho had
learned to appreeiate toleration and modera-
tion. Old Mr. Milton had embraced the Prot-
estant faitli, and been disinherited by his
bigoted Catholic parent. The poet knew of
no greater boon than freedom of conseienee.
This was the sole reason whj he had gireo up
the Etudj of theology, and renounced the
clerical career, which offered to him at that
time, on account of hia talenta and industry,
the most brilliant prospeeta. " On perceising,"
he wrote in his own justiScation, " that the
despoiJEm to which the Church'iAwa compel
Mm who takes orders to subscribe his own
eecFitude, and moreover impose on him an
oath which only men of easy conscience can
take, I preferred a blameless silence to what I
considered servitude and forswearing."

These considerationa had induced Milton,
despite his father's earnest wishes, to give up
the study of theology and choose another
career. He had replaced the Fathers of the
Church by the poets and prose writers of clas-
sical antiquity, but, nevertheless, he took the
HvcUest interest in the religious stru^les of
hia times ; and, whenever he was reminded of
them, he sided with the oppressed and perse-

The conversation to which he had just lis-
tened filled him anew with intense aversion to

rroganee and intolerance of the Episcopal
Church, and be would not have been a poet
had he not taken, sides with the more liberal
faith, and approved of the position taken by
its adherents. All theso reflections which
arose in his soul imparted to his surroundings
a different and rauch gloomier color. Tho
beautiful landscape lost its charms in his eyea,
and the magnificent castle no longer excit«d
bis enthusiasm. His vivid imagination con-
veyed him to the lowly cottages of the people,
where poor peasants were wor'ihipping behind
locked doors. He saw Hendenon the ac
cuscd, torn from his bod loaded with chains,
and standing trerabhnglv before his stem
judge. The splendid edifiie whuh had filled
him a few minutes ago with heart-felt adm ra
tion, seemed now transformed into a vast
prison, in whose deepest dungeons the tor-
mented dissenters were groaning. Ho ftlt an
irrepressible desire to become their defender,
and to speak a great word and perform a deed
of deliverance for the freedom of religion and
tho rights of the oppressed people.

Such ideas had already arisen from lime tj)
time in the poet's soul, but his love of the sci-
ences, and his occupation with the ideal crea-
tions of antiquity and with poetiv, had si-
lenced them, and the splendor of the past
had made lum forget the aufieiing" and trou-
bles of the present As yet the time had not
come for him to take tho active part in the
political and reli^ous struggles of his coun-
try which he did at a later period of his life.
At this moment, too, his thoughts were Boon
led into a different channel.

A beautiful girl stepped from a side-gate
leading into the garden. He recognized Alice
immediately, although she wore an entirely
different costume. She had exchanged her
splendid ridii^-dress of gold-embroidered green
velvet for a light white morning-gown, which
Boated like a silver wave round her charming
figure in the gentle momiog breeze. Instead

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ALICE AND MILTON.

(1 the hmd ome bi retrcap with the waving
rlume a ye 1 ourroun led her youthful head,
coceealmfc only partially the lus inant exiibe-
lance of hie golden i ngieU By her side
stood a Udi u ma d hearing a ba'^liet Kled
with all ■iorta of grain Prom lime to tim
Alice pluni,ei her white hacJa into it a
strewed a piH of ita content on the ^roun
uttering at the same time a sweet, gtn
caU. It wag not long

the share allotted Id
.fing i

vilbdre'

anding w

id with.

! spot where
he feather

e qnadcupeds of the cour
jard. VorBcioos chiekens, headed bj t
stately rooster, and dueka of all sorta, gat
ered round their benefactreas. Prom the su
ny height of the roof and the pinnaclea„co
ing doTeg flitted dowji, and the proud peaco k
strutted about amidst all thig poultry, displa
ing its magoifioent tail, and uttering ita d
agreeable notes. A lame whito roe hasten
likewise to its mistress, and plucked her gown
to remind her not to foiget it.

The poet watched this charming scene
Indescribable delight. He thought he
never beheld a sweeter spectacle. Amidst
this crowing, chirping, and cooing crowd stood
the lovely girl, like a, goddess distributing
tbdc daily bread with blessed hands among all
these creatares. A cheerful smile of content
playedrouudherlips, and she often bjrst rat)
ft peal of laughter when one of the animals
in ila too great eagerness, fell down, or
when the g ns nttndelfr tweesnatbed
away ly anot er r „ht un e no e At
the nest moment ho c e she ademn hed
the Guffere by Iberl oft rngs ^o one
was aJ owed to epart hu g j f om hec ban-
quet Even f oia the mei'm holy turkey she
drew tbo e deep gn tu I notes by wh eh it

mall owed it, and then
ngs disdainfully from
he company so unworthy of the proud bird's
resence. AUoe treated with especial liberal-
;v her favorites ; the ben, with its little ones
^ e flitting caressingly

T te oe wag much better

S. su s, for it was peraut^

<L "Tatefully. Soon the

■" l« asket were emptied,

■A to her maid. She

and the whole flock

<- ^ e like a silver cloud

lu g octed to and &o in

ppcared. Only the

wi a wonted fidelity the

'■" 10 into the garden to

ci to her flowers.

CHAPTER Vri.

Tmf human h art and e peti illy thit of a
poet, la a wonderful thing It swavs to and
fro like a reed in the breeze moved by the
slightest gust of air A glance from two
I eaut M eye* a woid from sweet lipg, the
wiving of a blond ringlet the spimgmg =tep
of a slender form, and all our resolutions and
purposes are gone, and we see the world in a
d fferent 1 ght Where a dark cloud stood a
moment ago, beams now the most radiant
sunshine ; where we saw only sharp thorns,
e behold now a wealth of blooming roses.

What a magician is our
foolish thing the humi

what

heart, which ii

forgot its pnde and ill-humor so far as to min-
gle, at her call, among the common rabble of
barn-yard fowls, to which, however, it did not

is what happened to Milton, whom

ppearimce suddenly withdrew from all

his former thoughts. All at c

vouchsafe a glance. It pounced hasHly upon I again a poet, intoxicated with the charmng

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JOHN MILTOK AND HIS TIMES.

=ppctat-le which he had ju-t eTijoycd After
ihe lovelt aid had ilihsppeared in (he direo
tion of the garden, he 'iiddeulv felt an irre-
pressible desire to enjoy the beautiful morning
in the open air Now, nowhere did Nature
seem to him lovelier, the air biimier, or the
sun brighter, than m the garden, where be
knew AUlo \\a= He was about tarrjing his
rtaolnCton into effect, but at the last moment
an jnesphcable embarrassment seized him.
He felt as though be were about to commit a
crime. For a few moments he was as ande-
cided OS Hercules at the cross-roads, but finally
be succumbed to Ihe temptation. He cast a
glance on his friend, who was still fast asleep,
and then left the room. He descended the
broad staircase of sandstone very slowly, con-
sidering at every flep whether it was becom-
ing in' him to follow the fair magidan who
drew him after her so irresistibly. His way
led him through a long gallery, whose walls
were adorned with the portraits of the ances-
tors of the house. Casting a fugitive glance
on the fine-looking men and richly-attired la-
dles, among whom were the highest dignitaries
and greatest beauties of the country, he felt
for the first time the almost impassable gulf
separating him from the descendant of these
august persons. He seemed to read a decided
disapproval of his steps in the proud features
of these noble lords and pious prelates, some
of whose portraits were masterpieces of illuE!-
trious Dutch painters. Only when he had
walked through die gallery, and stood at the
open gate leading into the garden, did this
embarcasament, mised as it was with a feeling

ofar

iroff.

The fragrant odor of the fiowers, and ihe
sweet notes of the birds, speedily dissipated
the poet's apprehensions. How differently
and more freely throbbed his heart under the
rustling trees than in the high halls, whose im-
mense pile threatened to crush bira t Bad he
found Alice there, how dififerent would have

been his meeting with ber; he would have
scarcely ventured to address her I Here in
the garden he lacked neither courage nor de-
sire to do so. A considerable while elapsed,
however, before he was able to attain his ob-
ject. The carefully-kept gravel-walks led in
the most various direcUons, of which AUce
could have taken only one. Hence, Milton
traversed a labyrinth of flower-beds, cozy bos-
quets, and shady alleys, before he succeeded
in finding the beautiful girl. The garden was
laid out in accordance with the taste of that
time ; it was of vast dimensions, and divided
into sevei'al sections. As yet the French style
of landscape gardening was in its infancy in
France ilself, and its Stiff forms had not been
adopted in England. By far more prevalent
was the Italian style, adapted to the peculiari-
ties of the country, in the gardens of the aria-
tooracy. A special portion of the grounds
was allotted as a Iiitchen-garden, another for
the euliure of the most important medicinal
plants, and then followed the pleas u regard en.
Several Steps led up to it, as it ascended in
terraces the hill on which the castle was sit-
uated. Long lines of orange and lemon trees,
then far more rare than they are now, bor-
dered the main avenue. Between the trees
sl^od some statues, made by English sculptors
after Greek models, and bearing witness that
this branch of art, hitherto neglected, was now
cultivated with much zeal and success. To
be sure, the Boweivbeds could not boar a com-
parison with the highly-developed culture of
the present time, as they were mostly confined
to domestic plants, and were destitute of the
beautiful exotica which are to be found every-
where nowadays. But this defect was made up
for by the lusuriant bosquets, and several
groups of trees of eitraordinary beauty, A
rivulet, bubbling from the rock, meandered
through the whole garden, and spread every-
where a refreshing coolness. It fell noisily
into a pond, in the midst of which was to bo

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ALICE AND MILTON.

sectt a group of bathing nj-mphs and f
aing Tritons, blowing sliells. Round the
edge of tlie pond had been fiied benches of
sandstone, surrounded everywhere bj sha
shrubbery. Those Seated in tliia cozj no
enjoyed at the same time a splendid view
the castle, and the prospect of the fertile Ian
scape, visible between the neighboring hil
Thia spot was the favorite resort of Alice and
here it waa that the poet found h ngth

after friiversing the garden in all d

Her delicate form in. the wh dre
minded him of the nymph of the p H

approached her timidly and with h n

Etep. She rose from her seat, ad g n
blusb suffused her cheelia on me h m so

unexpectedly afl«r the events of p

"Pardon me," said Milton, bow d p
" if I disturb jou in your solitude Th p
did morning and the beauty of the garden
tempted m^ and, finding the gate open, I en-
tered without permission. Do not be angry at
my boldness. I will withdraw at once."

"Tou do not disturb me," she replied, not
without embarragsment. "As a guest of our
house, you are welcome everywhere, and I am
glad if you iibe our garden. I presume you
have already looked around a little, but you
do not yet know the most beautiful points. I
wUl show them to you."

Before Millon could thank her, she waa al-
ready by his side. The tame roe, which had
hitherto lain at her feet, now leaped gracefully
by her eido, and all three sauntered through
the fragrant garden. At first their conversa-
tion was somewhat incoherent, but both soon
surmounted the bashfulness so natural under
such circumstances. Alice waa the first to re-
cover her presence of mind. As hostess, she
conducted her guest from one of her favorite
Epols to another, and calied his attention to
the numerous beauties of the landscape and
the garden. Now he had to admire a surpass-

ingly splendid tree, now a flower which she
herself had planted, now the prospect of a ruin
datin" from the era of the Eomana or a de

n..port3, and,

t, did the

h andscape

ut which
ht the en-

. n) ed

a by h
d d J

In-

med m paradise,

wh h nf m d parts of

Adam E po h m d All e. Thus

t! ey pissel at, if n a dream the fragrant
floHerbed= the wh e miible "it tues, and
IV alked through shady alleys 1 rmtd hy lux-
uiiant vme leases Thev ascended slowly (o
the terrace where lean n^ ap^inot the halna-
trade of =ton the) canned thoughtfully the
varied scene. At their feet extended the sunny
valley, with its scattered bouses and huts.
The quiet river flowed amidst lusnriant mead-
ows and waving cornfields. Driven by its
waters, the mill-wheel revolved rapidly, and
the spray dashed from its spokes sparkled in
the bright morning light like strings of dia-
monds and pearls. A boat glided gently on
the water, and the morning bells of the Ca-
thedral of Ludlow, which was concealed from
their eyes, penetrated like distant spiril^voices

Here they enjoyed momenta such as never
return in life, moments of the most unalloyed
happiness. What Alice said to Millon sound-
ed to him like a revelation. The wondrously
beautiful surroundings, the glorions May-day,
UQlocked the innermost recesses of her soul.

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES

She bad quicklj learned to repose full confi-
dence in the poet, and did not hesitate to com-
monicate her innermost thougbts and feelings
to him. What he diaeovcred here resembled
that nature which surrounded him. The de-
light and etetasy of spring surged in her
bosom, Bunny brightness and clearness filled
her soul, and tbe fragrant charm of innocence
bloomed in her heart. Her bighlj-cultiTaled
mind revelled with him in tbe wondrous realm
of poetry. The poets of her native country
hdb nh prpt 1 friends and compan-

L b t f
la. 1

;j were no stranpers to
h Ai Ik many noble ladies of tLat
t m hi nj Ted a more careful education
than m 1 1 d f th present age. Sbe bud
read Ariosto and Tasso in the original, and
even tried to read Virgil and Horace in their
own tongue. Sucli accomplishments were not
unusual among tbe higher classes in the days
of the reawoiing of science and literature, and
among them was to be fonnd many a ladywho
combined with true feminine grace and amia-
bility profound learning and a more than su-
perficial knowledge of classical antiquity. The
daughtera of Sir Tlioma^ More, Lady Jane
Grey, and Queen Elizabeth, vied in this re-
spect with the most learned men of thdt
times. Alice, who, in compliance with her
Jkther's wishes, bad taken pait in the lessons
of her brothers, likewise surprised Milton by
displapng a wealth of sound knowledge which
could not but add to tbe adnuraljon witih which
tbe young sasani looked upon her.

How delighted he was in hearing from sucb
beiutiful lips now a classical quotation, now
the melodious vetso of lasso's "Jerusalem
Dehvered, or Ariosto' 8 "Orlando Furioso;"
and how ber eyes flashed when he expatiated
on the beautiea of ancient literature, the epics
of Homer, and tbe sublime tragedies of .ffischy-
lus I She was able to follow him everywhere,
and manifested the most intimate familiarity

foreign to a young
girl. Insensibly sbe became a pupil hanging
enthusiasticallj on the hps of her new teacher
As Abfilard and Heloise m timef of yore drew
thL sweet poison of love fiom the cup of
Ei-ieni-e and investigation, so here, loo, the
growing aflei-lion stole ander the misk of
thirst for karning and intellectuil improve-
ment into tbe hearts of Milton and Alice.
The verses and strophes of the ancient poets
resembled tbe seeds wbicb are found in tbe
old tombs of Egypt, and which, sown in fertile
soil, germinate, blossom, and bear fruit

Bui not only did tbe ideas of Greek and
Itoman antiquity offer them countless points
of contact; but tbe present with ila eiciting
religious troubles called forth an exchange of
opinions regarding the gravest questions of
humanity. Alice, like most of the women of
her time, was deeply imbued with the eternal
truths of Christianity. Faith in the divine
Redeemer and enthusiastic admiration for His
teachings and His example were the key-
notes of her soul. Tbe former tutor of her
brothers, Jeremy Taylor, who afterward be-
came one of tbe most illustrious divines of
England and the chief ornament of the Epis-
copal Church, had, at an early day, strength-
ened and given a firm direcliun to Alice's re-
ligious sentiments. She was an ardent ad-
herent of the Church of England, while Milton
already inchned to the more liberal views
of the persecuted dissenters. The opposite
course which the two, pursued in this respect
was for them rather a point of attraction than
otherwise. Mutually endeavoring to convince
and convert each other, they imparted an es-
traordlnary ardor to their conversation, and,
in defending their prindples, felt that tbe per-
sonal esteem and affection wbich they enter-
tained foe each other were constantly on tbe

The spectacle offered by these two young
persons was certainly as remarkable as it was

dbyGoogle

AUCB AND MILTON.

49.

In act, jrdance with the spirit of
those day, although their hearts were filled
with love, thej did not exchange their tender
feelings m the face of blooming Nature, hut
subtle Tiew3 anJ iderJ concerning the most
abstruse theologn-dl questions. A holy zeal
colored the cheuka of the lovely gkl and lit
np the flashing ejes of the poet, when, stimu-
lated by hi3 loTO of liberty, he gave vent in
enthusinstie words to his indignatiou at the
tyrannous conduct of the govenimcnt and the
bishopa.

" No, no," be said, vehemently. " Toa can-
not deny, noble lady, that the Episcopal Obureh
is becoming more and more Romanized from
day to day, and that it is striving to force
Catholicism, with all its iniquity and idolatry
and the horrors of the inquisition, upon us."

" God forbid ! " replied Alice, with the un-
affected dismay of a fervent Protestant of that

" Have thej not dared already," added Mil-
ton," to lay handfl on the sacred palladiuni
which we have enjoyed only for bo short a
time ? They grudge us the Bihle, which was
sought out of the dusty corners where profane
falsehood and neglect had thrown it. At thi
same time the schools were opened, and divine
and human learning calted out of the ember
of forgotten tongues; ptincea and citie
gathered apace under the new-erected banner
of salvation; and martyrs, with the irresistible
might of wealiness, shook the powers of dark-
ness and stormed the fieiy rage of the old red
dragon. And is all this to be in vain now ?
Are not these symptoms significant enough
for those who have ears to hear and eyes to
see 1 What is the Episcopal Church bat
Catholicism in disguise ? "

" Yon go too far. The king is a good Prot-
eatant, and will never betray our deac-bonght
faith."

"And did ho not promote the growth of
this fearful evil to the best of h^ power by

choosing a Catholic consort ? He will per-
ceive the error of his ways only when it is too
late. The bishops have always been the ene-
mies of royalty in this country. Have they
not been as the Canaanites and Philistines to
this kingdom ? What treasons, what revolts
to the pope, what rebellions, and those the
basest and most pretenceless, have they not
been chief in I What could monarchy think,
when Becket durst challenge the custody of
Rochester Castle luid the Tower of London as
appertaining to his seigniory, to say nothing of
his other msolences and affronts to regal ma-
jesty, until the lashes inflicted on the anointed
body of the king washed off the holy unction
with his blood drawn by the polluted hands
ofbishops, abbots, and monks? What good
upholders of .royalty were the bishops when,
by their rebellious opposition agdnst King
John, Normandy was lost, he himself deposed,
and this kingdom nade over to the pope !
When the Bishop ofWinchester durst tell the
nobles, tho pillars of Uie realm, that there
were no peers m England, as in France, but
that the kmg might do what he pleased, what
could tyranny say more ? Witness also the
T W treason,

mm d inter-

be ure, tie
m m m bishop

im on may

know where they hive been a bej^in^ for it,
I will fetch you the twin brother to it out of
the Jesuits' cell : they, feeling the axe of
God's reformation hewing at the old and hol-
low trunk of popery, and "finding tho Spaniard
their surest friend and safest refuge, to en-
courage hun in his dream of a fifth monarchy,
and withal to uphold the decrepit papacy,
have invented this superpolitic aphorism, as
one may term it, one pope and one king.
Amongst many secondary and accessory causes
that support monarchy, these are not of least

though common to all other stales ;

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HI3 TIMES.

the love of the subjects, the multitude and
Yulor of the people, and store of treasure. In
all these things has the kingdom been of late
sordj weakened, and chiefly by the prelates.
Their principal weapon is religious persecution.
What numbers of faithful and freeborn Eng-
lishmen, and good Christians, have been eon-
Btrained to forsake their dearest home, their
fiienda and kindred, whom nothing but the
wide ocean and the savage deserts of America
could hide and shelter from the fury of the
bishops I Oh, if ne could but see the shape
of our dear mothei' Engknd, how would she
appear, think you, but in a mourning weed,
with oshts upon hcc head, and tears abun-
dantly flowing from her eyes, to behold so
many of her children esposed at once, and
thniat from things of dearest necessity, be-
cause thdr conscience could not assent to
things which the bishops thought indif-
fecettt!" I

" I eertiunly deplore with you," said Alice,
deeply moved by the eloquent words of the
poet, " these proceedings, which every one
must disapprove. My father has openly de-
nonnocd them at the risk of displeasing the
court. So far as it is in his power, he pursues
a mild and mdulgent course toward the dis-
senters; but are not these Puritans and Pres-
byterians to blame for their own fate? Are
they not, in theu- unbridled longmg for a mis-
taken political and religious freedom, intent on
overthrowbg the fbundutions on which our
whole political fabric is based ? Do they not
threaten alike the sacred majesty of the king
and the authority of the Church ? "

"Pardon me, noble lady; you speak like
most of the adherents of the Episcopal Chureh.
The priesthood, from time out of memory, has
striven to make men telieve that it was the
Church, or rather identical with faith and re-
ligion. But the two things arc as materially
different_from each other as the vessel is ftom
its contents, the gold from the miner who digs

a earthen cups

or the workman who shape

ae, whether it is contdned t

golden goblets, and gold does not lose its
solid value by being set with this or that sui>-
alance. It is not the letter that gives life, but
the spirit and idea."

" But the idea needs a definite form, with-
out whieh it cannot exist or maintain itself."

" This form exists ; it is that which Christ,
the Saviour and Redeemer of the worid, gave
us Himself. The Puritans, who are so grossly
misrepresented, are predsely bent on punning
this genuine gold from all earthly dross. They
go back to the fountain-head of Christianity,
and derive thett foith from the sacred books
which the Apostles have bequeathed to us. Say
yourself if this is not necessary here in Eng-
land. Where do you find here Christian char-
ity, toleration, and self-abnegation? The
court is the embodiment of haughtiness and
arrogance, and vice stalks unblushingly near
the king's anointed person. His courtiers ex-
hibit the most demoralizing spectacle by their
dissipated life and shameless conduct. The
bishops, who call themselves successors of the'
Apostles, are far from following their esample.
They would laugh at jour folly, if jou were to
ask them to live in poverty and endure the
privations of Ihrar holy predecessors. They
revel in the riches which they eitoct from the
poor people. K they had one thought upon
God's glory and the advancement of Christian
faith, instead of lavishing their great resources
upon senseless ostentation and luxury, they
would provide for the building of churches and
schools where none now exist, and for their in-
crease where now there are too few; for the
suitable miuntenance of laborious ministers
who can now scareely procure bread, while the
prelates revel like Belshaizar, with goblets and
vessels of gold torn from God's temple. What
a mass of money is drawn from the veins into
the ulcers of the kingdom by such execrable,
such irreligious courses ! "

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ALICE AND MILTON.

"And your Puritans are going to abolish all
tlieae abuses? Wlmt will thejpat ia their

" God and liberty ! " eielaimed the poet, en-
thusiastieally. " If, under a freo and untram-
melled monarch, the noblest, worthiest, and
moat prudent men, with full approbation of the
people, have in their power tlie supreme and
final determination of the highest afiairs, there
ean be nothing more appropriate than that
under the sovereign prince, Christ's vicegerent,
using the sceptre of David, according to God's
law, the godlioslj the wisest, the most learned
ministers in thdr several charges should have
the instructing and disciplining of God'a people,
by whose full and free election thej are conse-
crated to that holy and equal aristocracy. If
they foiloiT faithfully the example set them by
their predecessors and draw their faith from
the same sources as tbey did, Christianity will
be restored to its pristine purity, and it will
fill the hearts of all believers with justice,
truth, loTC, and toleration. Then, amidst the
hymns and hallelujahs of saints, some one may
perhaps be heard offering, in new and lofty
measures, to sing and celebrate the mercies
and marvellous judgments of Providence in this
land throughout all ages; and this great and
warlike nation, instructed in and inured to the
fervent and continual practice of truth and
lighteflusness, will become the soberest, wisest,
and most Christian people."

" Would to God you rwords were veriSed ! "
replied Alice, with radiant eyes; " would to
God this wish were fulfilled I If I cannot as-
sent to all you have said, I long with you at
least tor the time when an era of mutual toler-
ation and forbearance shall dawn upon us.
How often have I heard similar words from
the mouth of my revered teacher, Jeremy Tay-
lor ! He is likewise opposed to persecution of
any description, and, though an orthodos di-
vine of the Episcopal Church, yet full of mild-
ness and forbearance to

wonderful! When I listen to you, Mr. Milton, I
always feel as though he were standing before
me. You are animated with the same en-
thusiasm, you possess the same poetical and
flowery peculiarity of expressing your tliougbts
aa that eicdlent man ; and even the tone of
your voice reminds me of him. He would
have made more satisfactory repUcs to your

jgn

able to do. For h a 1

and, above all thi g ] f nd d
would certainly b f man w rtl
steel. Whatapiytb t h 1 fe t

for, despite your co rj p , y w 1 1

assuredly become warm Mends. Noble and
generous men, I have often heard him say,
oppose, but do not persecute each other. Only
God Himself knows the truth ; hence, it is
wrong in men to arrogate tlie position of ila
judges and avengers. The most different
roads may lead to the goal where the good of
all times and countries, from what opposite
points soever they may have started, will meet
in the end to join hands in lore and peace.
Let us do the same, although I see that we
differ in regard to many essential points ; and,
wherever we may meet, let our motto of rec-
ognition be' 'Toleration and charity, friend-
Bhip and love.' "

The lovely girl whispered in a low voice
the last words, which, in her mouth, contained
another and sweeter meaning for the happy
poet. Milton toot the hand which she ex-
tended to him, and held it long in his own,
hke a pledge which he was determined never
to give up again. Thus the hostile parties
anticipated in the bloommg garden the sacred
festival of reconciliation which England was
to celebrate only after long and bloody civil
wars Human and divine love, wonderfully
blcudpd and interwoven, accomplished in a
moment the sublime task at which the states-
manship of the most skilful poUticians, the
persuasive eloquence of the most impassioned

dbyGoc^le

orators, End the
powerful people were vainly toiling for many
years in Buccession. A feeling moment real-
ized that whicli decades were unable to bring
about, and filled up the gnlf wliicb Iho purtics
thought insurmountable.

Alice left her hand willingly to lie poet.
Thus they stood on Ihe terrace, loaning againet
the biilustradc, now looking into the sweet
Talley at thdc feet, now gazing deeply into each
other's eyes. Their enthusiaem had eQenced
them. What could Ihcy say to each other
after such words ? Any additional conversa-
tion would only have marred the sacred beauty
of this hour and the euhlime gravity of the
previous moment. Only the dyii^ notes of
the ehureh-bells, proclaiming peace and joy to
the people, joined harmoniously in the devout
and inspired feelings of the young hearts
which celebrated to-day their resurretlion, the
EaBtfit-mom of their aneet young love.

CHAPIEE Yin.

JOHN- MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Oh her way back to the castle Alice met
with her younger brother. Thomas had ceaehed
Ludlow Castle much later than the others, and
the midnight hour had struck long before be
arrived there. After being told by a servant
that Alice and the two friends had arrived be-
fore him, he immediately retired in a not very
pleasant frame of mind. His agitation was
such that he could not sleep for a long while.
The recollection of his adventure with the
Puritan?, and the prospect of his being scolded
by his parents and his more prudent brother,
kept him awate iu his bed. Nevertheless, he
rose at an early hour, and Alice met bim al-
ready fully dressed in the court-jard. The
youth stood in the midst of a pack of Betters
and pointers, which were Jumping and barking

'around him in a caressing, delighted manner.
A groom held his horse, which was neighing
and stamping its hoof impatiently, and which
Thomas was just going to mount in order to
take a ride.

"Good-morning, Orlando I" shouted Alice
to him, kindly, from a distance. " Oh, is that
right ? You are going to leave me without
greeting me ? Tou have not even inquired
about my health, and what adventures befell
me since you forsook me so &ithlessly and
imprudently? So you know, then, that I am
quite angry with you ? "

''That was the very reason why I wished
to leave. I cannot stand these eternal re-
proaches."

"You wild boyl have I reproached you,
then, with any thing? Tou are deddedly too
sensitive. To punish you, I want you to stay
here and tell me what fairy or beautiful magi-
cian mot jou and enticed you so deep into
the forest that you forgot to return to your

"lean do that in a very few words," re-
plied the youth, with the blush which always
accompanies a first lie. " On leaving you, I
really thought I had heard human voices in
the gorge. It was an illusion, however. The
farther I advanced, the farther receded these
seductive sounds. It was unfortunately too
late, when I found out my mistake. I wished
to retrace my steps immediately, but I had now
lost my way entirely. Thus I wandered through
the wilderness for several hours without know-
ing where I was until I met with some peas-
ants, with whose assistance I got back to the
highway. I hastened at once back to the place
where I thought I should find you yet. How-
ever, you had disappeared. I vainly shouted
your name, no one replied to me. An inde-
scribable terror seized me, and I passed a long
time ip search of you. Finally I met the ser-
vants whom father had sent out. They reas-
sured me as lo your fate, and I started with

dbyGoogle

EENDEZTOUS OP THOMAS AND LUCY.

them for Ludlow Castle. I soon learned tl
particular of jour rescue by two young me

ndroam

no one Imo

wa wliere."

"Igiv

you my r

easons for

L I cannot

ear bcin

S censured

n all sides

To-morrow

may be better able

enduroi

. The thun-

er-gtorm

which has

gathered

ver ray head

U3t pas

away a little before I shdl return.

ia true

jou have g

ood reasoQ

to bo angry

have for^Tcn me Jong since."

" Yea, I have, you wild madcap ; and if you
will stay here, I will intercede with father in
your behalf."

" Not to-day," said the youth, beseechingly.
" I should play too sorry a part among
Spare me fills confusion in presence of the
strangers, and let me go.''

" Well, I do not care, incorrigible one ; but
I wOl let you go only on condition that you re-
turn before nightfall. I will excuse your ab-
sence as well as I can."

" Do BO," replied the youth, yaultlng into
the saddle and galloping away.

Alice looked after him until be iJisappeared ;
she then went to hoc room, where she engaged
in company with her mother in needlework,
which gave her the best opportunity for think-
ing undisturbedly of the absent poet and tbe
grave conversation alie had held with him.

Meanwhile Thomas was galloping with hia
dogs toward the neighboring forest. But a
close observer would soon have perceived that
the youth was not intent on huoting to-day ;
this had been only a pretest to cloak, in his
own. eyes, the disi]uietude nhich drove bim

lessly through the fields and fnrest as he did.
Before long he left to his horse the task of
Ending the way, seeming to bo entirely indif-
ferent as to the direction wbich tiie noble ani-
mal look. Ho bung carelitsly in the saddle,

holding tbe reins loosely in bia hands. At
timea a blossoming branch touched his hat and
cheek, but he paid no altention to it. Tbe
dogs trotted at first merrily by hia side and
barked a little whenever they scented game,
hut the sullen hunter did not hear them. He
was followitig an entirely different scent ffis
game was a slender young girl with hazel eyes
and dark ringlets. Beautiful Lucy Henderson
engrossed all his thoughts, and he pursued her'
image, or rather it pursued bim on bis way.
He knew ber dwelling, which lay in the valley
below, near tbe bank of the Teme. An irre-
sistible longing drew him thither, but his aver-
lo meeting the austere Puritan prevented
him from riding directly toward the place. The
closer he came up to the cottage occupied by
old Henderson and his daughter, the more
audibly throbbed the heart in tbe youth's
bosom.

Already he saw the small dwelling in the
midst of the blossoming fruit-trees. How often
hud he played there with hia brother, his sister,
and little Lucy, and playfully called her his
Uttlebridel Thehappydajs of innocent child-
hood were over, and more ardent lon^ngs and
desires now filled the heart of the fiery youth.
How much he would have given for permission
to be together with her as quietly and undis-
turbedly as he was but a few years ago I Now
ho was qiute close to the entrance^te, but he
was not bold enough to ask admittance. Ha
halted bis horse on the opposite bank of the
:, and looked with longing eyes at the oot-
where lived the fair friend of hia child-
I. Like a thief, he crept close up ki it,
hidden by tbe dense willows and alders on the
r-bank. From time to time he cast a IW-
glance on the cottage, but its door remained
closed, and no white hand drew back the bolt,
jomiug girhsh face appeared at the
window.

At no great distance from Thomas, and en-
tirely unnoticed by hnn, there lay a mgn

dhy Google

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Btrctohed out on the turf amidst iLo shrubbery.
He looked witi] seeming carelessness at thfe
fishing-rod which he held in his hand, but the
shrewd twinlding of his aquinl-cyea showed
that the presence of the young man bad not
escaped him. The angler watehed him cau-
tiously, but with great attention and curiosity.
He saw very well what Thomas was after, and
why he watched old Henderson's cottage so
closely. At times a sneering air overspread
the broad, shrewd face of the rough-looking
fellow.

"Hem I " he murmured to himself. "I war-
rant the young nobleman ia not watching hero
for nothing. If I am not mistaken, the old
Puritan has a pretty daughter well worth com-
mitting 0, little sin. A sweet morsel for such
a, hunter 1 I will see how the fowler willman-
age to catch this little bird. Attention, Billy
Green ! perhaps there is something for you to
do here. Lovers are generous, and my pockets
are as empty as my stomach. What if I offered
him my assistance f I know the necessary
little tricks ten times better than any one else."

So saying, Billy Green, who is no stranger
to us, raised himself froni bis comfortable
posture. The noise which he made caused
the dogs to bark, which aroused Thomas from

"Who is there? " ho said to the fellow, who
stood suddenly before him.

" Your servant," replied Billy Green, hum-
bly, taking o£f his cap. " My name is of no
consequence, and cannot be useful to you, but
my person can. Ho whom you see before you
is the best sleuth-hound in the whole country.
I will drive up the game you are hunting for."

"Take this," said the youth, dropping a
small coin into the fellow's cap. "Ton see
that I want to be alone. Go, therefore ; I
have no use for your services, and dogs, yon
see, are not wanting to me."

" Oh, you are rather grnff, sir. But you
ought to know that there is a difference be-

tween dogs. Tour dogs know only how to
scent lean rabbits or half-starved grouse; but
I can find the most beautiful girl in the whole
country for you. I know hero a nice little
gM named Lucy Henderson, who is surely
worth huntmg for."

"Fellow," cried the youth, eagerly, "what
do you know about the girl ? Speak ! "

"Aha ! I sec that I am on the right trail,
for you are as eager for it as a hunter is to get
sight of a fat deer with fiiiteen branches. Well,
it will not be my fault if you do not cati:h your
game this very day."

" No bad jokes, if you please. Tell me
plainly, do you know the girl ? "

" How should I not know the flower of the
valley, the fairest rose of Herefordshire ? But
take care. The old p o e b says No rose
without thorns,' and mo ose old Hendersott is
a whole thorn-bush p o in th sweet little
rose from profane hand.. Unless you are, at
least, a saint or an a changel w 1 jour hair
cropped like that of the Koundh ads, he will
slam his door in your f e Be des, he is
desperate enough to s nd alte yo from his
old blunderbuss ..ome blue p lis that might
make it impossible for you ever to call again.
The old Puritan dog is not a man to be joked
with; ho will snap and bite in the same
breath."

" I know, I know," murmured Thomas ;
" and yet I must see Lucy even though all hell
with a legion of devils should guard her. Will
you do me a favor?"

"Two for one," replied the fellow, gajly ;
" that is to say, if you pay me two prices."

" I will pay you liiierally. Take these two

"So a poor devil like me gets two crowns
when the king has but one ; but I doubt not
that one often presses more heavily on his
head than my two. Tell me now what I am
to do ; for I am sure jou did not give me this
money merely for the sake of my fine face.

dbyGoogle

Rim)EZVons of thomas anu luoy.

Billy Green is not a beggar of tlie highway,
but an honest fellow who will fight the devil
himself if he gets paid for it"

" I will trust you, though I do not know
any thing about jou. You seem to be a
shrewd, smart fellow."

" Just give me a chance to show my shrewd-
ness and emarloess, and you will see wonders.
I suppose you are in. lore with pretty Liicy
Henderson ? Just let me manage it, and you
shall see her speedily. By Heayeu, I know of
uo greater fun than to play a trick on such a
canting, sanctimonious, psalm-sin^i^ Puritan !
Just think of what he did the other day I
Meeting me on Sunday, not in a very sober
condition, I must confess, he called me a ruth-
less Sabbath-breaker, a son of Antichrist and
of Babylon ; n short be gave me al = rta of
hard names, and a I f r he Eg a 1 ttle n erry
on Sunday. Th d v 1 take the^e Pu tanio
scoundrels, who want to d pr vo every merry
fellow of his 1 ttle amusements '

" You may vent your b le another t me, aad
curse the Puritans as much as you like. I
will not prevent you from so doing, but join in
it with all my heart. But now you have no
time to lose if you intend to redeem your
premise."

" There you are right ; but, above all things,
I must know how far you have conquered the
girl's heart; whether you are at the A or the Z
of love ; whether the little bird is only castmg
turlive glances on the berries, or has already
tasted the forbidden fruit."

"What does that concern you, fellow?
Tou use language whiob I do not want to

"All right, sir; but that will render my
task more difficult. I know the ^rls and the
birds, for Billy Green is no novice so far as
that sort of sport is concern
behevo me, unless you give
will satisfy her that the mes
from you. lovera have a

Lucy will not
a token which

It of their o

I must bring her some such mysterious greet-
ing, else she will not trust me. Is there not
some word or motto that is only known to her
and you ? Let me hear it."

Thomas, who perceived the sagacity of what
Billy said, reflected a few moments. A long
time had elapsed since be had spoken with the
young ^rl. How was she to recognize, then,
that it was he who wished to see her ? For-
tmmiely he remembered a little ditty which
both had sung very often in their youth, and
whose last lines were as follows :

"He raised tbc maiden
He bore her to his oas
For ah, lie loved-her i

It wa.s not difficult for Billy Green to re-
member the words of this old song, and the
melody which the youth sang to him in a low
voice. Thus prepared, Billy set out, promising
to obtain an interview with beautiful Lucy
Henderson, and return speedily with a reply
from her. He appreaohed cautiously the
house of the Puritan, with whom he did not
wish to meet, because he knew that the mo-
rose old man was not in the habit of treating
such idlers and good-for-nothings very kindly
or considerately. The shrewd fellow prowled
for some time areund the closed courlryard
like a fos intending to visit a dove-cot He
hoped to find somewhere an open side-gate, by
whichhemight slip stealthily into the cottage;
but he very soon found that this was impossi-
ble. The distrustful and misanthropic Hen-
derson had taken means to prevent strangera
from penetrating into his house. A high and
substantial wall, surmounted with stout spvkea,
surrounded the whole building. Billy Green
was not very eager to endanger bis limbs, or
to receive a wound. Nothing, therefore, re-
mained for him but to knock loudly at the en-
trance-gate, and demand adnuttance. Hia in-
genuity had already suggested to him an excel-
lent escuse in case he should meet the Puritan,
and he took care to impart tfl Ms face as grave

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JOHK MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

! sanctimonious ^

esptessioE i

Heliad ImockEdalreadyfor some time wicli-
out attracting anj one to the gate. Tlie house
seemed entirely deserted; not a voice re-
souttded inresponsotoliia calls; cot afoot, not
a hand stirred to open the gate to Wm. He
almost gave up the hope of succeeding in de-
livering his message to the beauiifiil Lucy. He
was upon the point of withdrawing and re-
tradng his steps, vihen he determined toniake
a final desperate effort before returning to
Thomas. He was bent on mischief, and his
ambition also prompted him to persist ; and
he resolved to force his way into the house,
even at the risk of get^ng a sound whipping.
'For itis purpose he commenced shouting with
all his might : " Fire ! fire ! Help ! help ! "

This last resort had the desired effect. He
beard perso* moving in ihe house. An el-
derly woman and a young girl rushed anxious-
ly mto the courtyard, and a laborer hurried
up from the stable. All three had heard the
shouts, and looked for Ihe man who had ut-
tered them, but who took good care to con-

d Mmaelf, in order tc

3t of h

stratagem. He had already seen enough to
be satisfied that old Henderson, of whom he
■was more afridd than of any one else, was not
present. The frightened inmates of the

some passer-by had fooled them ; for, notwith-
standing the most careful researches, fhej
were unable to discover any traces of fire.
Lucy and the old housekeeper were about to
return mto the house, but the laborer was not
jet willing to drop the matter.

" I will pay the fool for this," he cried, with
clinched fist. " I bet he is concealed close by.
ril pay him for the fright he gave us."

Before the women, who were still excited
and aniious, could prevent him, he had drawn
back the bolt from the gate and rushed out.
Billy Green rubbed his hands gleefully in his

hiding-place, for there was no longer any thing
to prevent him from entering the house. As
soon SB the laborer, in the eagerness of his
pursuit, was sufficiently distant from the house,
Billy left his hiding-place, and stepped boldly
into the court-jard. At the sight of the
stranger, whose appearance was by no means
reassuring, the timid housekeeper uttered a
loud cry, and ran away. Lucy, who was a
irl, stood still and waited for the
tell his errand.

"What do youwantp" she in c[aired, fear-
lessly. " My father is not at home. If you
want (o see him, jou must come again to-mor-
row, when he will be back from his trip to the
neighboring city,"

" I am glad to hear that, for now I can de-
hver my message without being interfered witli
by him."

"Your message? To whom?" she aslsed,
in surprise, and startir^ bact a few steps, as
the stranger's conduct aroused her suspicion.

"To whom but yourself, beautiful Lucy?"

" I do not know who could send me a mes-

" A young man whom you know, and who
loves you,"

"Ton are a rogue and villain to address
such words to me. Begone, fir I will have jou
driven ignominiously from the place."

" Do not get excited," said Billy, with an
impudent leer, " although your indignation sits
verjwell on you. You cannot decdve me, for
I know all about it. We all know what giris
will do."

"Silence, sirrah! There comes our laborer,
and he shall punish you for your impudence."

" You will change your mind before he gets

here. If yon are determined not to hear my

message, let me sing a nice little ditty to yon :

' He raised the maiden on his eteod,

Well, how do you like that? '

dbyGoogle

RENDEZVOUS OF THOMAS AND LUCY.

Lucy had immediately recognized the words
and the melody, which Green hummed lo her
in an uadertone, and accompanied by expres-
eive ludicrous gestures. He looked at her at
the same time bo archly, and watched her so
closely, that her notation conld not escape

" I see already that I have slruck the right
note this time," he added, smilingly, " Well,
why do you stand staring as though some mir-
acle had happened to you ? "

"How do you come to know thai song?"
Mtered out Lucy.

" Great heavens t she asks me how I come
to know that song ,' A merry bird sang it to
me under the willows ; and as I liked it, I re-
membered it easily."

" No, no, he taught it to you. Do not tor-
ment me, but tell me the truth : is the com-
mission which you have for me from him I "

If vo I m m by he and 7 m a slender
young b inter of ansto ratio app aranoe d s
tiuRULbed manners a fioe like milk and
blood onl a pretty little bl ck mustaohe
youarerghtf

And JO 1 say that he is quite dose by?

"Not much beyond the range of a good ri-
fle. With your nimble feet you can reach hun
in five minutes, and be in the arms of your
beloved.

'And thns thcj Mt, and thus Hay lay,

TSey Bit, ana, ah, forgot that day, ' *
Tha whole wida world, the whole wide woria I ' "

" Pray, atop this nonsense. Out servant
nay return at any moment, and, besides, we
are watched by the housekeeper, who is only
prevented by her terror from gratifying her
cariosity."

" Very well, make haste then, and give me
a favorable reply to take to your lover."

" What does he want of me, then ? "

"Oh, these girls I Like kittens they sniff
round the hot soup, which they would like so

well to taste. The young n
see, embrace, and kiss you. If you do not
come, he will commit suicide. He is dying
of longing and unpatience. Perhaps he has
already, driven to despair by my long delay,
plunged into the cold waters of the Teme to
cool his ardent love,''
" He wants to see me, did he say f "
'^He said so, and swore and raved, !^ all
lovers do ; for he is head over ears in love with
you. I can bear witness to that. His loud
sighs aroused me from my sleep, and it waa
nothing but compassion for his sufferings that
caused me to become his messenger. But now
make up your mind quick, for I really see
that boor of a servant coming toward us, after
ransackmg every shrub, and looking for me
behind every blade. What am I to tell jour
lover p

'My lo-

th the a

urjoy

■It for Hieo

Although Lucy had peredved the approach
of her father s servant, and saw that there
waa no lime to be lost, she hesitated yet to
make a reply. She was afraid of old Hender-
son's severity, and besides, a feeling of ^rlish
timidity deterred her. But the very puritanic
retirement and restraint to which she had been
so long subjected, had aroused longings for
freedom in her bosom. For a long time her
mind had secretly revolted at the narrow
bounds which had been set to it She yearned
for the wide world, from which she was shut
out. By forbidding her to visit Ludlow Cas-
tle and its inmates, Henderson had sorely
chafed her rebeUious spirit. Her last meeting
with Thomas had produced a truly feverish ef-
fect upon her warm blood. She had dreamed
all nigiit of her former playmate, and even in
the daytune his image was ever present to her
soul. Now he had taken the first step, and
come to her : could she resist any longer ?

The servant was scarcely fifty steps from

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

tlie gate, and the housekeeper's head was to
be seen at the window. Lucy had no thne to

" Go," she whispered to Billy Green, " md
Sell Mm who Bent you that I will see him. My
father is ahsent on - business, and will not be
back before to-morrow; but, notwithstanding
his absence, I am watched like a prisoner. I
shall not be able to steal away until after din-
ner. Let him awiut me then at ilie old tomb-
Btone near the three pines. Every child tnows
the place; he will easily find it by inquiring
foe it."

"I myself will conduct him thither, and
Bland guard Jest any one should overhear

"Da so, good man, and take this (or your
trouble."

Billy Green pocketed with a chuckle the
small coin which Lacy handed to him, and
Towed in return, witliout bmng asked for it,
eternal fidelity and eilencc ; and he teally in-
tended to redeem his promise, in order to grat-
ify his hatred against the Puritan. He passed
the returning servant with a smile of great sat-
isfoction.

"Did you find the man you were looking
for ? " he aaked bim, maliciously.

The servant contented himself with eying
Billy distniatfiilly.

" Let me give you a piece of good advice,"
said Billy to him. "On leaving the yard
henceforth, you had better lock the gate lest
a fox should steal your Puritan chickenB while
you ace pursuing hia trail ! "

He disappeared with a peal of laughter be-
hind the shriihbery on the bank, before the
servant was able to make a fitting reply to
him. The stone wliieh he hurled after the
vagabond fell noisily into the water, and ex-
cited anew the mirth and sneers of Billy
Green, who was very proud of having so com-
pletely fooled the servant.

Lucr waited with feverish suspense the mo-
ment when, after their long separation, siie
was to see her former playmate agodn undis-
turbedly. The hours aeemed to creep along
with anail-like slowness ; the hands of the
clock would not move on. At dinner she was
scarcely able le swallow a morsel, bo that the
old housekeeper asked her ansjously if she was
unwell, and what ailed her. She sought to
appear gay and unconcerned, althoi^h she
hardly succeeded in doing so. At last the
servant went to work again after carefully
bolting the gate ; the old housekeeper seemed
to have fallen asleep in her easy-ehair. Now
was the time for Lucy to steal away. She
slipped noiselessly on tiptoe to the door, and
then aniiously looked back. The housekeeper
had her eyes open again, and asked, dream-
ily, " Where are you going, Lucy ? "

"Into the garden," said the girl. "I am
going to look after the new plants."

"Go, my child. But do not stroU farther
away from the house, for you know that your
father does not like you to do so, especially in
his absence. If he should learn of such a
thing, he would scold ua both."

" I shall remdn in the garden."

" Very well, very well," murmured the old
womaa (a relative of Henderson), and fell once
more into her doze.

Lucy, as she had said, went in the first place
(o the garden. It consisted of a few modest
flower-beds and a small orchard. On one side

Henderson devoted particular attention. Their
industrious inmates swarmed in great numbers
past Luey toward the neighbormg forest,
where they sought for richer spoils of honey.
The daughter of the house was well known to
:1s. A bold little bee seated

dbyGoogle

THE MEETING.

iteelf on Luoy'a hand, which it had takoE, per-
haps, for a whitt blossom ; but, probably find-
ing cut its mistake, it soon nnfurled its brown
wings and sped forward, as if to show hec the
way. A gate led from the garden into the
openfields; doaedonthe msido with a wooden
holt. The girl drew it back with a trembling
hand, as though she were about to commit a
great crime. Thus she had crossed the thresh-
old of her paternal home, and stood still for
a moment, hesitaUng whether to proceed or
not. Indescribable anxiety filled her once
more. The little bee was still humming before
her, and flew on boldly and carelessly, filled
with no such apprehensions, and, if it thought
at all, thinking ojily of the sweet honey which
was in store for It. Suddenly a swallow darted
down out of the lur, and the little bco paid
with its life for its first sally into the fields.
Lucy had not noticed the occurrence, for she
was too much engrossed in her own thoi^hta ;
otherwise, perhaps, it might have served as a
caution So ier. But, as it was, passion and
hot blood carried the day, and she was boucd
to see Thomas, even though it should cost her
life.

Tonng as the girl was, she possessed a
strength of will bordering on obstinacy.
Something of old Henderson's puritanic stub-
bornness was to be found in her character.
His severe treatment had aroused her indigna-
tion, and she was determmed to bear no longer
the restraint imposed upon her. fehe had tor
merly become acquainted with anothei ■m 1
more brilliant life than that she wis compelled
to lead now at the quiet house, in the company
of her old relative, and nnder the surveillance
of her morose father. At that time, when her
mother still lived, and she was yet allowed to
hold daily intercourse with tiie inmates of Lud-
low Castle, she had been the partner of their
joys and manifold amusements. For days she
was permitted to play in the sumptuoua apart-
ments of the castle, surrounded by all sorts of

precious and goi^eous objects. The stem or-
ders of old Henderson had suddenly put an
end ta all tbia. How many tears had the
privations imposed on her all at once wrung
from her I She thought night and day of those
charming times, and every thing beautiful and
magnificent waa aaaociated in her mind with
Ludlow Castle. There lay the country she was
yeammg for, the lost paradise of her child-
It waa for this reason that her meeting with
Thomas in Haywood Foreat had made ao deep
an impression upon her. All the old wounds
commenced bleeding afresh, and memory
fanned her slumberii^ love into a bright flame.
Nothmg was needed but an opportunity, a
beck, and Lucy would leave her hateful pater-
nal home and return into the arms of her for-
mer playmate. The imagination of this girl of
seventeen looked upon the youth as a savior
and deliverer from the jail in which she felt
herself imprisoned. The warm life-blood cir-
culating through her vans, throbbed for en-
joyment and pleasure, which had so long been
denied to her. The gloomy Puritan allowed
his daughter none of the amusements forwhieh
young peraona BO justly yearn; even the most
innocent joys were forbidden to her. She waa
not permitted to go out, cioept in the company
of her father, or under other surveillance, nor
ever to attend a rural fcatival. Old Hender-
son detested the notes of a bagpipe or violin ;
he considered dancing a terrible sin, and every
other harmless pleasure, a heavy crime. This
WIS m keeping with the spirit of the times, and

not even permitted to amg, and yet she waa
famous for her fresh and charming voice. Mr.
Lawes, the music-teacher at the castle, alter
hearing her, had been so delighted aa to ofibr,
of his own accord, to give her the necessary
instruction and cultivate hervoiee. The surly
Puritan would not even permit this, and had
r^ected the offer under the pretert that the

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

human To!ce was destined only to praise tbe
Lord, and that no instnietion was necessary
for this purpose. Lucy liad bome all this long
enough, in hev opinion — his eiaggerated sever-
ity, her joyless loneliness, the rude and oppres-
Bire treatment she had to endure, and the
privaiion of the most innocent amuaenienta.
The moment had come for her now to indem-
nify herself to some extent. Her heart was
unconsciously filled with longings for liberty,
and for some change in this tedious and mo-
notonous life.

Her friend's message reached her when such
was her frame of mind. She felt like a pris-
oner whose cell is opened by a compassionate
hand, and rushed rashly out of the garden.
It was cot until she had left it that she began
to rcfltct and bashfiilncss stole upon her heart.
Hci anxiety increased at every step as she
moved from her father e house. Every tree
by the wayBide seemed to her a spj, and be-
bmd evir\ shrub she thought she saw some
one watching hti. She had to fear the worst
from her father's severity in case he ehoald
ever learn that she had disregarded bis orders
in such u manner. Her heart felt no love for,
but only intense foar of him ; but it was not
this feeling alone that deterred her now. Her
conscience, her vii^ shame, raised their
warning voices in her bosom. Both advised
her against the step she was taking; they
spoke to the hesitating girl softly, it is true,
but impressively enough. Her heart throbbed
with tumultuous ablation and threatened to
burst her close-fitting black bodice. All sorts
of objections arose in her soul, and more than
onee she turned ber ejca back toward the
house which lay so quiet in the noonday sun.
So long as Lucy saw this house where she was
bom, and at the door of which she had so
often aat with her lamented mother, conceal-
ing her curly head in the lap of the kind-heart-

ed 1

I felt t.

The wmdows seemed to her like eyes looking

anxiously after her, and the smoting chimney
like a finger cautioning her against what she
was about to do. She seemed to hear a well-
known voicecaUingher back in plaintive tones.
These remembered tones pierced her heart ;
her knees trembled involuutariiy, and her feet
seemed nailed to the ground. But the neit
moment sho thought of the promise she had
giTcn to the friend who was waiting for her,
and turned her back resolutely upon her home
and the spirits of her domestic hearth, which
were following her wamingly. Once more she
turned before setting foot on the sman bridge
that was to lead her to the opposite bank.
The house had disappeared and was concealed
from her eyes. It seemed to her as though
she had no longer a home.

She crossed the bridge with a capid step,
and breathed freely again only after reaching
the opposite bank. Behmdherlay the gloomy
past, and before her tbe flowery meadows
and the mute forest, where her lorer was waity
ing for her under the pines. How lovingly did
her heart throb toward him ! But her homo
seemed not yet willing to give her up; it sent,
after her a faithful messenger who pursued her
steps with stubborn perseverance. She heard
a panting sound behind her, but was not
courageous enough to turn. The pursuer
came nearer and nearer, howling and barking,
spying and seeking. It was the faithful watch-
dog that had hastened after her. Now ho
jumped up to her, and gave veut to his joy
at finding her in loud barking and nonderM
leaps. Evidently out of breath he pressed his
shaggy head against her airy form, and looked
at her with Ms sagacious, good-natured eyes.
She was unable to bear his glance, which
seemed a silent reproach to her. This unei-
peoted witness was a burden to her. Viunly
did she drive the animal from her side; the
dog, usually so obedient, refused to leave her;
he returned to her again and again ; neilier
her prayers nor ber threats were of any avail.

dbyGoogle

THE MEETING.

Prom her earliest childhood he had been hec
constant companion ; be had grown up with
her, altvajs a friend, a careful guardian, and
□OK, perhaps, more than ever. This thought
presented itself again to Lucy, and jet she
would not suffer tlie dumb monitor near her.
She begged and scolded, she threatened and
entreated, but the dog did not move from the
spot. At the beat, he remained a few steps
behind, and trotted alter her mournfully and
banging hia head. The girl would not tolerate
bis company at any cost It waa almoat with
tears in her eyes that she ordered him to go
home ; but it was all in vain, he stuck to her
beels like the warning voice of conscience.
Her impatience caused her to forget cTery-
tliing — hig fidelity and love, his long, long
services, and ber old affection for him. She
picked up a atone and hurled it at the faithful
animal. The dog nttered a loud howl, and
limped off with a bleeding foot. Her head be-
gan to Bwim, and ahe thought she would faint.
On looking up again, she diacorered that the
dog had already disappeared.

She hastened forward now to make up lost
time, but she still seemed to hear the panting
of the faithful dog beUiuci her, and to see the
reproachful glance which he east on ber wben
the hand which had hitherto alnaya caresaed
him raised the stone against him. She felt a
load weigiiing down her heart as if sbe had
committed acrime.

warning voice once more, but it was again m
vain. She could already see her destination,
tho three lonely pines and Ibe old tomb. The
last Bcene had heated her warm blood still
more, and added to her obstinacy. Her cheeks
were flushed, ber pulse was throbbing, a sort
of wild freniy had seized her soul. Thus she
rushed toward her fate.

Thomas waited likewise with feverish es-
citement for the arrival of the girl, for whom
BO ardent a love bad arisen in his heart over-
lught. He had hunted during the morning in

the forest only to liill the time till the hour of
meeting, but the game had been safe from his
bullets. His thoughts were engrossed in some-
thing clae, and Lucy'a charming image atood
conatantly before his eyes. She was the prey
which be had chosen, and the description
which Billy Green had given him of her beauty
only added to the flame burning in hia heart.
It was not love, but a wild intoxication that
had seized his senses, an infatuating fascina-
tion which suddenly changed the whole char-
acter of the hitherto innocent youth.

The detagnated spot lay somewhat off the
highway, on a hill, where one could not be
seen, and yet, shielded by the dense shrul)-
bery, could survey the whole neighborhood.
A gray, moas-grown slab covered the grave of
an unknown knight, who had fallen here several
in a duel, or by the hands of
le inscription had long since be-
come illegible, and the name had been forgot^
ten, but the legend had stuck to the bloody
spot, and did not even allow tho slain knight to
find rest in his grave. Paaaers-by asserted that
they had often seen a pale youth seated on the
slab, surrounded by his dogs. The superstitious
peasantry of the neighborhood avoided the
road leading past the grave. It was but rarely
that any one ventured to act foot on this weird
spot, and even the birds seemed to shun it.
Profound silence reigned all around. The
heavy branches of the sombre pines did not
move, and the tall grass murmured almost in-
audibly. Such was the spot which Lucy had
chosen for her interview with Thomas ; she
was sure that no one would watch and disturb
them here. She herself was not afraid, for old
Henderson had remained free from the super-
stition of the common peaaantry, and had edu-
cated his daughter in this spirit.

A shrill whistle uttered by Billy Green in-
formed the impatient youth of the ^rl'a ar-
rival. Soon after sbe stood before him, breath-
less, and unable to utter a word. Thomas

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JOHN MILTOH AND HIS TIMES.

signed to Billy Green, who disappeared at once
in the ahrabbery, and the lovers were alone.

"At last I At last I" cried Thomas. "I
was already afraid jou would not come."

" Was I not obliged to come after you had
called nie?" she replied, affectionately. "I
should hare come even though it had cost my
life."

" Lucy, do you love me ? "

"Ask me, rather, if I ever ceased to love
you. All my thoughts have always been wifh
jou and your eisler at Ludlow Castle. Oh,
how I liave longed to meet with one of you,
and unbosom the grief weighing down mj
heart ! At length I saw you yesterday ia
Haywood Forest. My heart throbbed impetu-
ously toward you, bnt I could not utt«c a syl-
lable in that hateful crowd. What did I suffer
foe jour sake on seeing you exposed to such
deadly peril ! Thank God, you were Bayed,
they did not kill you."

" You see I got off tolerably well. But let
us no longer speak of me, and, least of all, of
my adventure yesterday. I hope I shall one
day get even with the rabble, and wreak ren-
geanee on them for the contumely which they
heaped on me. Tell me, rather, about your
affdrs, your life. We have ijot seen each
other for so long; it has been almost an eter-
nity for me."

"Really! Oh, would that I could believe

D 1 I ever t 11 you a fe

ehood* Were

you not al V g my deire t

t end n e my

ea est ch llhood Con e

t down 1 t u"

c at to„e het as we u ed

do u fomer

He took h 1 and and d

w her down to

h !, de on the mo s •T wn

ab He lolded

her to h s hea and she id

notpeenthm

s on her lips and

cheeks.

"Ton want to know about my life during

these latter years?" she asked, with a sigh.

after a pause. "Alas I Since my dear mother's
death 1 have not had a single merry hour. My
father became more morose from day to day,
and held intercourse with no one. You know
that he joined the Puritans, and, like them, is
at variance with the whole world. He reada
all day long in the Bible, which he carries
constantly about him; he looks, with sullen
hatred, upon every thiug that is not in keep-
ing with his austere notions. I am obhged to
follow his example, although this kind of life
is Eo odious to me that I long for death every
day. I am kept at home like a prisoner, and
am watched at every step. No matter what I
may do, it Is always a sin in father's eyes, and
he pronounces every pleasure a bait of hell. I
cannot bear it any longer. If I had not met
you, I should surely have carried my resolve
into effect."

" What resolve

"To throw myself into

theTeniewhereitis

deepest."

" Oh, you bad f

■rlt Would vnnrpsllvhnva

been cap d

."Tes,

Ln h was

already m

resolutio B

again, an

love me yet, I will hve.

Oh, I love this life

so dearly, when i

smiles

at me so gayly from

your eyes !

"Tea, we will live," said Thomas, presemg
the girl's slender fofm to his heart. " To live
and enjoy shall be our motlo. Away witii Ihe
morose teachings of the hypocritical Puritans !
What do their gloomy sermons concern us?
God did not create the beautiful world in vain.
He did not vouchsafe us our joyous youth in
vain. Despite all canting, sanctimonious vil-
lains, we will enjoy the present; What does
the flower bloom for, if we are not allowed to
pluck it ; what does the wine grow for, if we
are not to drink it ? Our lips are created for
besides singing tedious psalms

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THE MEETING.

all the time. Eiss me, my sweet love, and I
will absolve you from this Bin. by another kiss."
By such tender jests the youth dissipated
the misgivings which eWll rose from time to
time in the ^I's heart. He preached liltewiae,
but it wag the gospel of enjoyment and love,
to which she lent only too willing an ear.
Against the gloomy spiiit of Puritanism he
called np ihe meny spirits of pleasure and en-
joyment. Lucy was unable to resist him. She
shared neither the fanaticism of Iier lather nor
hia austere views of the life of this world ; her
whole nature rebelled gainst them. Youth
and love revolted in her heart at a creed which

her warm blood. " Henounce ! " said to her
the creed that was forced upon her. " Enjoy ! "
whispered love into her ear. She followed the
sweet voice of the tempter.

The everlasting struggle between mmd and
matter, between resignation and enjoyment, to
which Chrisdanity gave rise, was never carried
on in England with greater zeal and fanaticism

e daj-s. On o

1 side St

dthee;

■^

urt,. with the rich and oi'erbearing
i There reigned in those circles the
p ndor and luiury, surpassing by far
present has to compare with it,
h m, the fevorite of two kings, may be
ed upon as the representative. His
■an e knew no longer any bounds. His
d country-seats were the centres of
d dissipation; the value of his dia-
m da d other gems exceeded the sum of
w h ed thousand pounds sterling. He was
the first Englishman who rode in an equipage
drawn by sis horses, and he was the first also
to nse a sedan-chair, an innovation which ei-
asperatedthe people greatly and was generally
denounced, beeanae men had to perform in it
the services of beaals of burden. His whole
life was in keeping with this estravagance.
Countless liaisons, the most notorious of which
was that with the Queen of France were at-

tributed to him. His example was imitated by
mostof the younger courtiers. Lovo-afiuirs of
the most immoral character were even deemed
meritorious, and the most heartless and revolt-
ing actions were not only glossed over, but
more frequently praised and extolled. A spirit
of open, unbounded licentiousness rdgncd in
these circles ; Haisons, carousals, and gam-
bling weretherule, andnot the exception. The
courtiers were leading this most objectionable
life under the very eyes of tho king and queen.
Even the reviving arts, and espedally poetry,
were drawn into this vortex. The poels, such
as Waller and Davenant, were dther themselves
dissipated courljers, or hirelings of immorality
and estravaganco. The Muse had lost her
chastity, and occupied Iho degrading position
of a aoubrfUe,

In tho face of this extravagance and lusury
the Puritans, who were gaining new adherents
with astounding rapidity, denounced with stem
austerity and wild fanaticism all the pleasures
of this worid, which they looked upon only as
seductions of hell. In thdr blind zeal they de-
manded the abolition of all amusemeuts. They
were the sworn enemies of lusury, and preached
the greatest simplicity of dtess and conduct.
Their favorite oolora were dark-brown or black,
and they were intent on imparting this sombre
hue, this monotonous, joyless, and forbidding
character, to their own lives and those of others.
They detested music and dancing, and deemed
the fine arts not only superfluous, but perni-
cious. From their midst had risen that gloomy
enthusiast WiUiam Prynne, who demonstrated
in a thick folio volume, called Si^Homailix,
with a great display of absurd learning, the
sinfulness of theatrical amusements, plays,
masques, etc. His book was reedved with rap-
turous applause by his fellow-dissenters, and
the author, whom the court persecuted for this
reason, and upon whom uTijust and ignomini-
ous penalties were infficted, was adored and
levered as a martyr by the mi

dbyGoogle

JOHN MTLTON AND HIS TIMES.

side, tbe licen-
tho other, the

19 the hostite parties

hau ever before : on
9 of the cayalierB :
austtre Btoicism of the F
wrong, owing to thdr
ness. What with the alternate triumphs and
Tiotories of either party in the course of time,
England presented now the spectacle of a vo-
luptuous wanton, now that of a stem, stony-
hearted matron. These striking contraEls ha™
not jeteutirely disappeared, and although thej
are no longer as greatly at rariance as they
were then, but esiat peaceably, side by side,
yet thenhoie nation is even yet affected inju-
riously by the consequences of these two op-
posite currents. With a prudery bordering
on the estreraelj ridiculous, the greatest iieen-
tionsncss frequently goes hand in hand, and
Puritan austerity paralyzes only too ofien the
wings of free inTestigation and the develop-
ment of genius. Lord Byrnn, the greatest
poet of modem times, was most injuriously
affectud by theae moral ills of hie caiive
country.

Every one uneonsraouBly bore at that time
the stamp of the patty to which he belongL^d,
and lb irid it« sins and weaknesses Thus
Thomas was a civaliir from head to loot;
biBve and courageous, loval to the kmg and
Church of England, but aW oveibeanng,
retklesv, and destiluto of firm moral ptinci-
plei He had inhaled the poioon of his time
nnd his class, for, as m the midst of the
pHgue every one bears the germ of infection
more or less within hit body, so even the beat
men were not entirely free from the general
corniplion of their smroundings. The germ
was in the rash and reckless youth, and it
needed only an opportunity to burst forth. It
was to Bueh hands that the ineiperienecd
Lucy Intrusted her fate, her innocence, and
honor. She yielded willingly to bis dangerous
caresses, and listened to the blandishmenfa
■ which he whispered to her. He was hand-

some ; his carefally-dressed blond ringlet
floated round his proud, aristocratic forehead ;
his soft mustache and goatee shaded the finely-
chiselled mouth and chin ; a white lace collar
surrounded his breast and neck; his magnifi-
cent gold-embroidered dress was in striking
contrast with the sombre, monotonous costume
of the Puritans, which she saw every day.
How refined were his manners 1 how sweet
sounded his words when he spoke to her of
his lore, or told her of the amusements and
festiv.ils at Ludlow Castle 1 She did not tire
of listening to him, and did not notice how
swiftly the time was passing.

The setting sun admonished her to return ;
she was afraid that she might reach homo too
late, and that her old relative might notice her
prolonged absence and inform her father of it.
It was with great reluctance that she tore her-
self from his arms; she left her heart with him.

" When shall I see you agam f " he asked,
beseechingly.

" Soon, as soon as possible, even though It
should cost my life. My father is frequently
absent from home. I do not know what he is
domg, hut he is often away for several days in
succession. So soon as hs is absent again I
will give you a signal, and we will meet at the
same place."

"I shall die of longing until then. I wDl
send my messenger to you."

" The same man who called me hither ? " ,

" He is shrewd, and I believe close-mouthed.
Ton may always send me word by him."

"But I must go now. Dusk has already
set in; detain me no longer, or you will get me
into trouble. Farewell I"

A long, long kiss united tbe lovers ; Lney
then tore herself from tbe impetuous embrace
of the youth, and hastened back to her home
ike a chased roe. Thomas looked aficr her

until her slender form h,

tbel

among

!es ; then he whistled to his dogs and set
■ Ludiow Castle.

dbyGoogle

SIR KEKELM DIGBT.

" Good luck ! " shouted BUlj Greon to him.
" And if jou need again a fellow to rouse the
bounding prey for you, just inquire for me at
the taTcrn of the ' Tbree Pigeons.' "

So Baying, he elooped to pick up tho coin
which Thomas threw to him on going away.
He eyed tli© treasure with greedy ©yes, and
put, it into Ms pocket.

"I did not suppose that the pious Puritan
g^rl would go so fast to the devil," he mu
mured, smilingly. "But what do I care ft
that? I always serve him who pays me best.

A NEW guest had arrived at Ludlow Castle.
Sir Kenelm Digby dccraed it incumbent on him
to pay, on his return trip to London, a visit ^a
the Earl of Bridgewater, who was nearly re-
lated to him. Perhaps he combined still an-
other ohjeot with this act of courtesy, for Sir
Kenelm never did any thing without some
seeret purpose. The reception with which he
met at the hands of the noble family was in
keeping both with ita far-famed hospitality and
the reputation of the eminent man. Kenelm
Digby was the son of Sir Ecerard Digbv, a
wealthy knight. His father, an ardent Catho-
lic, had been eiecuted as an accomphoe in the
famous gunpowder-plot.

His orphan son was educated in the Prot-
estant religion, in order to save at least a part
of the fortune which the crown had confiscated
already. His guardian was the well-known
Archbishop Laud, then Dean of Gloucester.
The talented boy gave promise of a remarkable
career at an early age, and made extraordinary
progress in all branches of knowledge. When
he became a youth, his mother, who was a
very zealous Catholic, placet! him under the
guidance of (he learned Thomas Allen, and

caused him to travel in Franco and Italy. Af-
ter his return the rumor spread, and met with
general belief; that he had forsworn at Home
the Protestant religion, which had been forced
upon him ; he himself^ however, denied this
strenuously for some time afterward. At a
court festival, ^ven in honor of the marriage
of the Princess Elizabeth with the Count Pala-
tine Frederic, afterwards King of Bohemia, he
became acquainted with beautiful Venelia
Stanley, the daughter of Sir Edward Stanley,
whose mother was a Percy, and who, there-
fore, belonged to the highest nobility of the
kingdom. Notwithstanding all obstacles, he
succeeded in gaining the love of tho young
lady, who was only sixteen years old, but
whose reputation, according to the testimony
of her contemporaries, was none of the best.
Before marrying her, he was obliged to fake
up his abode for some time at Paris. His fine
appearance and his extraordinary understand-
ing excited the greatest sensation at the French
court, and even the queen, that lovely and
frail Anne of Austria, fell in love with hun
and entered into a liaison with him. From
the queen's arms, however, he hastened back
to his beloved Venetia, who, if the unanimous
verdict of the authora of her times is (o be be-
lieved, was one of the most amiable and se-
ductive women hi England. It was not until
he had fordbly abducted and secretly married
her, that he obtained full possession of his be-
loved. Ambition and thirst for adventures led
hiui back to the court and the bustle of the
world. He accompanied the extravagant Buck-
ingham on his embassy to France. To defray
the expenses of this journey, his beloved Veue-
tia bad to pawn her valuable jewelry, which
she did readily antl willingly. At a later dato
he armed and equipped several vessels in the
war which King Charles waged against France.
As commander of these vessels, he courageous-
ly attacked tho united galleys of the French
and Venetians, and achieved a brilliant victory.

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTOK AND EIS TIMES.

He returned triumphantly to England, and de-
voted himself during the peaceful years which
ensued exclusively to his love and to science.
His favorite study was chemiBtry, with which,
by Hie moat indefatigable industry, he acquired
a fiimiliarity such as few of liis contemporaries
could boast of. His wife died in the flftli year
of their Ttedded Ufc. Her death was bo sud-
den, that flUEpicionsof her being poisoned were
aroused, and that her husband was accused
of having murdered her in a fit of jealousy ;
forVcnetia was believed to have been faitbleaa'
to bim, which, considering her former life, was
not 30 very etrange. However, his conduct
after this loss bordered almost on insanity.
For months he locked himself up in his labo-
ratory, and shut himself entirely out from day-
l^ht. With unkempt hair and beard, he
stated into vacancy, and gave way to bound-
less despair. It was not unUl a year afterward
that he appeared agaio at court, where he ob-
tained the special &vor of thu Catholio Queen.
Cliarles L made him his confidant, and
appomted him his chamberlain. The whole
appearance and bearing of the knight were in
keeping with this efentfiil life of hun who was
at the same tjme a warrior, thinker, and cour-
tier. His athletic form indicated extraordi-
nary strength and energy. His gigantic neck,
however, was surmounted by a most eipreasive

head,

the s'

prcmacy of the mind over this Herculean
frame. The high, strongly-arched forehead
showed that he was a keen and able thinker.
The glance of his dark-gray eyes was as clear
and bright as a mbcoc of bumisbed steel, and
indicated the preponderance of the intellectual
faculties In striking contrast with their es-
pie?sion wa' his voluptuous, soft mouth, round
whiLh an air of dreamy enthusiasm constantly
played. His curly hair was black and glossy,
but it was already quite thin, and a part of the
head was bald. A dark beard fringed his pale
cheeks and flowed down on his breast, impart-

ing tc the face, notwithstanding its mtellectual
stamp, a weird and ghostly expression. Bis
whole appearance combined so many contra-
dictions, that it could not but arouse some dis-
trust in the beholder's mind. Voluptuousness
and fanatical austerity, cold reason, and an
eccentricity bordering on insanity, were to be
read in his keen features. The various rumors
which had been circulated in regard to him,
were well calculatEd to add to the strange and
mysterious impression of his person. Like
many persons of a peculiarly intellectual char-
acter, the snppressed feelings of his heart, and
his restrained imagination, burst forth with
redoubled violence in unguarded moments.
His irapetuousness then knew no bounds, and
the outbursts of his eccentricity resembled de-
structive storms and fatal thunder-bolts.

Both his social position and near relation-
ship to the family of the Earl of Bridgewater
secnred him an esceedingly kind reception.
The lord president retired with his guest soon
after his arrival to converse with the expe-
rienced and accomplished courtier on the con-
dition of the Idng and the court. The earl's
private cabinet lay in one of the Gothic tow-
ers, and commanded a delightful view of the
valley and the hills of Herefordshire. Soft
carpets were spread on the floor M dampen
every loud noise. The stamped leathern hang-
ings contained representations from the Old
Testament. On one wall was to be seen
Abraham, about to sacrifice his only son ;
close to them stood the ram, and over the
altar flitted the saving angel with gilded wings.
Another picture showed the Israelites in the
desert, worshipping the golden calf ;' on a
knoll stood Moses, with an angry face, and
holding the tables of stone in his hands. In
this manner the religious spirit of the period
showed itself everywhere m the study of a
wealthy nobleman. Furniture, hangings, and
every thing destined for household use were at
that time in strict keepingmth the views and ,

dbyGoogle

I KENELM DIGBT.

noliona prevailing among the people. E'
the seats and eaay-chaira were covered with
Biblical embroideries. Close to the window-
stood tlie earl's old-fashioned writing-table,
laden with books and papers. Thick folio
volumes, bound ia hog-akIn or parchment,
filled the places of onr modern neat octavo and
duodecimo Tolumes ; and instead of the offldal
documents of our times, nere to be seen every-
where heavj metal eases, encloBinK the pareh-
inenls and pcesetving the larRc seals from in-
juiy.

It was in tiis room that the two men con
versed now, undisturbed bj the presence o
witnesses. The Lord President of Wales wa
already an aged man, with dignified features
Like bH father, Chancellor Egerton, who
gained such great celebrity during the reigns
of Elizabeth and James I., ho had deroled
himself to the study of the law, and, like him,
given all his life evidence of the most unwav-
ering fidelity to duty, and a most stubborn
sense of justice. Notwithstanding his attach-
ment to the royal house, he was unable to ap-
prove of the last measures of the government
The oppressions and estortions of the Star-
Ch m h unjustifiable dissolution of Par-
h m arbitrary taxation brought about

b m asure, bad rendered him justly ap-

p h n e of the future of the country. He
n w Q le d his fears, though in a guarded
m n to h s new guest, but his mnatc loy-
ly came into confiict with his

Beliu'

a this oee
me," ho s,

xiurse of the
" tlie people hereabouts are
every day more difficult to manage. The king
must call a new Parliament, unless he desii-ea
to provoke an extremely grave state of aflairs.
You live at court near his person, and are
therefore able to tell me what be intends to
do."

" Charles will try to govern as long aa pos-
sible without Parliament. Having once tasted

the Joys of unlimited sovereifrnty, he is un-
willing to part with them without a atrugglo.
For the time being no other system is to be
thought of; and so long aa he has sufSciont
funds at his command, he will take good care
not to convoke a new session of those morose
taskmasters and canting preachers."

"But the extravagant expenditures in which
the court is indulgmg at the present time will
soon eiliaust the royal esehequer."
" Leave that to old Nov. That shrewd fel-
w mg n ght and day over worra-eafen

p hm nd dusty title-deeds. Wherever

h fin a a of an ancient claim of the
g an mere vestige of a taj collected
b h wn n former times, he follows it up
d n „ to coin money out of it. He is
racking his brain night and day to devLie ad-
ditional taxes and imposts of an apparently
legal character. lie is so cunning in this re-
spect, he knows every nook and comer of our
ancient laws so well, that no one is able to re-
fute him. Does not the king owe to him the
invention of the soap-tai, to which some old
statute of the time of the Conqueror gave
rise ? It is true the people are grumblmg be-
cause they can no longer wash so often as
formerly; but what does that amount to?
The Puritans Bet a higher value on a pure
heart and blameless life than a clean shirt and
well-washed hands."

" You are jesting, when I and all the true
friends of the ting are filled with the gloom-
iest forebodings."

"You are wrong to yield to any such mis-
givings, noble earl," replied Sir Kenelm Dig-
by, with a sinister smile. " I see that, living

le country, you no longer know what is
going on at court. No one there has any
of the future. On!j the pleasures of

ooment are thought of, and every day

s a new festival. We all have our hands
full of balls, masquerades, and similar amuse-

9.* The queen has takeu Buckhigham's

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

pala.ee, and I pledge jou my word that we arc
amusing ouraelves just as delightfully as when
the great duke still lived. Poor Buckingham I
Who would have thought that you would meet

1 end at the hands of a

aassssin! No sooner were your reniaine iu
the grave, than you were abcady forgotten.
Such i3 the course of the world."

"God grant him eternal peace 1" replied
the pious lord president, clasping his hands.
" He is most to blame for the present confu-
Bion and troubles, but death atones for a great
many things. Had the king listened less read-
ily to the advice of hia favorite, and had he
not alwa^ defended him so obstlna»ely, he
would have been on better terms with Parlia-
ment, and it would have been unnecessary for
him to djssohe it."

"Amenl" eiclaimed his guest, with a
sneer. " Howeser, the king gets along very
well without Parliament. As yet ho has plenty
of money; the revenue raised by thesoap-tas,
and the ship and tonnage money, is sufBcient
to defray all royal expenses. The Star.Cbam-
ber also sees to it that the penalties and fines
" imposed on the dissenters keep the royal e
chequer well filled. A thousand pounds mo
or less do not startle it at all, and when
poor devil is unable to pay his fine, he is im-
prisoned at the pleasure of his majesty. He
may deem himself happy if his ears are not
cut off at the pillory, as was justly done in
the ease of that impudent fellow Prynne. I
myself witnessed the scene, and adrou^ed the
courage which the rascal displayed on that
trying occasion. During the bloody operation
he made a violent speech to the people, and
eren the eireoutioncr was unable to shut his
mouth. I tell you the scoundrel acted liie a
martyr, and stood there as though he expected
every moment to be proclaimed patron saint
of England."

"All yon tell me only adds to my fears. I
h&ve been told that a great many men of the

highest respectability, merchants and country
gentlemen, have already refused W pay the
-money and loncage-impost, because it is
raised without the consent of Parliament. If
their eiample should be imitated by many .
others, the king would have to yield. Un-
fortunately, he could do so then only by lower-
ing his dignity. Parliament would act only
the more boldly, and demand new privileges
besides those which it has already, whereby
additional hounds would be set to the power
of his majesty."

" It is true, where there is no'inoney, there
is no courage either, ' Foird d'argetit, poinl
de Suunes,' say the French. For the time
being, however, those who refuse to pay tases
are imprisoned until they do pay. A jail is
the best means in the world to make such ob-
stinate persons pliable and submissive. In it
blows an air well calculated to quiet and cool
down such hot-headed fellows. A few days'
Bojoum in the Tower or at Newgale is often
amply sufficient to tame the wildest of tbera.
Hitherlo the remedy has never failed in efi"ect-

"But suppose the juices should refuse to
lend their hands to such persecutions; sup-
pose there should yet he in England men who
value justice higher than the good graces of
the court, what would happen then S "

"Pshaw! Thekingwill get along in spite
of them. They will be deposed in the most
unceretnonioua manner. With some energy
all such obstacles are easily surmounteil. Our
minister, Lord Wentworth, showed us very
handsomely how true this is. lie is a man of
great energy, strikes terror jnto the hearts of
the rebels, and maintains law and order in the
country. He know hwlodo f iehm
self was formerly one f ho b II o s mem
bers of the dissol I Pa I a n nt i h n h s
»ost familiar w 1 the n ks de e ad
weaknesses of his fo m collea In In

dia, I have been t Id tbey us ramed le-

dbyGoogle

SIK KENELM DIGBT.

pbants for tie purpose of eatcting wild ones.
Believe me, apostates are the wood out of
wliich the most relentless persecutors of men
of their OWE class maybe carved. A former
democrat may be transformed immediately
into an adherent of the government, provided
the latter knows how to arouse and satisfy hia
ambition. They are all vena!, and Wentwcrth
is governing now with a rigor and recklessness
upon which none of the old adherents of the
liing would have ventured. It is said be in-
tends even to organize a standing army. If
this master-stroke should prove successful, it
would he unneoeSBary for the king to convene
Parliament."

"But in that case all Iho iiberties of the
peopie would be lost, and none of us would be
better off than the slaves in Turkey. The
nobility, which is at the head of society, will
feel the change first. We shall bc«3ome noth-
ing but tools and servants of the crown, while
at present the King of England ia only chief
among equals, the peer of his peers. Just
look at Prance, where Richelieu is governing
despotically in the name of King Louis 1 Are
you desirous of having a similar stare of afihirs
brought about in our own country f The
proud cardinal is putting his foot on the nccka
of the noblest families, and cuts off the most
aristocratic heads whenever ho pleases.''

" The vigorous rule of one is by far prefera-
ble to the many-headed government of the
people. You know that I am a naturalist ;
well, then, I have learned from Nature that
the members of a whole roust be subject to
the will of the head. The stronger one co-
erces the weaker, that is a law which cannot
be overthrown. In chemistry the various
powers struggle with each other until one is
in the ascendent, whereupon the others submit
to it willlugiy. Even among metals a certain
syatem like this is to be found. Gold is king,
iron is servant. It was so from the beginning,
and will alwayH be so."

" 1 do not deny it, but 1 should thtak that,
between a Christian king and a despotic ty-
rant, there is as much difference as between a
ploughshare and a sword. One spreads hless-
ings and prosperity, the other ruin and destruc-
tion. Our fathers were wise enough to pe>
eeive this, and therefore divested royalty of its
arbitrary character, without detracting from
its dignity. Parliament is the natural bul-
wark against royal tyranny. Are we ourselves
to aid in tearing down this bulwark? Tell
me, what protection would be letl tons in that

"The Church I " replied Sir Kenelm Digby,
emphatically. " It always was the best coun-
terpoise io the encroachments of the temporal
power. The popos always protected the na-
tions from the oppressions of their rulers. It
is the greatest bane of the Eeformation that it
broke the power of the Church and took from
it the weapons with which it always effectually
opposed the encroachments of tyranny. The
thunderbolts of Eome caused the kings to
tremble on their thrones."

"One who hears jou talk in this strainean-
not but believe that you have really turned
Catholic, as a great many persons have as-
serted from time to time. I have hitherto re-
fused to credit these rumors."

" Can one not be a good Protestant, then,
and yet not shut his eyes against the great
advantages of the Koman Church ? Will you
deny that Catholicism was a bulwark to the
nations ? I do not think you are one of those
prejudiced men who break into imprecadons
as soon as Homo and the Pope are mentioned.
Ton always seemed to me destitute of preju-
dice. Hence, you will be obliged to admit
that the Reformation was by far more advan-
tageous to the princes than to the people. The
Catholic Church was free and independent.
Its clei^ formed a consecrated army, a stale
within the state, with almost a repubUcan eon-
stitudoD. Its head, the pope himself, is elect-

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

sarj talents. Thisse
aey of the mind ovf
sense Eome always ri
of the princea, and iti

ed to bis office, and the lowest priest can reach ]
this exalted position, if beposaeasea theneces-
ures aPonce the supretn-
brute force. In this
ssisted the cneroachmeota
ta dreaded thunderboita de-
terred the most powerful monarcha from higb-
handed violence What did the Kefbrmatioa
bring ua for all this ? It enriched the kings
and impoyerisbed the people. The clergy lost
its independence, and thereby its influence ;
from being a free order, it sank to the low con-
dition of servitude. The property of the Chucch
fell into the hands of the princes, and notinto
those of the people, and added greatly to their
power. Who ia to shield the people now from
the arbitrary proceedinga of the princes, since
they have lost their best protector? Brute
force has taken the place of intellectual and
spiritual aupromacy, and the justly odious In-
qnisidon Laa been replaced by a far worse one.
Or do jon think that the religious tyranny of
the Star-Chamber is milder, that the fines and
penalties which it imposes are less painful, and
that its dungeons are not as deep and cruel ?
I repejit It, the Reformation is the real source
of our present evOs and f roubles."

"Hush, for God's sake, hushl" cried the
anxious carl. " If any one heard you talk
thus, you yourself might have to appear before
the dreaded Star-Chamber, and, as a secret
Catholic, suffer the most seveie penalties.
Even though you may bo eight in some re-
spects, you must not forget that the Reforma-
tion was the very event that brought spiritual
freedom to the people. It gave to the people
the Bible, the unadulterated word of salvation.
We have learned to read and t/dnJc. The
Roman Church is like the miser who starves
his children and keeps his riches locked ilp in
his strong bos. It ia true, it often protected
the people from the tyranny, of the princes,
but it did so only in its own interest, like the
shepherd who protects his sheep from the at-

tacks of the wolf, in order to shear and kill
them when he desires to get their wool or their
meat. Now, mankind is not an irrational flock
of sheep ; it rebelled against this spiritual ser-
vitude, the worst of all tyrannies. Even though
the present state of affairs may not be the hap-
piest, it ia much better for us to suffer in ouc
property and Uvea than our salvation. The
protection which Rome granted to thenations
Lad to be purchased too dearly. The price
was freedom of conscience and thought."

"And whither has this much-vaunted free-
dom led us 1 All England is split up intohos-
Ijle sectfl, hating and persecuting each other
with the utmost ferocity. The most absurd
teachings find every day more adherents and
mouth.pioccs. Wo are lilte degenerate sons
who are unable to agree upon the division of
their father's Inheritance, and lacerate and mur-
der each other, until no one is left to enjoy the
inheritance. I see farther, a great deal farther,
than you think. Behind these reli^ous dissen-
sions I behold already the Goi^n head of civil
war, of a bloody stru^lo threatening to ovo
whelm all existing institutions. Tlie teach-
ings of'the so-called prhnitive Ciirislianity
begin already to bear fruit, and fanatical en-
thusiasts and cunnmg hypocrites derive from
the Bible the justification of the most infamous
attacks on property and tho government. Have
you HOC heard of the Anabaptists who infested
parts of Germany ? They demanded nothing
less than the abolition of ill privileges and a
division of property. Our Puritans bear the
greatest resemblance to their Gorman brethren.
They are said to dream of a millennium, and
of the rule of the chosen people. They meju
thereby neither more not less than the un-
limited rule of the rabble the abcl t on of no-
bility, and the confiscat on of our i roperty.
The chosen people of the Lori are intent on
beheading is and tak ng our plates They
consider us only a 1 o t of aci-ur e I heathens,
Moabites, Edonutes etc -HhodeBervenomercy,

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: EENELM DIGBT.

Hnd whose propci'ty, lands, pastures, gardens,
and forests, God has assigned to His true chil-
dren as rewards of llieir merits and pietj. See,
that is what we owe to your Bible and freedom
of conscience. Let the uneducated people get
hold of this two-edged a\vord,aad jou will soon
Bee jour own life menaced."

" Unfortunately I am obliged to admit that
jou are right, although I do not know how
the evil is to be counteracted. For this reason
I should like to hear jour views. You are
known to me not only as a profound aoholai
but as an eiperieneed statesman. What do
you advise ub to do in the present state of af-
fairs ? I believe I am not raistjikcn in v
turing upon the surmise that your journey e
oeala some other than its ostensible obji
and that a aecret mission is probably coupled
with your visit. Tou cTyoy the implicit confi-
dence of his m^csty, and are the coafidentjal
friend and adviser of the queen. Archbishop
Laud was formerly your guardian, and is now
your intimate friend. Be frank with me, and

Sir Eendm Dighj kept the earl some time
waiting for a positive reply. He deemed it
prudent to veil himself in mysterious Mlcnce
He ndther contradicted nor confirmed the sur
mises of his host

" Tou are mistaken," he said, with a signifi-
cant smile, " if you think my royal master has
intrusted me with a special mission. Is anv
other motive for a visit to your house neede
Sien, than our long friendship and the hond
of relaljonahip, which, instead of loosening,
should like to draw closer ? In truth, I hav
communicated to you only my individual view
on the condition of our country. Possibly
may be mistaken. But as you seem to attac
some importance to my advice, I will n
withhold it. Hippocrates says that iron cures
what medicine does not heal ; and where iron
proves ineffectual, fire should be resorted to.
In my opinion, the ills of the stale reluire the

same remedies as the diseases of the human
body. First, try lenity, and, if It proves inef-
fectual, resort to vigorous, and even harsh
measures. The sore limb must bo removed
before mortification seizes the whole body. It
is better that a putrid part be lost than the
whole. This is my sincere opinion. I believe
it Is the only way for us to save ourselves,
and preserve, as loyal subjects, our king from
injury and danger. But excuse me, if I leave
you now. I have not yet waited upon the
ladies of the house. If you permit, I will go
to them now."

It was with great reluctance that the eavl
dismissed his guest, with whom he would hive
liked to converse fiulher on the uffiilrs of the
country. He himself had hitherto been unable
to form a definite opinion in regard to them,
and he was hesitating and vacillating between
hie innate mildness and the fejr of dangerous
events Hib eminent position imposed grave
reiponsihihtiea upon him He remaine 1 in his
st ly absorbtl m his refle tiona without
coming to a dehmte retoluton Evm the
doubts which his visitor 1 ad aroused ra his
=0 il concern ng the oalutary influence of the
(.at! ohc Chuah had made a mirk d impres-
bion on his mmd and although the Prot-
LStant connctions* of the lord president re-
volted at the idcaof Roman supremacy, he had
to admit to himself that his guest had uttered
some irrefutable truths

Mea hi K D

of his father. For the time being, however,
ho deemed it prudent not to throw off the
mask and to secretly enlist friends and ad-
herents for the Catliolic Church.

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JOHN HILTON AND HIS TIMES.

CHAPTEE XL

The room in which the ladies were seated
vm Eumptuousl J fvimisbed in the style of that
period. Mjtholo^cal scenes adorned the
gilded ceiling. Venus rode in a car draitn bj
doves and eurrounded by little Cupida, who
carried, with ludicrous faces, the anne of Mars,
his helmet, shield, and lance. Costl; hangings
of crimson silk covered the walls ; hcaTy cur-
tains of the same stuff flowed down over the
doors and windows. The high-backed chairs

one of the arched irindows stood a small table
beautifully inlaid with pearl and ivory. Its
upper part consisted of curiously -wrought
wood, ivory, and metal, forming the most at-
tractive figures, butterflies, flowers, and Mcda.
A small b'areau, of the same materials and
workmanship, stood close by. The ladies kept
in it their jewelry and similar toilet articles,
Alice and her mother wlcl seated on low
■ chaire, occupied with needlework and em-
broidery; opposite them sit Miltoo and his
ftiend Edward King. At some distance from
them Lawes, the musician had seated himself
at the organ, then an indispensable article m
Uie hoase of every aristocratic family. He
had just flnished a song, which he had com-
posed at the request cf the countesS, and for
which he was enthusiastically applauded by
Ms whole audience. Scarcely had the conver-
sation, interrupted by hii performance, been
resumed, when bir Eenelm Digby came in ind
paid his respects ia the ladies Eis attitude
and bearing indicated at once the well bied
and accomplished gentUtnan, who had moved
with so much distinciun at the primment
court*, of Europe As, in his interview with
the earl, he had so advantageously di>q)layed
hia stateamanahip as to escite the admiratiOD
of his host, so be now delighted the ladies by

Ha refined wit and his surpassing accomplish-
ments. He made an espedally favorable im-
pression on the countess, who was a very
handsome lady yet, and to whom be seemed
to devote particular attention, without neglect-
mg Alice even for a moment. He took part
his habitual ease and
Milton, without knowing the
reason why, felt a most decided aversion to
the guest who bad come in so unespeetedly.
It was not envy, not even jealousy, tbat arose
in his bosom, and filled him with distmat of
the stranger. The poet, perhaps, was dis-
pleased with the superiority and ill-conoealed
egotism of the new-comer; or, maybe, the
mysterious atmosphere sarrounding Sir Kenelra
Digby made such a
upon him. There was si
in his appearance and bearing. Hilton could
not help thinking of those magnificent but
poisonou'' Sowers which exhale narcotic odors
and notwithstanding thtir beauty, make an
unpleaaant impression on the beholder The
dissimilitude of the two eharactero destitute
of a single point of contact, was probably the
pnncipal canse of this aversion.

Alice perceived, first of all, with the keen
eye of young love, the poet's aversion to Sir
Eenelm Digby, and she tried to draw him
again into the conversation, after be had been
silent for some time.

"Well, Mr. Milton," she said, playfully, " you
are probably reflecting at this moment on the
promise you gave me and your friend Lawes."

"What promise?" asked the poet, absently,
starting up from his revci'ie.

"Why, I should not have thought you so
forgetful. Do you no longer remember that
you consented to immortalize our adventure in
Haywood Forest ? "

" I do, indeed," faltered ont Millon, in great
and I shall redeem my promise."
Loquacious Fame," interposed Sir Kenelm,
is informed me of your adventure, noble

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MILTON AND DIGBT.

lady, and I envy the young gentlemen who
were fortunate enough to render you so chival-
rous a sertice. The author of ' The Arcndea,'
for I am happy to recognize him, in my opinion
eamiot make a better uae of his taleuta than
to dedicate charming veree to beauty and in-
rioeence. Thia is the only place I assign to
poetry ; otherwise I thmk very little of it,"

" And may I in[[uire how the Muses have in-
curred your aversion f " asked Alice, displeased
with the aneermg tone of the guest.

" Because they circolate nothing but lies and
falsehoods in the world. Moat of the poets are
ignorant of real Ufe, and put ia its place their
fenciful dreams and the deceptive creations of
their imagination. Their mind calls up before
their readers nothing but dissolving views,
which, on closer contemplalion and eiamina-
tion, turn out to be empty vagaries. Espe-
laally injurious is the influence of poetry to
young persons, because it misleads the reason,
shows every thing in a false light, and fills the
heart and the head with faneifltl ideas and
feelings. Like the divine Plato, I should esile
llie poets from the state."

MQtou bad listened to this uojustifiable at-
tack with flushed cheeks and eyes flashing
with indignation. His pride rebelled against
the ceviler of poetry, which ho valued bigliest
among all arts. To him the Muse was not a
mere pastime, not an earthly servant, destined
only for pleasure and enjoyiaent. A poel, in
his eyes, was equivalent to a prophet; hence,
he could not suffer such scornful allusions to
his oalliog, and least of all in the presence of
bis beloved. He had suddenly lost his former
bashfulness ; he had jumped up from his seat,
and now stood in the full ardor of hia enthu-
siasm in front of the reviler of poetry.

" Ko matter what Plato says ! " he eiclaimed
indignantly. " I believe that poetry is one of
the greatest blessings vouchsafed to mankind
What 1 poetry, the greatest benefactor to man-
kind, be iitjurious to the state and to sodety.

Does it not elevate the soul by the conscious
nesa of its relationship to all that is divine,
pure, and noble? When soirmg to its full
height, it is fused into, religion, into Chnstian
ity itself, for, like it, it spiritualjzea man and
nature. I grant that poetry sometimes serves
vice and appears in the company of evil pas-
sions ; but genius even then preserves its di-
vine nature, and poetry, even in the service of
voluptuousness or hatred, cannot enljrely deny
its sublime origin. Traces of pure sentiments,
traits full of delicacy, pictures of innocent hap-
piness, sympathy with the sufiferings of virtue,
burst from the dark cloud of wrath, from the
night of despair ; passages full of a lofty spirit
of morahty may be found even in every im-
moral work ; and they prove, in the moat strik-
ing manner, how difficult it is for a poetical
mmd to prove recreant to its inborn eicellency ;
for poetry is the constant ally of our best sen-
timents. It delights in the beauty and gran-
deur both of nature and the human souL In-
deed, it depietstwith terrible truthfulness the
errors of passion, but onlysuch as bear witness
to a powerful nature, a strength calculated to
inspire terror, and yet filling us with profound,
shuddering compassion. Its principal aspira^
tion and greatest task is to carry the mind be-
yond the Iiealen, dusty, and muddy paths of
overy-day life, and elevate it to purer heights,
where it may breathe in an atmosphere full of
noble and lofty sentiments. It reveals to us
the full beauty and loveliness of nature, re-
stores to us the freshness of youthful sensa-
tions, vivifies the joy felt in simple pleasures,,
and fans and preserves the sacred flame of en-
thusiasm, which warms the spring of our life,
ennobles the love of the two eeses, excites our
sympathy for all human relations and all classes
of soiaety, and, by prophetic forebodings, lays
the foundations of our blissful bchef m. a fhture
life."

" Splendid ! " repHed Sir Kenelm Digby, sar-
donically. " You defend your own cause with

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JOHN" MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

a great display of mind and jma^cation. But,
like a true poet, jou aroiil my charge, and
fine jourself to an encomium of poetry. Tnu
have not by any means refuted yrhM I
against it."

"I shall do so now. Ton charge poetry
with Bpreadmg erroneous views and false ex-
pectations of real life, filling the mind with
Cintastio illusions, and building up air-castles
on the ruins of wisdom. I do not deny, in-
deed, that it combats that kind of wisdom
which is exclusively based on material views,
considers physical pleasures and cnjoymenta
the highest human blessmgs, and accumulation
of medDS the only task of life; yea, I do not
deny it, and praise this circumstance as not
the meanest service which poetry is rendering
to mankind, in delivering us from the ttiraldom
of this earth-bom and worldly prudence. But
I prefer not to enter into this point, and will
prove only that all the charges of falsehood
and deception, raised against poets, are utterly
unfounded. In many poente there is more
truth than is to be found io history itself, and
in philosophical systems. The creations of
genius ai'e often revelations of the highest
truth ; they disclose to us unknown re^ons of
thought, and shed a now light ou the mysteries
of life. Tlie word itself sometimes appears false
in poetry, while the spirit is imbued with the
highest truth. And If truth thus lives even in
the boldest flights of poetry, how much more
will this be the case when the poet portrays
teal life ; for our present life is only, as it were,
the primary school of the immortal spirit, and
indescribably rich iu poetical elements. It is
the sublime task of the bard to draw these
divine elements from the coarse dross covering
aod surroundmg (hem Lite is not by any
means bo pro"y, sober, and trivial, as people
generallv behcvi An open eye oees at once
that It teems with poctrj The sentiments
which it awakins m our own heart", and soair
ters as seeds for tlie future ; the powers of

la beauty.

omnipotent passion, which seem to arm the
soul with superhuman energy; the innocent
and ever-new joys of youth, the blissful trans-
ports of the heart, suteumbing for the first
time to the sweet charms of Iotc, and dream-
ing of a happmess too sublime for this world ;
woman with her beauty and grace, her irresist-
ible amiability and boundless derodon ; the
blush of innocence, the tone, the glance of
which only a mother is capable: all this is
poetry. It is false to say that the poet depicts
alife that does not eiist in reality. He distils
and concentrates the heavenly essence of life,
pruaerves and secures its volatjle aroma, unites
the severed and mutilated pi
and imparts a longer exist
too rapidly withering blossoms. And iu doing
(his, he is a benetactor, for it is a blessing for
us to be reminded that life does not belong ex-
clusively to the painful satisfacHon of our
earthly wants, but admits also of sentiments
and feelhjgs that fill us with unnttetable bliss,
and are worthy of a better woiid. This power
of poetry' to refine and purify our views of life
and happmess should be the more carefully
fostered, and is the more necessary to us, the
greater the progress of society. It is necessary
to us, in order to -meet the arrogant assumptions
of our heartless and artificial relations, which,
brought about by civilization, make the world
appear to us so desolate and unintcreating. It
is necessary to us, in order to combat the one-
sided aspirations of science, which is no longer,
as formerly, taught for its own sake, but from
vile covetousness and for the sake of the ad-
vantages which it holds out to greedy men.
Hence, poetry must prevent men from sinking
and perishing under the burden of this worldly
life of the present time, which attaches the
ghest importance to sensual pleasures."
At the conclusion of- his speech, there was
the room so profound a alence, that it al-
ost frightened him. Enthusiasm had carried
m BO fer away, that he forgot all his sur-

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MILTON AND DIGBY.

roundings, the place where he waa etanding,
and the persons wbnra he was addressiug.
Coloring sDd uwaking na if from a dream, he
looked at hia audience, whieh seemed fasci-
nated by the spell of his words. Aliee had
dropped her needlework on her knees, and
sat in a reverential attitude, her hands clasped
as if in prayer. A blissful smile played round
herhpa, and in her pur© heart resounded yet
the echoes of the words she had just heard.
Thty had cipce'.sed her own thoughts and
feeh igo but had i,lad them in more beautiful
language, and had been more profound than
she hidevtr thought or felt them. The en-
thu'aa'^tie mu'iei'm had risen from his feet and
gratefully ihook hands with the blushing poet.
Eyen the sneering eourtier dropped his sarcas-
tic tone, and contented himself with cloaking
the evident defeat which, he had auatdned, by
adroitly extolling first of all the able manner
in which, he said, the poet bad defended h s

" You have conducted jour defence so well
that I am almost obliged to admit that I am
vanqaiahed. You are not only a poet, but also
a most skilful adroeate. Seing possessed ot
such talenta, jou may obtain Ite highest dis-
iJnotioQs and honors, if jou know how to profit
by yonr accomplishments. I will not recur to
our coatroversy, else I should advise you to
give up poetry, which rewards its votaries only
with crowns of thorns. The laurel always has
been, and always will be, unfruitful"

"For this reason, he is the sjrabol of the
highest glory. He who strives for the divine
renounces any earthly gidn."

"But as we live on earth, you would do well
to turn your talenta to account, and profit by
them as much as possible. The civil service
is open to, you, and a young man of your abil-
ity will be able to reach the most eminent po-
sitions, if he is determined to do so."

" Just now, however," inteiposed the Count-
ess of Bridgewater, " you must not dissuade

Milton from serving the Muses. We have
The birthday of my husband,

the lord president, will bo eelebnited t
month. We have resolved to present some
mask or other play on this occasion, and were
just going to request the poet to lend ua hia

" My feeble ability is at your service, gra-
dous countess ; I will assist you with all my
heart," rephed Milton.

" And I will fDrnish the music," said Henry
Lawes. " I am already praud of the beautiful
poem which you will write for me."

" You are doing me a great deal of honor,"
replied the poet; "but I am really at a loss to
decide what subject would be most suitable to
the occasion."

Oh let me he p you to choose an eseellent
subjCLt, CTclaime I the muaitiai You may
I II two birds with nt ston What do you
think f selecting the adienture m Haywood
Forest as the subject ot the mask? Yoa
might add the moot chirming scenes and
(hange'J to t The persona appea mg in the
mask, may be dcp ted as they rea Ij are — our
g ac IS Lady Al ce 1l e two brothers, and
ComuH, the fooliah vagabond. This will save
you half the trouble, and I will compose for it
melodies which will delight the angels in
heaven."

"The only question is," objected Milton,
" whether Lady Alice and her brothers con-
sent to be bronght upon (he stage in this man-
ner. And then I do not feel equal to sueb a

" Oh, ptay try it," said Alice. " You have
my consent, which I grant with the greatest
readiness, and my brothers will have no ob-
jections either. I impose, however, the con-
dition that you must cot idealize us too much,
nor treat us with too great poetical license.
You yourself said just now that poetry is des-
tined to serve truth, and I take you at your

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

" You need not be afraid, for I ebal! take
good care not to falsifjr my own nordg. Real-
ity in this case is full of poetry, I shall go to
work immediately, and Lawes shall receive in
a few daya the first feraea, which he will

I hank jou for your great kindness," said
he countess " And that we may represent
tra h IS f hfully 33 possible, Alice and her
b hers hal themselves perform on the stage
he adven u e which oouuired to them."

" That i3 splendid ! " eiclflimed the mui
clan, jubilantly. " The persons interested
the adventure will thus pass through it a se
ond time."

"For the other rikatihicli you intend
add to the mask," continned the countess, "
believe we shall likewise find suitable perfori
ers. Of course, I count in the lirst plai
upon you and your friend Mr. King, As Sa
iors of my daughter, you must, of course, a
pear in the mask."

"Fray do not insist on it, so far as I a

concerned," aaic

myself do not j

whatever. Whe

He, my tongue si

Milton, beseechingly. " I
)sse89 any theatrical talents
ever I ara to speak in pub-
;ms paralyzed, and I am un-
able to utter aword. I should, therefore, play
but a sorry part on such an oecasvOQ. More-
. over, the honor of the rescue, if it may be
called so, is due exchisively to the bravery and
courage of tuj frieud. Hence, it will be suffi-
eiootif ho performs thisciife in the maskwhieh
is now forming in my mind."

" But who will represent the god Comus ? "
asked Alice.

" I will, if you permit me," replied Sir Ken-
elm Digby.

"What? Ton will do it?" exclaimed the
Countess, wonderingly.

"I should like to contribute my mite to the
festival, and as Nature has given me a prosy
character, let me, in God's name, take upon
myself the rSte most suitable to my peculiari-

ties. Of all the Olympic gods, friend Comus,
the god of laughter and jollity always pleased
me best, and I shall take pains to do honor to
him, provided you and the poet do not object
to it. I am sure Mr. Milton will not treat
friend Comus with a niggardly hand, but be-
stow a good share of wit and humor on him.
In this case, I will allow him even to encroach
a litUe upon truth, and not represent the awk-
ward, sneering fellow entirely in accordance
with nature. On the other hand, he must not
be entirely destitute of malice and irony; for
they impart the real zest to life, and will add
to the attractions of the mask."

" I ara obliged to you for this hint," replied
the poet, "and shall profit by it to the best

You will have no cause to
; I shall cert^niy follow year

of my ability,
complain of me
suggestions."

"But what is to be the name of the mask ? "
asked the musician.

"Alice; or. Rescued Innocence," replied
Edward King, who had hitherto been silent,
absorbed in thinlong only of the lovely girl.

'You do me too much honor," objected
AUeo. " Let the name of the mask rather be
' Comus.' "

"Your request is equivalent 1a an order,"
replied the poet ; "I myself like this title best,
and will go to work immediately. I hope to
Dnish the mask in the course of a few days,"

" And I shall be on hand in time," said Sir
Kenelm Digby, " and learn and play my part
conscientiously."

"We will take you at jour word," replied
tlte eountcsB, " Of course yon will a]] promise
to keep the matter secret, as it is to be a sur-
prise for my husband,"

The conversation soon took a more general
direction. Sir Kenelm Digby was requested to
speak of his travels, and he did so in a manner
which delighted his hearers. He had seen the
greater part of Europe, under the most pecu-
liar and brilliant circumstances. He knew

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MILTOK AND DIGBT.

how to describe life at tlie courts of France
and Spain in the moat interesting and amusing
manner. Owing to his personal acquaintance
with the most eminent jjersons, he was able
tu impart a peculiar aeot to his descriptions.
Thus he traced a lifehk p rt "t f C d' al
Kichelieu, whom he pr un d (t test
etafesman in the wotl H n w his
narrative with oumero w ly ns ind

pii^uant anecdotes, and d d no x-

patiate on the love of h ca •\<^'\ Q en
Anne, of Austria, and her aversion to the all-
powerful minister. He dwelt longest upon
the wondeiB and beauties of Italy. Here he
became himself almost a poet, and in praising
the macvela of Venice, the cbarms of Florence,
and the euhlime grandeur of Rome, he was
carried away bj his enthusiasm, and forgot
his habitual irony.

" Yea, jou must go to Rome," ho said, tam-
ing to the poet. "A new lile will dawn upon
jou there. No city on earth comb nes m the
same degree the wonders of ancient and mod-
ern, times. Wherever von tread, Iho ground
is hallowed. Heie rises the Colotseum, the
very ruins of which make an overwbelmmg
itnpression on the mind ; here you. behold the
majestic front and suhlhne domeof St. Peter's.
Devout awe fills the heart in such gigantic
surroundings, and when the colossal organ and
the enchanting choir accompany high mass,
every one bends his ktfees involuntarily.
Temples and palaces are to be seen in endless
procession, and the immortal creations of art
beam in eternal heautv from their walls and
in their niches. All Olympus descends to
you, and you see the gods created by the
teeming imagination of the Greeks. The large,
grave face of Juno gazes at you ; the goddess
of Jove rises with a sweet smile before your
eyes from the froth of the sea. The marble
seems to live, and you espect that she will
stretch out her longing arms toward you. The
chaste Diana hastens past you with a quick

step ; you fancy you hear tie arrows rattle in
her quiver, and wish secretly to be kisaed in
your sleep, like Endymion, by these sweet
vir^n lips. Leaning against the tree stands
Apollo, the god of music and poetry, and the
prototype of manly beauty. His head seems
surrounded with beams, of light; ambrosial
hair flows from his radiant forehead; geoer-
ous pride and inspiration swells his bcauljful
mouth and his royal nostrils. And as if these
witnesses of past splendor and glory were in-
sufficient, new wonders emerge every day from
the bowels of the earth, which feithflilly con-
cealed such treasures from the hordes of the
barbarians, and restore them to a better and
more civilized era ehioh knows how to appre-
ciate them. These relics of antiquity rekindled
the love of art in Italy. It was not in vain
that Raphael feasted his eyes on these sub-
luce works of art, and that Michael Angclo'a
piercing glance penetrated the simplicity and
grandeur of the world of the ancients; both
created works striving not only to equal, but
to surpass then' models. The lovely splendor
of colors has taken the place of the cold
marble. Christianity displays treasures not
less prec oua thin paj^n antiquity. How
mnUi more benutiful are these Madonnas,
tlieso saints painted by the master-hand of a
Kaphael who knows how to surround mortal
loveliness with the halo of divine glory, than
all those goddesses of love ; how much more
sublime is Michael Angelo's ' Kast Jui%mcnt,'
than the 'Struggle of the TitansI' And all
this is surrounded by a channing wreath of
villas and gardens, where the laurel grows on
ruins, the vine loaded with grapes encircles
the slender poplar, and the dark cypress re-
minds us with warning finger that every thing
ia peiishable, and yet invites us to enjoy the
delights of life."

Ih ! " exclaimed Milton, carried away by
the words of the speaker, " I will some day

this wonderfiil country 1 "

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

" You mil he ju&tifitd in doiDg so," added
DiChv, with a strange smile. "Where Virgil
hved, norace wrote, and Cicero spoke and
thouglit, 5n=piration cannot be wanting to the
poet. The great library of the Vatican will
open to you its inlellectual treasures s ooks
and rare manuBoripls. You will find h
combined, at one point, all that human f; n
created for ages past, an arsenal of kn wl d
a treasury of the noblest kind, such 8 no
to be found anywhere else in the wo d B
the classical spirit docs not alone lie dead in
those books, it still lives in that wonderful
country ; and you will become nequainted there
with many men possessed of estraordinary
knowlei^e, and animated by the most refined
humanity. Italy is, as heretofore, the dwell-
ing-place of genius, the fatherland of the poets,
and her great men are still the teachers of the
whole world."

Digby spoke to Milton in this enthneiastlc
strain, and fanned in his bosom the wish, which
he had entertauied for a long time, to visit
Italy, until it became a devoniing flame. He
hadalready often thought of Tisiting the classi-
cal country. At that time young men were sent
thither to finish their education, as ailerward
to France and Paris. Rome and Florence
were still considered the high-schools of the
mind, and no cavalier was looked upon as
finished gentleman unless he had lived thi
for some tmie. Milton's iather was fully ci
viQced of the fieceasity of such a journey for
bis ^fted son, and had loDg since g
permission to enter upon it ; only no
as yet been fixed foe it, and several
erects had compelleil the son to postpone the
project. Digby's descriptions roawafeened thi
old plan, which nothing but his growing love
for Alice prevented him now from carryln'
effect. His affection for her had made decided
progress during the few days which he h
passed at Ludlow Castle. Snce that meeti
in the garden, every hour- had drawn thi

closer together ; and although neither the po^t
ar Alice had hitherto lent words to their feel-
igs, they were nevertheless sure of thdr
lutual happiness.

However, the parting hour struck at last.

Mdton and his friend could no longer stay at

)w Castle and enjoy the generous hos-

p al y which was offered to them there. The

gt f of their separation, however, was lessened

e hope that they would soon meet again.

poet had to promise the countess once

I that he would return with his work m a

few days, mike the neeeisiry arrangements

for the mask, and (unduct the ptrformance

him'Jelf Alice held out to him her hind,

which he pressed respecttully to his lipi

"We shall soon meet agiin i " thewhinpcred
to the poet.

" We shall soon meet again 1 " he repeated,
thonglitfully.

CHAPTER Sn.

DiGBY stayed at the castle several days after
the friends had left. The presence of this'
gifted and interesting man was more or less

secretly hi
daughte

aged to gain by h film and the

advantages of his p t n Th her mem-
bers of the family w 1 f rabl to him.
The impressible Tliomas especially felt at-

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CATHOLIC PLANS AND

irictcd I J the f ihCknatums of the cii'itiiin'uished
cavahei and pulihhel courtier The youth
listened rapturously to hia enticiDg dehtrip-
tions ol the brilliant life of the ariitocraoy
in London and at the court ol Chnrle? L
Alice alone did not share the general predilec-
tion ; find altliough she was unable to keep
entirely sJoof from the charm of his
tion, she felt near him a
aniiety which ahe could not esplain to herself.
Digby, however, did not allow himself to be
deteiTed by her reserved bearing, and con-
tinued hia courtship in ao delicate aud discreet
a manner that she was unable to reject i(
without ti'eadng him with downright rudeness.
Thus the astute guest wove his net insen-
sibly round the whole house— a net-work of
Bcliemes and purposes of various
observed here likewise the mysterious attitude
which had i>ecoine peculiar to him. At times
he locked himself for hours in hia room to
write long letters to persona in different parts
of the world. These letters were written in a
cipher which no uninitiated person was able
to read. A discreet servant forwarded them,
and was almost incessantly on the road for
this purpose. From time to time there arrived
Btrangeca who inquired for the guest, and
with whom he had interviews to which no one
else was admitted.

One day two gentlemen were announoea to
him. Both seemed to be foreigners, and to
have just nrrived after a long journey. The
broad-brimmed hat of one of them concealed
a very characteristic Italian face, a misture of
clerical Banc timoniousness and worldly cun-
ning. No sooner was Digby alone with his
visitors, than he gave vent to his surprise.

"Reverend father," he said, kissmg the
hand of the Italian, "I should sooner have es-
pected the heavens to fall than to see you in
England. Are jou aware of the danger to
which you are exposed here ? "
" I am. I am not ignorant of the barbarooa

i to come hither P '■
he importance of the
. I count upon you,
il for the good cause.

law which forbids every foreign Catboho priest
under severe penalties to set foot on Briiisli

" And yet you ventnrei
" This will show you t
mission intrusted to me
as I am aware of your zoi
Hence, I did not shrink from coming to Lud-
low Castle before repairing Hi London ; I was
desirous of making sure of your assistance.
I am the bearer of a letter, --written to you hy
our holy general, the Rev. Father Vilclleschi,
and I bring you also the most cordial gi'cctings
and warm recommendaticns from the superiors
and rectors of our order. At the same time
permit me to introduce to you here my assists
ant and substitute, our worthy brother, Signer
Con. I myself intend to stay but a short time
in England, as I must soon return to Rome."

"Holy Virgin I" ciol^med Digby, aller
readhig the letter attentively, " the plan is
bold, and does honor to him who oonedved il^
I have no doubt of its success, and will help
you to carry it into effect to the best of my
feeble power. You know that the Church has
no more faithful servant than me. Ob, how I
hate this Eeformation, which caused my fa-
ther's death and made me a beggar! Ishallbe
willing to die on the day when all England
ts false creed and returns into the
bosom of our Holy Church."

May all the saints bless your prayer ! but
a afraid a long time will elapse before this
will be the case."

"The St

1 of affairs here is by far more fa.
I youthink,reverendfather. Every

vorablc than

thing tends to promote our plans. Smee Buck-
le's death, the influence of the queen has
heen conslantJy on the increase, and her zeal
foe the Catholic cause is well known to you.
She has to be checked rather than incited, as
she is yet too destitute of sagacity, and suffers
herself to he hurried on to imprudent steps
by her realleas mind and her impatience.

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JOHN MILTON AND HK TIMES.

Maiij distinguished perEona in the kingdom
either adhere finnlj to the aiicieDt faitb, or
have returned to it puhlidy or secretly. Some
important conTerBions have lately taken place
even among the prominent officers of the king.
Lord Cottinglon, and 'WiDdbanl!, the private
eeeretarj, have turned Catholics, and the ex-
ample they have set is imitated every day by
olhera. There are even many clergymen of
the Church of England who ace secret friends
of Rome. If we succeed iu giuoing the all-
powecfu] Laud over to oor dde, we are sure
of victory."

"And you think that he will ©spouse ouc

"His inclioatioQ toward the Catholic Church
cannot be doubted. Wherever he can, he re-

lituigy is but slightly different ft

He has introduced again costly

tars, and images of saints ; in short, he lacks

nothing to be as good a, Catholic as you and I

but the acknowledgment of papal authority.

Hia boundless pride has hitherto prevented

him from bowing to Rome ;

bring him the cardinal's hat which the Holy

Father has conferred on him, this la,it soruph

will disappear also."

■' You know that my own safety does no
permit me to negotiate directly with Laud
nor will the Primate of the Church of Englani
be willing to receive me. Our ncgotialions,
therefore, must be carried on by a person whc
will not he suspected, and the general of oui
holy order haa Beleeted you to take this task
upon yourself."

" I shall always treat his wishes as orders.
I shall leave Indlow Castle with you this very
day, and repair to London in order lo commu-
nioate your offers to the archbishop. All per-
sonal considerations must be subordmate to
the interests of the order."

"You seem to leave the caatle relnctartlly,"
said the wily Jesuit. " I am sorry that I am

e the ri

a of

your sojourn here.

You may be right ; but in serving my own
rests, I nt,ver lose sight of those of the
order. The Earl of Bridgewater, Lord Presi-
dent of Waie^, ia one of the weilthiest and
distinguished noblemen of this kingdom,
re sutceedcd in gaining his confidence,
sowing thL seeds of doubt in his weak
hearts In a few days the seeds would prob-
ably have borne tome fru t alreadv and we
should ha^o ^iined another adherent to our
Church. I am afr>id that all will be lost
again by my absence.

" Ho who deiires to gain great things must
know how to give up lesser ones If Laud,
the Primate ot the Church of England, johis
our sid^ the others will follow him, aa the
whole flock follows t!ie shepherl 1 our labor
wiil not bL let for all tint t will be ac-
knowledged both in heiven and here on

" I do not desire to conceal any thing from
you. The earl has a daughter."

" I understand. You are desirous of put-

, 7, PPfo 63
ing, as it is important to it that the influence
and social standing of its fi-iends should be
placed on a firm footing. In the first place,
however, it must it h t t fulfilment
of your duties. Aft p rf m y mission
and gaining Laud t i you will

have plenty of lim 1 ft p yourself

with the aSftiki of y ur h t t the lady,

an*inake her your wife.
" But what if another should outstrip me ? "
"Then there arc rivals of your suit, and
competitors for her favor ? "

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CATHOLIC PIANS AND PROGRESS.

I know. A p(

neighborhood m
pression upon h h

h al h h b mpsr

thizcs openly w h b P an

" What is his name ;- "

" Milton. John Millon."

" I will remember il, and the order will not
lose sight of him."

Tiie Jesuit drew from a secret pocket a
note-booli, in which he wrote a few words in

" For the rest," he added, in a calmer tone,
" it seema U> me jou have little or nothing to
fear from such a rival. Poets are rarely dan-
gerous ; your own esperienoe must have taught
JOU that^ as you yourself did homage to the
Muses in your early years. They are wild en-
thusiasts, and it is not until Hie vapora and
mists of imagination have vanished, that they
see men and things as they really are.
then it is too late for them; the opportunity
is gone, and fhey stand empty-handed. I
astonished that a man like you should
afraid nf such an enthusiast. Seize the prize
boldly, and the lady cannot escape you. Bat
we wdl talk of this secondaxy afiair at some
other time. We havS to speak of more im-
portant matters. You mentioned the Puri-
tans. What of them and the iliaaenlirs in
general ^ "

" They are fc^ining every day numerous ad-
herents, and are ranlding like weeds in the
dismal swamp of the Retbnuation "

"So much the better," replied the Jesuit,
wilt a slngukr smile. " We cannot wish for a*
more faithful ally than this sectarian spirit,
provided we know how to profit by it The
more numerous the sccia in England, the easier
will be our triumph. They are fighting and
persecuting each other for us ; thdt dissenaiona

are sure to deliver them into our hands. Yon
know the parahle of the bundle of arrows. So
long as a bond unites Ihem, they cannot be
broken, hut any child caa break them singly.
We will look on quietly while the heretics are
:h other. Tou will see it will

last much longer."

The Catholics are to remain neutral,

" Ifot altogether. There may soon come a
time when we shall take a. dedsive part in the
struggle. But foe the time being I deem an
attitude of quiet otiservadon most advisable
for us. We must break neither with the
Church of England, nor with the Puritans.
Who knows to-day which side may be victo-
rious to-morrow ? Besides, you will bear in
mind that the interests of the Catholics in
England in some points are identical with
those of the Protestant dissenters."

" Of OM worst enemica ? " asked Dighy,
wonderingly.

!. Ace not the Puritans and similar
separatists persecuted aa we are ? are we not
both groaning under tho same penal laws ? In
demanding ilBedom of conscience and tolera-
tion, the sectarians are lighting for ns. Not
our friends, but our cneinies, must he useful to
us. It will be good policy for us to go hand in
hand with them so long as our own advantage
requires it. After triumphing with them and
throi^h them, it wOl he time enough for us to
drop them. Do not forget this policy, which
you will, perhaps, bo obliged to pursue in a
very short time,"

" Yon will End me ready at all times to
obey the instructions of the order, and the
commands of the HolvChurch."

"Very well Let us not lose a moment
We must leave the casde this very hour, and
enter upon our most important mlasion. If
Laud accepts tho eardmal's hat, England wiH
be ours to-morrow "
Digby at once obeyed the Jesuit, whom he

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

honored aa his superior. Ho liimaclf was a
secret member of the order, and he had even
received percaission to remain apparently a
member of the Church of England so long as
his position should require it. On the other
band, he had solemnly pledged Wmself to
strictly obey the orders of hia superior. Filled
IVom early youth with intense hatred of the
Eeformation, which had cost him his father's
life, and a lai^e portion of hia fortune, lie
kneff no otherochigher object thau the resto-
ration of Catholicism. In these aspirations he
was upheld and seconded by his bigoted Cath-
olic mother. Already, during hia sojourn in
France, he had cai'ried out the purposes which
he had entertained for a long time, and had
returned into the bosom of the Catholic
ChUECli, He had ever ^nce deroted his whole
activity to the interesta of the order, which
Boon found him to be one of its most useful
and energetic members.

Rome, which forgets nothing and ^ves up
nothing, could not get over the defection of the
English people. During the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, the Holy See had called out the
Catholic powers agamet the heretical princess,
t« reBstablish the ajicient faith, sword in hand.
At the bidding of Rome, Philip of Spain had
equipped the proud Armada, which was ship-
wrecked on the shores of England. Rome
the Boul of all insurrections and conspirades
against Elizabeth ; the unfortunate Mary Stuart
was only a welcome tool in her hands. Espe-
cially did the order of Jesuits, which had been
established but a short time, 'display extraor-
dinary activity and energy in this respect.
After Elizabeth's death, early in the reigu of
James I., the Jesuits brought about Guy
Fawkes's celebrated gunpowder-plot, the ob-
ject of which was to blow up thoParliament-
honse, when the king, the ' queen, the king's
eldest son, the lords, and the members would
all be present. An accident led to the discov-
ery of the plot, and the dreadful esplosion was

prevented. Ahnoat down to the present time
event was annually celebrated in London
nearly every town of England, and a, figure
of Guy Fawkes was b ned am d gr at ■e o c-
All tl se plots and at t. added to
the hostil ty n th wh h the E h pe pie
w re an mated agam t Eome ani st ed up
an uny eld g ftnat c sm aga nst the Ca hoi o
Church Th Prot slant el gy thundered
fo th the most terr bledenunc at ons and men
aces aga nst the pope and h adhe ent and
lavished on them the most offensive mvectivra
and obscene by-words, from which that period
of ardent fanaticism never shrank back. Home
was called a hot^bed of sin and lewdness, and
the pope was compared with the Antichrist,
the dragon, and the seven-headed beast of the
Apocalypse. Thus the gulf was widening from
day t« day, and the hatted of the people be-
came eouBtantlj more intense.

Notwithstanding these unfavorable pros-
pects, the Catholic Church waa not disheart-
ened. What she had failed to atcotnpliah by
violence, she sought to obtiun in a more peace-
ful way. Moreover, there had been m. English
affairs a change which seemed to encourage
her to renewed activity. It is true, the hearts
of the people and of Parliament were still filled
with the old hatred of and aversion to Same,
which manifested themsclvo by the most cruel
laws and bloody penalties. No Catholic was
permitted to hold a public office. The priests
of the Roman Church were persecuted as here-
tofore, imprisoned, and even executed, and
convetMons were rigorously prohibited. King
Charles L had married a Catholic princess,
Henrietta of France, and promised her not
only that she herself should be at liberty to
worship God in accordance with the rites of
her religion, hut that such alleviations as were
in his power should be granted to all themem-
bera of her Church. The qneen had in her
suite not only French courtiers, but also
priesia, and even monks. For the first tune

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CATHOLIC PLANS AND PROGEISS.

in many years, the cilizens of London t
bearded oapuclims in their streets. Mass i
regularly celebrated in Uie apartments of
James's, and even the foundations of a. Catho-
lic Church were laid m the neighborhood of
the royal palace. The people contei
selves with manifesting tJi^r disapproval by
low murmurs. Relying on. the protection and
growing influence of the young queen, the Cath-
olic party raised its head once more, in the be-
ginning timidly and hesitatingly, but afterward
more openly and haughtily PuU'e and secret

and tl e relentle^ Star Chamber uddenly dis-
played much len ty and forbearance n this
respect

The Chnrch of En^and to whi h the t ng
was imc tly devoted wis 1 y no me ns as
h( St le to md d tf rent f om C thol c sm aa
the other refo med sects It bad reta ned
many ancient rites,' and outwardly differed but
little from it. Laud, the primate of the king-
dom, manifested even a surprising inclination
toward Rome and its tenets. The more the
people became imbued with Puritan prmciples,
the more determined was the stand which the
government and court took in the opposite
direction. The Jesuits profiled by tJicse fa-
vorable circumstances, with their usual shrewd-
ness and energy. Their agents, one of whom
was Sir Kenelm Digby, displayed tJie greatest
activity. They were everywhere secretly at
work ; they had succeeded in converting many
eminent persona, and if the offer of a cardi-
nal's hat should bring about the defection of
the ambitious Laud, no insurmountahle ob-
stacles would prevent them from restoring
England ta the bosom of Catholicism.

For years past Digby hod devoted hia whole
eneigy to this great task. Now he had heen
commissioned lo enter mto negotiations with
the primate, and gain him over by holding out I
to him so rich a prize. Sir Kenelm did not
shrink from this adventure, counting as he did |

upon the piide and onbndled ambition of the
Episuipa! prelate

Before settmg out trom Ludlow Cahtle, he
took have of ill its mmatis with studitd
(curtesy and kindneis The Eari of Bndge
water expressed great surprise and regret at
hia gulden departure

"I am eiceedingly sorry," he said, politelv,
" that you leave us so soon, as I intended to
converse with you yet on many important sub-

" I hope to return very speedily, and profit
once more by your Mud hospitality. Pressing
business unfortunately compels me now to go
to London."

" As you are going to see his majesty, you
may render me an important service."

"Speak, and I will gladly do all I can for
you and your house."

" la the first place, I desire you to present
U) his Biajesty the assurance of my unalterable
loyalty and attachment, and likewise to the
queen, your august patroness and protec-

jesties

Lideed I do, and yet I scarcely venture to
ask for it myself, as so many proofs of the
royal favor have been lavished on mo that
any additional demand on my part would look
:e an abuse of the great kindness of their
ijesties. I have a son, with whom you are
acquainted."

Lord Brackley ? "

I do not refer to him, but to hia younger
■brother Thomas. He has enjoyed an esoellfflit
education, and is a young man of noblo'gifts,
both of the mind and body. Neverthelesg, I
reason not to bo entirely satisfied with
He does not profit by his fine aeoom-
plislanents, but squanders his talents in de-
plorable idleness. Latterly, espedally, I have
noticed a by no means favorable change in his
bearing and conduct Instead of devotmg

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JOHN HILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Iiims^lf to bis studies, be roams about for dajs
without anj apparent purpose. He is abs«nt-
minded, inattentiye, and shuns society. Tlie
greater v/ea ray surpiise, on seeing him so
Eoop on excellent terms with jou, and I looked
upon this as a hint given me by Fate."

" And I am glad (hat the youth, who is so
amiable, despite jour charges, had confidence
in me and became immediately attached to me."
"I build my plan on this very fact, and hope
that yon will lend mc your assistance. Already
for a long time past it was my intention to send
my son ia the roy^l court. As a younger
brother, he must strive in time to secure him-
self a portion there. Hence, I am Tery ans.
ious to see him become a member of the house-
hold of the king or queen."

" I believe you will meet with no obstacles
in obtdnii^ such a position lor him, although
a great many younger sons are flocking to court
for the same purpose."

"The more Decessarj is it that some
should intercede in his behalf, Tou a:
inymate friend of her majesty, and I re
you, therefore, to apeak favorably ol him*
queen."

"What little influence I am possessed of
shall be used m his behalf; however, my inter-
cession is unnecesaary. The son of the Lord
President of Wales is sure of meeting with a
favorable reception."

"Thatia not all I ask for. The inexperi.
enced youth, besides, needs some one to watt^h
over and guide him. If your friendship for
him and myself should mduco you to take upon
yourself the arduous task of guii^ng his first
steps on the slippery ground which he ia about
to enter, yon would place me under (ho greatest
obligaUons."

" Tour confidence does me so much honor
that I will try to deserve it to the best rf my
power. I shall mention the subject to the king
and my august protectress immediately after
my return to London. It is my firm convie-

n that they will receive your son most gra-

lusly, and assign him at once a suitable posi-

■n. On my part, good advice shall not be

withheld from hitn, although I may resemble

.In preaehera whose words are excellent,

while their deeds are any thmg but praise-

worthy. However, I have the advantage of

being very femiliar with the temptations of

t Ufe; .

, la

youth against the arens, and protect him from
the Cbarybdis to whose dangers I was hkewise
exposed."

"Then be a wise Mentor to him on his life-
path. In the mean time I will prepare him
for his new career, and when you return in the
course of a few weeks, as you have promised,
you may take with you jour pupil, whom I
would not intrust to any man more willingly
than to you."

It was with intensejoythatDigbj took upon
himself this task, which could not but draw
closer the bonds connecliog liim with the earl's
family. In, doing so, he would, as it were,
hold in his hands a pledge that would power-
■fullj promote bis schemes. For this reason
he promised the earl solemnly that he would
watch with the utmost solicitude over his son
Thomas. The countess renewed her former
invitation to him. Alice treated him with less
reserve when, be took leave of bee.

"Do not foi^et Comus," she added, play-
fully, " and do not keep ua waiting too long."

"Never fear, noble lady; I shall be here in
time, and play my part as well as the best

" I never donbted it," she rephed, archly.

On accomit of his Jesuit companions Digby
rqected theoflfer of the two brothers, who pro-
posed to aoeomparij him on horseback beyond
the boundaries of Ludlow. After his depart-
ure the whole family concurred in eitolfing
thdr well-bred and accomplished guest, and
afi were delighted that he would return in the
course of a^few weeks. Alice alone was alent

dbyGoogle

MILTON'S CHOSES VOCATION.

and thougbtful. Sheabuefelt anineiplicable
aversion to him whom the others eulogized &
enthuaiaaticaHy. Innooeneo poesessea aa !
shield a presentiment surpassing by far thi
sagacitjand esperience of the children of the
world. Moreoyer, another and worthier
protected her heart from the snares oi
courtier. She loved the poet.

CHAPTER Xni.

Miltok'? father had relinquished
Bevural years ago, and purchaied
property at Hortfm, in Buckii
Here he lived in moderately comfortable <
curostaDces, wbich enabled him to educate
talented boo with great care He was t
tingujshed aa a musical composer, and devoted
himself in his leisure hours, wliich
wanting U> him, to thi? delightful and soothing
art. Milton's mother was a gentle, quiet kdy,
distinguished foi her piety and rare benevo-
lence. An elder brother of the poet, and a
married Msfer, completed the family circle;
and, notwithstanding their conflicting views on
some Bubjeota, all were warmly attacheil to
each other. The dwelling was one of those
old houses with a gable-roof, of modest ap-
pearance outside, but well furnished, com-
fortable, and cozy within. Despite the limited
size of the building, the poet had a study of
his own, opening upon the neighboring garilen.
The small window was fringed with vines and
honeysuckle; when he opened it, the sn-eet
odorof flowe p n in he room. The

walls of the Bt d a n d n other orna-

ments than a r" bra neatly arranged
and always k p n g d der; for (he
slovenly habi & m n men were ut-
terly distaste M n. A he was scru-
pulously tea and n g in his dresa.

so he took care that his room should always
present a moat attractive aspect. The Latin
and Ureek clasacs, poets, and philosophers,
stood or lay m oM-faahioned eases and on
quaintly-carved shelves ; and among the rep-
resentativefi of antiquity were to be seen also
large folio edi^ons of the fkthefS of the Church
and the moat renowned theologians. Thus
tbere were here in contact the oppotitc ele-
Tuenta from which that period derived ita
learning and culture; classical antiquity and
(.■hriatian theology occupied the same shelves.
On the plain table lay an open Hebrew Bible,
always the favorite book of the poet, who
drew his principal inspiration fkiffl its aacred
pages.

Milton had passed here many a sleepless
night in arduous study and profound medita-
tion: for to him poetry was not the easy
posdme of a versatile and vivid imagination,
the passing trance of momentary and fast-
vanishing enthusiasm, but the grave task of
his whole life, and the quintessence of the
highest and noblest creations of human genius.
He intended to enter the temple of the god-
dess only after passiag through the PropylEca
of Science. He waa fully alive to the great
difficulties of this arduqus task.
•Since his return to Ludlow Castle he had
laid aside his scientific studies, and occupied
himself exclusively with the mask which he
had promised to write. The plan waa quickly
arranged, and the poet went at oneo to work
upon it with his usual energy. He rapidly
wrote down aeveral scenes and sketches of the
leading peraons. One day his father, who tc-
peatcdlj inquired after the occupations of his
I, surprised Mm while he was thus employed.
Milton concealed nothing from his indulgent
parent, but informed him frankly of the object
and scope of Ma poem, and told him all about
the adventure in Haywood Foreat and his so-
1 at Ludlow Castle. The enthusiastic de-
ion he gave him of the family of the Earl

dhy Google

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

of Bridgewat«r, and especially of Alice's grace
and loTeliness, oiade his tender fatlier thought-
ful and anxious.

" Tou know full well," he aaid, in a more
eerious tone than usual, "that I hare bitliert«
never mterfered with jour doings. Other pa-
rents would probably have insisted that a son
of jour age should at length choose a definite
■vocation and think of gaining a lucrative posi-
tion. I have thus far refrained from urging
you to do so."

" And I thank you for it," replied the poet,
warmly, eelang hie father's hand and pressmg
it with filial reverence to hia lips. " I thank
jou for your forhearanue, although I jm soirv
to saj that mj gratitude as yet is conlmed
only to emptv words Tou have granted me
rare freedom smi,e my earlieit vouth and al
najs abstained from settmg ijounds to the
course of my mmd , nor would you allow me
to enter the beaten track, strive foe filthy
lucre, and hunt alter T^m and ghttering
apkndor You did not compel me to take
orders tontrary to my convitfion, and leach
things against which my confcienoe robelltil ,
on the contrary, \ou permitted me to eniioh
my mmd, ntiioh wis thirttrng for knowledge,
and occupy mjaelf in delightful solitude with
my lavorite studie" But tew parents would
hava done "o, therefore, I thank my fate,
which give me the best and most sagacious
of fathers."

"For this reason, I suppose you will listen
the more readily to my weli-meant words ? "

"Speak, and I shall obey you willingly, for
1 know tBat you will give me only the most
judicious advice."

As Milton saw that hia interview with hia
father would be longer than usual, he hastened
to fetch him a comfortable easy-chair, and
hunself remained standing before him in the
most respectful attitude. After a short pause
his father said to him :

" Tou will certiunly admit that I have not

hindered or disapproved jour predilection for
poetiy. I always rejoiced in your talenfa, and
received jour first works with paternal pride,
NeveriJieless, I am not desiroua that you
should devote yourself esclusively to the
Muses, for in aueh a career joa will never ob-
tain a competence and prominent position in
life. Most of the poets with whom I have
been acquainted have had to struggle with care
and want ; their occupation gains them some-
tines honor and fame, but rarely bread enoi^
to feed them. I am willing to admit of poetrj
as an ornament of life, but it is not well cal-
culated lo furnish a man with sufficient means
to live upon. Therefore I deem myself in dutj
bound to recommend another course to joo.
Tou refused to take orders, because jou said
you preferred a blameless silence to what you
considered servitude and false teaching. I
approvea your decision at tl at fm ij t jou
cannot refuse for the me as n to a>p to
a position upon the t n h The j d ary s
one of our most esp ed 1 sa I iviU
neither urge jou t make up mmd at

once, nor compel j, a t foil w mj ad but
give yoif sufficient time for reflection, Tou
may tell me frankly what you think of mj
proposition."

"I must acknowledge jour kmdness once
more," said Milton, after a short pause.
" Like you, I revere Poetry so highly as to be
unwilling to degrade her to a servile position
and ask from her the daily bread of life. She
has nothing to do with our worldly affairs,
and where she is used as a means of making
money she loses her divine dignity. The Ufe
of man ia a twofold one. The ixidy demands
its rights as well as the mind, and the materfal
world forces itself soon enough upon our at-
tention. Hence, I deem your eshortation
decidedly well-timed and judicious. But I
should not like l<i aspire to a position on the
bench at this juncture. No one can have a
more eialted opinion of the judicial position

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MILTON'S CHOSEN VOCATION.

thun I, butn; respect for it lasta only so long

lu the bench preserves iia mdependence from

1 inS eace. When the despotism of

J il goverameEt falsifies justice, vl-

1 h 1 WB, itnd reduces judges by force

p rs a= n to mere tools, the whole order

k n below the level of eieeudonerH ;
and suck is unfortunately the case in England
at thia time. Your onn espetience has shown
jou that I speak the truth. Would you ad-
vise me, Ihen, to become a judge, that is to
eay, a eiave S "

"God forbid 1" replied Ms father, with a
gflstuce of horror. "Ton are r^ht — we are
living in evil times. Yet I should hke to have
jou choose a definite vocation."

" I am going to do bo, for I am obliged to
acknowledge the justice of your wish; but
neither theo!(^y nor the law would afford me
that satiEfactioa which a man must find in his
profession if he is to be useful to himself and
otherB. There is sljll a third calling which, at
this juncture, I must prefer to any other pro-
fession. Let me become a ieaeher of youth.
It is only in this calling that I can be useful to
the world and my native country. I know
well that it ia not very lucrative, but if its oat-
ward reward ia small, its inward one is great.
I have long been engrossed in this plan, and
it has always seemed to me that the reforming
of education is one of the greatest and noblest
designs that can be thought of. Tou si
at my enthusiasm, and think perhaps of
poor schoolmasters who painfully instill the
rndiments of science ml* the untutored minds
of ignorant children, or of our professors
from their dustj treatises always repeat the
same wisdom to their own di^st and that of
others."

" It is true, I should not have eipcctad that
jou would choose such a career, inasmuch
I am aware of your avemon to cur present
system of education and instruction."

"It is precisely because my own experience

regard to this matter has been a truly mel-
ancholy one tliat I am determined to struggle
against these abuses to the best of my power.
At present our schools are nothing but prisons
both for the body and mind, and our nnivorsi-
tjea only rob us of seven or dght of the finest
years of our lives. They present their young
unmatriculated novices at first coming with
the most mteUectlTo abstractions of logic and
metaphysics; so that they, having but newly
left those grammadcal fiats and shallows
where they stuck unrea
words with lament an

on the sudden tra
climate, to he toss rm

unb^lasCed wits m un

deeps of controve m

grow into hatred ra mmg

mocked and deluded rag

ged notions and babblements, while they ei-
pectcd worthy and dehghtful knowledge ; till
poverty or youthful years call them importu-
nately (heir several ways, and hasten them
with the sway of friends either to an ambitious
and mercenary or ignorantly zealous divimty ;
some allured to the trade of law, grounding
their purposes not on the prudent and heaven-
ly coQtemplatioa of justice and equity, which
was never taught them, but on the promising
and pleasing thoughts of liti^ous terms, fat
contentions, and flowing fees ; others betake
them to state affairs, with souls so un-
principled in virtue and true generous breed-
ing, that flattery and court shifts and tynamous
aphorisms appear to them the highest points
of wisdom ; instilling their barren hearts with
a eonsoientious slavery, if, as I rather thinlt, it
be not feigned. Others, lastly, of a more de-
licious and aky sphit, retire themselves (know-
ing no better) to the etyoyments of .ease and
jollity, living out their days in feast and lus-
urv ; which indeed is the wisest and the safest

se of all these, linless they n
3 integrity undertaken. And t

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

the errors, andtbese aro the fruils of misspend-
ing our prime jouth at the schools and uQiver-
sitiea as we doj either in learning mere words,
or saeh things chiefly as were better un-
learned."

" And despite these evils you wish to be-
come a teacher ? "

" I wish to do so, because I have long since
formed the design of reforming our whole sys-
tem of education. This idea has long, in si-
lence, presented itself to me, of a better edu-
oalion, in eslent and comprehenaon far more
large, and jet of time far shorter, and of

t far II

, than h

yet in pracliee. The end of learning ia to re-
pair the ruins of our first parents by regairiDg
to know God aright, and out of that knowledge
to love Him, to imitotfi Him, to he like Him,
as we may the nearest by possesang our
souls of true yirtue, which, being united to the
heavenly grace of faith, makes up tha highest
perfecdon. But because understanding can-
not in this body found itself but on sensible
things, nor arrive so clearly to the knowledge
of God and things invisible, as by orderly con-
ning over the visihle and inferior creature, the
same method is necessarily to he followed in
all discreet teaching. With the elements of
grammar, I will instill into the minds of mj
pupils the teachings of virtue and morals, for
words are only the envelopes of ideas, and lan-
guage is the garb of thoughts. My pupils
shall Seam to read and think at the same time.
And after masterii^ the principles of arith-
metic, geometry, astronomy, and geography,
with a general compact of physics, they may
descend in mathematics to the instrumental
science of trigonometry; and in natural phi-
losophy, they may Idsurely proceed from the
histoty of meteors, minerals, plants, and Eving
creatures, as far as anatomy. To set forward
all these proceedings in nature and mathemat-
ics, what hinders hut that they may procure,
as oft as shall be needful, the helpful expe-

riences of hunters, fowlers, fishermen, shep-
herds, gardeners, apothecaries ; and in the
other sciences, architects, engineers, mariners,
and physicians ? When ail these employments
are well conquered, then will the choice histo-
ries, heroic poems, and Attic tragedies of
atatehest and most regal ailment, with all
the famous political orations, offer themselves ;
which, if they were not only read, but some of
them got bj memory, and solemnly pronounced
with right accent and grace, as might be
taught, would endow them even with the spunt
and vigor of Demosthenes or Cicero, Emipides
or Sophocles. In which methodical course it is
so supposed they must proceed by the steady
pace of Icarnmg onward, as at convenient
times, for memory's sake, to retire back into
the middle ward, and sometimes into the rear
of what they have been taught, until they haye
confirmed and solidly miiled the whole body
of their perfected knowledge, like the last em-
battling of a Homan legion. By this time,
years and good precepts will have furnished
them more distinctly with that art of reason
which ia ethics is called proaireais ; that they
may with some judgment contemplate upon
moral good and evil. Then will be required a
special reenforcement of constant and sound
indoctrinating la set them right and firm, in-
structing them more and amply in the knowl.
edge of virtue and hatred of vice. But m cul-
tivating the minds of the pupils, sight must
not he lost' of the development of their bodies.
The leisure hours are to he devoted ta repose,
physical exercise, and the divine harmonies of
music, which has a great power over disposi-
tions and manners, to smooth and make them
genlle from rustic harshness and distempered
passions. In those vernal seasons of the year,
when the air ia calm and pleasant, it were an
injury and sulienness against Nature, not to go
cut and see her riches, and partake in her re-
joiouig with heaven and earth. I should not,
therefore, be a persuader to them of studying

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MILTON'S CHOSEN VOCATION.

much then, after two or tiiree jeara that they
have well laid their grounds, but to tide out in
companies, with prudent and staid guides, to
all the quarters of the land ; learning and ob-
serving all places of strength, all commodities
of building and of soil for towns and tillage;
harbors and ports for trade. These ways
would try all their peculiar gifts of nature,
and, if there were any secret eicellenee among
them, would fetch it out, and give it fair op-
portunities to advance itself by, which could
not bnl mightily redoand to the good of this
nation, and bring into fashion again those old-
admired virtues and excellencies with far more
advantage now in this purity of Christian
knowledge. Nor shail we then need the mon-
Bieura of Paiis to take our hopeful youth into
their slight and prodigal custodies, and send
them over back agMn, transformed into mimics,
apes, and kickahows."

"I am glad," replied his father, gravelj,
"that you have weighed your plan so care-
fully, and still more that you thmk at last of
chooomg a vocation. To tell you tho truth,
your present occupations caused me to doubt
it. Your associitiono, too, filled me with a
certain distrust It is true, the intercourse
ions, with whom you have
1 of lal« almost eiclutively, offers
some advantages, to which I attach due im-
portance; but you must never foi^t that one
may thereby very easily lose one's own inde-
pendence, and become the sport of their whims
and amasementa. They foster and protect
talents only so long as they serve to divert
them and help them to till their time. They
are never foigetful of their higher position, and
always retain their innate pride, deepil* their
aeeramg condescension. So soon as you pre-
tend to treat them on terms of equality, they
will haughtily tell you that they are your su-
periors ; and when they have no longer any
need of you, they will drop jou uneeremo-
niously, I have too good an opinion of your

worth to beheve you couid ever stoop as low
as many poets of the present time have done,
and become a mere parasite and sycophant of
the cobles."

"Dear father, you know neither the hous^
of the Coimteas of Derby, nor the noble fcuily
of Bridgewater."

"But I know the world, and especially the
sentiments of the nobles, owing to my expe-
rieaee as a kwyer, as which I frequently came
in contact with them. Of course, there are
eseeptions, and I am willing to regard your
patrons and frieods as such; nevertheless, I
wish to warn you, lest you should ijieet sooner
or later with bitter disappointments, and be
rudely aroused from your dreams. I am will-
ing to admit that our nobles are honoring poets
and attracting them to their houses ; but they
esteem and befriend only the poet, and not the
man. If the latter should be bold enough to
demand real friendship, or even trUe love, they
would soon show him that they think tbey are
his superiors. Ton know the Latin proverb,
' Proaal a Jove, proeul a/aimiiie.' "

Milton's father uttered these words so em-
phatically and with so sitTiIficant a glance,
that the po t blushed and dropped his eyes.
He felt that the secret of his heart was Ije-
trayed

E'a father then left him, and Uilton re-
mamed absorbed in hia reflections. Before
hun lay the last scene of hia mask Comiia,
whn,h he had just wr ten when his father's
ent ance had interr pted I m. As if to quiet
his agitation, he read once more tho lines de-
scribing Alice's appearance in Haywood Forest.
Her lovely image was before his eyes, and dis-
pelled all at once the doubts and fears which
his father's warnings had awakened in hia
mmd. He read in a loud, sonorous voice, the
Imcs which the lovely girl was to recite on this

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Sochi

tie jocund flute, oig

mosome plpo,

letedhiBde,

or their leemldg flock

ana eranges full,

Inn dance tboy prsisB tho bonnteona Psi

AndUi

nt the gods fliniM.

sboildlwluatli

Tome

Ofa™l,

hi where else

BbaUlWon

In tlie blind miaes of this tangled wood?

My brothers, when they eaw me wearied out

With this long way, reaolying here to Indge

Under the spreading l^vor of these pines,

Stepped, as thej said, to the nest thiokct-siae,

To hring me berries, or sueh cooling &uiC

As the kind hospitable wooda proTide.

They left me then, when the gray-hoaded Even,

Like a sad Totarlst In palmer's weed.

Ease from the hindmost wheels of Phrabus' watn,

But where they are, and why tliey came not i>Bck,

Is now the labor of my thoughts; 'Us likeliest

They had engaged tbeir waodering steps too far;

ne ; else, oh IhieTish Kighl,

u, bnt fcr

iBthy

dark lantern thns close

aptheetara,

ThatN

atm^hungln

Ld filled their

■Withe

yerlasting oil.

to give d

lie light

To the

misled and lo

elytrav

the place, as

tumnit

f loud mirth

Was rife, and perfeot

n my listening ear;

Yetna

light but sii«l

darkaes

do I find.

■What

night this be?

Begin

a throng Into

ory,

or call

ng shapes, an

beckon.

g shadows ffi

And (diy tongues tha

syllable

men'a names

On sanda, and shores, and desert wildernesses.
These thonghte may startle well, but not flstBimd
The TlrtDoua mind, that ever walks attended
By a struDg-siding champien, Consi^enoe.

neleoine, pnre-eyed F^lh, white-handed llope^
And thou, unblemished form of Chastity 1

That He, the Supreme Good, le whom all things ill
Are bnt as slavish offieere of vengcniee.
Would send a glistering goardlan. If need were.
To keep my Ufa and honor nnassaned.
Was I deceiyed, or did a sable cloud
Tom forth her sUyer lining on the night !

1 did not err-"

While tbe poet was reading these lines, tie
door opened noiselessly. Uimoticed by him,
hia friend Edward King had entered the room
and OTerheard at least the latter part of the
lines recited. He knew at once that Alice
waa to recite thia passage on appearing ia
Haywood Forest. The Ioto which he had felt
for the charming girl ever since hia first meet-
ing with her, rcawoke now with redoubled

strength. A sigh escaped his breast. Milton
turned and percdved hia friend.

"Welcome, my Ijeidasl" he exclaimed.
" You have kept me wdting a long time for

" I waa afraid of disturbing you, as I knew
you were occupied with your mask."

"I shal! finish it very aoon, and besides I
haye always time and leisure for my fiiends.
If yon haye no objections, we will take a walk.
I haye worked all day, and a stroll with you
will do me good,"

The room also seemed to his friend too
narrow. Both lell it and entered upon tbdc
habitual walk.

CHAPTEE XIV.

The friends walked a long while side by
side, without eonversing na they used to do.
Their thoughts were fised on the same distant
object; the same inclination made them ^'
lent. Perhaps each auapeeted tbe other's feel-
ings, and therefore avoided speaking to each
other. A certain basbfulnesa prevented tliem
from mentioning Alice's name, and alluding to
tbeir late sojourn at Ludlow Castle. Milton,
who noticed the change In hia fl'iend'a de-
meanor, and tlie pallor of his cheeks, broke at
last the almost painliil ^lence.

" You look yery pale," he said ; " what ails
you, my Lycldas ? "

His friend started almost in dismay from his

" And yet I think you have lately undergone
a marked change. Your cheeks are pale, your
glance ia wild and wandering, and I have heard
you sigh repeatedly, contrary to your former
habit. If some secret grief weighs down your

dhy Google

LOVE'S SACRIFICE TO rEIENDSHIF.

Tiee and help you."

" Ob, you are bo good," mnnaured King,
"flud I do wrong ia concealing from you a se-
cret that fills my whole heart. Tea, you shall
know all, this verj day."

" Indeed, you eicite my curiosity,"
" Come, let us cepoae here under this linden.
In its frsgcant shade I will eonEde to jouwliat
I have scarcely Tentured lo confess to myselfl

" You are 1 " exclauncd Milton, in surprise.
" Oh, now I uQileratand it all, for love ia a
powerful wizard, transforming us and all our
peculiarities. It makes the bold bishfu] and
timid, the wise foolish, the eloquent mute, and
the mute eloquent. It saddens tlie glad, and
gladdens the sad. No wonder is impossible to
it, as it is itself the greatest wonder in wMch
the mysterious power of Nature reveals itself
to us. You are in love ; now I comprehend
why my once gay Ljcidaa creeps along like
the shivering ghosts on tie banks of the
Acberon, and Gils the woods with, his lamenta-

" Ton depict love as though you were your-
self enamoured of some fair girl. One hearing
you would take it for granted that you had
likewise aueeumbed to the tender flame."

"Who knows?" said Milton, smiliSg and
crimsoning with confasiou. "Perhaps my
hour has struck too ; perliaps I may likewise
surprise you soon by my confessions ; bat first
I must find out what nymph has won your coy
heart. I am sure she is as shj as a young
roe, endowed with a noble heart, and with all
the^harms that fill us' with_rapture, as beauti-
ful as Venus, and as accomplished as Pallas.
Such I fancy to be the woman capable of win-
ning your heart."

" You portray her as though you knew al-
ready who she is. Well, you tnow her as well
as I do. You have seen her, and undergone
the fascination of her chat-ms and accomplish-

ments. No other woman can he compared
with her. Language is too tame and feeble to
describe her loveliness. Is it necessary for

A shudder seized Milton, his heart stood
EtiU, and consciousness threatened to leave
him. He well knew that his friend alluded to
Alice EgerlOQ. It was only by a violent effort
that he restrained his agitation, which escaped
tlie speaker, who was absorbed in his own
thoughts.

" Alice I " murmured the poet, in profound
emotion.

" Alice 1 You have guessed it," said King.
" I loved her the moment I saw her in Haywood
Forest At that time I fancied she was the
fairy of the forest, a Llessed angel descended
from above. Afterward I became better ac-
quainted with her, and every day lent new
charms to her. It was not only her beauty
that won my heart ; a more profound impres-
sion was made upon me by the innocence sur-
rounding her whole form like a halo, and her
accomplishments, coupled as they are with
the most touching modesty. Oh, she is peer-
less on earth ! "

Every word by which bia transported friend
estclled the loveliness of Alice added to the
grief with which this unexpected confession
could not hut fill the poet's heart. Ho almost
succumbed to his agony, and succeeded, only
bv tlio most violent efforts, in mastering his
emotions and restraimng an outburst of his
tortured ftehngs

"And she returns your love f" faltered out
MUton.

"Oh, I woiild you were the true prophet of
my happiness. Hitherto I have not ventured
to put such a question to her ; but I may con-
fess to you that I am not entirely destitute of
hope, for what would life be worth to me in
future if I could not hope? Alice did not re-
ject my admiration, but received it with en
oouraging Mndness, When she spoke to me,

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JOHN MILTON AND EIS TIMfeS.

or met me, her coDduct was such aa (o make
me believe that I visa not entirely indifferent
to her. Her parents, too, and espedally her
father, seemed noi to disapprove my bashful
efforts to obtain their daughter's Idtb. AH
this, however, does not convince me that my
suit would realiy be agreeable to them. Tour
own esperienoe has shomi you, perhaps, that
Si lover's heart at first fiuctuafea between
blissful transports and overwhelming despair.
Now, I have eome to you !o obtain some cer-
tainty about it- I have no more faithful fl-iend
fliao yoQ, and whom should I apply to but my
Thyrsis, the playmate of my childhood and
futhfiil companion of my youth f "

" I shall know how to deserve your ftiend-
ship more than ever before," replied the poel,
with all the self-abnegation of which he was
capable at that momenl.

" I count upon you," continued his fnend,
with the blind egotism of an ardent lover.
"Tou have known Alice longer than I, and

with her. Perhaps you may succeed in oh-
eerving her in unguarded moments, or even
gaining her confidence. She knows that we
are friends. A word from you now' and then
. may do a great deal of good, and disclose the
true state of her heart lo me. Therefore,
strive to approach her even closer than hith-
erto, and speak to her much and often about
me, that I may learn her feelings toward me.
But whatever you may biing to mo, life or
death, I shall always gratefully
the service which you will render

"I will try to comply with yo
faltered out Milton, wi
from a mortal wound.

"And I am convinced that you will leave
nothing undone to second my courtship. I
implore you in the name of our friendship to
lud me energetically and honestly, for 1 feel
that I cannot live without her."

" I will assuredly do all I can, and I have

thereby."
request,"
bleeding

no doubt that you will obtam Alice's

A painftl sigh escaped the poet, and now at
last King perceived Milton's agitation. His
deathlike pallor, the profound grief stamped
on his features, could no longer escape bira ;
but, BO far from suspecting the real cause of
tJiese marked symptoms of suffering, he at-
tributed them to aji entirely different one.

"Pardon me," he said, after this discovery,
"if, in speaking of my love-affair, I entirely
foi^ot yonrs. If I did not misunderstand you,
you alluded to a similar inolinaiiou filling your
heart with grief and ansiety. Follow the ei-
ample I have set you, and unbosom your
sorrow to me. Speak as frankly as I have
done, and command me. Ail that I am and
have is at your disposal, and I ehould rejoice
if I could help you to atfiin your object
Speak, beloved Thyrsis, and jou wdl see that
love has not deadened in my heart the sacred
feelings of friendship. Let me know, too,
what grieves your heart."

" Not now — no, not now," groaned Milton ,
"perhaps some other time."

"And why not now?" sdid his fnend,
pressingly. " I hope you do not believe that
my sympathy for you and your fnendahip is
less ardent than it was ? Ob, how I grieve at
the mfl'e thought of iti Tou know me, you
know how dearly I love you. I should be
capable of giving up all for you — yes, Thyrsis,
all ! Have ne not often sworn to each other
fidelity and devotion until death ; arc we not,
as heretofore, brothers such as Castor and
Pollui were of yore — you, my Damon ; I, your
Pythias ? Or do you ihhik that such instances
of a league of souls are to be found only in
Greece and in past centuries ? No, I am ani-
mated, as heretofbre, by the love and enthu-
aiasm which would make me willing to die for

"No, you shall not die foe me," eiolaimed
the poet, deeply moved. "If one of db is to

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LOVE'S SAGEmCE TO PitlENDSHIP.

die, if one of u3 is to sacrifice himself,
mo. I long for death more than I e
But you must live and enjo; the
life; for the gods have smiled upon you evec
Binee the hour of jouc birth. You possess a
distinguished name and rank, and all the booos
■which Heaven showers upon its faToritea with
Livish hands. Think of the brilliant future
which is in store for jou, of jom' parents wliose
pride and joj jou are, and, above all, of yonr
loTcfor Alice."

" And of the friend who is dearer to me than
aU the treasures of the world. Como I Let
us renew, at thia beautiful hour, ihe old bond
of our love. WliateYer may happen, no acoi-

me eyerlasting lore and friendship, as I do to
you."

Overcome by their feelings, tie joutha em-
braced each other fervently. The soft moon-
light illununated their features. On the heart
of Mb friend Milton vowed to himself to re-
uoiince Alice and sacrifice bis love to him.
When he raised bis pale face agam, a tear was
yet trembling in his eyes, the only trace of
the dreadful struggle which his heart had un-
dergone.

The sacrifice had been made.

In this hour he crushed the most precious
dream of Ms heart for the sake of his beloveti
frienj. He whs imbued with the teachings of
the ancients, and, bearing in mind the glorious
eiamples of antiquity, he was able to achieve
tMs victory over himaelE Kever was King to
learn the greatoess of the sacrifice he had made

The friends wandered band in hand through
the silent night. King tried once more to draw
Mnton's secret from him ; but the poet replied
beseechingly :

" Do not insist on it tojjay. You know that
silence under such circumstances is always
most welcome to me. For all that, you must
not charge me with a Jack of candor. Tour

■osses my mind so much,
that I oanuot g^ve utterance to my feelings.
Therefore, conteht yourself with the reply
that I have likewise found a young girl worthy
of the most ardent affection."

*' And I afn sure she loves you, for you are
worthy of the fairest and noblest woman's

"I do not know it," replied the poet, rc-
straimng his feelings, " for I have not yet ut-
tered a single word about my love. My innate
timidity has always prevented me from so
doing."

" But your glances, your face must have cer-
tainly revealed the secret to her. The female
eye is in this respect hy far more kecn-s^hted
than ours. She knows that you love her."

"I believe not; and even though she were
aware of il, what good would it do me ? She
stands too high, and will never condescend to
giveher hand to a poorpoet and fiitore school-
master."

"That, then, is the secret cause of yonr
grief? It should not mduce you to give up all
hope. Love is omnipotent, and levels moun-
tains obstructing its path. Everynew obstacle
increases its strength and impetuosity. Ton
must not lose heart. A poet is the peer of the
greatest noble in the kingdom. Tour learning
will open jou the way to the most exalted posi-
tions. You have friends and patrons who will

you energetically . My own father loves you
as Ms son, and his influence at court wlU enable
him to obtain a good position for you. Then
you may go boldly to your beloved, or, if you
are too timid and bashflil, I will ask her to give
you her hand."

"Ithankyoufrom the bottom of my heart,"
faltered out the poet.

"After the dearest wishes of our hearts have
been fulfilled, we will, with oar beauljful and
virtuous wives, enter upon a new life. Do you
not feel, as I do, the transports filling my heart

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

at this thouglit ? Alice will be at my side and
inspire me w!tli eDthusiasm to perioral the
noblest deeds, for she is endoned witit a, loft)'
spirit and a heart ardently devoted to the most
Hublime infereals of maniind. For her sake I
shall gire up Hie idleness in which I hare
hitherto lived, and strive to distiaguish m vself.
Henceforth I will devote myself earnestly to the
service of my native countty, and toil for it
with unflagging zeal. I shall shar« with her
every victory I ahall thus achieve, and if ever
a civic crown should be conferred upon me, it
shall adora the fair hcow of my lovely wife.
But wheii silent evening draws nigh, when the
loud noise dies Siway, and business is over for
the day, I shall hasten to her, the friend of my
soul ; the cozy roof of my Penates will receive
me, the purest love will indemnity me for the
wraoglings of factions and tlie cares of the
statesman, and her lips will greet me sweetly
end gently with charming ki^es and smiles.
Our time will pass in the most delightful man-
ner, and you will join us, no longer alone, hut
accompanied by your sweet wife. Tonr hap-
piness will redouble mine. Tou will bring with
jou the p&s of the Muses, and the admiring
hearere will surround the poet with sincere en-
thnaasm. Thua my house will be transformed
into a temple of love and friendship, a quiet
sanctuary where daily incense will be offered
to the Muses and Graces. Wo will enjoy life
hand in hand, not egotistically, but serving the
great whole, setting an eiamplo tfl failure gen-
erations, and handing down to our children the
friendship which once united their fathers so
firmly and tenderly."

The happy youth gave vent to his enthusi-
asm in this manner, without suspecting how
deeply he wounded his liiend by his words.
Milton no longer betrayed by word or gestnre
the pain torturing his heart- He walked si-
lently by his side, with a mortal wound in his

It was not until King took leave of him, in

the neighborhood of his father's bouse, that he
gave way to his profound grief. Milton sank,
faint and eihausted, on the green turf, which
he moistened with his tears. It was not until
now that he felt the whole bitterness of the
loss he had sust^ned. Alice's image stood
before his soul; he vamly tried \a drive it
away ; it returned again and again, with a gen-

The

to say to him, " Do not drive me from you,"
and she opened hec soft arms to him longing-
ly. All the places where he had seen her rose
again in his memory — Haywood Forest in the
silvery moonlight, the garden with its pond,
the court-yard, and the eozy sitting-room of
the ladies. His poetical imagination added to
the pangs torturing his heart ; it called up be-
fore his soul again and again the radiant, yet
BO modest and Innocent, eyes of the beloved
^1, her gestures and motions so full of the
most charming grace, her sweet smiles and
sagacious words ; it depicted all this V) him
in the moat glowing colors. She had never
appeared to him so l>eautifu! as at this moment
of despair, when he was to renounce her for-
ever, and drain the cup of his sorrow to the
very dregs.

Thus he lay on the ground, brooding over
his grief; tlie foliage of the trees murmured
softly over his head, as if they wished to join
in his wdls ; the nightingale broke the still-
ness of the night by its long-drawn, sobbh^
notes, bnt he did not hear the sweet bird,
which seemed to lament his sorrow. He called
Death in a loud voice, and wished that the
green turf might open and close over him for-
evermore, but the angel of death flitted past
the unhappy poet to strike with the point of
his sword more fortunate beings, revelling in
the enjoyment of all pleasures.

Milton had vowed res^ation, and he was
strong enough to conquer Iiimself. After pay-
ing tribute to human weakness, he rose to that
height of ancient heroism which he had found

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to the wrilJBES iijid examples of antiquity.
Like the immortal Greek youth, he attached
higher importance to the faith which he had
plighted than to love, although thi
friendship entailed upon him the gri
ferings during his whole life ; for all the fibres
of his soul were flrmlj fiied in t
modem world, which grants the
to love, and not to friendship. Hia resignation
w n an ral n mph a pasdon, but

rah tta93iu.,m n samples,
a m p d a d mid tly different

LOVE'S SACRIFICE TO FRIENDSHIP.
Lawes, the musiciai

i h d

nself for li
r ideal than

However, he rose victorions from the ground
only his pale, distorted face bore yet the traces
of the fearful stru^le through which he hid
pasied Day was dawning m the eastern
horizon , faint red gleams colored the gray
clouds The moramg Ijreeze owept merrily
through the rustling foliage and awakened
sleepmg Nature to renewed life Ito =trong
breath rent the veila of night. Already the
lark was warbling in the blue air, and 'endmg
unseen its greetings from the clouds to re-
awaken Nature The horizon grew biighter
and brightor, the rosy streaks of the clouds
turned into ftammg purple and radiant gold.
The last remnants of darkness fied before the
Tictoriou? power of light.

After a short slumber which Milton allowed
his exhausted body, he was able to resume his
wonted labors. Above all things, he deemed
it incumbent upon him to finish the work
which could not but arouse so wany mournful
reminiscences in his mind. He did so with
stoical self-abnegation, and it was only in rare
intervals that hia oppressed breast heaved a
heavy sigh when he thought of hia first meet-
ing with Alice Egerton. Such remuiiacencea,
it is true, roadered more piunful the sacrifice
which he was about to make to his friend,
but it was impossible for him to avoid them.

ime to flee him from
time to time in order to hasten the completion
of the mask and come to a thorough under-
standing in regard to it with the poet. He
brought bun ^etings and flattenng invita-
tions from (he Countess of Bndgewiter and
her daughtei Milton had engaged to conduct
the rehearsals of the mask in petMin, and this
necessitated a sojourn of several days at the
castle, which he woald have preferred to avoid.
However, it was impossible for him to break
thepromise which he had made to the countess,
and, therefore, he was obliged to set out re.
luctantly and with heavy heart, accompanied
by the musician, to Ludlow Castle.

How greatly changed were the feelmgs with
which he beheld again the scenes of his lost
happiness! Ou seeing the hospitable house,
he felt his grief and despair burst forth with
redoubled strength. He needed his whole de-
tormmation in order not to bo borne down by
this crushing burden. The reception which
he met at the hands of the coble family
was eieecdingly cordial, and Alice expressed
her delight at his return so openly, that he
was scarcely able to rcstram his emotion.
His changed demeanor would not have escaped
her and the other inmates of the castle, had
they not all been engrossed in the preparations
for the festival and the arrival of numerous
nests from far and near. Milton owed it to
Ills circumstance that be remained unnoticed
1 the crowd. Under the pretest that it was
ecessary for him to revise his mask onee
lore and make many alterations in it, he
■ithdrew from the sodoty of the others, and
held intercourse only with Lawes, who had to
confer a great deal with him in regard to the

The other guests, among whom were Edward
King and Sir Kenelm Dighy, passed the time
agreeable manner. Now they
the park, which re-
sounded with their loud laughter; now they

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JOHN MILTON AND EK TIMES.

t hunting.

made a trip to lli
Ludlow Caelie, oi
Bonl of all these diversioDS waa Sir Keneltn
D^b;, «ho always distinguished htmsolf as
the boldest horseman, the best shot, said the
most amiable storj-tcller. Notwithstanding
these hrilliant qnalilies, Alice seemed to shun
rathec than seek his presence; she aToided
being alone with him, and evaded bis inces-
sant effort to gain berfaTOr, so far as she could,
without positive discourtesy. She much pre-
ferred the company of a young gentleman from
Wales, with whom she had become acquainted
at the house of her Aunt Derby, and who, a8 a
neighbor, bad likewise recdved an invitation
to the celebration of her father's birthday.

Simple and unassuming in his whole bearing,
Sir Roi>ert Carbury eshibited the most striking
contrast with the accomplished courtier. His
frank, rosy face, his good-natured blue eyes,
did not indicate a very profound mind, but an
eicellent heart coupiled with a great deal of
common-sense. A certain uncouthness caused
bim to appear less ^fted and aoeomplishcd
than he really was. He lacked neither knowl-
edge nor Judgment, after overcoming his in-
nate bashfulneas and gaming eonfideuce in
himself and the persons with whom he had to
deal. His body was esceedingly strong and
well built, and, as is often the case with such
men, his strength was coupled with almost
feminine mildness and gcnlJeness ; yet all felt
that be would display estraordmary courage
and great perseverance in critical moments.
There was in bis whole appearapce aomething
hearty and honest, qualities which are still to
be found very often among the English country
gentlemen, and for which this honorable class
la partieularlv noted Hii broad Welnh dia-
lect: and an almost childlike iwkwardness,
rendered Sic Robert Cacbuty the butt of
Alices brother and the other gucil^ Thia
eieited at firit her compatsion and sht in-
demnifled t^e poor cavalier for the naughty

jcits of the compjuy I y her b. ndne-s wh h
won 1 is whole heirt He perce ved the mo
t ve of her conduct and wif grateful to her
In this manner he soon became ber constant
compamon and Al ce bad suffi ent oppar
tun t es to d scover the eicelJent jual t es
wh ch h s plam outs de concealed from the
eyes of the world She soon entered nt an
even closer connection with her }>rotegl, by
taking pams to pohsh bis rough and angular
peculiarities, and call his attention, with noble
frankness, 10 his imperfections. She did this
with the greatest delicacy, and found in bun a
most willing and doclie pupiL The sneers
presently died away, particularly as Carburj's
strength and undoubted courage obliged the
others to treat him with a certain degree of
respect.

However, the preference which Alice gave
him was not calculated to eidte the jealousy
of the chivalrous Ebig, nor that of the accom-
plished eonrtier. Both continued nninterrupt-
edly ta court the beautiful ^rl, who, in ac-
cordance with the spirit of the times, received
their homage as a tribate due to her from all
gentlemen. Thus surrounded with admirers,
engrossed by all sorts of amusements, Alice
did not notice the poet's absence so much as
she would have done under other circum-
stances. It was only in moments of thoaghtful
quiet that she missed the f^ihless friend, who
was most congenial to her of all the men with
whom she was acquainted, and who was yet
so dear to ber heart.

OnAPTER XV.

HEAinvHiLE Milton, assisted by bis friend,
had in his quiet retirement given the finishing
touches to his work. The parts were as-
signed to the performers, and the leheaisals

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tEHEARSAL OF THE MASK OF COMUS.

commented. Besides Alloc and her brothera.
King and Sr Kenelra Digby were to appear in
the mask. The focmcr wca to play the At-
tendant Spidt; the latter, in aecordimce with
liis own offei', the god Comus. The part of
the nymph Sabrina wa3 assigned to a relative
of Alice, because she possessed a beautiful
Toiee, and her part conaiated mostly of songs.
Sereral guests had been prevailed upon to ap-
pear as dancers. The spacious hall of the
castle was the scene of the rehearsals. All the
performers manifested an earnest desire to
acf[uit themselves creditably, and looked for-
ward t« the performance itself with unfdgned
pleasure. The poet, in the first place, read
the mask to them, and ttaa rewarded with en-
thusiastic applause; even Sir Eenelm Digby
could not refrain ftota clapping his hands at
several passages.

Alice approached Milton to tbonk him.
Filled with genuine enthusiasm, she seized his
hand. A shudder Tan through his frame when
ho felt this gentle contact.

" Instead of a mere occasional poem, you
have created a masterpiece," she said, in a
low voice. "Shakespeare himself would not
be ashamed of this play ; but jou have com-
mitted a great wrong against me."

" I do not uuderBtand you," faltered out the

"Tou have not been true to natore, but
made of me an ideal which can nowhere be
found in reality. L am far behind the picture
you have drawn of me; but I will not espos-
tulate with the poet ; he uses his poetic license
OS he deems best. Tou should have spared
me the blush that will suffuse my cheeks when
1 am to recite your verses in public."

"Every one will find that my prototype is
worthy of even higher praise."

" Let us drop the suhject,'' said Alice, color-
ing. "I thank you both for the magnificent
poem and your good opinion. I will desist
from my chaige, hut only to prefer another.

Tou avoid mising with the company, and
seem to shun us. Up to this time your labors
have been a valid escuse, but from this day
forward I count upon you. I long for more
congenial conversation than I am able to find
among the guests, I hope we shall resume,
before and after the festival, the topics on
which we formerly conversed."

Digbj's approach rendered it unnecessary
for the poet to mate a paiuful reply to her.
He withdrew with a stiff bow, and the rehearsal
commenced. On the following day he sought
liltewise to avoid Alice. He was unable to
conceal from her any longer the fact that he
did so on purpose, and she vainly sought for
the reason of his strange conduct. She ei-
amincd carefully the course she had hitherto
pursued toward Mm ; she recalled every word,
every glance, whereby she might have woimded
the irritable and sensitive feelings of the poet ;
but she waa unconscious of having done any
thing of the kind. The mure painful, there-
fore, was the impression which his manner
toward her now made upon her. She was in-
cessantly engrossed by the endeavor to dis-
cover the hidden cause of this strange change.
She attributed it now to bodily suffering, mis-
led by the sickly pallor of his face and the ei-
presMon of pain stamped upon bis features;
now to domestic misfortunes. In the aniiety
which the poet occasioned her, she applied to
Ring for advice and information. King's re-

iug. He intimated to her that an unhappy
affection for a lady of high rank was the cause
of Milton's dejection. On hearing this state-
ment, which was uttered in a very careless
manner, Alice became greitly escitcd. More
sagacious than Eing, she thought she knew
the lady of whom Milton was enamoured. How
much would she ha n 1 imh n mt,

but her timidity pr nt d h 1 m m 1 n
further inqniries I H h art mb! d 1
delight, for now sh tmd t d t all — M 1

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

ton'fl confusion, hia endeaToia to avoid her,
his reserved conduct toward her. But at the

own heart, and she Itnew then foe certain that
aha loved the poet — an afffection which had
hitherto been a, veiled secret to herself. This
■ discovery filled her nith unutterable trans-
ports; but already in the next moment doubts
arose in her mind. Was it not, perhaj^,
another lady who was so happy as to have
won, Milton's love? Was it not, perhaps, a
lady unknown l« het ? New heatations, new
doubts and fears.

Such being the frame of her mind, she
avoided likewise being alone with Milton, al-
though she longed to bring about an eiplana-
tion. Slie felt greatly embarrassed whenever
ho approached her. He, however, interpreted
her silence, her endeavors to avoid Mm, in an
opposite sense, and felt the painful cocseious-
nesa that the gulf which was to separate him
from Alice for evermore was daily widening.
Meanwhile the rehearsals took thrar course,
when suddenly an imeipected incident threat-
ened to prevent the performance of the mask.
The lady to whom the part of the nymph Sa-
brina had been assigned received quite un-
expectedly a letter informing her (hat her
mother bad been taken dangerously sick. She
resolved immediately to set out from Ludlow
Castle, leaving the poet andihe other perform-
ers in the at t emba ra sment. Lawes
ran up and down 1 ke a madman, because he
thought he had composed h s flue music in
Tun. None of the lad a at Ludlow Castle
possessed suffi nt mus al talents to fill the

" What ai

short a noljce

to do now?" cried the es-
" Where shall wo find at so
in equally competent aong-

"I know one, and a better one,"
Thomas, rashly.

" Xou ? " asked hia brother and Alice.

Thomas became somewhat embarrassed, and
did not reply immediately. He thought of his
beloved, whose beaurifiil voice he had often
admired.

" Foe God's sake," interrupted Lawes, " tell
me who and where she is. Why do you hesi-
tate ? Tou aee that we have no lima to lose."

All urged the youth in such a manner that
he could not avoid making a candid reply.

"Tou know our former playmate Lucy
Henderson," he said to his brother and sister,
blushing. "She has a magnificent voice."

"That is true," said Alice, "but she has
long since broken off all iulfiroourso with

" Never mind," cried the eidted muaidan ;
"that is of no consequence if she can sing
well. She must be invited, sent for, and, if
need be, forcibly abducted. Dearest Thomaa,
jou must get ua this treasure, this priceless

" I Trill try my best."

" Do so," said Alice, " and we shall all be
glad to greet our friend agtun after so lo:^ an
absence."

Tinder such drcumslauces Thomas was
obliged to repair to Lucy Henderson and in-
form her of his sister's wishes. For some
time post he had kept up a regular in
with the Puritan's daughter. Old B
frequent absence from home facilitated the
secret meetings of the lovers. At these intei^
views Thomas had depicted to the girl in glow-
ing colors the interestmg performance which
was to be given on his father's birthday, and
had thereby excited her curiosity. He offered
her now an opportunity t* be present at the
mask, not only in the audience, as she herself
had desired, but to take an active part in the
play. The light-hearted giri was delighted
with the invitation, and she uttered a cry of
joy on hearing the message which Thomaa
brought to her. Her feara of her stern father^
who considered such amusements sinful abom-

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BEHEAfiSAL OF THE MASK OF COMCa

nations, vaniahed in tlie face of so alluring a
prospect.

" I, I am to sii^ before all the noble lords
and ladiea, and before jou ? " she esclaimed,
joyously. "Ob, Tiiomas, jou are mockiag

'' I pledge you my word that I am in dend
earnest. My sister lequesled me to invite
you."

"And I shall meet agiun with Alice, my
dear foster-sister? May I really venture to
go with you ? " she asked suddenly, dropping
her eyea.

" Never fear," replied the youth, who under-
stood very well what she meant. " Ko one at
home suspects that wo are lovers. I for one
am only afraid of your father's anger, [n
case he should learn that you took part in a,
performance which he will of coarse regard as
very sinful."

"He shall and must not learn anything
about it. I have made up my raiud. I can
no longer bear this thraldom. I shall flee
with you so soon as you go to London. You
pledged me your word that you would not
leave me here."

" And I shall redeem my promise. I have
already arranged every thing with Billy Green.
He will accompany you to London."

" I win follow you to the end of the world,
if need be. I do not aak for any thing else
than fo live with you. I am ready to be your
slave, only permit me to breathe the air in
which you live. Ab, how I long for the day
when I may throw off these chains which are
so burdensome to me I I count the minutes
and ihe hours up to the moment when I may
leave our gloomy house. With you and in
London! My head swims when I think of it I "

" Try t« be as calm as possible, lest you be-
tray yourself. But how will you manage to
play the part offered to you, appear at Ludlow
Castle, and yet prevent your father from leam-
iog any thing about it ? "

" He is abaent from home, and will return
only after five days. The housekeeper goes
eariy to bed, audi will devise some pknsible
subterfuge. I have long since bribed the
scrvaut-^rl ; the man-servant alone would be
dangerous, but be does not sleep in the house.
It is true, the gate is locked, but Billy Green
has furnished me with a rope-ladder, which I
have concealed for some time post under my
pillow."

" And the dog ? " inquired Thomas, anxious-
ly. " Will he not betray you by barking f "

" Father gave him, at my reiiuest^ to an ac-
quaintance ot his. The dog did not like me,
and growled at me ever since 1 once hurled a
stone at him. I did not want him any longer
about me ; his eyes looked at me with so sin-
gnlaran exprcasion, Heseemed torebukeme
silently for what I had done, and I did not rest
until he had been given away. Our new watch-
dog knows me ; I have made him quite tame
by feeding him with cake, f need not fear

" So much the bett«t," said Thomas, ab-
sently. "Then you can and will take the part
upon yourself?"

" With the greatest pleasure," replied Lucy,
" foe what would I not do for you ? Awmt me
at the old place."

Lucy Henderson arrived on the following
morning at Ludlow Castle to fake part in the
rehearsals of the mask. Alice received her
former playmate and foster-sister with un-
feigned cordiality, while she returned her ca-
resses witb some embarrassment. Her timidity,
however, wore off very soon under the influ-
ence of the enthusiastic praise which all be-
stowed on her beauty, her fine voice, and
musical talents. With great tact she managed
^rike the key suitable to the company in
se midst she had been placed so suddenly.
She moved in it aa though it were her own
•e, for she possessed, in a remarkable de-
gree, that talent of the £ur sex to adapt her-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES

100

self to tbc most opposite conditions of life, and
assume at least the outwatil bearing of amto-
eratio persons. Her eyes beamed and Tier lips
smiled with delight at tbe ^ght of the splen-
dor and Ivisurj whieh she Lad missed so long.
Her light-hearted spirit diapeHod every fear of
the possible consequences of her hazardous
step. Tbe flattery, homage, and kindness
which were lavished uponheron all sides, filled
her with intense dehght, but amidst her tri-
umph her eyes sought her lover. Thomas,
however, deemed it prudent to approach her os
little as possible, lest his liakon with her
should be discovered. Lawes, the enthusiastic
musician, indemnified her for her lover's invol-
untarj absence. No sooner bad he heard her
first notes than he declared loudly and publicly
that she was destmed to eclipse all the prime
donne in the world by her talents. He took it
upon himself to teach her the Bongs he had
oomp ed d Iread ft 1 ftw r

thre hir hmdthn tgr tifjm p g-

1 1

ph(e I It look Im t Ik
Dea t Th m h w did y

End

' T h h rd k dy, ph d Th m s,
"that tbe young girl is Alice's foster-sister and
the daughter of old Henderson."

"Don't tell me that! I should sooner be-
lieve that a thistle produces grapes and a black-
thorn sweet tropical fruits, Tou mean to moot
me. The surly, morose, canting Henderson,
who has the voice of a hoarse bull-dog, the
father of this lovely creature I Qo, go ! You
talk nonsense. I will tell you who she is, and
where she cornea from."

" I am very curious to learn it,"

" She is the nymph Sabritia in person, and
dwells in the cool waters of the blue river.
Have jou not noticed that she is able to make
herself suddenly invisible and disappear! The

other day I saw her walking on the bonk of
the Teme ; it was already after nightfall. I
intended to follow her, when she disappeared
all at once. I would almost swear that she
plunged into the waters of the river."

"You are a dreamer," said the youth, smil-
mg; "hut Twill give youapieceof well-meant
advice; henceforth do not follow the lovely
nymph, for you might get yourself into
trouble."

"Howsof"

" Old Henderson is a very rough sort of fel-
low, and Lucy does not want her father to find
out that she is going to take part in onr fes-
tival. Therefore, be cautious ; otherwise he
might prevent her yet from so doing."

" Never fear. I know how to be silent. I
would bite off my tongue rather than lose such
a songstress, who will do somuch honor to my
compositions. But I persist in it, she is the
nymph Sabrina."

Notwithstanding this well-meant warning,
the musician was already head over ears in
love with the charming Luej. This rapid con-
quest added to the mirth of the beautiful girl.
She jested about it in an interview with Thomas,
who advised her not to reject Lawca's homage,
so that all suspicions might be diverted from
himself Thus the charming creature was flit-
ting here and there in this iotoxieating almos-
pbere, carelessly enjoying the pleasures of life,
and displaying the amiable peculiarities of her
light-hearted nature. Her dehght was at its
height, when Alice had her don one day, a
short time previous to the performance of the
mask, with the assistance of her maid, the cos-
tume which she was to wear os the nymph
Sabrina. Her slender form was wrapped in a
gold-embroidered white dress and a transparent
veil. A wreath of bluish green reed-leaves,
water-roses, and anemones crowned her dark
hidr, which flowed in long loose tresses down
to her waist. A set of red coral jewelry
adorned her beautiful neck and white arms.

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REHEARSAL OF THE MASK OP COMUS.

101

Thua ate stood, raptnroualj' admiring her
image in the costly Venetian mirtoc, h
Alice was feasting her eyea, without the least
feeling of envy, on the beauty of her foatec-
aiatec, and arranging her coatume with skilful
hands.

"Do yon know," said Alice, "that you have
become one of the moat beautiful ^rls I havt
ever seen ? Ton bare already conquered ow
heart here."

Lucy erimaoned and her heart throbbed
audibly

' Well, you need not be ashamed of vo ir
triumph Mr Lawca la a very good young
man and an ei Uent musiciin How glad I
n'Ould be if jou bb uld in eonaequence of bia
nffbot on for vo i return tn our houie tor he
is employed here as muactci he Mav I
Lope for thia'

' No, no, whispered Lucy, dropping her
eyes.

"And why not? Co you not like him,
then ? He is young, amiable, a master of all
instrumenla, and, what is moat essential, head
over ears in !ovc. Nor do you eeem lo dislike
him. You need not conceal any thing from
me, for we have grown up like sisters. Tell
me frankly if you like hnn."

"I — I do not know," faltered out Lucy, in
great confuaion.

" What, you do not know ? Jind yet you
accept his homage, and encourage him by jour
smiles and kind glances. Do you know, my
child, that your conduct would be reprehen-
sible and inescusable, if Lawes really were in-
different to you? There is, in my opinion, no
more contemptible being than a woman fool-
ing an honorable man, playing with his most
generous feelings, and then spuming the vic-
tim of her heartlessneas. A highway robber
is not as mean as she ia, for he takes only
what he has need of. Poverty and distress
generally make a criminal of him, while such
a woman commits a crime against the noblest

IS God h

nankind, and
roba her victim of his most precious posses-
sions, his faith in woman and bis love. No,
no, you will not do so. I know my Lucy wfll
not act BO heartlessly. Perhaps you hare not
yet reflected upon it and esamined your own
heart. Young and rnexpocicnced, jou do not
know life and the world. You are beautiful,
but beauty is the most dangerous attraction
which we poor girls possess. It diverts the
Qiind only too often from higher thmgs, and
endangers our immortal soul. They resemble
the foolish virgma whose lamp has gone out
when the heavenly bridegroom makes hia ap-
pearance."

Lucy heaved a deep dgh. Shame and re-
pentance filled her heart, and she dared not
riuse her eyes to the innocent sister of her

"Have confidence in me," added Alice.
" If you love another yoimg man already, let
me know it. Our old friendship entitles me
to your confidence. I have no sister eicept
you, and you stand likewise aolitarj and alone
in a world full of treachery and temptation.
How easily is a young gir! misled, and loses in
an ur^arded moment the hippineoa of her
whole life ! All the suffermgs and jots of
nan arise from the same souru. Huppj
girl that meets m her path with a noble
and honorable min, who docs not trifle with
her love ! "
Alice's words pierced the heart of her fos-
r-MSter like two-edged swords ; for Lucy was
not yet inaccessible to the force of such ad-
lions; but she thought of Thomas and
kept silent. She had gone already so far, that
'as unable to retrace her steps.
To, no," she murmured, scarcely able to
repress her tears; "I do not deserve your
Less, but I will be groWful to you all my
life, for I know you irill not condemn and

Before Alice w

ask for ai

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

102

DatioH of these strange words, Lncy,
by her feelings, embraced her with impetuous
l«nderness. Alice rajnly tried to calm the ex-
cited girl. A stream of tears rolled down
Lucy's blooming cheeks, and convulsive sobs
mdicated her profound agitation. But after a.
few minutes her former smile relumed to her
lipg ; it was forced at first, but soon agiun as
natural aa ever. Her light-hearled iiivolit)'
triumphed over this sudden outburst of the
despair of B heart which contained a strange
mixture of good and had qualities

Alice looked after her wondeiicgly and
thoughtfully ; her character was m Blrikini!
contrast with Lucy's paSiSionate and mipres-

CHAPKilE SVI.

The earl's birthday came at last, and the
performance of " Comus," by whicli it was to
be celebrated, was about to commence. Tbe
Rlage had been erected in the lai^ reception-
ball. It consisted of a wooden platform, cov-
ered with beailtiiW carpets. The decorations
and machinery were of very fine and ingenious
workmanship, and by no means so simple as ia
generally believed nowadays. The so-called
masks, a favorite amusement of the court and
nobility, were always performed with an ei-
troordinory and even lavish display of pomp
1 performances took place
s of special impor-
3ays, at the weddings of
1 the bhlihdaya of high
dignitaries, eto. Thdr subjects were usually
allegories, and more importance was attached
to the espeosive decorations
played in them than to the poem itself.

The wealthy and munificent countess had
spent a great deal of money for gorgeous sce-
nery and daaziing costumes. The curtain which

and splendor. E
only on festive

the royal princes, o

concealed the stage from the audience was
profusely adorned with gold embroidery. A
row of chairs was intended for the guests ; in
the middle of this row arose a sort of balda-
chin, under which the lord pre^dent and his
were to be seated. The galleries were
ued to the servants and the inhabitants
of the neighboring country. The wealthiest
ms of the town of Ludlow received per-
on to witness the performance, and they
appeared now in the hall with their wives and
daughters, dressed in theb holiday attire.

The steward had enough 1a do to maintain
order and decorum ; and equally busy was
Henry Lawes, who made his appearance at
the bead of his musicians, and took position
with the band close in front of the stage.
The orchestra consisted of several lutes, flutes,
horns, and a harpsichord, which filled the place
of our modem piano, and was played by Lawes
himself. Six singers stood on both sides of
the orchestra, to reenforce it by their voices.
A lively commotion re^ed behind the scenes.
Actors and dancers, in fancy costumes, gknced
once more over Iheir parts, or performed their
dances. Some stood in groups, conversing
with great animation. Thedecoradons offered
to others cozy nooks, where they m^ht talk
with each other without being seen or heard
by any one. In one of these recesses Themes
met with Lucy Henderson ; a kiss and a few
passionate words-sutEced to dispel the doubts
and fears which had arisen in the mind of the
beautilul giri. Both spoke again of the flight
of lucy, which was to take place very soon, as
the youth, in accerdanoe with the wishes of his
lather,was to leave Ludlow Castle iu the course
of a few days, and accompany Sir Kenelm
Digby to London, where a position in the
household of her majesty had been procured
for him.

Sir Kenelm Dlgby embraced this opportunity
to approach Alice and do homage to her. In
doing so he availed hhnsclfof the privilege

dhy Google

THE PBHFORMAKCB.

which the place and Us mask confeired upon
Urn, and addressed her in the spirit of bis

" Most beautiful of mortals ' " he whispered
in a, low voice, " I lay my heart at your leet.
I am called a powerful wimcd by every one,
and my fame fills this whole sea gut loland ;
hut before you I feel my weakness Who tan
behold with impunity ao many accomplish-
ments, coupled with such ravishmg beauty,
without being enthralled thereby ? "

" You are not in keeping with your part,"
she replied, playfully. " Moreover, it is well
known to every one that the god Comua ia an
arrant rogue, intent upon deceiving a poor
^rl."

" I swear to you that I never loved a woman
as intensely as I love you."

" Not even Tenetia Stanley, your first
wife?"

The accomplished courtier was silent only
for a moment This reply had disconcerted
him, but he soou recovered his wonted bold-
ness, and overwhelmed Alice with impasaioned
protestations and insidious flatteries, which,
however, produced the oppoate effect on her.
His dress, a doublet of red silk, covered witb
small bells, his bearing, and even the tone of
his voice, reminded her only too painfully of
her meeting with Billy Green, who appeared to
her here a second time, though in a refined
form, and with the manners of a well-bred
courtier. Kay, she even secretly preferred th
voluptuous bluntness of tie shrewd vagaho
to the refined sensuality of the courtier. Th
same brutal expression, only concealed und
the mask of courtly politeness, deterred h
distrustful heart fhtm listening to the appeals
of the unprincipled t«mpter. The approach
of King, who was to perform the part of the
Attendant Spirit, delivered her from the
Homo presence of the dangerous courtier,
withdrew angrily, deferring his plans
more favorable opportunity. Scarcely ha

admirer greel^d her, when Milton gave
the signal that the performance was to com-

The first scene represented a wild wood.
EJng as Attendant Spirit entered it and pro-
ed his mission in the following well-
sounding lines:

' EetOte the Btany IbreBhold of Jove'B oonrt
My loanslon is, wLero those imioortal shapes
or bright uerial spirits live insphered
In [eglDDE mild of calm and seieaa air.
Above the Bmoke and stir of this dim apol,
Vhtcli men call earth ; and, witli luw-thongbted

Con

nea.

and pestered in tW

pinfold bore,

eloiieepnpBftailand

being

Alte

this

mortal obaoga, to h

ngat

he enthtoHM goda

a steps

asplr

To]

ylh

trjiisthmdsonlh

tgolde

key.

Tha

thspalsceofEfem

avid not

il these pi

Alter these introductory lines, the Spirit ei-
tolled the noble Earl of Bridgewater and his
children. To protect those who bad lost
their way in the wood from the knavish de-
vices of Comus, the most malicious of all gods,
he said he would take the weeds and like-
ness of a Bwain that belonged to the service of
tlie house, and caution the unsuspecting trav-
ellers against the banefiil tricks of the wizard.
So saying, the Spirit withdrew, and Sir Eenolm
Digby entered the scene in the mask of Co-
mus. In one hand he held an enchanting-rod,

hisg

tofm

of wild

women,

in, mak-

orches in

compan-

iS quite m

the spirit of his part;

dftsst,
oe,

Midnight
Ttpsy flsQ

Dropping

shout and revelrj,

cenndiolliSyl

r locks with rosy tw

And Adrlcs, with eerapnions head,

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JOHN iOLTON AND HIS TIMES.

The wood-nympha, decked ni
Their merry wakea anil paatln:
■What lath night to do with el
Jiight hsth tettCT sweets to pr
Tenns now wak<e, and wakeai
Come, M ns onr rites tegin ;
Tie only flayilght that makes

Hdl, goOdegg of noctnraBl epo
Dari-TelleaCotjttoI tuwhon
Of midnight torthca bums.

The monaterg now performed a characteris-
tic dance, exhibiting their brutal peculia
in the boldest and wildest leapa. The to
shed a lurid light on the dark scene and the
wonderful groups. The goats made a feari'nl
noise, and danced up and down the stage ; the
aaa waltzed with a monkey, wolres and lions
vied witii each other in howling and roaring.
The whole chorus eipressed the brutal jollity
of the attendants with great skill. Graduaily,
howeyer, the noifly, bacchantic music assumed
a gentler character, to indicate the approach
of Alice, who had lost her way in the forest,
and Comus shouted to the crazy dancers ;
" Break oS; hreak off, I feel the diSferent pace

Itonumbermaj-aftight: some Tirgln sure
(For 60 I can dlstingnlsh by mine art),
Benighted In these woodB. Now tonij- cbarma.

Alice appeared now in the same dress which
Bhe had worn in Haywood Forest, and ex-
pressed fears as to the absence of her broth-
ers, who had left her alone in the forest. Co-
mus discovered the beautiful lady in her for-
lorn and unprotected state ; and, to secure her

mforte his younger brother Thomas, and en-
lavors to quiet his fears :

Eldtr BroUiev.
Mj- sister is not so defenceltss left
iB yon iraaglae ; she has a hfddea BtrengtJi,

. . What hiaden atrenglli,
Unless tie strength of Heaven, if yon mean that?
Elder Brother,.

And, like a

t has tliat

re It, may be ter
■ jr, Chastity.

clad in

teel;

ered nymph, vrith ar
Jiiay irace nngc fore a is, and nnharbored heaths,
Inftmoua hills, ana sandy, perilons wilds.
Where, throngh the sacred rays of Chastity,
No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer.
Will isae to soil her viigin purity;
Tea, Uhto, wliere vciy desoiation dncUs,
By grots and csvetna, shagged with hoirid shades,
6hc may pass on with nnblencbed m^esty,
Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.
Borne say, no evil thing that walks by night
In fog or Are, by lake or

That breaks l

itnbborn

Sod

ar to Heav

n is aahitly

Tiastily,

when a soul Is (onnd si

cerelysD,

Ath

oaaandltve

ied angels la

key her.

Driv

ngftr off each thing of

nanflgnilt;

And

in clear dre

imaadeolem

nvlBlOD,

Tell

her of thing

thatnogroi

sear can heai

Til!

with heavenly habitants

Beg

ns to cast a

beam on the

outward ehap

unpolhited

ample of the

mind.

tarns It by

egrees to tb

aonl'aeaseD

mmorlal; b

t when Inst,

Byu

nebaate looks, loose geatmcs, and foul

moBt by lew

a uid lavish

olotsfn.

Leta

n defflemei

t to the Inward parte,

The

seal grows

ottedbyco

tagion,

Imbodiesandim

brutes, till s

eqnilelojo

The

ivine property of her first being.

mysliadowBd

Ofts

enlnchamalvsnltaand

sepulchres

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THB PEBFORMAHCE.

105

To s dogenerato end degnidi;d Blals."

The attentiye audience greeted this heauti-
ful passage with rapturous applause. The earl
himself gave the eignal for it, and all the
others followed him. King, the Good Spirit,
with whom the poem had opened, now entered
again in the garb of a shepherd, andjomed
the onsious brothers. He informed them ot
the character of Comus, and his wicted de
signa upon their sister. At the same time he
told them how to save her. He handed them
a. small unsightly root, but of divine cfifect, and

of !

t all

Armed with this amulet, he told them to as-
sault boldly the neoromoneer'g hall—

" Wliero If he be, witH dmuiliesB hardlhooa
And brjuidlabcd blade, rash on bTm, break his glasa,
And ah&d the luaciuiie liquor on the gronnd,
But aeliB hill waDd ; .thoogh be Knd his eurwd crew
Fierce sign of tallle I " " "

:elheao
ill tbey so

re, If be I

The brothers promised to follow his advice,
and departed, accompanied by the Good Spirit.
In tlie mean dmc, the scene changed to a
stately palace, gorgeously furnished, with soft
music, and tables spread with all dwnties.

Comns appeared with his rabble and the
lady sealed in an enchanted chair, to whom he
offered his glaas, which she put by, and at^
tempted to rise; but the wiaard waved his
wand, and she sank back into her chair. The
two leading persons played with great natural-
ness, for life and reality mingled with their ar-
tistic performance. Already behind the scene,
Kgby had renewed his efforts to gain Alice's
fevor by his flattery and homage ; but she bad,
as heretofore, turned a deaf ear to him. He
followed her even on the stage with his im-
portunities, which she rejected with lively in.
dignation. Thus the poet's words, which both
emphasized in accordance with their real feel-
ings, received a special signiflcanee. The

I fants.3tic
concealed

mask passed into real life,
words expressed, though in a
from the audience, the true state of thdr feel-
ings toward each other. The most eminent
actors could not have performed these parts
better than Digby and Alice did. Both forgot
that ttey were on the stagu, and playmg a
mask; the impetuosity with which ho urged
her to yield to bis propositions was no longer
feigned, but interpreted tmly his own desires.
Voluptaouane=3 and passionate longing were
stamped on his countenance, and were be-
trayed 1 y the tremulous tone of his voice,
while Alice expressed to him moat emphali-
eally the horror and fear with which he in-
spired her. This was no longer an illusion ; it
was the whole, undisguised truth. The words
which M h h m p k rre-

sponded •mm m h ns m

J th

lines, th p
their indi d
contrast d
types and

(Itha

P P

and life
by-Com
upon Al

19 mdignation. She said to him .

And fetch their precepts fram the cynlo tnb,
Fratalng the leait and sallow abstinence!
WhorclWe did Nature ponr hiir houndea forth

Covert]^ tJie earth wItZi odora, ftnlts, and flocks,

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JOHN MILTOF AND HIS TIMES.

ro ter dhiiaren witb ; If &11 the t

Tld

Drinlc the dear stream, snd nothing wear but tVieze
The All-Giver woaid be mnthsnUea, would bo nn-

Xot half His HchE« knona. and fet despised;
And we should eotto Him as a grudging Master,
As a penntiona nigprd of His wesUta ;
And live like Nainre's bastards, not her sons,
Who wonid be qnlte enichorged "with hei own

weight.
And Btcangled with her waste fertllltr ;
The earth oumbercd,and the wlng^ airdarked

with plamea,
The herds would OTer-mniUtnde their lords,
The sea o'crfraught wouW (well, ind the unso^ht

■Would BO hnhlaie the forehead of the deep,
And BO bestnd with stais. that ibe;^ belon
Would grow Inured to light, and oome at last
To gaze njion the snn with ehamclcES brows.
List, lady ; be not eoy, and be not coiencd
■With that fiime-yannted nsrao, Tirginlty.

But must bo cnrrent ; and the good thereof
Consists In mutnal and partaken bliss.
Unsavory In theenjojment of Itself;

Ujo

et slip tb

It withers o

thes

.atk with lar

guiahedhead.

brag, and m

In courts, at

foasls.

and high so

ties.

may wonder at th

kinanshlp

elyfi

pho

They bad their nan

complex

f Borrr grain, will

to ply

The sampler

■Whatnieeda

Upf

Love-darttn

ortrossMliketh

Think what,

and be

adTlsedIr

Bar

but young

I had not Ihonght to have milocked my lips
In this unhallowed air, but that this juj^ler
Would think to charm my judgment, as mice ey
Obtruding lalso rnles, pranlied in reason's garb.

And Virtue has no tongue to ehec^ her pride.

As If she would her children Bheuld bt riotous

If every juat man, tl

r plnea wilh want^

havele^denowF To him that dares

n hia prolline tongue with ODntemptnons words

n would I something say; yet to what endf

s sublime notion and high myBtery,

it must be uttered to unfold tbe (age

d serious doctrine of virginity ;

d thou art worthy that thou shonldst not know

re happiness than this thy present lot.

joy your dear wit and gay rhetoric,

at hath BO well been taught her dazzling tunee ;

on artnot fit lo hear thyself conTinoed;

1 sbonW I Irj, the nneontrollSd work •

this pure causo would kindle Hy rapt spirit

The Spiiit ma.de another uttempt at indudng
Alice to drink from his glass, but she refused,
and pushed back liis hand. Suddenly the
brothers nisbed ia with awords dra.wn, wrested
his glass out of his hand, and broke it against
the ground. His rout made sign of resistance,
but all were driren in. At the same time the
Attendant Spirit came in again. He blamed
tlio brothers for letting the false enchanter es-
cape by not snatching his wand. He said:

" Without hie rod revMsed,

And backward mutters of dissevering power,

Tet stay ; be not disturbed ; now I bethink me,
eomo other means I have which may be used."
He told them that thdr sister eonld be fr^ed

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SIR KBNELM DIQBT FOILED.

from the Bpell onlj by the njmph Sabrina.
Upon his adjuration, there appeared the njmph
herself, cepcesented by Lacj Henderson. Fab-
ulous Bea-mOD3ters dre" the gilded car in which
the girl was seated in the dress which we have
already describecl. Hec appearance drew a
murmur of applause from the audience, which
eipcessed its satisfaction ereu more empbati-
caJly when she rose and saag Su a silvery

Higher than the spheiy chime ;

"Shepherd, 'lis my offlce best
To help ensD&red Chutlty ;
Bclghteat laflj, lonk on ma.
ThoB 1 sprinkle on thy breaat
Drops, Uiat (torn my moDUtBln pore
I have tept, of predona eu

ThrJoe

tu ih; mbleS lij

-a tip.

9 of

I touch with chisM palnie moist anil col
Now the spell hath lost hia hold ;

To wait in AmphltriM'B bower."
Sabrlua descended amid the sweet no
gentle music, and Alice rose out of her seat.
The scene changed, presenling Ludlow town
sod the president's castle. Then came in
country dancers; after them the Attendant
Spirit, wilh the two brothers. The Spirit pre-
sented them to their father and raolier, say-
ing:

" Nohle lord and lady bright,

I have brought ye new delight;

Here behold eo goodly grown,

Tliree fciry branches of yonr own ;

Heaven hath timely ti^ed their yoath.

Their Mth, Iheh: patience, and Uieir trnth ;

And Bent them here through hard assays,

"With a crown of deaUiless praise.

To Iriomph In ylclorions dance

O'er sensnal folly and Intemperance."

Fmally, King took leave of the audience in
the following epil<^ue :

" But now my task la smoolhly done,

CHAPTER SVn.

SIR EENELH SIOBY FOILED.

All concurred in praising the poem with
great enthusiasm. Milton was surrounded by
the whole audience, eitolllng the beauties of
1. The lord president and his wife
thaolied him in the most flattering manner,
and Alice approached him likewise to give vent
: delight witii which the mask had filled
her. His triumph was also her own, and the sa-
tisfaction which she felt lent new charms to the
lovely girl. Flushed with the purest cntliusi-

1, she dropped her fonner reserve ; she was
carried away, and betrayed, in spite of herself,
her most secret thoughts and feelli^. Hence,
the marked coolness mth which the poet treated
her, impressed her only the more painfully.
He seemed to avoid being alone with her, and
even conversing long with her. Alice could no
longer bear this treatment, which bewildered
and almost maddened her; she made up her
mind to obtain an explanation from hun at any
cost, but neither the place nor the time favored
her purpose. She was soon called away from
his side and drawn into the whirl of the festival.

A sumptuous banquet took place after the
mask was at an end, and a ball concluded the
festivities of the day. Tho dancers moved
around the bril]iant1y-ii1umiuated hall, and
Alice, the daughter of the house and leading
belle of the occasion, could not absent herself
from the ball. Notwithstanding her reluc-
tance, she danced with Digby,who did not leave
her a moment, and displayed all his seductive
wiles. It was only for the purpose of escaping
his importunities that she received much more
readily Uian usual the homage which Edward

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108

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Klug rendered to her, and treated him with

marked kindness. Tbe happy jouHi allowed

h'm If b mialtd bj her conduct, and re-

d in what be was pleased to call his great

M n nd leaning against a piJlar, and
ng w h a bleeding heart upon the gay
a n Wh never Alice flitted paet him at the
side of his friend, the most profound grief filled
him anew, and he felt like crying out aloud in
his agony. While rejoicing in tbe succesB of
the happy King, he charged Alice with faith-
lessoess, though he himself had wished that
she should give him up. He accused tbe whole
female sex of fickleness, levity, and want of
principle. Instead of blaming himself, he
blamed the purest of creatures, and transferred
his own guilt to the beloved of his heart. He
could no longer bear to look upon her ; the
air threatened to stifle him, the ceiling of tbe
room menacfd to fell down on bini, and tbe
dancers transformed themselves into infernal
demons deriding him by their boisterous mirth.
Scarcely knowing what ho did, he rushed into
the open air. The gardenwasbathed in silvery
moonlight. Eed and green lamps were burn-
ing on the balustrade in honor of the festlTnl;
flaming pitch-rings were blazing here and there
amid the trees, and shedding a lurid light on
the green foliage. Even here there ivaa too
much light for the poet, and the noise of the
festival pursued him eeomfully. He ijuickly
descended the steps Icadrng to the dark bowers
and shady alleys, soon reached the solitude he
longed for, and the notes of the music pene-
trated to him only as feintly as the dpog
echoes of lost happiness.

On the banks of the pond, where the waters
seemed to utter low moans, and where he had
once passed the most blissful houra at Alice's

ade.

The stillness of nature calmed his wildly agi

taled beatl, and the despair which had seized

him

m the ballroom passed mUt a gentle rev

ery. The whispering breeze, the murmuring
water, the dying notes of the music, lulled him
to sleep. He slumbered on tbe stone bench,
and foi^t his grief, though only for a short

Was it a mere aeddent or mysterious sym-
pathy ? No sooner had Alice finished the last
daneethan she sudderdy escaped from the host
of her admirers and hastened from tbe hot ball-
room into the garden. Some irresistible and
mysterious force drew her toward the poet,
whose aijsenee she could scarcely have noticed.
Like a white apparition she glided through the
silent alleys, past the moonlit marble statues
of pagan gods. She heard only the throbbing
of her agitated heart, whose impetuous pulsa-
tions threatened to burst het airy dress. She
dared not confess even to herself what had led
her hither. She hoped and yet feared to meet
tlie poet here. If she had known that she
would find him, she would not have come; her
virgin pride would have rebelled against it;
she foflowed only the fasiinaling voice of a
vague presentiment, without being fully con-
scious what she was about to do. Thug she
strolled through the garden without a definite
object, and yet pursuing one, deceiying herself
and absorbed in melancholy dreams. Every
noise caused her to start like a chased roe; the
falling of a leaf; the rustling of a drowsy bird,
the slightest note froze her blood. Her foot
hesitated very often, but an inward lon^ng,
for which she was unable to account, urged her
on with magic power. She felt as though she
would meet Milton here and demand of him au
avowal of the secret reasons which caused hun
to avoid her. He was to defend himself and
break his mysterious silence. But even this
purpose rose in her soul only like a distant dis-
solving view, and vanished almost immediately
after it had appeared. Another will overcame
her own and paralyzed her strength ; she tot-
tered like a somnambulist in her nighi-walt,
until she reached her favorite place on the bank

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SIE KENELM DIGBT FOILED.

109

of the pond. Here she found Milton slumbering
ia the moonlight ; hia pale face beamed toward
her, aa if transfigured. She did not know
whether she should staj or flee; with bated
breath she gazed at the sleeper, fascinated in
spite of lieraelf bT meeting him so suddenly.
Thus she resembl d h ha g dd t h^
moment she fo d th 1 p n En 1 m n f r
the first time n th 1 n f t h ah d-
dered with coj Um dtybth ft (ued
to more. She n Id h hk d to hend r
bim an J breathe a gentlo Man on his noble
forehead. The happy poet might have been
aroused by it, and have sucenmbed to this new
temptation; he would then haye lacked cour-
age to sacrifice such a love to the demands of
friendship.
Approaching footstepa aroused Alice from

one should see her here, and she disappeared
quickly among the trees, after casting a part-
ing glance on the sleeper. With a throbbing
heart she hastened back toward the illumi-
nated ballroom. The footsteps pursued her
and came nearer and nearer to her ; before she
was able to reach the balustrade, she felt sud-
denly that two strong anus encircled her.
She uttered a low crj of aurpriae, and tried to
disengage herself from the stranger's embrace.

" Keep quiet," whispered a well-known voice
to her. " I followed you."

"Sir Kenelra 1" cried the frightened ^rl.
" What do you want here ? "

"To see you and speak with you. Tou
must listen to mo, foe you arc in my power
now. Your efforts to escape from me will be
in vain, I shall not let you go. I know full
well that you hate and deteat me at this mo-
ment ; but this is better than your indiffer-
ence. I love you, and therefore jou will lore

" Never ! " groaned Alice, " And if you do
not take your bauds from me, I will call for

"You are too sagacious," replied Digby,
scornfully, " to do any thing of the kind. Even
though your voice were heard, which I think
ia utterly impoaaible, your reputation would be
lost. Therefore, you had belter be reasonable
and submit to your fate."

He pressed Alice with pasaionate impetuosity
to ills breast, and tried to cover her cheeks
and neck with burning kisses.

" let me go I " faltered out Alice, almost
fainting with dismay.

" Do not attempt to disengage yourself from
my arms. I am not afraid of your anger or
your cries. Do you think I did not take the
neceasary steps beforehand in order not to be
disturbed ? Why do you resist me and dis-
play so much prudery now? I know what
brought you here— I know that yonr lover is
still concealed in the garden. You are in my
power; your honor, your reputation, is in my
hands."

"Tou lio!" oried Alioe, indignantly.

" Not I, but jon, my beautiful lady, say
what is not true. If you are really innocent,
why do you not shout for help ? But I think
you are too aenaible to resort to bo extreme a
step. Do not be angry nitb me — for^ve me.
You shall soon become better acquainted with
me, and it is my firm conviction that you will
then do me full justice. Above all things, I
pledge you my word of honor that no one shall
learn any thing about this occurrence. I shall
forget your little weakness and attach no
special importance to the childish freak, which
I bcHeve it to be. I love you none the lesa for
it, and do not care about this harmless error
of a young heart. You aee, I am a fair-minded
man, and by no means such awere-wolf as you
thought I was."

" Toll mo, then, what yon want of me ? " asked
Alice, in a milder tone, encouraged by his
words, and anxious not to drive him to ex-
tremilics.
"Tour hand and your heart. Tou know

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110

JOHN MILTON AND 1

tbst I have souglit for iome time past t^ gain
both. Tou have hitherto tweeted mj propo-
sals, and BQj other man, perhaps, wouM have
been deterred by jour cold prudery. On me,
hewever, it eserted an opposite effect; for
difficalties stimulate my energy, and obstacles
ftre my courage. I do not caro for enemies

n my second wife in spiti
s you mill succeed In Bi

come. I am ft man of different mettle from
common mortals, and do not like to walk the
beaten track of others. I wrested my first
wife from her relaiives after a serious struggle,
and I am goir
of herself"
"And you

" I have no doabt of it, for you will and
must listen to me, I rely on your sagacity,
wiiich will enable you to sec tbe folly of jour
conduct. An affection unworthy of your po-
EitioQ has seized your heart ; but on reflection
you will admit that it would be preposterous
for you to yield to it. Will you give jour
hand to an inexperienced young man, wbo ia
noUung and has notbiug — a poet whose talents
enable him at the best to wril« a little play
for a birthday or a similar cclebrfttion, and
who is tolerated in good aocaely only on ac-
count of tbese talenta ? "

" Tou ore mistaken," replied Alice, eva-
sively.

" Believe me, I fenow life and the world.
Sever will auch a union receive the consent of
jocr parents. Will you rebel against their
wishes, and take the consequences of such a
alep ? Disowned by your family, jou will
then be the wife of a man who, notwithstand-
ing his talents (fori do not deny thatheis en-
dowed with some), will have to work very
hard in order to make a living. Tou are ac-
customed to splendor and lusury, and will then
have to struggle every day with a thousand
privations. Instead of tlie somptuous apart-
ments of a palace, the humble rooms of a col^

tage will be your dwelling-place. Tour foot
has hitherto trodden only soft carpets ; a hard
clay-floor wil! bo painful to it. Will you go to
market like the wives of otber commoners,
and quarrel about a ferthing with the butcher
andflshwoman? Go, go! Tou are not des-
tined for such a lot. Tour rank, jour educa-
tion, and your beauty, assign jou a different
position, Such a pearl must not perish in the
fllth of poverty ; it is destined U> adorn a
rojal diadem. I wiU give jou my hand and
conduct you to the right place. Become my
wife, and you shall occupy a brilliant position
at court, become one of the leading ladies of
London society, and receive the homage due
io you. A new life is in store for jou there,
a world full of splendor and pomp, intimate
inttreourse with the noblest and moat refined
men and women of the kingdom, the charms
and perfumes of a more elevated and pure
atmosphere, which ia never obscured by the
mists of want and theclouds of poverlj. Why
do you not reply to me ? Will you accept my
proposals?"

" Never I " replied Alice, resolutely.
" Then I must iximpel yon to accept a lot
that will redound to your happiness. Bear in
mind that you have no other alternative than
disgrace or' my hand. Tour al>senee must
have been noticed already, and majbe they
are looking for you everywhere at this mo-
ment. If they find you here, whether with
me or with another man, your reputation will
be gone forever. If I otter a loud word, you
will be dishonored."
" I despise both jour threats and youc flat-
Alice tried to earape again, but Digbj held
her iu his Herculean arms so that she was un-
able to stir. He relied on his strength, which,
under similar oircumstaneea, had often aJreadj
made him victorious over feeble women. At
the same time he counted upon Alice's con-
fusion, upon her anxiety, her bashfulneas, and

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LUCY'S ESCAPE AND FLIGHT.

Ill

her inexperience. He thought ho would ob-
tain hia object by taking ber by surprise, and
the stubborn resislanee with whieh he met,
coDtrary to his eipectatioD, only fanned the
fiaine of his passions. He wag one of those
bold, reckl«aa men who shrink from no vio-
lence. In contending with her, he t^>re from
her the veil in which she was wrapped, and
her dazzling shouldera and heaving bosom
were esposed to his voluptuous glances. This
Bight inflamed bis desires to the utmost. In-
Etinct and calculation urged him to risk every
thing in order to accomplish his purpose ; he
felt that he had already gone too far, that he
must triumph or give up his plans forever,
aside from the consequeQcea in which this out-
rageous attack upoQ the daughter of a noble
house would involve him.

Alice thought that she was lost, and feared
lest she shonlj feint At this critical moment
she uttered a loud cry. It was heard ; a taan
emerged from the shrubbery. la the moon-
light she recognized her friend Carbury. He
was by her side at once, and drew his sword.

"Viilain!" he shouted to Digby; "defend
yourself, and sliow if you are aa brave when
you have to deal with men sa you are against

But before Sir Kenelm Digby was able to
reply, and accept the challenge, Alice threw
herself between the two raen.

"If you are my friend," she whispered,
" sheathe your sword. No blood must be shed
for my sake. I thank you for your kind in-
tentions. Sir Robert Carbury; give me your
arm, and conduct me back lo the ballroom."

"And this man is not to be chastised for
insulUngyouf " asked Carbury, indignantly.

"I will leave him to his conscience," she
replied, in a dignified tone.

She east a disdainful glance on D^by, who
durst not follow het. He remained for a mo-
ment, gnashing his teeth, and absorbed in
thoughts of revenge.

"Go, vain, foolish girl!" he murmured.
"I shall know how to revenge myself. Ton
sliall not escape your fate. But am I not my-
self a greater fool? Instead of remaming
calm, I allowed myself to be carried away by
blind passion. It will be best for me to leave
Ludlow Castle secretly ; for I can no longer
stay here, and further sojourn would be use-
less r my ganle is lost, and I must give it up.
Bah 1 What does it all amount to ? It is
true, a hue and cry may be raised about it, and
it may not ; for, if the girl has any sense, and
she seems to have, she will say nothing about
it, and forbid that boorish fellow Carbury to
mention the occurrence to any one. Fortune,
I am afraid, has turned her back upon me
here in England. Laud did not accept my
offer either ; and if the afBiic of the cardinal's
hat leaks out, it will go hard with me, and I
shall lose the remainder of my estates, I be-
lieve it will be best for me to make a tour
abroad, I feel my old longing to see Italy. I
will go, therefore, to Rome, and not take leave
of the earl, whose farewell would probably not.
be very friendly."

Digby hastened immediately to his room,
and awakened his sleeping footman. With his
assistance he packed his trunks, and left Ludlow
Castle as stealthily as a thief. He embarked
already on the following evening on a ship
bound for Italy, where he intended to live for
some dme, in order to escape the consequences
of his unsuccessful intrigues.

OHAPTEE XVm.

Aa Digby had supposed, neither Alice nor
her protector accused him, and the outrage
which he had committed was not communi-
cated to any one, Tlie young lady had, in re-
gard to it, a brief conversation with Carbury,

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112

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

whioh cierted an important effect upon tbeir
mutual fate. Carburj dropped hia habitual
bashfulncBs on tbis occasion, and gbowed that
he could not only act brarely, but also think
and feel in a delicate and high-minded man-
ner. Not a doubt rose in Lia heart as to her
innocence, and he looked up 1* ber, aa hereto-
fore, as to a eaiut In this manner he gained
Alice's confidence and esteem, and when he
left Ludlow Caatle, after tbe festival, like the
other guests, an inward voice told him that
his ioFe waa cot entirely hopeleas. Milton
and his friend departed, ia gloomier spirits,
from the ca-stle. King had received a. pressing
letter from his father, who called him to Ire-
land. He was to aet out immediately, and
the separation from his friend and his beloved
depressed his spirita. Never before had a
separation saddened him ao much ; but nothing
remained for him but ia obey.

Alter the escitcment of the festival was
over, all who had taken part m it felt a certain
weariness, which made upon no one a more
painful imprcasion than upon light-hearted
Lucy Henderson. After the pomp and splen-
dor which she had seen anew at the earl'a
castle, life at the Purilan's house had become
more oifenaire and irksome to her than ever.
Moreover, she was afriud lest Henderson should
discover what she had done. How eaaily could
her participation in the performance of the
mask be betrayed to him I Ber father had
returned, and his gloomy features seemed to
her guilty conscience more threatening and
stem than ever before. Whenever she met his
keen, piercing glance, a shudder ran through
her frame. Formerly he had at least spoken
to her, though in a rough, harsh manner ; but,
since his return, he did not break his ominous
tilenco ; he did not aak her a single question,
and did not even inquire how she bad passed
her time during his absence, which he had
hitherto never failed to do.

He aat all day at the table reading ia hi^

Bible, while Lucy waa aeated opposite him,
with ber needlework. When he did not read,
he stared seemingly into vacancy; and jet
Lucy felt that he did not avert his eyes
from her, and penetrated into the innermost
recesses of her soul. Wherever she turned,
she met his eyes, and his piercing glance fol-
lowed her all the time. By and by his pres-
ence became almost intolerable to her.

Thus passed the joyless day ; when night
came, she took her candle, said good-night to
ber father, and went to her chamber. She
tried to sleep, but an inward anxiety prerented
her from doing ao, and she lay with eyes open
in her bed. Whenever she endeavored to close ■
them, she saw before her the threatening form
of her lathet, and his piercing glance which
froze her blood. Hour after hour went by ; she
could find no rest, and vain were ber efforts to
dispel the dreadful fancies of her imagination
by fising her thoughts upon more pleasant
reminiscences. She recalled the eveuts and
scenes through which she bad passed recent-
ly, the fairjlike festival, the homage which had
been rendered to her, the handsome dreaaea
and trinkets which Alice had presented to ber,
and which ahe concealed now under her pillow;
all waa in vaiu, and her aniiety oppressed her
breast like a nightmare.

The clock struck midnight, when the door
of her chambei- opened noiselessly. A shudder
ran through her frame, and she closed her
eyes involuntarily. Was it a dream or was it
reality ? Old Henderson stood on tbe thresh-
old, and she distinctly recognized hia slender,
form m the moonlight. He held a
knife in his hand, and approached her

bed 01

Lucy raado a violent effort to repress the
cry which was about to burst from her lips,
and scarcely dared to breathe. He bent cau-
tiously over his daughter and toached her face
softly, aa if to satisfy himself'whether she waa
asleep or not Not a motioD, not the slightest

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LUCT'S

twilehing of hec feu.ture3 indicated that slie
was awake. The ruritan knelt down now and
iijuttered s. prayer. Terror had sharpened the
Fenses of the girl, bo that not a word escaped
her.

" God of Israel I " prayed the fanatjc, " Listen

to Thj eervant As Abraham did not hesitate

to sacrifice hla beloved bod, I will offer my

child to Thee. It ia better that my daughter

sbouM lose her life to-day than that her aoul

should go to hell for evermore. Thou knowest

h m nm h a hi terrible hour

d and 1, wh h Thou hast

istedu m B Thuwt lend me

h b M m b I not falter

nytTnhlfif hb aom of my

daa^hte

Lucy thought she was lost ; she bad heard
her own diige. Her father rose noiselessly
and approached her bed agahi. However, be-
fore he carried out the bloody deed, another
idea seemed to strike him.

"She shall not die without a prayer," be
murmured to himself. " I will waken licr."

The stem Foritan manifested profound erao-
tioo; a tear ghatencd in his eyes, when he
gazed once more at his devoted daughter.

" How beanljful she ia I " he munnnred, ad-
miring her unveiled charms. " So beautiful
was also the first woman iu paradise, who
brought sin and crime into this world. Ucr
cheeks bloom like roses, but venomous worms
are concealed in the flowers. It is better that
her body, and not her soul, should die."

Soon, however, the hai'd man overcame
his emotion entirely, and his fanaticism re-
sumed ilfl away, lie stretched out his right
band, in which he held tbe Sashmg blade,

' ' Itise 1 " he said to Lucy, in a loud, imperi-

"For God's sake," she cried in dismay,
" what do you want of me, father ? "
" I have come to judge you."
"What haveldone?" she cried.

AND FLIGHT.

113

"Yea have broken the commandments of
the Lord, gone to the house of the unclean,
and taken part in their abominationa. Can
you deny that you played a part in a sinful
mask at Ludlow Castle contrary to my wishes,
that you represented a heathen goddess, and
sang infamous songs ? Tou see I know all."

" And for this you intend to punish mo so
cruelly ? I confess that I have done wrong,
and will repent"

"Tour repentance comes loo late. You
must die, but first you shall pray that your
aoul may be saved at least."

"Die! die!" cried the girl, despairingly.
"I will not, cannot die. Oh, have mercy
upon my youth, I am scarcely eighteen years
old, and am already to leave the world and
descend to the dark grave I No, no I it ia im-
possible. Think of niy mother; she would
have defended me against you with her life.
So long as she was standing by my side you
were not allowed to speak a barsh word to me,
nor to cast an angry glance on me. When a
bee stung me she applied a healing piaster to
the swelling ; and when a thorn, tore my hand,
she wept and lamented with me. She sees
and hears us at this moment Do yoti not
fear lest she should curse your cruelty in
heaven?"

"Do not invoke your mother," replied the
Puritan, gloomily. " She was a virtuous wo-
man, such us is not to be met with again on
earth. Had she suspected what would become
of you, instead of the milk of her breast she
would have glren you poison. She will not
ourae me in paralyse, where she is with the
blessed, but will eiult at my purpose to pro-
Bervo her child from farther corruption. Why
do you tremble at the prospect of death ? It
is the fate that is sooner or later in store for
us all. He who dies young is protected from
sin, and eternal bliss awaits bim. The Lord
may aa yet pardon your crime ; hut the longer
you live tbe greater willbe the guilt, until it

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114

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

will finally hwrl jou mto hell. Do you believe
that it affords me pleasure to shed your blood,
and tbat your loaa will not grieve my heart f
But the father chastises his child because be

" Well, then, punish me ; chasliBe me 03 se-
verely as you please. Lock me up in the dark-
est cellar, deprive me of food and light, let me
feel the full wdght cf your hand, or east mo
off entirely; but do not take my life 1 Ah, it
is 80 sweet to live, and dealh is so teriiblo that
I dare not think of it."

Lucy had jumped from her bed and clasped
the Puritan'8 Irnees. Despair lent her estraor-
dinary strength, and she clung conrulsively to
her cruel father. With dishevelled hair and
livid cheeks bathed in tears, sobbing and groan-
it^, she implored him to spare her life. He
viunly tried to shake her off ; she allowed him
to drag her on the floor.

"No, no," she screamed aloud, "you cannot
kill me."

" I must," replied Henderson, inesorably.
"I shrank a long time from the sore trial
which the Lord imposed upon me. All day I
tried to escape from the stem neoesfiity of car-
ryhig out Hia will, but the Spirit pm^ued me
incessantly. The roice of God ordered me to
kill you as it onee bade Abraham to sacrifice
bis only son. When the Lord orders me to do
any thuig, I obey Him."

" Theall-mcreiful God docs not demand such
a sacrifice. Be spared Isaac and took the ram
in his place. God does not domond my blood.
He forgives the sinner."

" And did He not aacriSee His own Son, our
Eedeemcr, for the sake of mankind? Think
of Him who died for our sins, and look up to
the cross. Pray, pray ! "

" I cannot ! " groaned the unfortunate girl.
" I cannot pray, and I cannot die."

" Then I will pray for you. Our father ! "
"Our father!" she repeated in a dying

"Who art in heaven."

" In heaven," gasped Lucy.

"Hallowed be Th.v namo. Thy kingdom
)mc. Thy will be done on earth as it is in
heaven. — Luey, why do yon not pray ? " asked
her father who had knelt down by the side of
his daughter, " Will you give up jour only
hope of salvation, and descend to hell, loaded
with all your sins ? "

"Giveus this day our daily bread," she s^d,
mechanically.

"And forgive us
give those who trespass agains
" Who — trespass — against—

it into temptation, but deliver

us from eviL"

She prayed no longer, but jumped up from
the floor. Every word was only a harbinger
ofdeatb ; how could she utter them any longer ?
The Puritan bad risen likewise, and muttered
the last words of the Lord's Prayer in an in-
audible tone.

a loud V

brandishing the knife.

Lucy fled into the most distant corner of the
chamber, ready to defend her life against her
father.

" Submit to your fata I " shouted the fanatic
10 her. "Tou cannot esoapeit."

She uttered a piercing scream which shook
the walls of the building. All was in vain.
No one heard ber, for old Henderson had re-
moved the other inmates of the house, that
no one might witness bis bloody deed. He
was alone with her, and she was in hia power.
She gathered once more her whole strength.

" Assassin !" she shouted to him. "You
are not my father, for a father cannot kill his
own child."

On hearing these words, which despair had
put into her mouth, the Puritan started back
in surprise, and the knife dropped from his
band. Instead of taking it up, he stood for

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I.TJCT CT.ASrKl) THE ITKITA?

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LUCY'S ESCAPE AND PLIGHT.

115

it few moments, absorbed !n deep thought. He
seemed to struggle with himself before makiog
np hia mmd. Lucy watched the exprcasion
of his countenance, breathlesaly.

Tiierc waa a dreadful pause. The death-
angel seemed to flit through the humble cham-
ber, irresolute whether ho should stay or flee.

"What she eajs is true," mnrraured old
Henderson. "I have no right to kill her.
One that has more power over her than I shall
be her judge, and I will carry Wis dedsion ink.
execution."

Without eichanging another word with

Lucj, he left the rOcra, which he locked care-

aft€ hm On et p

n nto considiration. Her

firat idea waa io escape and leave her father's
houae forever, as she had already agreed upon
mth her lover. This last scene with her father
put an end to her hesitaUon ; every bond that
could attach her yet to her paternal home had
been tore asunder. Means of escape were not
wanting to her. She had a rope-ladder, by
means of which she eouM easily leave her
chamber and the house ; she drew it now from
under her pillow, packed up a few dresses and
the best of her trinkets, and prepared to bid
IlireweU forever to her home. She opened the
window oaulioiisly and listened; nothing was
lo be heard, and old Henderson seemed to
have gone lo bed. She fastened the frail rope-
ladder with trembling fingers to the window-
frame ; it was strong enough, howcTcr, to bear
her airy form. She descended iiuickly, and
her foot soon touched the solid ground. It I
was not until she reached the open field that
she breathed more freely. She bad no time I

for reflection whifher she should turn her
steps Her escape might have been discovered,
and her father might already have started
in pursuit of h-.r, hmce shcfled asfast as her
feit would larrv her m the direction of Lud-
low Castle. There only, she thought^ would
IB be safe, under her lover's protettion
Scarcely had she ran for fifteen mmulea, a
prey to incessant fears, when she met a num
bur of horsemen. She made a movement to
avoid them and hide in the neighboring shrub-
bery, but they had already seen her

"Good heavens I" eiclaimei a voice that
was well known to her, " there is our liUle
Puritan girl. Thunder and lightning I she has
as nice a scent as the best pointer. So much
the better; we need not go toiler house now.
Well, my little dove, what drove you from
your warm nest at so early an hour? "

"God be praised that I meet you here!"
replied Lucy, greatly encouraged; "is Mr.
Thomas present?"

rse he is. Why, he stands before
you now. Where have you got your eyes, my
pretty child?"

" Indeed " said Thomas himself, " th s is a
wonderful comcidence I am on my way to
London, and was quite uneasy in regard to
Billy Green waa mstrutted to infrrm
you of niv departure, and, if poi^hle, tU eyou
ith him iramLdiatcIy I intended to wait
with my servmta at the neighboring tavern
Mil he had brought me word and now you
ime yourself as though vou had divinei the
■patience with which I was looking for you.
But, tell me quick what has happened. Yon
glance around with an air of terror, and look
pale, as though you were afraid lest jou should
be pursued."
Lucy informed her lover hastily, and in a
w words, of her dreadful adrentare. He in-
terrupted her narrative from time to time by
load csclamations of surprise and terror.
" The devil ! I should never haVe thought

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IIG

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

oW Henderson capable of such villanj. But
wait, wait, you rascally Puritan! We shall
meet again one day, and then beware of me 1
Poor child ! How jou must have suffered I
Even a man would hare trembled, I do, from
merely bearing your account of tbe terrible
scene. Weep no more. I will not forsake
yon. I will always be your faithful pro-

■' 1 have no one now on earth sare you,"
wailed the poor ^1, throwing herself impctu-
ouely into her lover's arms. "Ndther father
nor mother— no place to lay down my head I "

" Never fear," SLud Thomas, consolingly. "I
wiE he all to you. You will follow me i
mediately."

"Until deatii, wherever you wish me

The youth °iied to n h acta

who dismoun ed d an d h d
that Lucy could si ni rt p

Thomaa Mm h p d b m

horse, and th g h gn 15

fore doing h h lied h fi

dant, Billy G en li d

"Here," he said, banding him a few gold-
piecea, "this is your pay. Tou may go now
wherever you like."

" What, jou intend to dismiss me ? " asked
Billy, in surprise. "No, ar, that will never
do ; siace you have secured the httle Mrd, you
wish to repudiate the fowler, do you ? I thint
that is very wroi^."

" You see that serrauts are not wanting

"You have awkward fools, but no servants.
Do you believe, then, that any of these mon-
keys, in thwr gold-embroidered red coats, will
be half as useful to you as Billy Qreen, who
has more sense and grit in bis little finger
than all the lackeys in Old England ? You
wish to discharge me, but I refuse to be dis-
charged. Never fear, I ask neither wages
nor food of you ; allow me only to accompany

I will and must see London. I have
made up my mind to do so, and no one shall
nt me. I do not like living in the coun-
try any longer ; perhaps I may be more, euc-
ocssful in tbe city. I am too good for the
boors in the country ; my place is at court, I
am fully satisfied of it. Many a vagabond
and rascal endowed with leas sense than I has
become a distinguished man there."

Thomas yielded at last to tbe importunides
of the vagabond, who managed also to obtain
Lucy's intercession in his behalf.

"Hurrah!" shouted Billy Green, jubilantly.
"I shall go now to London, to court, and int<i
tie wide, wide world ! "

OTTAPTEE XIX.

HEN the old Puritan awoke, on the moro-
m after that terrible night, his first move
go to the bedchamber of his daughter,
be was no longer there. Tbe rope-ladder
hanging from tbe open window told him how
she had efi'eoted her escape. He set out at
once in pursuit of Lucy. All his inquiries in
the neighborhood were fruitless, for the girl
had shrewdly exchanged her female dress for
a suit belonging to her lover, and was thus
riding in the handsome costume of a young
cavaKer by the ade of Thomas. Edng mounted
on fast horses, both were soon beyond the
range of pursuit, so that grun ohi Henderson
had to go back to bis home without accom-
plishing any thing.

He sat in his room, wading as usual in tbe
Bible, when tbe door opened noisily, and a
strange visitor entered. It was a man of forty,
not very tall, but broad-shouldered and heavy
set. At the firstblush his fece seemed coarse
and rough, but a close observer could not but
discover very soon that bis broad, high fore-

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head indicated an unugual underatanding ; that
the firm, well-formed chin showed a high de-
gree of energj and determbation ; and that a
powerful soul was slumbering in the piercing
bluieh-graj eyes. As plain a3 his whole ap-
pearance was his dreas, which was
different from the common garb of a well-to-do
English farmer. He wore a brann eoat, round
' which waa wrapped a cloak of the same eolop ;
a broad-brimmed felt hat corered hia large
head; his legs were encased in large cavolry-
boot? reaching up to hia fhlghe. In the broad
leathern belt eneirclmg his waiat a brace of
piatols was gleaming, for at that time no one
set out on a journey without being well
armed

The loud, almost msjeatic tone of theae
footsteps arouaed the Puritan from bia gloomy
refleofiona. Twilight had already set in, so
that he did not immediately recognize the new-
comer, although he had been looking for his
arrival. On hearing his greeting, old Hender-
son gave a start; the tone of this deep Toice
sounded like menacing thunder in his cars,
and when he met the searching glance of the
flashing eyca, all his doubts were dispelled.
Only one man possessed this glance, whose
magnetic charm waa able tj) fascinate every
one; and this man was the stranger who had
arrived so suddenly. A wonderful expression
animated old Henderson's rigid face, and a
struggle between aniiety and joy was plounly
visible in his features. He was scarcely able
to rise from hia easy-choir; his feet and the
hands which he held out to the visitor trembled
like Bspen-leaTea.
" (fliver I " he ciicd, almost in dismay.
"It Ls I," replied the visitor. "But why
do you stare at me as though I were a ghost ?
Has old age confused your head and weakened
your memory? To* recognize yonr friend no

TEE KEAl FATHER— THE POESUIT.
Well, that

right. I greet you, then,
name of Him who led me

" Oh, how should I
>me, whatever you may bring

jou? Wei-

sake, and have ridden to-day apward of thirty
milea. The journey has whetted my appetite,
and my body longa in the first place for earthly

"Ton shall be attended to immediately.
Food and drink are not wanting in Ihia house."

"I know that the Lord has endowed yoa
here more richly than at the time when you
lived in our own neighborhood. The soil ia
magnificent here; the wavmg cornfields pre-
sent a splendid appearance, and you live now
in very easy circumstances after formerly drain-
ing the bitter cnp of poverty to the dregs."

" I should have perished had you not lent
mo the money I needed, and advised mo to
aettJe here. I owe to yon all I am and have

"And you are so ungratellil," replied his
^sitor, with a tmge of bumor, "as to starve
ne now. You would do better to get mo
:ome supper, insWad of talldng to me in this

In a few m

supper was ready, and the
gueat partook with great zeat of the savory
ham, which diminished rapidly under the in-
roads he made upon it, until nothing was left
of it but the bone. At the aame time he
drank such large draughts from the jug which
Henderson had placed before him, that it was
soon empty and had to be filled again. In the
mean time Henderson, who had not yet entirely
recovered from hia surprise, proSted by thia
interval, during which little was said, to regain
his presence of mind. The short but hearty
meal ended almost too Boon for him. The
guest closed the lid of the empty jug noiaily
and wiped his mouth with an end of the table-
cloth ; he then clasped his bony hands and was
about to say grace.

Take some more food, or drink, at least,
e of the beer which I have brewed myself,"

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118

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TLUES.

said Henderson, whom bis coufuaion rendered
quite polite.

" No, I have had enough," relied Ihe guest,
pushing back the food which HendersoQ of-
fered to him. " You have refreshed me suffi-
ciently and strengtJieiied me witti earthly
manna. The more disagreeable it ia for me
to sadden jon, but I cannot Iseep from jou the
news which jou would eooncr or later hear
from other persons. The hand of the lord
rests heavily on His people."

"What has happened?" asked Henderson,
eagerly.

" Nothing particularly new. The old burden
which almost crushes us is heavy enough for
us. Distress and suffering arc the lot of true
believers, and pious men arc being persecuted
and punished for the salse of their fidelity, be-
cause they do not bend tbpjr knees before the
idols nor pass over to the Church of England,
whiuh ia a sister of the Babylonian harlot, and
holds adulterous intercourse with the Eomau

Our

freedom is trampled upon. A Pharaoh is
seated on the throne, and listens to the advice
of his blind and infatuated priests instead of
the voice of his people and Parliament. Our
privileges are no longer respected, our liberties
are violated, and &e most barefaced despotiam
re%ns instead of our Eacred laws. The arro-
gance of our rulers knows no longer any
bounds, and our native country, which was
once envied by the nations of the world, has
now become their butt. The best men in the
country are mourning and averting their heads,
for they are powerless agiunst the encroaoh-
ments of the government."

" What are you going to do about it ? "
" The most pious and sagacious men, among
whom I will mention roy escellent unele John
Hampden, are going to turn their hacks upon
their ungrateful fatherland. I have consented
to accompany them. We shall leave England
in the course of a few weeks and embark for

America, to i
We will intrue

tyranny. It ii

■r there our lost liberties,
lives and fortunes to the
longer bear this grinding
3r to live in the wilderness
I to be slaves in the
midst of plenty and ease. The wild heasta
will ba more merciful and less cruel than these
proud and insatiahle bishops. We shall liavo
to bear no other evils there than the inclem-
ency of the climate, no arbitrary imposts, no
other duties than llie sweat with which we
shall cultivate the vu^n soil. There we shall
find no coercion of faith, no arrogant and su-
percilious courtiers, no impudent and lustful
priests. Among the mighty trees of the pri-
meval forest wc shall obtain an asylum for ua
and our children, and be allowed to worship
the Lord freely and without fear of man in the
churches which He built for Himself."

" Then you intend to emigrate and go to

" la there any other course left to ua ? We
bid farewell to our native country with bleed-
ing hearts; hut man should attach a higher
importance to the purity of faith and to Utierty
than to worldly considerations. I come to you
as a man at the point of death, to take leave
of you and settle my earthly affairs. Yqu know
that I intrusted you with something very pre-

" I am ready to pay you the last instalment
of my debt," replied Henderson, evasively.
" Toa can get the money immediately."

" I did not make this circuitous journey for
the sake of the money coming to me, brother,
although under these circumstances the sum
cannot but be welcome, provided you are able
to pay it without emharrassiug yourself. I
refer to something else that is much more pre-
cious to me. Where is the girl whom I in-
trusted to you? Call her, that I may see her
, once more and ^ve her rcy blessing."
I " What I you are really going to tell her
i that you are her father ? " asked the Puritan,

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THE REAL FATHER— THE P0KSDIT.

119

tryiug to recover his presence of mind,
jnerelj intent on gaining time.

" No, I am not," replied tho guest. "N
must Lucj leam wlio is her father. The St
of her birth shall be concealed from her
ever ; since her motber is dead, onlj you and
lareawareof it I haye still the Bame re
to hide the sins of my early years. Oh, would I
had never committed tbis folljl But at that,
time I was not yet in a state of grace ; I lis
tened to the temptations of my sinful pasaioni
and tottered on the verge of heD. You know
all, for Lucy's mother wag the nearest relatire
of your wife ; t!ie poor g^rl atoned for hi
by death. She diedV the hone that she gave
birth to her daughter, and lintrusted joawilh
the new-bom child, the fruit of ein and si
Years have gone by since then ; the Lord has
opened my eyes and shown me the true path
nay, I may justly claim that I have become
another man ; bnt I have been unable to
out the remembrance of my fault, which stands
ali the time before my eyes as a dark spot. I
will atone for the wrong I committed; I will
repent to Ihe best of my ability. The thought
of'it pursues me incessantly. Therefore, I
came to you to humble myself once more at
the sight of mj daughter and recall my sins.
Lord, lord ! I do not deserve that Thou
shouldst look down and have mercy upon me.
I violated Thy holy commandments, turned a
deaf ear to Thy teachings, wallowed in sin and
shame, and stained my immortal soul with all
vices. Canst Thou forgive me an.d raise me
up ? Look at my repentance, at the tears
which my early career wrings from me. I lie
here in the dust before Thee and implore Thy
forgiveness. Lord, my God, do not thrust mo
from the heavenly threshold which my foot is
unworthy to cross."

The strange guest had knelt down with man-
ifestations of the moat profound contrition,
and prayed fervently. His eyes beamed with
wonderful enthusiasm, and his oheaka were

flushed with feveiish heat. He struck his
breast repeatedly with his clinched fist. This
fit, which seemed to border on insanity, lasted
a short time; the stranger then rose, calm and
composed, without exhibiting the slightest
trace of so profound an emotion. He resumed
the conversation in as measured a tone as
though nothing remarkable had happened.

" Well, then, I came to you to see the girl
once more previous to my departure. Be-
sides, I wished to make all necessary arrange-
ments with you, brother, and provide for
Lucy's future. Let us first settle our earthly
affau's. You may keep the hundred pounds
and fifteen shillings which you owe me yet
and spend them for her. I have also brought
with mo another sum of about the same
amount. It ia to be her dower when she finds
a suitable husband and enters the holy state
o! matiimony. Keep the money in a secure
place ; I have saved it by undergoing a great
many privations. I have not taken a farUiing
of it from the property of my present wife and
my legitimate children, wbo must not suffer
any detriment m, consequence of my sins.
Above all things, do not lose sight of Lucy's
salvation ; she is the daughter of a frivolous
mother, and the vices and weaknesses of the
parents are entailed upon tho children. There-
fore, waloh her carefully, and do not treat her
with undue lemty. Tou havo taken an ardu-
ous duty upon yourself, foe you are responsible
for this child not only to me, but to God
Himself."

" Oliver," cried (lie Puritan, " 1 cannot call
your daughter, for she is no longer in my

What do you say ? " replied the stranger,
frowning. "You have sent her out of your
house and lost sight of her?"

"Ididnot send her away; she left it of her

rn accord. She has escaped."

"And you ait atill here? You do not pur-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

" I etartol at once in pursuit, and followed
her for many milea, but was unable to discover
her track."

" You are responsible for all consequences.
Ilendcraon, jou must restore tnj child to me,
even though you have to go to the enda of the
csrth. But fell me firat what has Iiappened,
and why she has left jour house. Oh, I know
you ; your severity has driven her to despair ;
you have maltreated her and punished her too
harshly. Give me back my child, my child I "

" Be a man, OEver ! Listen to me calmly ;
yoa shall judge between me and her. I will
not conceal any thing from you."

The stranger allowed himself to be calmed
by and by, and the Puritan gave him a truth-
ful account of the evenla of the night.

" Tour child was in the snares of hell ; jou
yourself had conferred on me paternal power
over Lucy. Can you deny it ? "

" Certainly not," murmured the guest, gloom-
ily ; ''but I feel that a father would have acted

other

'■For til

n I did II

: carry my re

on, though the spirit prompted me
to do so. I deteimined to leave her punish-

" You frightened her, and she fled in conse-
quence of it. It is a terrible misfortune. It
is not only that she is esposed to all the temp-
tations of the world, but that you have bur-
dened my heart with heavy solicitude. We
must discover her whereaboula. Avail your-
self of all your sagacity; make even more
minute inquiriea in regard to ber; do not
overlook the shghteat hints, for they may help
us to discover where she has gone. Above all
things, inquire at Ludlow Castle, for I must bo
greatly mista.ken if she has not friends and
confidants there, and perhaps a lover, who as-
sisted her in escapmg."

The Puritan set out at once to comply with
the instructions of his friend. The stranger
displayed on this occasion, despite his religious

fenaticism, a wonderful ckarness of tliought
and a surprising knowledf,e of human nature.
A few hint" were suffluent for his keen, mind
to fathom the true state of afi&irs. The news
which IlLndcrson brought with him on his re-
tarn from Ludlow Castle, were apparently
insignificant; he informed him merely that
the carl's younger son had gone to London.

" Do JOU know the lad ? " asked the
stranger.

" I know him well ; he is a rash and over-
bearing fellow."

"And he came to see Luey repeatedly ?"

" My man-servant told me he saw him ofton
prowling round my house."

" Call your man-servant."

The servant came, and Oliver examined him
very carefully. The servant asserted that he
had seen Lucy and Thomas one evening at the
lonely three pinea, and added that he had been
so much afraid of the ghosts haunting that
gloomy spot, that be did not venture to ap-
proach them.

"Enough said," replied the guest. "I am
greatly mistaken if Lucy did not escape with
the young man to London, We must look for
her there."

"You will sooner find a needle in a hay-
stack than your daughter in London."

" That is my lookout. You know me ; yoo
know that I can always do what I will do,"

This time, however, the stranger's self-confi-
denoo was to be disappointed. On the same
day, after a short rest, he left the Puritan's
house, accompanied by Henderson, to go to
London and ferret out the whereabouts of his
lost daughter. However, all his efforts were
in vain, as Thomas took good care to conceal
Lucy for the time being. Billy Green dis-
played his talents again on this occasion. The
vagabond had rented a house in an out-of-the-
way part ef the city, where the girl lived safely
under his vigilant care. After a great many
fruitless efforts, Hendereon, at the stranger's

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DEATH OF EDWAED KING.

121

Euggcstioii, cjlled upon Thomas himself to
make inquiriea in regard to Lucy. He found

ncighborhoo Whi the

Puritan's ae urn o a

peal of laugh er

" What ! J mm a

girl, and [hat wn Hen-

derson ? W If we

were not old uam
sponded to ur
Thla time I mil oo

^ve you,"

" But Lucj la

others. Wh

bnsinesa at court. Go, and l>eware henceforth
of charging a nobleman with a crime, without
being able to prove it Yon might easily in-
cur a heavy penalty for libel. Well, why do
you stand still ? You had better leave me as
quietly a8 possible." And the overbearing
youth brandished his flexible riding-whip play-
fully around the ears of the old Puritan, who
gnashed his leelh and returned to hia friend.
He found him sitting at the door of the tavern
and iooliing for his retarn.

" Well, what do yon bring ? " he said eageriy
to Henderion.

"Nothing but the impertinent reply of an
arn^ant cavalier Oh I would I could have
chastised hjm aa I longed to do ! "

' The tune will come when we shall call
them to accoint for every thing, for every
thing murmured Oliver in a prophetic voice.
"Thepr sent stitc of afiiurs cannot last for
any length of time The people wUi not bear
this thraldom much longer ; they will arise in
the r might Woe unto those who have in-
curred their wrath ' These haughty prelates,
these overbeiim nobles will repent when it ia
too lite Theip sina will be brought home to

blood, and not water, will drown the impious
sinners. Aa for ourselves, brother, let us
watch and pray, that we may be prepared on
the day of judgment, when the Lord calls us.
For the lime being we must aubrait to His will.
I can no longer atay in London ; my family ia
waiting for me at Huntingdon. I must, there-
fore, dceiat from further steps, by which we
should, moreover, hardly attain our object.
The Lord has viaited mo In wrath and heaped
bitter woe on my head. I am afraid lest this
child of sin should cause me yet a great deal
ofgi'ief and soUcitude, but I have done all I
eonld to recover her. You may lifcewiso go
back to your home and await there the events
which will surely come to pass."

"And the seducer of your dai^hter— shall
he not be punished ? "

"Who says heshouldl Iknowhim now,
and that is sufficient; I shall not forget him;
his name is in my ledger, and I warrant you
that iie shall pay me one day every penny he

The friends then parted, and each returned

OHAPXEE XX.

Another deluge will then Si

Milt n hii led a vtrv loielv and i
life, and been engrossed m profound hluies
thi, festival at Ludlow Castle He had
!en Alice aga n and d dined all invita
tions of the Endgewater fam ly He had to
witho t the inttrtour'ie of hia liiuni
and his long dailv walks with him aa K ng
Ireland. His beloved books,
with which he was occupied night and day,
only solace and enjoyment. These
incessant studies, by which he sought to drown
his grief and divert his thoughts from his un-
happy love, were injurious to his health. His

; but I fece became very pallid, his bright; eyea h

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122

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

dimmed, nwl liis gait was weary and languid.
These changes did not escape the ejes of his
tender mother, who had lierself been an ia-
Talid for some time past, Slie called the at-
tention of Milton's father to hia aieklj appear-
ance, and he persuaded his son to make a trip
to the sea-shore, and strengthen himself by
breathing the bracing sea-air and coctemplat-
iog the BubUme ocean. The poet accepted
this suggestion reluctantly and with secret
misgivings. He was profoundly moved on
bidding farewell to bis sick mother.

Ho reached his destination afier a short
journey, during which he had met with no ad-
ventures. He found the whole population in

^eofgrci

rrible

disaster which had just taken place cear the
shore. The dreadful stoim which had raged
all night long had diiven several vessels into
the breakers, where they had been wrecked
before the eyes of the inhabitants. Many
lives were lost, and tiie wares threw the
corpses of the drowned sailors upon the beach.
Milton learned nil this from the talkative
daughter of the landlord ut whose tavern he
had stopped.

"Oh, see," exLlaimed the loquacious ^rl,
"thej are just bringjag another drowned man
this way, 0, my God, what a handsome young
man I He looks as though he were the Prince
of Wales himself. lie must belong to a no-
ble family,"

Milton stepped meehanically to the window
■which opened upon the sea. He could dis-
tinttly hear the roar of the waves whose furv
had not yet =ub« i ■d A mournful procci
moved along th leacl 'leveril fiohcr
wer tarry ng the lorpse of a vouth who
seemed to ■deep OnU th matttd gollen
ringlets ^oilei wth sand and *!i.if,iass
the closed l l showed that he was •
Histravelhng-dre'JS wh (h was that of i wealthy
and anstocrjtLO man was saturated with w
and indicated the manner in which he bad lost

Lis life, A crowd of si
lowed the fishermen and lamented the melan-
choly fate of the unhappy young man. The
le nearer and nearer to the
I, and Milton was able now to iccognize
the features of the drowned man.

Uttering a picrcmg cry, he rushed from the
house and hastened to the coi'pse.

" Kmg, my Edward, my lycidas ! " he cried,
and sank to the ground, overwhelmed with
grief.

The crowd had stepped aside on beholding
him, and the fishermen had gently put dowa
their load. All honored this outburst of pro-
found grief.

"Can he not be saved?" asked MQlon,
alter along pause.

" He is dead," replied a kind-hearted sdlor.

'All is

hours in the water. Poor young man ! "

" Where did you find him ' "

"The waves threw him on the beach neir
those rocks yonder There are several other
corpses yet, all btlon.;ing to the tame ship
But as the young gentkraan. Seemed to be of
noble birth, we thought we would giVL lum a
ChrisUan burial first of all."

" God bless you for it ! "

" Tou seem to be bis brother, or some near
relation of his. I suppose, therefore, jou will
take charge of his funeral. Where do you
want us to carry the corpse? "

"To the tavern. I shall not leave hira un-
til he is buried,"

At Milton's request, the carriers took up the
corpse again, and conveyed it to the tavern,
where it was laid on a bed. After paying the
fishermen for their trouble, the poet remained
alone with the corpse and with his grief.

"My friend, my brother, my Lycidas ! " he
cried, despairingly. " Thus you had to perish
— at the threshold of youth, in the midst of
all the promises and joys of hfe ! Oh, I would
cruel death had taken me in your stead t

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DEATH OF EDWAED KING.

123

With you, I bury mj friendship and I
Woe to me ! The sacrifice I made to you
in vain. A cruel fate has decreed otherHJ

Such were Milton's laiuentationa by che
side of hia friend's remainj. It was not nntil
the next day thst he recovered sufficient p
enee of mind to send a messenger with
mournful mtcUigence to King's father in
land, and make the iieeessarj preparations for
the temporary burial of the corpse. The poet
was the only mourner that followed the cofBn
to the grave.

" Farewell, farewell 1 " he cried, as the earth
covered his friend's remains.

The grave-digger had long since gone away,
but he still sat on the fteshly-raised mound.
Dusk was already setting in ; a gale was blow-
ing from the sea, the waves roared furiously,
and upon the sky scudded dark, ragged clouds,
from which the moon burst pale and weird.
In his despair, Milton did not notice that many
houra passed by. Unutterable woe wdghed
hini down ; be had lost all : bis friend, his be-
loved, his youth, all were buried in this grave.
When he rose at last, be had become a man,
ripe, sober, and grave; his ideals were de-
stroyed; his purest and holiest feelings had
left him. He became afterward acquainted
with other men and women ; his poetical heart
tlirobbed for them loo, but no longer so
warmly and enthusiastically as it had once
done for King and Alice. Ah, man rises only
once on the wings of youth to heaven ; para-
lyzed by the thunderbolts of fate, or by the
hand of time, he is no longer able to soar to
those divine heights,

Milton returned mournfully to his father's
house, where another blow was in store for
him. Bis mother's disease had become so
aggravated that she was at the point of death.
The faithful son did not leave her bedside im-
til she breathed her last in his arms. This
new loss was too much for him ; it undermined
his health. His favorite occupatjons became

distasteful ti

I, and there was every pros-
pect of his becoming a confirmed hypochon-
driac. His physician advised a foreign tour.
At first Milton refused to leave his father, but
he yielded at last to his entreaties, and con-
sented to go to Italy.

Before taking leave of En^and for so long
a tune, he risited once more the graves of his
mother and his beloved friend Tbeir remem
brance accompanied him, and he wrote the
sweetest verse in honor of the lamented Ed
ward Kiifg, " Lycidas " wa^ the name he
gave tq,the most touching monody ever dedi-
cated by a poet to the memory of hi.

Fed tbe same flocH by fountain, shade, and till.
TogetJier botJi. ere tbe high lawns appear^
Uidet the opening eyeUda of the mom,
Wc drove afield ; and botli fogctlier heard
■What time the grsj-Ily winds her sultry bom,
Battening onr flocks with the ftcsh dowe of night;
Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright,
Towara Heaven's descent had sloped hfs westering

Fanning their jojoua leaves to thy soft lays.

As trilling SB the canker to the rose.

Or taint-worm lo the weanling herds that graje,

Or frost to floivera, that their gay wai-drobe wear

■When first the white-th-im blows ;

Weep no more, woeful ahepherds, weep no more

For Lreidas your sorrow la not dead.

Sunk though ho be beneath the watery Boor :

Bo sinks the flay-atar in the ocean bed,

And tricks his beams, and with new-apangled irs

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky ;

Bo tyolOas eunt low, bnt momited high,

Through the dear might of Htm that walked the

Where other groves, and other atreama along.

And heara the aiicjiprossivo nuptial song.

In Qie blest kingdcus meek of Joy aud love.

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JOHN MILTON AKD HIS TIMEa

entertoin hlia all the saints sboTc,

To all that wsnfler in that perilons flooil.

enm tioopa and an-f st aixiietica,

Thua aang m nncoath swain U, the oak» ana rillB,

liDg^ nnd elnging, In their glory move,

While the still morn went out with eandala grsy.

ripe the tesn foreyer from Ma eyes.

And now the aun hafl etrctched out aU the lills,

Lyddas, the alepterda weep no more;

Ana now was droppecl Into the western hay ;

At laat he rose, End twitched his mantle bli^e:

Iqrge recompense, end shalt 1» gooii

Tc-morrow to fresh woods anil pastnres new."

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BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

Italy is a, Ciree, a, a'
with Beducti n p n h p f br-
getfulnesa to h m wand 11 oft

breezea care a d ndl hue ua il he;
emooth his fH d b n and d ief

from his be Dp on dw 11 ong

und^rtliat ev -c , ezu ky, and h „ d^
simliffht dispeU the gloom of the eonl; even
night i8 there not the time for tnelanoholj and
contemplation, but for mirth and enjoyment.
The light-hearted people pnform the taran-
tella oyer ruina and tombs ; the gultnr and
tambourine El! the nir with their gay notes,
and the merry youths move in the graceful
mazes of the dance. Love— not the cold and
sober affection of the North, but the glowing,
devouring passion of the South — dwells amid
green myrlles and tiie flaming red bloaaoms of
the pomegranate. The orange-tree bends un-
der tha load of its golden fruit, and the vine
spreads its lujniriant leaves, in whose shade
ttie happy refeller quaffe his fiery mnst.
Every thing breathes pleasure and enjoyment,
and temptation smiles in every nouk. Beau-
tiful women, nith dark ringlets and burning
eyes, weave their charming nets around the
Northern barbarian; they arc the dauglitcrs
of those sirens who sang with such

tiiat thev who sailed by forgot their conotry,
and died in an ecstasy of delight ; the lan-
guage of the country still sounds as sweet aa
music, and retains its ancient charm. The vo-
luptuousness of Italy is not coarse and repul-
sive, but elad in the garb of beauty and art ;
religion itself is in its service. The Madonna
is only a lovely woman, a happy mother with
her charming hoy m her arms ; she smiles at
sinners, and forgive the guilty with fcmioino
mildness. These saints and martyrs, notwith-
standing tlieir torments, are splendid men and
women, whose beautiful forma delight the eyes -
of the educated beholder. The churches are
radiant with variegated colors, golden orna-
ments, and mosaics ; tho choir sings in strains
of surpassing beauty ; and faith is not angry
with loTc entering its sanctuary. With fer-
vent prayers mingle the ardent sighs of earth-
ly passion, and on beholding the heavenly
Tirgin, the worshipper thinlis also of thelovely
girl kneeling so close by his side that the hem
of her gajTnent touches him. Their eyes meet,
tlieir glances speak an eloquent language,
even though their hps must bo silent; signs
of a secret understanding are exchanged, and
the clasped hands ofien indicate, in a manner
understood only by tho initiated, the hour
when they shall meet again. The penitent sin-
ner kneels in the confessional, and the indul-
gent priest grants absolution te the contrite
^rl. The treasures of art and science, amassed

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126

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

5 and libraries, giva the mind
unequalled opportunities to famUiarize itself
with the nondera of the pnst, and forget, in
contemplating thorn, the Bufferings and hiimil-
iatlona of the present time. The scholar be-
comes absorbed in old manuseripts and faded
parchments, and a new worid rises frora the
mysterious characters which he deciphers.
The Eagvs and great men of all times surround
him, and he derives comfort and calmness
from tbeir eoniolation. Remains of ancient
art abound, and he is allowed to hold undis-
turbed iotercourse with the imtnnrtal gods.

Milton likewise cirpeneneed the soathing
charms of life in Italy He hid left England,
and passed through France A teacher and
patron of the poet. Sir llenrv Wotton, hid
giyen him the most lOidiil and flattenng let
tors of introduction to foreign snvans and
statesmen, and added to tbcm the adage, J!
niio sdollo e i jmiBien slrfUi {'The counte-
nanee open and the thoughta close ' ) Urged
on bj longing impatienee, Milton hastened m
the first place to Fans, where he stayed only
a short time. He lilicd neither the country
nor Richelieu, the all-powerful minister, who
thro ruled over Prance. He joyfully enibraeed
the opportunity offered him by the English
ambassador to make the acquaintance of the
eulebrated Hugo Groiius, who represented
Sweden at the court of France, after being ex-
iled by bis ungrateful country. The illustrious
scholar and atatesman receiTBd with the most
gratifying kindness the poet who had been so
warmly recommended to him. He 'saw very
BOOQ ttiat the young man was highly gjiled,
and already, after a brief conversation, Milton
was no longer a stranger to him.

"I am glad," said Grotius, "that you are
going U) Italy, and it would be better yet if
you shotdd estend your trip to Greece. Ob,
how envious I ara of your being permitted to
pass your time in sweet leisure on that sacred
classical soil, while I am unfortunately de-

tained here by the pressing affairs of my em-

"Who could lament this more sincerely
than I ? " replied MilWn ; " for in your com-
pany only would my eyes open fully to all
those sublime wonders which my good fbrtune
will allow me to behold. What new and
grand impressions should I, and the world
with me, receive through you, who have pene-
trated the spirit of classical antiquity more
profoundly than any other scholar of our
times I The learned world justly regrets that
politics should withdraw you from science;
but, then, Europe and diplomacy would regret
it stiil more if the learned world should claim
you as its cicluslvo property. Your labors
and positiOTi show me, in a very atriiiing
manner, that science and poetry may go hand
in hand with practical life, and that one may
be at the same time a poet and a politician;
for in jour person are united the two elements
which seem to esclude each other. You are
a. citizen of two worlds, of heaven and earth."

"You do me Ico much honor, and but for
your frank face and manly bearing, I should
fee! tempted to talie you for a common flat-
terer. Fate familiarized me with life at an
early age. I was almost a boy yet when the
degree of Doctor of Laws was conferred upon
me. This honor was bestowed upon me in my
fifteenth year, and to it was added the even
greater one which my paternal friend and pa-
tron, the noble Hameveldti conferred upon me,
bytaking me with him to Paris and the court
of Henry IV,, to whom he was accredited as
minister plenipotentiary of the Dutch Eopub-
lie. My precocity delighted the great king,
and I am Indebted to him for many kind and
flattering distinctions. But 1 attach a much
higher importance to the influence which that
august person could not but eiert upon all
those who, like me, were fortunate enough to
be on intimate terms with him. Every one
extols him, and his memory will live as long

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PARIS— HUGO GROnuS.

127

as tbe French people. Now, the most glo
quality of great men ia, that thoy resemble the
Bun, whose light kindles many thousands of
small Btara ; tliese stars continue to beam bug
after the sun has set, and tbey illuininate the
gloom that set in after the eun'a disappear-
ance By mj intercourse with the lUnituous
king I became acquainted with a different
syitLm of pnhtic3 from that tstahhshed by
MachiaTelli, which has, nowadays, unfortu-
nately been adopted bv mo^t of the European
sovereigns. I then learned that a ruler has
no other task but that of securing the welfare
and tpaac[uillity, first of his own people, and
then of mankind general! F p a fk-
matuce end to the fife hia rdi ry

prince, and buried his m b y p n m of
■which he communicated m awn mg
youth, or made me divine, Afi his

death I returned to the N ni wh I

J liv I

In 1

violent struggle wh h th w h pir s

there were waging w h each oth r I espoused
the cause of that of my fr end Bameveldt T e-
cause I was connu ed that n^ht and 1 berty
were on iia sid The old n
hie efforts on behalf of h
death. He was beheid d, ai
the infatuated ; pula e I was
imprisonment for hfe at Cas 1
You have doubtless heird of th
of my noble w fe By means
which she sent me n ne book
to deliver me, a th rsit of hei
went in the first phe o Fran c where Lou s
XIII., mindful pe hips, of (he fnendahip
with which his (, eat father had on e t eated
me, or for the sake of my own insiguLfitant
merits, granted me a pension of three thousand
livres; hot I did not enjoy it long Cardmal
Richelieu, the all-powerful minister, whom I
would not flatter, deprived me of the pension,
and I was once more eiposed to poverty, and
even want. Bsiled from my native country, I

a seal 1 h s no-
pa ty w h his
d the chee ■s of
as sentenced to
t le Lowenste n

1 aged

travelled with my poor family from one place
to another, until I finally came to the wealthy
eommereial city of Hamburg. Here I became
acquamted with the influential and wise Chan-
eellor OKenstiern, who promised me protec-
tion, and took mo mlo the service of his sov-

" In truth, notwithstanding your suFferingB
and privations, you have been very prosper-
ous. You have had the race good fortune to
be on intimate terms with the greatest men
and women of our times. You were allowed
to sit at the feet of a great king, who commu-
nicated his vast and far-reaching plans to you,
and to call friend a man like Osenstiern, who
is universally aeknowledgei! to be tbe greatest
statesman of Europe."

" Nevertheless," said Grotius, in a grave lone,
" I should like to change situations with you,
my young friend, and to devote myself, as you
ir allowed to do, exclusively to the study of
se ence, and to intercourse wirh the sweet
Muses Believe me, only true poets and schol-
ars whoUve in an ideal worid of dreams and
houghts, are perfectly happy. They preserve
that nnocenee of the heart and soni, of which
contact with the real world must deprive the
pohtean. We are like actors behind the
scenes who are familiar with the lamp-black,
the rouge, and the coarse paintings, by which
the speclalors are deceived. The beautiful
feces lose their charms there, the magnificent
pol e become miserable rags, and the splendid
landscapes coarse canvas daubed witb a sisn-
p cc's brush. When thinking of this, I al-
wa vs remember what the great Oxenstiern wrote
to hLS son; 'Thou dost not yet know, my son,
with how little wisdom raankmd is governed.'
But I wiU not make your heart prematurely
heavy Take my advice, eiyoy your youth, and,
abovL all things, go to Greece."

I iliall follow your advice, particularly as

i.ve for several years longed to visit the

country to which we owe our modem eiviliaa-

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128

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

tion, to tread the soil on which Miltiades ven-
tured upon the gigantic stni^le with Aisiatic
despotism, LeonidaB gloriously sacrificed him-
self, Socmtes iiied ]mddied like the best Chris-
tian, Plato taught, and Kndar sang. All I am
I one Eolel; to the Bublimo ciamplcs and
teaehinga tvhieh this extraotdinary people has
left to us. Oh, had I inherited the wonderful
eloquence of Demosthenes, I should now raise
my voice aud call upon oil Europe, and first
of all upon my native country, to deliver Greece,
the cradle of art and poetry, the original seat
of eloquence, from the yoke of ihe cruel TurliS.
Is it not a, disgrace tothe whole civilized world
that the sons of those heroes should be the
slaves of a barbarous people, and that Chris-
tians should drag the chains of unbelievers ? "

"I share your wishes in this respect," re-
plied the learned statesman, " although I thini
that the fate of the modem Greeks is that of
most of the heirs of a great name. They re-
semble tbeir ancestors as the cat resembles the
lion. To judge fiom what I have seen and
read of them, I feel inclined to consider them
not less barbarous and uncivilized than their
tjrants. They have, moreover, acquired all
the vices of a people living in siaverj' and op-
pression: they are etuhbom, insidious, and
cowardly."

"I cannot believe that every divine spaik
can be extinct in tbem. I myself know some
csecllent representatives of this nation, and
they prevent me from despairing 6i the r^en-
eration of Greece."

" May your hopes be fulfilled ! I comprehend
fully that a poet may look with rapturous en-
thu^asm upon the fatherland of poetry even
in its present decay. But the dead past must
not cause you to foi^t the living present. Our
own time is not destitute of great men in tbe
realm of science. I should like to intcodnce
you to one of its heroes, who, moreover, wears
the martyr's crown. You will, of course, go
to Florence ; do not toil to visit the neighbor.

ing Areetd and call upon the celehrated Gali"
leo, who so gloriously maintained the laws of
Nature in the face of a preposterous system,
and whom the Inquisition in consequence per-
secuted in the most outrageous manner. Go
and see him, particularly as the eld man. to
whom science is so greatly indebted, ia so much
weakened by disease, care, and grief, that he
will probably die at an early day. Hence, we
should careiully profit by the little time during
which, we may sljli enjoy the instruction of bo
great a teacher. I am sure the celebrated man
will recdve you very kindly, if you bring him
greetings from me ; for he knows that I am
oBe of his most ardent admirers."

Milton thanked him for this new recommen-
dation, and promised to profit by the oppor-
tunity to make the acquaintance of one of the
most Eminent men of the century. Grotius,
who was heginning to take the liveliest inter-
est in the promising young man, requested him
to visit him as often as possible during bia
brief sojourn in Paris. By this intercourse
with one of the greatest statesmen of his time,
the poet not only became familiar with the
political situation of Europe, hut he also ob-
tained an inside view of the difierent parties
and intcrcsta which were in conflict with each
other. His conversitions with Grotius eicrt«d
a powerlul effect upon his pol tical pnnciples.
Bud caused h m to adopt the views which he
advocated aftemard w th so much ability
In their long mttrviews thev eipitiated often
on the most important questions of pohbcal
and Boe al stiente The critical spirit with
which religious mttters were treal«d at thit
time, extended alho to pohtieal discuhsiona
Once arouhcd from the dieimy torpor of the
Middle Ages the human mind shoot witb
youthful vigor aE the hiiriLis impeding its
pr(^ess Eesnscitated Science after sur
mounting the rimp^rts of religious thraldom,
attacked the bulwark of pohtical tjrannv, and
opened its critical batteries apon all e^^isticg

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FLOKENCE— GALILEO.

129

iDhlitution' The Etfimiatioii hid thrown a
nnnersal ferment mto the wuilj, which was
Btcu^liDg for a Iransformation and new or-
ganization The authority of the pope and
tbe belief m hia infaUibility having been 'at-
tacked and much shaken, rojal absolutism was
likewise endangered. The princes themselvea
were infatuated enongh to open to the enemy
the gate by which tbe torrent of rerolution
would overwhelm them sooner or later. They
had, mostly for selfish reasons, seconded the
Kefonnation to the best of theit power, and
loosened the ties bindmg the nations to Rome,
in order to appropriate (he treasures and es-
tates of the clei^, or to unite the spiritual
authority of the pope to their own temporal
power. In Trance especidly, rayaltj waged a
desperate war against tbe feudal nobility and
tbe magnates of the kingdom. Its object was
absolute sovereignty, but,hy overi^hrowing the
natural pillars of its throne, the clergy and the
nobles, and degrading them to the position of
mere servants of the crown, it exposed itself
afletwatd, bound hand and foot, to the at-
tacks of its enemies.

Grotius explamcd all this to his attentive
pupil with wonderful clearness and sagacity.

" We hare arrived," he sidd, " at the dawn
of a new and great era of history. The ancient
worid is dead and in a slate of corruption; but
we can distinctly see that a new life la devel-
oping itself out of its remains. This cannot
tiLe phce without i terrible struggle ; birth is
alwav? preceded by the pains of labor. Bat
the spint which IS now stirring everywhere
mnt, in the long run, achieve a brilliant vic-
torv This sp nt IS the spint oi liberty, the
breath of God, whose invigorating influence
pervidLS the whole worll It is true, all the
black doudi of tyrannv the mnits of Supersti-
tion, and the shades of mght unpede its prog-
ress ; but it will overpower and dispel them.
Tbe daylight which has once dawned upon the
nations cannot be estinguished any more.

This boon we owe solely to science and its
creations. In truth, it is wonderfnl what man-
kind have achieved during the last centuries,
and we need no longer shrink from comparing
ourselves with the nations of antiquity. The
art of pcinljng, above all things, lent wings to
the mind, and enabled it to fly from one end
of the globe to tbe other. It gave to the word
a thousand-fold echo, penetrating, into every
heart. The works of the Greek and Roman
classics, and above all the Bible, rose from the
dust and mould in which they had lain for long
centuries, and became the common property
of all. Knowledge and civilization, and not
brute force, rule now over the worid. There
are no longer laymen and priests ; we have all
become a people of priests, as (he Bible pre-
dicted we should. Thus deh d f m ts
chains, S<aence becomes a sa d pint d s-
tined to enlighten and save the u t n If I
am not mistalien, my young f nd,
Ukcwise chosen to fill this h ly office Re-
ceive, therefore, from me th f rn 1 k s
which will mitiate you into the great republic
of letters, which nnites the enhghtened minds
of the whole world in a holy and powerful
league."

Thus prepared for his future career, Milton
took leave of the illuatrions statesman, and set
cut for Italy. He had soon crossed the Alps,
and arrived safely at Florence. The unpres-
sions he received here were almost overwhelm-
ing. It is true, the glorious era of the 6rst
Medicis was already at an end, but there was
still a lingering echo of that period which had
csertcd so powerful an effect upon the dcvelop-
ent of art and literature. With eyes radiant
Ih delight, the poet hastened through the
pcets of the beautiful city. Leaning against

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120

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

ihe bridge of the Aruo, he followed the course
of the riser, which dacls like a silver arrow
through the city, crowned on both aidea witli
magmficent palaces, built in the best and
chasl«Bt stjle of architecture. These palaces,
resembling fortreases, notwithstanding their
beautiful appearance, creations of a bold re-
publican Bpiril, roonuments of terrible party
strugglea, saw their proud pinnacles and ram-
pavt-Iike walls reflected in the waters of the
swift-flowing river. The manlj and indepen-
dent spirit of republicanism seemed to be still
on guard as a mail-clad sentinel in front of the
closed portals, and to wdt for the signal of the
bloody comhat. But Milton's attention was
riveted still more bj the countless treasures
of art and science amasaeiJ here, than by these
historical reminiscences. He passed many
hours every day in the galleries and libraries,
now turning over the leaves of an ancient
manuscript, now admiring an anOquc statue,
or a painting created by Titian's master-hand.
A new world, the world of art, was revealed to
him, and the poet's susceptible mind reecaved
here the first indelible impressions of a beauty,
of which he had not had an idea up to this
time. His sick heart gradually began to re-
cover, and his gloomy melancholy yielded to
the now gay, now lofty feelings with which the
monuments and charming environs of Florence
inspired him.

Nor was social intercourse to be wanting to
him. At Geneva he had become acquainted
with a young savant, named Diodati, who lived
there, and who had given him letters of intro-
duction to his friends and relatives in Florence.
Milton met nith an exceedingly kind recepfion
at their hands, and was introduced by them to
the most distinguished fiimilies of the city.
The educated classes of Florence took the live-
liest interest in the development of art and
science, and the native city of Dante, Boccac-
cio, and Machiavelli, coutained yet a great
many eminent men. The noblest and wealth-

iest families took pride in protecting artists
and seholare, am} entertaining them with mu-
nificent hospitahty. Their palaces, villas, and
gardeuB were the rendezvous of foreign and
native talents; musicians performed their com-
positions here, critics expatiated oti art and
literature, philosophers read their essays, poets
recited their epics and lyrics, and even ahand-
some theatre was built, in which amateurs
performed the comedies of Terence, or modern
dramas, such as Pastor jiAo, by Guarino, or
Machiavelli's sprightly JirWiv^oj-a. The ladies
tooif part in these amusements, and their
learning proved in many instances by no
means inferior to that of the men.

The centres of this intellectual life were the
academies, which jvere established and named
after Plato's model. No large Italian city
would do without them, and they eserted a
most powerfiil influence upon the education of
the nation, and the course of public opinion.
The poetical and scientific contests were held
in these academies ; poets and scholars read
theu works to a select audience, which criti-
cised them with profound sagacity and crowned
the victor with a laurel-wreath. In this man-
ner science and literature were subject to pe-
culiar influences, such as are unknown to our
times, when the dead letter has long since
taken the place of the living word. It is true,
these academies were not free frasa a certam
theatrical ostentation, and they were also fre-
quently affected with an almost childish imita-
tion of antique forms, coupled with stiff ped-
antry ; but their advantages outweighed most
decidedly these objectionable features.

Milton was introduced into such an academy
by his Italian iriends, and requested to recite
some of his Latin poems. The specimens of
Ms poetical works, which he read on this oc-
casion, met with an applause which far ex-
ceeded his expectations ; he received even a
number of laudatory letters, which Italians do
not address very often \a transalpine writers.

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rLOEENCE— GALILEO.

Thia traeipecteil Bucoess, howerev, did cot
make our poet Tainglorioug. It only incited
liim to renewed efforts and higher aspimtions,
foe he judged his works with greater rigor
Iban hie delighted audience did. Above all
things, he acquirecl the conviedon that a true
poot should not use a foreign language, but
his mother tongue. He resolved to write one
day a grand work in English, and to relinquish
forever the stiff Latin forms which he had
mostly used up to this time.

In this manner the poet passed his dioe at
Flotenee under the most agreeable cireum-
stanees, honored and courted by the best dr-
cles, which opened to hiio with charming hoa-
pilality. He enjoyed the pleasures of life once
more, and the melancholy reminiscences of the
past months! faded gradually from his memory.
He took the liveliest interest in the social in-
tercourse with refined and accomplished per-
sons, who lavished proofs of their esteem and
friendship upon him. At times he made ex-

! f b

pis mg b

d h ir

oended the hill on which the humble bouse of
the greatest and most unfortunate of natural
philosophers was situated. Upon reaching the
Eummit, the poet rested a, little and gazed upon
the magnificent valley at bis feet There lay
the dty, with its spicea, palaces, and bridgeS)

river. The whole country rc-embled a vast
garden spread out before the beholder in inde-

scribahle beauty and grandeur, until the ragged
Ltaing of Carrara arrested his transported

xmtemplation of the mag-
Milton perceived an old
man who had seated himself on a marble
bench close by, and by whose side a nun with
a large flowing veil was standing. Their forma
riveted hia whole attention immediitelv The
eountenjnee of the old man seemei to the
poet the most renerahle he had ever seen
the espansiTB forehead, which indicated hira
to be a profound thinker was alomed with
long silver liair a 1 eard of the samt color
surrounded the pile wan eheekf and flowed
nearly down to the breast But the most
touching impression was produced by the dark
eyes, whose light wa' extinct. They stared
lu'itrelesa and dull into the endleaa night of
incurable blindness. The slender nun hent
over the unfortunate old man; her delicate,
^ckly fece was illuminated with the rays of
piety and filial love.

"Let DS go," said the old man, rising and
leaning upon his daughter's arm. " You will re-
turn to your cloister, for if I am not mistaken,
evening is drawing nigh. The cool breeze as-
cending from the valley tells me so. This has
been a very fine day, and night will set in with
all the glorious beauties of the star-apangled
sky. Oh, I miss the stars much more than
the sun. I would I could just once r^oioe in
their glorious aspect, and admire them from
my obserratory ! "

P r father I" murmured the nun, com-

ately.

D notpjtyme. The decline of my strength

m that the day cannot be far off when I

11 permitt6d to walk in the midst of my

tars Then I shall know all about the eternal

regulating their course, which I liave

to divined only in an imperfect manner.

In my dreams, which give me a foretaste of

future bliss, I see the vast golden worlds re-

dhy Google

^32

JOHK MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Tolviug round the radiant sun. Lovely Venus,
glowing Mars, and august Jupiter gather like
children round the Bother that gave them,
bh-th, and our globe 13 revolvii^ with them in
harmonious rhythms. No, I was not mistaken;
Science does not lie. God Himself wrote the
Iruth in fiamicg star-letters upon His firma-
ment, and He will be to me in His mercy a
wiser and milder judge than the Inqui^Uon,
which compelled me to assert on my kneea
that the sun moved coxmd tho earth."

"Calm yourself .father," said his pious
daughter, beseechingly; "we must obey the
Church and submit to its commandments."

" The Church, yes ; but not the Inquieition,
I am as good a Catholic as any one in Italy;
and I believe that God has revealed Himself
toushoth in the Bible and in Nature. The
world, therefore, is the work, and the Bible
the word, of the same God; but the word, ren-
dered in hnmon lai^age, ia susceptible of
many interpretations; and hundreds of pas-
sages, if literally understood, would not only be
heredcs, but dowmight blasphemies, by rep-
resenting God Himself aa capable of angor,
repentance, forgetfulnesa, and revenge. Na-
ture, OD the other hand, the servant of God,
eternally immutable, and human wishes at
opinions have no influence over it ; in regard
to the motion, shape, and system of its com-
ponent parts, the universe ia always the same.
The moon will and n ust alw lys be a spheric al
boly although the Lomroou people long be-
lieve 1 her to be a flat disk Nature is not
snlijett to manifold interpretations liLe the
word and human opinions tre powerlLSa m
the face of ttemal truth Hence, I have
adopted it IS my guide and taken intmte
pams to dv'<cover ita holy teachings and laws.
Nature was my Bible, I read in it mght and
day without becoming tired of it. And could
my efforts to recognize the Creator in His
works be heresy? Oh, such a chaise was
most painful, but still more painful to me was

a consented to it in obedience lo the
supplications of your children and friends, aod
advice of the prince who protected you

i long 1

ihei

is able to do s.

" And yet I ought not to have yielded, for
■uth must be more sacred and precious to us
than wife and children, than the whole world.
Did the holy martyrs ever deny their faith and
bow to the idols of their tormentors? They
rather suffered the most excruciating tortures
and death. Oh 1 I ought to have imitated
thdr esample ; and I grieve bitterly at having
lacked courage and strength to do so. Na-
ture, to which I turned recreant, wreaked a
terrible vengeance on me. It deprived me of
my eyesight, that I might no longer behold
and admire its sublime beauties. This va a
just retribution for my recreancy."

Tho pious daughter made no reply, but
dropped a scalding tear upon her father's

" Do not weep," siud the venerable man, in
a voice tremaious with emotion. "This
earthly blmdness cannot last much longer; I
shall soon see what no earthly eye ever be-
held. Already the rays of a higher sun pene-
trate the gloom 0' m ' and fl
of the eternal ligh h m ft n
as though I wer d n a fl w
fanned by purer h di g n m
(el^cope by far m p d p w ul
than my own instrum p
my eyes ; on. looking at it without a telescope,
we think it is a fine silvery mist ; but to me it
appears as an ocean of hght, filled with an
enormous number of new suns, round which
move planets and moons larger and more beau-
tiful than those which have hitherto been dis-
covered. These celestial suns and planets fol-
low in endless succession up to the throne of
the Almighty, who is hidden behind this daf-
allng ocean of light, and whose face none but

dhy Google

n,OEEKCE— GALILEO.

the bloased are allowed to behold. I hope I
shall likewise see Him amidst the glorions
world of His stars."

Concealed behind a tree, Milkm had listened
to this conversatioo, which he did not venture
to interrupt. He could no longer douht that
the unfortunate old man was the illustrious
Galileo, to whom Grotiua had recommended
him. As the hlind sufferer was about to re-
enter his house, the poet hastened after him
and overtook him at the threshold.

"If I am not mistaken, I greet ui jou the
illustrious GalUeo, to whom one of his many
friends and admirers, Hugo Grotiua, has re-
quested me to bring greetings and this letter.
"Come m," said the old man, "that m
daughter may read to me my eioelient friend'

Milton complied with this inritation, aud wa
conducted into an humble room filled wit
books and dusty instruments. The nun who
had immediately vdled herself when the stran-
ger joined them, now removed her Ttil, and
read, in a timid voice, the recommendation and
the praise which Gcofius had bestowed in the
letter apon the talented youth. A sweet blusli
suffused her delicate ethereal face, and, despite
her piety, she looked up from the letter and
filed her gentle eyes upon the slender, fine-
looking form of thevisitor. When their glances
happened to meet, she was scarcely able to con-
ceal her confusion, and she went out for a short
time under (he pretext of looking after the
supper.

The distrust with which the blind Galileo,
sorrounded as he was by spies, could not hut
look upon every stranger, gave way to a more
cordial understanding so soon as they had es-
ehanged a few words. There were many
points of contact between the two men, for the
great naturalist was also a lover of poetry and

The longer Mlllon was with him, the more
unreserved and trustful became the amiable

It was only In regard to the per-
he had suffered at the hands of the
Inquisition that he kept silence, although his
guest m the course of the converaalion alluded
repeatedly to this subject; but he became elo-
quent when Milton referred to the progress of
the physical sciences.

" In your oountiy, too," said Gahleo, " there
has risen a man who combated, like me, the
errors of scholastic philosophy, and entered
the only trao path of observation and experi-
ment ; I refer to the great Chancellor Bacon,
the father and restorer of modem science.
Thus the spirit of truth bursts everywhere the

p m t. But
who is not allowed
but only to overlo k
the top of a high

h d mg Moses,
d h red soil,

. What a glorious
sight ! The seed scattered by the mind bears
fruit a hundredfold. Temples ajid altars ate
erected everywhere to science, new inventions
of the most wonderful description bring earth
nearer to heaven, and all virtues go hand in
band with growing civilization. Milder man-
ners supplant the old barbarism, superstition
disappears, war and discord must flee, and Hie
blessings of peace and harmony render the
world happy and prosperous,"

"Then the truth will be able to raise its
voice fearlessly, and its adherents need not be
afraid of executioners and tormentors," added
the poet, significantly.

There was a solemn panse. Gahleo, whose
face beamed with the enthusiastic eipreasion
of a prophet, seemed to be absorbed in the
dream which the best men of all times have
cherished in the innermost recesses of their
souls, and which reminds us of our higher
ori^n. A gentle smile played over the pale,

dhy Google

134

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

em^atcd features of the sufferer. The sun
was Betting, und ils last fierj rays penetrated
through the open window into the Braall room,
filling tC with golden light and surrounding
Galileo's Tenerablo bead with a halo. Milton
thought of the first martjra of Christionitj,
whom those of science were !o follow. A foce-
boding of his own future fate stole upon the
jouiig poet at the sight of the blind Galileo.
Tho features of the great Italian stamped
themselves indelibly on his souL

The nun opened the door soflly, and, as-
sisted by an old serrant, put tho dishes noiae-
lessljon the table. She then waved her hand
to the guest and invited bim to sit down.
Galileo partook likewise of the simple meal,
which consisted mostly of fruits. During the

pas M 1 n addressed a few words to the
P us g 1 nd her answers indicated a rare

d ra di and excellent education. He
sp d h regrets to the father that he had

d h (hecompanyof such a daughter,
a h les fhercloisterpermitted but rarely
such a visit as she had pdd him to-day.

" My child did right," said GalUeo, " in
seeking refnge with God from the temptaliona
of the world and all troubles and sufferings.
I myself am too old and infirm to give ber the
necessary protection. She is a good daughter,
and does not forget her old father. Whenever
(he prioress grants her permission, she comes
to Arcetri and stays with me. From her
earliest youth her heart turned toward heaven,
and it was well that it did. She has escaped
many a trial thcrehy, foe faith is the safest
guide in this world. One day, when I close
my eyes, she will stand at my dcath-beii, and
an angel will implore God to have mercy upon

A tear glistened in the eye of tho nun, and
Milton also was profoundly moved. Th^
emotion was enhanced by the Are Maria
which penetrated to them from the churches
of the city and proclaimed the departure of

day. Ko sooner did the nun hear the sacred
notes, than she knelt down and prayed, hold-
mg the rosary in her delicate white hands.
Galileo, who, notwithstanding his scientiSe in-
vestigations, had remained a pious Catholic,
followed her example. But the prayers which
ascended from tbeir lips to heaven were prob-
ably very different from each other. During
this devout ceremony, the poet remained
standing and contemplated in silence the old
man and the lovely girl, who se«med to him
embodiments of science and faitb.

When the prayer was over, the nun rose
and cast a searching and almost reproachful
glance on the slrapger, who did not share her
devotion.

"Ton do not pray?" she asked wonder-

"Pardon me, signora," replied the poet, in
a firm voice, " I do not belong lo your
Church."

" I hope you are not a heretic f'Bhe cried, ,
in dismay, " That is iinposaible."

" The gentleman," said Galiieo to his pious
daughter, " is an Englishman, and his nation
adopted the doctrines of John Calvin."

" Then he is a heretic after all," marmured
the pale ni/n. "Santa Maria 1 Yoa do not
pray, you do not believe in God and the Ke-
deemerf" she added, m a loud, moumfol

"You are mistaken, signoro," replied Mil-
ton, with a gentle smile. "We believe fike-
wise in God and the Redeemer who died for
us on the cross, although we worship Him in
a different manner."

" I hope the Lord will lead jou back to the
fold of His holy Church, you and jonr people.
For this purpose I will pray every day to the
Madonna in your behalf. Pray accept thia
consecrated rosary ; it will shield you from all
the dangers of a long journey, and remind you
also of this hour and our interview."

Milton waB unable to sneer at the pious de-

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EOME-LEONOEA BAHONI.

135

lusion, wbich ieemed to him eo tOL^cMog, und
took the rosary with heartfelt thaake. When
bis ontatretcbed hnnd toucbed that of the uim,
he felt that it Ij^efflbled.

" May the Madonna protect jou," she whis-
pered in a tremulovia voice. " I must go, for

ia up."

She bent over her blind fethet, who im-
printed a tender kiss upon her forehead, and
then turned once more to the guest.

" Farewell," she said, deeply moved. " I
shall never &il to remember you in my
prajera."

Wrapped in her veil, she loft tbe room to
return to her cloister. Leaning against the
■window, the poet gazed after her, holding the
rosary thoughtfully in hla hand, until the
growing darkness and the distance concealed
her slender form from hia eyes. After a sbort
while he likewise tookleave of bia host, deeply
moved by the manifold ii

Galileo's daughter knelt ia her cell and
prayed fervently to the Madonna for the sal-
vatioD of the young heretic.

CHAPTER ni.

After a Vxo months' sojourn, abounding
alike in enjoyment and aolid inslruction, Milton
proceeded on hia journey to Rome. Here, too,
his reputation and the letters of introduction
wiuch he brought with him secured him a
friendly reception j he was admitted to the
best aodety, and the most distii^uished houses
opened to Mm. During the first days after
his arrival he visited the learned Holstenius,
the celebrated libvarian of the Vatican. Hol-
Btenius introduced him to his patros, the ac-
complished and influential Cardinal Batberini,
who received the poet with surprising kmd-

ness and courtesy, and overwhelmed him with
friendly attentions. It was still at that tJme
customary for strangers in Kome, according to
theu- nationality, to receive protection and hos-
pitality at the palaces of the high dignitaries
of tbe Church. The sumptuous apartments
of the Barberini palace were opened to the
sons of Albion. Tbe cardinal, who was cot
yet very old, combined in bis person the dig-
nity of a distinguished prelate with the gay
philosophy of an epicure, and was a most
amiable host to his numerous guests.

At night the gorgeous halls and apartments
were almost always Med with a select circle
of eminent and distinguished persons ; foreign-
ers and natives, priests and lajmen, scholars
and poets, suiged up and down in a motley
crowd, and engaged in tbe most animatod
oouveraation. Here walked a venerable bishop
by (be aide of an artist, there a bearded monk
by the side of a smooth-shaved dandy ; in the
midst of tbe flery, black-hatred Xtalians moved
blond Englishmen, with a measured step, and
stiff as tapers. Nor were the ladies excluded,
for, despite hia clerical position, tbe lively
cardmal did not seem to be a womau-hatcf.

Milton was delighted with the easy, unaf-
fected tone rmgniog in this circle, and he Traa
almost always to be found there on the regular
reception-nights. But, m addition, he waa
often invited to special festivals, and treated,
generally, with a diatincUon which could not
but surprise him.

"You are very fortunate," said the learned
librarian to him, pkyfiilly ; " and, if you wish,
you can attain all your .objects here. Cardinal
Barberini, the pope's cousia, is your friend."

"I am indebted to your recommendation
for the kindness with which he treats me."

"No, my friend: you seem to have still
other secret protectors ; for when I mentioned
your name to bis eminency for the first tune,
he seemed to have heard it before, and acted
as though he knew you already."

dbyGoogle

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

" Possibly one of the m

IS Englishm

who have Tisltcd the cardinul ma; hare men-
tioned my name."

"That must be it," rephed H leteni
caudonsly breaking off tl t

Milton was rendered i f th gh f 1 b
what he hod just heard, b h g PI

henslons soon subsidi'd, d h 1 k d p
tho eitraocdinary kindn f th di al

only as the oondeseensi f t ru

patron. Otiier secret int h th ht

tho distinguiBhed prelate Id t t rt
in regard to on ahnost kn wn j g m
Hence he did not hesitate to accept his icvita
tions as heretofore One etemns on entermg
the ciondei hal it a latt.r hour than u'lnal,
be hiard wondrous singing a female to ce,
of a eompaoB and beautj "uch ao he had novcr
heard before was performi g o le of Palestri-
na'H hymns with rare perfection The [.oi^t
hastened mvoluntanly forward lo "ee the
^□ger

She stood on a gdded dais &% a quoen on
her throne H r slendti form was wripped
in a dark red dreRt her magmfic nt arms »nd
the classical neck, for which the Koman women
are noted, were bare ; onlj two precious cameos
festened the dresa on her shoulders and to-
Inptuous bust. A wreatli of flaming pome-
granate-blossoms surrounded the beautiful
temples and raven hair, which was tied in a
knot, after the fiishion of the atidenta ; but
countless litUe ringlets mocked the ribbon,
and protruded, like small seductiye serpents,
in natural exuberaaee. The proud neck was
Burmoutited by a magnificent head, combining
Junonian dignity with the graoM of Venus.
A golden tinge colored her slightly-flushed
cheeks, whose soft roundness reminded the
beholder of the swelling forms of the peach ;
her slightly-curved nose and well-shaped chin
indicated unusual firmness, while the clear,
smooth forehead seemed to be the tlirone of
an extraordinary understanding. Dark eye-

brows and silky lashes shaded two s
which the nocturnal sky contained n

Thy

were beam

ng now wiUi the

wb th f

husiasm andinnatefire. From

il g

mson lips flowed the charmicg

f th 1

ous hymn

Her whole form

h d re
rh d

mbled a st

tue of the goddess

stood or

sat around her,

ply m d b her divi

e Toico ; a breath-

^ed, and the easily-traiis-

t d Italians

pve ven

to their delight

only in

almost inaudible.

Itw

I the s:

finished the hymn that the general enthusiasm
burst forth like a raging tempest.

^^ E viva Leontypa t brava! brava/" shouted
the enthusiastic countrymen of the artiste.

"St. Cecilia!" aud a gray-headed bishop
who was standing by Milton's side. "My ears
never heard such singing before."

The applauded lady thanked her admirers
with an imperceptible nod of her head, like a
princess receiving the due homage and tribute
of her subjects.

" jlnco!-a fria / " cried those who were stand-
ing close to her, and the whole audience
echoed their shouts.

An imperceptible smile of satisfaction played
around her heautifiil lips, and her beaming
eyes cast proud glances on the crowd of her
admirers. She whispered a few words to the
cardinal, who was seated near her; Barberini
nodded kindly, and the artiste disappeared be-
hind the green curtain leading to the inner
apartments of the palace. The audience was
breathless with suspense ; it felt that another
surprise was in store for it.

A few momenta afterward a very prepossess-
ing youth made his appearance. His beau-
tiful form was wrapped in a short Greek
tunic, white as snow, and trimmed with gold
lace; an ivj-wreath crowned his dark, flowing
ringlets; in his hands be held a golden lyre.

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ROME— LBONOEA BARONI.

137

His noble face eipresaed profound grief and
dcpaic.

"Orfeo!" mnrmured the andience.

The artiste, indeed, represented the unfortu-
nate Orpbeus, His compliiinta for bis lost
consort flowed with touching power from her
lips. It was not alone the singing that pro-
duced an almost indeseribiible effect, and car-
ried away the audience, but the wonderful
perfection of the eieontiun, blended nith th
striking and moat appropriate espresslon o
hoc countenance. This TOice, eipreasive o
(he moat profound feeling, wept and sohbed
hoped and feared, rose to the acme of grief
and sank to tJie lowest depths of duapair.
Not an eye was tearksa, and the artiste
nchicTed the grandest triumph.

A profound stillness reigned in the hall
eTen long after she had concluded. No one
dared to break the silence, for all felt as
(hough aomething tremendous had happened.
Bud as thoi^h they tii^maelres had witneased
an estraordinary event. They seemed not to
have beard a, fable, a myth, but to have aoen
it all with their own eyes, and taken part in it.
It waa only after a long pauae that they re-
covered their full presence of mind. The
cardmal himself gave the signal of applause,
which, if poasible, surpassed the previous out-
burst of enthuEiasra. The Southern vivaeitv
and transports of the Italians were no longtr
confined to the usual manifcslatiouB of ap-
plause. Ladies and gentlemen rose from the r
seats and threw flowers, rings, bracelets, and
diadems — in short, whatever ornaments and
trinkets they had — at the feot of the great
artiate. She scarcely, botrever, vouchsafing
glance to these rich offennga, bowed, and di
appeared, to change her dreas. But a little
boy in the guiae of an angel, who had stood
by her aide, carefully gathered in a neat
ket the tribute paid to the artiste.

Milton, too, was deeply moved. He leaned
againat a pillar and gazed after the charming

ure. Indescribable feelings filled his
breast ; it si>emed to him that he had now
earned, for the fiiBt time, the true meaning
Lud power of art, and that all he had hitherto
heard and seen bad been inaigniGeajit and
Bcarcely worthy of being remembered. The
truly feminine dehcaey and modesty of Alice
Egerton, the touching piety of Galileo's pale

priestess of divine art. And with his enthu-
siaam and delight blended still another emo-
tion : the appearance and even the name of the
artiste awakened old, long-forgotten reminis-
cences in his mind. A picture which had
slumbered in his soul for many years past
emerged from his memory, and he recalled in-
voluntarily Ms singular meeting with the
beantiful stranger in the college garden at
Cambridge.

While he waa thus absorbed in his reverie,
the cantatrioe had returned. She had ex-
changed her male attire for her former female
garb A host of admirers thronged around
her as she walkid, with a proud step, by the
s de of the ordinal through the hall. She
approa bed nea ir and nearer, iintd she stood
n front of the poet. She converoed in the
n ost animated manner with her companions,
an 1th swe t so md of her silver voioe^ which
ih peculiar to the Roman women, struck Mil-
ton's ear; he lifted his eyes to her, their
glances met, and a deep blush suffused his del-
icate and almost feminmo countenance ; even
the pale cheeks of the cantatrice colored
sUghtly,

"Who is the stranger?" she said in a low
voice to the cari^nal, on whose arm she was
leaning,

"Permit me, ^gnora," replied Barberini,

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JOHN MILTON" AND HIS TIMES.

1 'to introduce io jou a votary of
e, S gnor Milton, from England, dia-
h d abke as a poet and eehclar."

th poet was able to utter a word,
p his admiration to the artiste, she

" You a

I know your
ly father for

country, for I lived there
short time. I belieye I have seen jou some-
where; jouc features seem to me quite famil-
iar, and remind roe of a prank I played in my

" You Here in Cambridge ? "

"I wae, indeed," replied the canlatrjfe,
wonderingly. "How do jou come to know
that ! "

"Tou visited the college garden, which
ladies enter but vtrj rarely. If I am not mis-
taken, you were accompanied by an older

" My poor mother ; she is dead — a saint in
paradise! But proceed, proceed!" eselaimed
the cantatiice, impatiently.

" A boy lay there asleep under a tree, fle
had a wonderful dream ; he fancied he saw an
angel bending over him and dropping a rose."

" The boy waa as handsome as Endymiou,
but I thought he was slumbering," added the
cantatrioe, smiluig.

"He did not sleep; only his ejra were
closed."

" Ah, the rogue deceived me, and I allowed
mjself to be carried away by my exuberant
spmta, and added to the rose a few lines which
I wrote hurriedly. Did the boy read and re-
member the lines ? "

"He engraved them, as well as the lovely
apparition, forever on his memoiy."

"Signer Milton can, perhaps, ce<at« the
doubUess charming lines," interposed the car-
dinal, with a good-natured smile.

" I do not know if I am allowed to do so,"
replied the poet, casting an inquiring glance

" I grant jou perroiasion to recite the lines,
and shall be glad if you have not forgotten my
first poetical effort."

Milton blushed again, and so great waa his
emotion, that he could falter out only the first

"Oh, tWrest ejes, je orbs of bllBSfoI liglit—"
" I see," said the artiste, " that I most come
to the assistance of your memory; the linea

'Oh, fi

TTbat could m;

IS, je orbs of bllasCi
■ioia.

lllgbt,

hcBrt,if jc

"Srava, brava!" eiclaimed Ihe cardinal,
gallantly. " You were born to be not only a
cantatrice, but also a poetess ; Leonora Baroni
is and remains in every respect the most ^fled
and accomplished lady in the world. Do you
not think so, too, Signer Inglese ? "

Milion was unable to join in hia plajfid
tone ; his heart waa loo deeply moved by this
ati'ange meeting. He had not dreamed, then;
the ideal of his youth was not a vain creation
of his imagination, and the sweet reality was
before him in its most beautiful embodiment.
Bow should or could he find words for the
emotions filling his heart at this moment?
Language seemed too tame and feeble for tte
delight which he felt all at once. Leonora
divined, doubtless, what was going on in the
jouDg man's heart, and his Eilenee pleased her
better than the trivial praise which was hv
ished on her from all sides, and with which
she was already surfeited. She delighted in
his confusion, though not with her wonted
pride and haughtmesa, but with a quiet smile
and a gentle glance from her sparkling eyes
But the cardinal laughed at the mute poet.

What, sir poet," be asked, "jou do not
s^y a word to the most beautifbl lady and
9t cantatrice of Italy f Forsooth, if I
poet like JOU, I should write a poem on

"The signora haa no need of my poems,"

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ROME— UEONOEA HAKONI.

139

replied Milton, gravely, '' The whole Pamaa.
BUS of Itidy renders homage to her, and she
will not misa the awkward foreigner."

" Do Tou not know that that which ia for-
eign is particularly attraciire for our ses?"
sud Leonora.

" Tou are above the average of your sex."

"Ate yon a flatterer, too ? I shall punish
you for this, by compelling you to write a son-
net on me ; and you shall do so, not in your
rough language, but in my own."

" And you call that a punishment for him f "
asked the cardinal.

" I shall await you with your poem to-mor-
row at my house. A riiiederei I "

Milton bowed to the cantatrice, who left the
hall Eoon afterward. He also withdrew soon
after the disappearance of the beautiful mag-
net that had attracted him so powerfully. He
wandered dreamily through the nocturnal
streets of the Eternal City. It was a magnifi-
cent summer-night; the golden stars twinkled
in the azure heavenB with a radiance such as
is known only to the happySouth. The moon
shed her silyec rays on the countless cupolas,
towers, and rains. His way had led him from
Barberini's palace to the Monte Fincio. On
its summit he enjoyed the magnificant prospect
of this chaos of palaces, splendid churches, pil-
lars, and obelisks, which, in that ma^c illn-
jnination, looked like a scene from Guryland.
At his feet lay the Piazza Spagnuola, with ita
bustling crowds, whose noise was scarcely to
be heard at this distance, but blended harmo-
niously with the murmurs of the numerous
fountains. From time to time the silencu was
broken by the sweet notes of a guitar or man-
dolin, to which a lover sang ritomelles in a
sonorous voice. The warm breeze caressed
the tops of the green sweet-pines lovingly, and
only the dark cypress did not move its branches
and foliage. The poet's soul sank into that
sweet reverie which nowhere more readilj'
Bt«als over the wanderer than in the Eternal

City, where the past and present, life and
death are so wonderfully blended in an inces-
sant contact. Forgotten were all his former
sufferings and stcu^les ; only here and there
a reminiscence emerged like a lone pillar or
a ruin amidst the chaos of new impressions
and feehngs. Aa luxuriant ivy and exuberant
vines clad the ruiua and rubbish oil around
him, so, in the poet's heart, the hope of future
happiness blossomed on the ruins of the past.
What were his sufferings compared with the
fate of Rome, his grief compared with that of
this Niobe among the cities of the earth f She
had seen her best sons die, she had wept over
Cjesar's corpse, and survived the downfall of
the republic; she had been hurled from her
proud position ; the old iflistrcss of the world
had been subjugated and devastated by bar-
baiians ; her children were degenerate, and
bowed their proud necks to the yoke; and
still a serene smile played ronnd her lips, and
her eyes beamed with ardent desireB,

la man alone to yield always to his grief and
never to forget his snfferinga? Life offers a
thousand compensations, and when one flower
fades, another blooms only the more beauti-
fully. The world is so rich and magnificent,
and the very fact that it is subject to decay
and destruttioQ lends additional channs to
it. Ancient Rome has fallen; another Rome
has taken its place. Instead of heroic deeds
we admire now the surpassing beauty of its
art; the air resounds no longer with battle-
cries, but with love-songs, and strength and
valur have given way to poverty and want.
The human heart longs at all times to live,
love, eiyoy, and be happy.

The warm, voluptuous breeze whispered
such thoughts to the poet ; they rustled in the
gently-moving foliage ; the graceful waters of
the fountain muttered them, and they flitted in
tlic pale weird moonlight.

"To live and lovel" he repeated in a low
voice, on leaving the hill, and descending the

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140

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

magiiifioont staircase, nhose arched windings
led him to tbe Piazza Spagnuola, where the
people were yet enjoying themselves despite
the lateness of the night.

CHAPTER IV.

Os the following day Milton repaired to the
house of the celebrated cantatrice. She came
to meet him with the kindest greetings, and
conducted him to a swelling divan, on which
she invited hun to sent himself b; her side.
Her whole surroundings wore a gay artiatic
aspect The high, «ool walls of the room were
covered with beautiful frescoes representing
the power of music. Here stood Apollo among
the shepherds of Admetus, and played on the
lyre, while the shepherds listened with un-
feigned delight to his divine strains. There
Orpheus tamed the wild beasts of the forest
by his music, so that they followed him will-
ingly. The frieze was formed by a chain of
Capids and children performing on all sorts of
inBtrumenta, blowing trombones with swelling
cheelis, or striking cymbals together with their
tiny hands, or wielding the bow. On the ceil-
ing was to be seen St. Ccciha with transfigured
^fle, surrounded by kneeling angels who held
the music-book before her or flitted round the
open oi^u. On eiamining her a little more
closely the beholder perceived that the saint
bore Leonora's features, a great though sincere
flattery on the pait of the painter, who was
one of her most ardent friends and admirers.
All around stood or lay in picturesque confu-
sion all sorts of vessels and precious ^fts,
TQsea and statues of exquisite workmanship,
either real antiques of high value, or excel-
lent imitations On the outstretched arm of a
Tenua hung the Greek tunic which the can-
tatrice had worn yesterday, and a lute leaned

against the foot of a ivinged Moreury. Laurel
wreaths and similar offerings, which her ail-
mirers had bestowed upon her, lay on the
table amidst music books and poems written
in honor of the celebrated artiste. She her-
self wore a white dress, transparent enough to
show her magnificent form; and Ihe usual
ved of the Roman ladi&< she had wound pic-
turesquely round her head. This strange
head dress, from which a mass of dark ring-
lets flowed down on her shoulders, reminded
the poet of one of Raphael's Sihyls, to nhom
the cantatrice hore a Blriking resemblance at
this moment.

'' I was looking for yoo," she said, in a
soft, sonorous voice. " You keep your word
promptly, hke all Englishmen; bat let me see
what you have brought to me."

The poet handed her with an embarrassed
air the sonnet, which she read aloud. It was
written in Italian, and read as follows :

"O^or.

jinplicet

la dubbin

Tanlo del forie, o d'indWdis sicnro,
DT tfmoTl. e speranae, al popol use,
Quonto d^igcgDO, dVto valor vugo,

Bol troverete in tstl part« menduro,

A pleasant and gratified smile played round
the lips of the cantatrice when she had read the
poem, and she held cut her beautiful hand to
the poet,

" Indeed," she said, " your poem is beaati-
ful, almost too beautiful tfl he true."

" What, signora, you doubt my sincerity ? "

" I will believe you, for I do not like to treat
you like my common admirers. Besides, I
have been told that love m the North is not a
fugitive blossom, but as flrm and durable as Us

" That is

Fulm

» the lest."

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THE POET AKD HIS MnSE.

"I may soon Tisve an opportunity to con-
vince myself whether or not I have mistaken
your oharaeter. Tour poom breathes a manly
spirit, such as I look for in vain among my
countrymen. The ancient Romans are gone,
and their descendants bear I)ut a alight resem-
blance to them. Onoo we were masters of the

" And 30 you are now, thoagh in a different
raannec. Eome formerly BOnqueced the world

by her valot; she does so no

w by art and

beauty."

"You are right. Divine art

has remained

to us. The heavenly fire is no

yet estinet ;

it burns in the lyrics of our poe

3, in the colors

of Raphael, in the sublime figu

es of Miohael

" And in the performiinccs of Leonora Ba-

" Hush, hush ! You must not flatter me,"
replied the artiste, striking his arm gently
with ber fan.

Milton hastened to kisa the hand which
chastised him so charmingly.

"You are a stranger here," added the aig-
nora; "therefore, I will be your guide in

'■ You are too kind."

" I know of no greater pleasure than to com-
municate to others the grand and sublime
things which delisht me. Therefore, if you
accept my offer, we will commence this very
day our walks through the Eternal City."

" I shall always b& ohhged to you, and am
dedcous of no better guide — for a lifetime."

" Who knows if you would not soon regret
that?"

" The Musa should always go by the side of
the poet."

" But I am afraid he would soon get tired
of the company of the Muse. After a while be
would see in her a woman like all others."

" Yoar divine origjn protects yon from such
ft fete."

You I

rmit the Muse now to withdraw for a
)ments, that she may go to the kitchen.
■e my guest to-day, and if you do not

1, Im

t git

cessary orders to my servants."

Milton remained alone, and yielded entirely
to the impression which Leonora's beauty and
understanding had made upon him. He con-
fessed to himself that he had never met in his
yfe-path a woman like her. Her whole bear-
ing and appearance breathed a certain artis-
tic enthusiasm, grandeur, and a gracefulness
which helped the hashful poet to surmount the
barriers of conveutionality, without wounding
his delicacy in any manner. The atmosphere
surrounding him here sesmed more suitable
to his peculiarities than any other. He was
likewise an ardent lover of music, and upon
poesy he always looked as the most sublime
vocation. He had now met with a lady who
seemed to him an embodiment of his own ideal
longings and aspirations. She shared his ia-
cUnations, she comprehended him and his most
secret thoughts, she sympathized most ardently
with his aspirations. To all this was to be
added the fascination of her manners and her
radiant beauty, which was onlya most suitable
garb of a highly-cultivated mind and talents
bordering on genius. No wonder that she had
taken the poet's heart by storm, and kifldled
the most passionate love in it. Even the griev-
ous loss which he had sustained previous to his
departure from England, rendered him only the
more susceptible of a new affection.

Youth never ceases to hope and love. If
vernal frosts nip many a bud, they do not kill
the healthy fruitful sap ; new buds spring up
in pi f th which were blighted, and new
b m k e places of those which fell

ff cb enough to repair all in-

M anwh L nota had returned with a ser-

an wh brought in a table and covered

, it with choice dishes. Even on this occasion

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142

tbe

JOES' MILTON AND HIS 1

an opportunity to disploy
her refined and poelioal spirit ; she arranged
ever) thing herself ^nli in doing eo evinced the
mo?t eiqui^ile ta^te The costh Majorca
plBlea painted by tkiifui ardstii lay on Ihe
goi^eo ■■ Bilten tihle-cloth numerous gold
and s Iver vesaela wrought and finished per-
haps bi BenvoDuto Cellni hun'ielf htood
imoag magnjheent vases filled w Ih fl wers
and laurel bcanthtB Wine flashed and
sparkled like hquid gold in Tenetian crystal
decanters

1 ou hall have a classical meal she said,
mvitiDg the poet to seat himself There is
genaine Faleraian wine ; Horace himaelf nerer
drank better. Fill your glass and touch mine.
Long live poesy ! "
"TheMusel"
"Life!"
" Love I "

" Life and love," added Leonora, thought-
fully. " That eihauBta every thing. I still
remember enough of your mother-tongue to
know that live and love sound almost ahke.
There ia a deep meaning in thai"

" To Kve is to love, and only he who loves
lives," affirmed the poet, flnahed with the gen-

■'I should hardly have deemed your lan-
guage, which sounda barbarous to my Italian
ears, capable of moulding such beautiful words."

"You treat it unjustly. It is true, the Eng-
lish language is not as pleasing to the ear as
Italian, but, on the other hand, it possesses a
manly strength and tenderness which I believe
it omea to its Germanic origin. I should not

e henceforth t

:e poetry in any otier

" Nor I losing in any other than my mother-
tongue."

" Do so, pray lio bo ! Yesterday I bad to
share my admiration with the crowded audi-
ence; oh, let me enjoy to-day what such a
crowd is nnable to appreciate."

" Yon are more of an t^oiisi than I thought
you were; bowever, I will not imitate the bad
example of so many sisters of mine, who cause
themselves (o be entreated and urged in order
to enhance thereby the value and charm of
their performances. I am very fond of sing-
ing. Already when a little child, I sang all
day, whether I walked or sat, whether I worked
or was Idle. It was a kmd of inward neces-
sity for me to do so, and I sang even before
I was able to talk plainly and rationally. My
dear mother, who is now in paradise, called
me only 'her Kltle bird ;' the whole neighbor-
hood caUcd me by that name, and I kept it a
long time. One day I hoard at church the
celebrated Antonio IJberti, the greatest singer
in Italy. He mode so powerful an impression
upon me that I waa taken sick and had to be
ca ned home A violent fever and delirium
we e the onseq ences of my youthful enthu-
asm Mother told me afterward that I sung
during mv dehr um, in a wondrously beautiful
voice, passages from the requiem which I had
heard at church. She said I did not omit a
note or commit a single mistake. Everybody
said it was a miracle, and persons came from
tbe most distant parts of the city to listen to
; while I was delirious. I remember
only a dream which I had every night at that
time. St. Cecilia sat at my bedside and sang
1 heavenly voice the most beautiful
hymns, which I endeavored to repeat. Possi-
bly I may not have dreamed, but the saint
may have leally descended to me."

not believe that in earaest, do
yon f " asked Milton, with a slight, wondering

■' You do not understand it," replied the can-
itrlce, half seriously, half jestingly. "You
■e unfortunately a heretic, but I hope to con-

" You will hatdly succeed in doing that."
"Well, I will make an effort. It is worth
bile to convert men like you; and no matter

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THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND FAITH,

how earnestly you may resist me, I shall n.
give up all hope of gaining you OTec."

The tone in which Leonora aJluiied to th
Bubject seemed to make an uaplcasant impre
sion upon the poet ; she, therefore, deemed
imprudent to recur to it, and continued her

" Whether St. Cedlia appeared to me
dream or in ceolity, certain it is that my talent
developed from that time in a Eurprismg man-
ner, I vfBS looked upon as a prodigy, and
even many eminent and aristocratic men came
to our house, to convince tfiemselves with their
own eyes and ears. Among them was my
present friend and protector, Cardinal Bar-
hecini ; as my patents were poor, be generously
took charge of my education. He took me to
Antonio Libcrti, whose pupil I became. Al-
ready a year afteriracd I was the cantatcice
who stands before you now."

" Who ia admired by all Italy, and to whom
a northern barbarian ia permitted to listen ia
aa ecstasy of delight. You promised to smg
a song ij) me alone, and I remind you now of
your promise."

" Well, then, you alone shall hear this song.
I have never amig it to any other person. It
has hitherto been, as it were, locked as a secret
in my bosom. But I cannot conceal anything
from you, sir barbarian."

She looked at him with flaming, devouring
eyes, promising him so much delight and hap-
piness, that a shudder of ecstasy ran through
Milton's frame. Wliat a charm there was in
her voice, what a fire gleamed in her eyes,
while she was sinijngl All the joys and pains
of eiisteoce trembled in those divine notes ;
they were jubilant, and revealed the innermost
secret of a loring female heart to the trans-
ported poet. He sat breathless, and listened

When she ceased to sing, he knelt down be-
fore her ; she bent over him, and ha felt the
warm touch of her swelling lips on bis i^Trebead.

"Leonora I" he sighed in the ecstasy of his
liss. "My goddess, my Muse!"
" I belong to thee," she said, gently disen
nging Lerselffromiua embrace "With this
thee mv soul, my whole heiit
me with me These stone walla
ow for me, I long for the open

Hand m hand they left the house of the
mtatnce and wandered through the Eternal

And

Guided by the beautiful Leonora Bironi,
Milton became only now fulh familiar with
the precious treasures of the Eternil City ila
churches and palaces, its ruins and relics of
antiquity. She showed Mm the statues of the
gods, the creations of the modern poets, and,
bemg herself deeply initiated into and an ar-
dent lover of ait, slie revealed to him the
significance and leading ideas of the highest
achievements of mankind. He stood admir-
ingly with iier before the Apollo-Belvedere,
the dying Gladiat«r, and tho Faun; with
enraptured eyes he contemplated Itophacl's
Madonnas and Michael Angelo's "Last Judg-
ment," on the walls of the Vatican. His own
Imagination was particularly attracted by the
noble works of this sublime master. He felt
that he possessed a kindred genius, and in his
soul dawned in yague outlines the plan of a
poem which was to vie in boldness and gran-
deur of conception with the immortal frescoes
of Michael Angelo Leonora did not share hi^
predilection for this maie^tic painter but in
dined more toward the divine Sinzio, who in
eubhme creations never overstepped the
rales of Eeathetita and ijeauty

Your predilection for old Angelo," she
said, with charming gayety, "proves to me

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JOHN MILTON AHD HIS TIMES.

1 that, despite jour accompliahmenta, you
renain half a barbarian. I admit that
i grand and gigantic, but the Graces did

ia cradle, I do not know how it
comes, bul, nheaever I stand before his worlis,
I also aec the stem, BuUen master before mc,
itith his gloomy feature an an y a I
always feel as though he d d u e At,

as tbough he struggled w h h ad ■om-
pelled her to servo him Sh n o ed

him ; she only feared and ob ed him I s
true, his strong arm overp w ed th marb e,
and the stone succumb d o he nr is e
stroies of his chisel; bu h w w d f
colors mocked hia tyranny. It revealed itself
to ita favorilo; it disclosed to him, without
trouble or toil, the secret of its eternal beauty.
Divine Raphael, how dearly I love thee ! "

" I am almost glad that he ia dead. I should
have been jealous of hitn, and, it seems, not
without cause."

"He ia dead," said Leonora, moumftilly,
" and the dead can no longer be dangerous to
the living. I should have loved him, perhaps,
mote than his Fomarina, nho was unable ia
appreciate his genius. Do not be angry at my
sincerity, my Giovanni. You live, and I love
you; what else do you want?"

She held out to him, with a winning smile,
her white hand, which he covered with kisaea.
However, a slight' cloud remained.on his fore-
head all day. The longer Milton waa on inti-
mate terms w h L d h h e
became acquamted h h h d p w s
the insight he q red mto h p a-
ture. Thia n m rt han
femmine, and, M m d o
love the poet rathei than the man. Notwith-
standing this observation, which often forced
itaclf upon him, to his great regret, he was
nnable to break with her. Love ia not blind,
but only gencroua. It eicuses weaknesses, it
overlooks faults, and disregards even bitter mor-
tifications. It believes in its power, and, there-

fore, it always hopes for a change for the bet-
ter, and is eiceedingly indulgent until the cup
is fiill to overflowing, and further faith is out
of the iiucstion ; even then it still clings to the
shadow, and lives on illusions, on a dream,
until it vanishes too, and leaves it in the gloom
of eternal night.

This inward antagonism cetMrned very often,
hut, 30 far from leading to a rupture, always
terminated, in reconciliations which attached
tbe poet only more tenderly to Leonora, He
met her enthusiastic rehgioua zeal with deli-
cate reserve ; she was an ardent Catholic, and
betrayed more than once her earnest desire to
convert Milton. Numerous opportunities for
making efforts in thia direction were not wanl^
ing. He often visited the prindpal churches
of the city with her, and sometimes when
high mass was chanted. She managed, under
all sorts of pretexts, to take him there on such
occasions; now she told him there were cele-
brated paintiuga and statues which he had not
yet admired ; now she invited him to attend a
solemn h a] H d il w g

and uns to h w h h gh h

impress w h d w h

as she had p ctcd H dm hi

w h LP

h ^h Le de pai

ig him by and by entirely. With the
!r ses, she waited for a favor-
able moment, and counted upon the power of
habit and the triumph of her love.

One day, after a prolonged interval, ahe re-
sumed her efforts to convert him with re-
doubled zeal. She went with Milton to St.
Peter's, where a high ehurch-featival was cele-
brated. The gigantic building waa crowded
with worshippcra, and Catholicism displayed
alt ita pomp. At the head of Lis cardinals
appearefl the Holy Father himself, wearing the

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THE STRUGGLE OF LOTE AND FAITH.

golden

is head. The highest digci-
taries of the city surrounded the throne on
which he was carried to the church, and a
retinue worthy of the first prelate of Chris-
tendom accompanied him. At Ma appearance
the wopsLippora knelt, and the choir of tho
Sistine Chapel intoned the Ambroaian Chant
to tlie majestic notes of the organ. It was a
scene such as the traveller can see nowhere
but in Rome. The sublime dome, with its gi-
gantic cupola and unrivalled colonnades, re-
sembled a picture of heaven itself. Countieas
wax-lights shed a most dazzling glare into alt
parts of the vaat structure. The walls were
radiant with their magnificent frescoea and
mosaics ; the nnmerotis altars blazed with
gold and precious stones. Blue ciouds of
fragrant incense rose from siiver censers up to
the lofty ceiling. Through these clouds flashed
from time to time the splendor of the church,
like a flood of sunshine. Gorgeous paintings
and riehly-embroidered banners suited over
the heads of tbe worshippers, and the statues
of the siunts and martyrs stretched out th^r
bands as if to bless them.

The ITolj Father himself now stepped up to
the principal altar, and knelt before the pic-
ture of the Redeemer, attired in his golden
vestments, whose heavy burden almost weighed
him down. A reverential silence reigned
throughout the vast church ; one might have
heard the falling of a leaf. It was as though
the spirit of the Lord were passing through
tho immense building. The pope prayed.

When he rose agaig, the trombones rang
out their jubilant cotea, the kettle-drums
rolled, the organ poured forth its majestic
strains, a flood of tones swept down from the
choir, and the acoustic vault of tbe gigantic
dome echoed the melodious waves. This was
no earthly chant, but the gates of heaven had
opened, and the angels sang theh: triumphal
hjimns.

Milton left the cbuich with Leonora in

silence, and deeply m
tiotia. On the way ■
joined by Sir Eenelm
turned from a trip tt
ton had not yet see

her house they were
Digby, who had just re-
Naples, and whom Mil-

a during his

d nords the poet

[ne to Rome.
regret my

Rome. He greeted with b:

and his companion, with whom hi

wise acquainted.

" How glad I am to meet you 1 "
them. " Apollo and his muse
followed my advice, then, and a
I see that jou hare no reason
advice."

So saying, he cast a searching, significant
glance on the signoca. Milton, however, did
not seem overjoyed at this meeting. In his
heart rose again the old aversion to the ac-
complished courtier, whose whole character
was at variance nith his own nature ; but Sir
Kenelm was treated very kindly and politely
by the signora, who shook hands nith him,
and invited him to follow her. On the way to
her house, Sir Kenelm Digby informed the
wondering poet that he had now openly
adopted the Catholic faith, to which he had
already secretly belonged in England.

"I hope," he added, "jou will soon follow
my example. It will be best for jou to do so
at the earliest moment, for our native country
will sooner or later return to the bosom of the
Catholic Church."

" What leads jou Ut believe this ? "

" My fidth in the irresistible power of Cathol-
icism, and my knowledge of the views and
wishes of the English court. It is true. King
Charles is as yet a member of the Church of
England, and is profuse in his protestations of
devolion to it ; hut his eonvictions must bring
him gradually nearer and nearer to us. The
queen is a devout Catholic, and exerts the
greatest influence over her husband. Even
Archbishop Laud is favorable to our cause,
and promotes iis interests to the best of his
power. Several of the most infiuential and

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146

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

rs of the king's suite hare
alrottdy cetumed to the ancient faitU, and you
know the reply a lady made to a bishop Tfho
reproved ber for her defection, 'lly lord,'
she said, 'I do uot like to go with the
crowd.' "

" Ton speak only of the court and its ad-
herents, but the people cllsg firmly to thdr
faith."

" The people," replied Sir Kenelm Digby,
Bhnigging his shoulders, "the people are of no
eODsequeuce in this respect. The same blind
populace which allowed Henry VIIL to force
the Reformation upon it, will not resist the
efforts of Charles I. to lead it back to the
bosom of the Catholic Church. The king
commands, the people obey."

"You ate greatly mistaken. When Henry
VIII, established the Reformation, a8 I will
admit, actuated by selfish motiws, he himself
was but an instrument in the hands of Provi-
denee, and was impelled nnwittingly by the
spirit of his time to take this momentous step.
The ground had been sufBciently broken and
prepared by Wycliffe, Luther, and Calvin. It
was only necessary for the sower to scatter the
seeds, that t p migh p p ear

fruit. It wa mp mm d of

a king, but h so mn nd p d vie-

tion of the peop h bro gh rth the
Reformation m h ro h own

more tenacious, and it showed tbe hold it has
upon the minds of the people amidst the per-
secutions dnriog the reign of Bloody Mary.
Its roots spread in tbe blood-stLiined soil, fer-
tilized by the ashes of the martyrs who had
died at the stake for the sake of thdr religi
Queen Elizabeth fostered the young shoot,
which became a mig'estic tree under her
teeiion. She became great with and by the
Reformation, seconded and upheld by the peo-
ple and ibcir npw-bom strength. Then it was
that our country rose to an unheard-of great-
ness and power, liecause it placed itself at the

head of the spiritual movement which shook
the world to its foundations. Deprive Eng-
land of her Reformation, and yon cut her
great artery."

Leonora, who had hitherto listened in si-
lence, said now smilingly :

"Giovanni, I do not understand any thing
about your politics, and the fate of your
native country does not concern me; but
your eternal welfare does, and the interests
of art also. You really are a barbarian, as I
have often called you playfully, if you do not
see that the Catholic Church is the only
mother and protectress of the fine arts.
What has your vaunted Reformation brought
forth up to this time? Nothing but bloody
dvil wars, domestic dissensions, havoc, and
devastation. Can the Muses live and prosper
there? Look around, and you must admit
that I am right. Rome is the first city of the
world ; her churches and palaces are filled with
the masterpieces of tbe greatest pamters and
sculptors; poetry and music have lalen up
thdr abode here And all this splendor and
glory proceed solely from the eternal louri*
of the Catholic faith It inspires tbe arti>t,
and fills bis soul'nith those heavenlv forms
which we behold everywhere Look, Raphael's
divine Madonna, the portraits of the lamted
martyrs, are but embodied refleies ol the
Catholic Church Now, what does touc Eef
offer us for all this ? Bare walls,
a service devoid

cold repuMvi
of ardor and

" But it gives us truth instead of a decep-
tion of the senses, freedom instead of religious
coercion, sublime science instead of enticing
art. If we owed the Reformation only the gen-
eral circulation of the Bible, this alone would
BufBce to entitle it to the everlasting respect
and gratitude of mankind,"

" The Bible will always be a two-edged
sword in the bands of laymen," replied Sir
Eenelm Digby, "Tbe populace should not

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THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND FAITH.

147

know the whole truth. It will abuse ila free-
dom, and the healing medicine
too easily a fatal poison in the hands of the
inexperienced. Only physicians ha*
right and duty to apportion the dose which
tlie patient needs."

"The Bible ia no medicine, bat health it^
self, our most vital element. He who with-
liolds it from ■as, deprives us of the air we
l>reathe, and of the conditions ol
The Sacred Scriptures must not he the
ty of a sepanti, class they belong ti
hole worii See hon impetuously the peo-
ple throng toward the eternal source from
which they derive comfort, faith and salva-
tion I God reveals Himself m it and yo i
would chain the Holy Ghoiit but it braves
and moeka your power You can no longer
subjugate it it bursts lis fetters violentlr It
pervades the whole world and sheds ila di
vine light on all men. It is freedom and
Rome ein exist only by the spiritual servitudt
ol the nations and mdividualo Free mve«i
gallon and its truths are abominations in her
eyes, and Science is her mortal enemy. Still
smoltes the stake at which she burned Gior-
dano Bruno, and I have myself seen, the unfor-
tunate blind Galileo. His fate alone is sulH-
cient to fill me with everlasting aversion to
Catholidsm."

"Has the father no right to punish hia dis-
obedient children ? Whither is this spiritual
hcentiousness to lead us unless bounds he set
to it in time ? Have not these fatal innova-
tions brought Germany and our own country
to the verge of ruin ? The false doctrines of
the Anabaptists, Brownists, and other dissent-
ers threaten to shake the foundations of so-
ciety. In their wild fanaticism they preach
the annihilation of ail established institutions,
and war agamst the government, law, and or-
der. All of them appeal to the Bible ; they
pretend to derive their tenets from the gospel,
which they interpret and distort in the most |

arbitrary manner. In this wild and impious
uproar, the Church of Rome stands as firm and
immovable as a rock in the tempest-tossed
sea ; it rests on the promises of the Redeemer,
on the merits of its aainta and martyrs, on the
teachings of the apostolic Cithers, and on the
temporal and spiritual power which the Lord
has conferred upon it forever. Here are gran-
deur and simplicity, power and wisdom, sevei-
ity and lenity. Ton cannot contemplate ita
gigantic structure without awe and admiration ;
mankind never saw any thing more sublime.
It has already stood for upward of a thousand
years, and will also triumphantly weather this
storm of the Heformation."

"In ti'uth," added the signora, "Signer
Keneim himself has spoken like one of the
apostolic fathers. Giovanni I do not shut
your ears to the words of our friend, but fol-
low his glorious example. But a short while
ago he was likewise a heretic, but he listened
to the voice of the mother he had forsaken,
and returned penitently into her arms. The
Blessed Virgin will lead you too back to the
true path and foi^ve you. Oh, you do not
know bow good she is, how mildlyand sweetly
she bends over the believer ; for she is a lov-
ing, tenderhearted' worn an. Therefore, I pray
hoc every day to touch and illuminate your
heart. I will not belong to you entirely undl
you return to the bosom of the Catholic
Church ; then the last barrier that separates
us will fell immediately."

With her soft arms she drew the reluctant
poet with her, and he was unable to resist the
sweet temptation, although he had made up
his mind never to Sacrifice his i
religious freedom to hia love.

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JOHN MILTOK AND HIS TIMES.

CHAPTER VI.

SncH scenes reeurred now verj frequently,
and Milton justly ascribed this increased zeal
of his mistress to convert him to the presence
of Sir Kenelm Digby. The courtier remEuned
in BoMe, and pursued from tliecce with great
circumspection and prudence the schemes
whose olyect was the restoration of the Catho-
lic faith in England, either Ijy wily intriguea or
high-handed measures. He fi^e a welcome
ally to the Society of Jesus, wbicb was then a.t
the beigbt of its prosperity, displajed the most
mdefaligable activity, and bhrank tiom no
means cslculated to promote its ends The
young poet, whose emment talents ncro ac-
knowledged every day more willingly ind uni-
versally, received due attenhon at the hands
of tJie Jesuits; they thought they would be
able to make of him a most effectual instru-
ment for their vast and far-reaching schemes.
Hence, they left no stone unturned to gain him
over to their side. Cardinal Baberini en
aged these efforts, and continued to treat him
with the greatest kindness and distinction ; he
held out to him prospects well calculated
entice an ambitious young man, and intimated
to him that it woulii be easy for him to
a distinguished and mfluential position. Love
was likenisc in the service of the powerful
order; the ardent passion which Leonora
roni had kindled in the poet's heart did
escape its teen-scented glance, and was i
only to bait the victun with greater certainty.
Thna surrounded by snares and nets of every
description, Milton would hare succumbed hut
for his love of freedom, and his unfaltering
devotion to his principles and convictions.
However, a violent struggle was yet in store
for him; the attacks and scenes recurred
every day'; the cantatrii,e availed herself of
all the seductive power of her charms and tal-

ents to bring about his defection. Non' she
frowned at him, now she lavished upon him

thes*

to attain her object, she set the whole arsenal
of her seductive wil^ in motion, tears and
smiles, prayers and threats. Milton felt the
danger becoming every day more imminent;
his strength was exhausted, and to escape fur-
ther temptations, he resolved to leave Rome,
even though but for a short time; he hoped
the separation would exert the most salutary
effect upon Leonora and himself

It cost him a violent effort to tear himself
from the arms of hia beloved, who iuMsted on
accompanying him ; but by the solemn prom-
ise to return at as early a day as possible, he
prevailed upon her to desist from her purpose.
He had long wished to visit Naples, and, if
possible, fireece ; he now carqed his plan into
execution. Accompanied by a faithful ser-
vant, he set out on this journey, by which he
hoped to divert and calm bis mind. He left
Kome and his mistress on a fine day in spring,
and was soon, in the midst of the desolate
Campagna. The sterile brown wUdemess es-
tended in endless desolation before his eyes,
dotted only here and there with a decayed
aqueduct or a pile of ruins. He rodeforhoura
without meeting anybody but the wild shep-
herds of the Campagna, clad in rough sheep-
skins, their feet encased in goatskin shora,and
their sunburnt heads covered with pointed
.felt hats ; and thus he was able to brood un-
disturbed over his Eoman adventures. At
tunes his love for Leonora seized liim again
with all its former power, almost impellmg
him to turn his horse, return to the city he
had just left, and hasten back into the arms
of his beloved. On the first evening he ar-
rived at Albano, but neither the classical remi-
niscences attached to the name of Alba Longa,
nor the far-famed beauties of the women of
that place, were able to dispel his moumfiil
longings. On the following morning, when he

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awk>ke refreshed and reinvigorated, and con-
tinued Ma journey, the beautiful scenery es-
ected ils wonted, charm upon him. He had
scarcely been a quarter of an hour on the road
when he arrived at the Lake of Albano„with
water clear aa crystal, surrounded by steep
and riehly-wooded banks, and adorned by the
noble edifice of Castel Gandolfo. The monu-
roentg and relics of anUquity scattered every-
where riveted hia whole attention; at a most
idyllic spot he sought and found the tomb of
the great Pompey, and the poet recalled the
^gantio cojiteata which bad preceded the
downfall of the republic. Farther on was a
solemn scene, the Lake of Nemi, anciently
Nemus Dianie, from the grove sacred to that
goddess ; it was small, seated in a, deep hol-
low of the mountaia, which it partly fills, and
surrounded with wooded and highly-oul
vated banks. In the centre ^f this lake,
Trajan had moored a Boating palace, in
foroi of a ship, of which some fragments t
dug up in the sixteenth century. At the b
tifully situated Ariecia, Milton recalled
time when Horace readed here, and, far froi
the noise and bustle of the capital, enjoyed
quiet pleasures of rural life. At every step aa
he advanced, Milton met great historical remi-
niscences, before which his own petty adven-
tures faded from Tiew, and by which hi
was strengthened and purified. The blue sea
soon arose before his eyes at a distance, and
its aspect filled hia soul with unutterable de-
Ughf.

Miltoabad also found a fellow-traveller. In
thevicinily of Terracina, in the shade of one
of its mighty trees, he met with a hermit who
held his siesta there during the noonday heat ;
an humble donkey, loaded with provisions, the
gifts of, devout believers, was grazing by Ms
side. The perpendicular and scorching sun-
beams led the languishing poet to profit with
bis companion and the weary horses by the
cool and pleasant shade. He therefore alighted

149

from the horse and greeted the hermit, who
invited him kindly to seat himself by his side.
The hermit was a good-natured old man with
prepossessing features. His silver beard flowed
down to his breast, and imparted to Win, not-
withstanding his Bimplidty, a most venerable
appearance.

"Welcoioein the green shade!" he gayly
sboutM to Milton already from a&r. "If you
wish to share my palace, you will be a very
welcome guest ; for though I am a hermit, I
like company and a pleasant chat."

"Toahave a beautiful house, mdeed," jested
the poet. " Tour palace here surpasses all
that I saw in Eome."

" To be sure it does, for human hands did
not build it The green loof is more airy and
eoolthan any architect on earth could make it,
and the view is surpassingly beautiful Just
look around, and you will say so toa"

Milton glanced around, and could not but
assent to what his kind host had said. Yonder
lay the blue sea in the golden sunshine ; here
rose the picturesque summits of the moun-
tains. A special attraction was added to the
wild romantic landscape by the small gardens
hanging like colored carpets on the rock among
the houses, and clothing the bare slopes in the
most charming manner. Orange and lemon
trees were suspended on the verge of the ra-
vine, and bent under the weight of their golden
fruit ; among thera were to he seen peach and
almond trees in the full beauty of their gentle
colors. The lonely palm rose as straight aa a
pillar to heaven, and displayed its fantastic
crown, reminding the beholder of Oriental fmry-
lands. The dark foliage of the black cypress
was in picturesque contrast with the tender
leaves of the poplar and silver willow. Count-
less shrubs, covered with blossoms, among
themtheftagrant myrtle, protruded from every
cleft, while the naked fig-tree with its tortuoua
arms, seemed to climb from one terrace to an-
other. The whole landscape, bathed in the

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150

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Bunshine of j Bouthem sky, produced a trulj
magic effect. -

" Oh, how beautiful year Mheilaud is 1 "
eiud Milton to bia companion, in im ecstasy of
delight.

" Well, was I not right? " repUed the her-
mit, with a pleasant smile. " Is there on earth
a more beautiful palace, TPilh a finer riew ?
And wherever I go, I find one Uke it,"

" You are a rich man," said the poet, " and
I almost envy you,"

" To be sure, I am a rich man. As I do not
own any thing on earth, the whole world be-
longs to me. Can you solve this riddle ? "

" I andersland you, and I see, moteovec, that
you are also a great philosopher."

" For God's sake, do not speak Bo loud, for
phaosopty has a had reputation in this coun.
try. Let us rather speak of something else.
Tou seem to have come from a remote country
t» Italy."

" I come from England."

" I suppose, then, that you are a heretic,"

"I ehould be sorry if that should render my
company less agreeable to you,"

" On lie contrary, it gives me an eicelient
opportunity to lead an erring lamb back to the
tine patb."

" Good father, I am afraid all your efibrta in

tb!s dire

" Well, I will not trouble you, then. For
the rest, what does it conceni me f If you are
intent on not-going to heaven, it is your own
fault. For all thai, we may journey yet a
while together, and if you have no other place
where jon would prefer lo stay overnight, my
humble hermitage is at your disposal."

So saying, the hermit rose from the ground
and saddled Ms donkey; Milton likewise pre-
pared to set out. Both continued their jour-
ney together, and the longer their intercourse
lasted, the more they dehghted in each other's
company. The bemjit displayed in his con-
a clear, keen understanding, coupled

mtb a gay, mild view of life. He knew the
world, and his opinions were generally very
sagacious, and withal gentls and forbearing.
He kept silence as to his former life, and hia
words and whole beai'ing showed only that he
bad once belonged to the aristocracy, and filled
a distinguished position in the world. It was
obvious that he had enjoyed an excellent edu-
cation, and in the course of the conversation
he quoted classical passages frequently from
the authors of antiquity and the best poet« of
his native country.

When Milton told him that he was a poet,
and recited to him some of his Latin verses,
the hermit manifested the liveliest interest

" Tou are a genuine poet," he said, " and
therefore, as jou are going to Naples, I will
give you a letter of introduction to an eieellent
nobleman, who was the most intimate friend
of the immortal Tasso, with whose glorious
poems you aje doubtless familiar. Poor

Contrary to his bahit, the hermit seemed to
be filled with melancholy on alluding to the
author of " Jerusalem D

" Tou yourself seem to hi
with Tasso f " said Milton lo his companion,
who became every moment more interesHi^ to

"Pardon me for not referring to the most
mournful recollection of my whole life. His
history is that of genius devouring itself U>
illuminate the earth with its light. I made
his acquaintance in Rome, when he lay, broken
in body and spirit, on hig sick-bed at the con-
vent of St, Onoftio. But even in that decayed
form be still appeared to me like one of those
temples of antiquity, whose ruins and broken
columns bear witness to thdr former beauty
and magnificence. But I will introduce you to
his best friend, Battista Manso, Marquis di
Villa, and I am convinced that you will always
be grateful to me for it."

Thus the travellers, conveising pleasantly on

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NAPLES-TASSO.

151

all kiads of topics, readied a Ii m n 11 ; ;
here stood the hermit's c tSj, rr d d by
CTergrcen oaka and birch In f nt f he
door, a crystal spriDg b bbl i f m th 1-
canie soil, md a pictu e f li Red m r
greeted the wanderer at the threshold. The
kind hermit invited the poet to follow him, and
ea a hospitable host he hastened to prepare a
plain supper for him. Afl^er partaking of it,
both took seats on the turf-hench, and enjoyed
the delightful coolness of the night. The stars
twinkled with golden lustre in the azure sky,
and the moon shed her eilrer (ajaon anearthlj
paradise. The conversation gradually took a
more serious turn, and the two men expatiated
on the important questions which riveted pub-
lie attention at that time. Italy had likewise
taken part in the religious struggles of the Ref-
ormatjon, and produced philosophers and
thinkers who, like Giordano Bruno, bad to ex-
piate the boldness of thdr opinions at the
stake. In the inaccessible vaDeya of Piedmont
lived the descendants of those Waldenses, who
had rebelled against Rome already in the Mid-
dle Ages and adopted the Scriptures as the aoie
rule of their faith. The hermit alluded to all
thia in a spirit of mildness and toleration ; he
nas likewise imbued with the conviction that
the abuses of the Church should be corrected,
as he was more famihar with the ills of Cathol-
icism than Miltcn. He denounced with ei^pe-
dal bitterness the Jesuits, whom he called the
principal obstacle to the most pressing require-
ments of progress. However, he was as sin-
cerely opposed to the Reformation, which he
considered a most lamentable schism.

When Milton argued against this view from
his own stand-point, and attacked the tenets of
Roma with unsparing severity, his host cau-
tioned him with wall-meant words,

"Beware, my friend, of ^ving the rdns to
jour tongue. I myself can boar contradiction,
and forgive many an imprudent word on i
count of your youth. But the holy Inqnisiti

is very seosiUve and any thing but indulgent,
and the Society of Jesus has the sharpest ears
and longest arms. You are in Italy, that is,
surrounded by spies. Tbo prisons in which
heretics are confined are deep, and thar walls
are so thick that your complaints would not
be heard by anybody. I am not angry with
you, for I share your opinions in many respects,
but I love and long for peace. I do not yet
give up the hope tbat these accursed dissen-
sions will come to a peaceful end. Feecalur
intra d extra maros ; both sides have com-
mitted errors and sins. Borne refused lo
listen to the just wishes of the nations, and
they broke with it in an arbitrary and unjusti-
fiable manner. This unfortunate schism will
be most injurious to both aides. I hope, there-
fore, tbat a reconciUation will take place
sooner or later. For the timo being we will
set a good esample, aud shake hands m peace
and harmony."

Such were the words of tho amiable hermit,
and his actions harmonized with them. He
shared his couch willii^ly with the poet, and
the heretic slept by the side of the pious
Catholic. The next morning Milton continued
his journey to Naples. The kind hermit in-
sisted on accompanying his young friend for a,
mile or two ; and, on taking leave of him
handed him the letter to the Marquis di Villa,
Tasso's intimate friend.

CHAPTEB TIL

Milton reached Niplea without further ad-
ventures. He repaired immediately to the
palace of the marqui'J to whom he dthvered
his letter of mtroduchon He found an ami
able old min, who hid tirmerly filled in im
poclant puWic position, and who, smce he had

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152

JOHN MILTON AND fflS TIMES.

retired from active life, devoted him^f eiclu-
dvelj to the study of ecience and to poetrj.

" Ad old tjiend of miEe," said the marqais,
" recommends jou to me in this letter in the
most urgent and flattering manner. I bid jou
twice welcome, as I see from the letter that
you area joung poet."

"Pardon me for tronbling yon already bj
my curiosity ; but I presume jou will deem it
but natural if I inquire the name and history
of that kind hermit, to whom I am indebted
for youi acquaintance."

" He was an old fellow-soldier of mine, and
life has used him harshly. After burying his
wife and two children, he retired from the
world. I feel almost like envying him for hjs
lonely hermitnge and the cheerful spirit he has
preserved. I cannot tell you his name, for he
does not want it to be divulged."

Milton was obliged to content himself with
this scanty information, and the conversation
soon took another tuni, which seemed not less
Interesting to the poet. The marquis told
him, without being requested to do so, of his
intercourse with Tassa

" It was my good fortune," said the vener-
ablo man, " to grant the poet, who was perse-
cuted by eiteraal and internal foes, an asylum
in one of my villas on the sea-shore. There he
finished his ' Jerusalem Delivered ' in blessed
retirement, after leaving the house of Prince
Conca. A dreadful suspicion haunted him,
and he was incessantly afraid lest his manu-
scnpfs should be seized and used to his disad-
vantage. He had full and implicit conGdence
in no one but myself. I profited by it to re-
Store his greatly affected health, to enliven his
languishing imaginatioTi, and indte his Muse
tfl renewed sublime creations."

"Happy the poet who meets with such a
friend and protector in his life-path. Tour
merit almost equals his own, for to you we ate
indebted for these last immortal works of his
genius, the glorious farewell of the setlang sun."

"Tou attach too great importance to my
merit ; and how amply was I rewarded for it !
A^de from his friendship, wMch I consider
the greatest boon vouchsafed to me, he dedi-
cated to me his celebrated dialogue on friend-
ship, which will iiand down my name from
age to age. At the request of my mother he
also wrote his poem, 'The Seven Days of
Creation.' Thus I still remained in his debt
Unfortunately I was unable to discharge this
debt during bis liTetinie, and I will erect to
him now, after his death, a monument worthy
of his fame. I intend to write his biography,
which abounds in wonderful events."

" I have heard a great deal about his unfor-
tunate love-afTair with the Princess Leonora
d'Este. This liakon is said to have been the
cause of all his sufferings."

" So far as he himself told me the particu-
lars of this love-affiur, it never overstepped the
limits of virtuous and chivalrous affection. I
was myself acquainted with the august prin-
cess ; she was an ornament of her sei, one of
those great characters which are but rarely
met with. Noble and generous, she took the
liveliest interest in the intellectual progress
and literature of our country. She spoke the
Latin language with the fluency of a learned
professor, and read the immortal Homer and
most of the Greek poets in the original. No
wonder that she held much intercourse with
Tasso, and befriended the poet. She was
paSMOnately fond of the conversation of great
men, and in her eyes talentfi, not birth, enti-
tled men to esteem and admiration. As she
was much older than he, her friendship seemed
to be that of a devoted sister. Ob, Tasso
passed at that time glorious days at the court
of Ferrara. The noblest man and most amiable
ladies had met there and formed »n intel-
lectual court headed by the duke himself
All these eminent persons esteemed and be-
friended the poet. Especially was he a favor-
ite of the ladies whom be immortalized in his

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NAPLE^-TASSO.

153

lyrics. There wag a sort of tender jealoaay
among them in regard to him, and each of
them tried to gain his eiolusive love. At first,
the charming youi^ Lucretia Vetmdidio waa
viotorious, and conquered hie heart. She be-
came the subject of his poetical effusions; but
bJio reallj deserved the homage he rendered
her, for spring cannot be more beautiful than
this lovely lady was. But the lofty mind of
Leonora and her equally-gifted sister deprived
her of her admirer, and the poet walked
between the two princesses, absorbed in Pla-
tonic conversations, through the blooming
gardens and shady avenues of Bellriguardo.
Aiternard came ibe charming Countess Leo-
nora Sanvitale, consort of the Count di Scan-
diano; she likewise conrled tbe friendship of
the poet, and took part in the rivalry of the
lovely ladies. Before long she was the Eover-
agn queen of his heart. So much favor and
distinction bestowed upon him on all sides
couid not hut arouse enmity and jealousy
against him. His worst enemy, however, was
bis constantly - growing melancholy, which
could not but terminate sooner or later in in-
sanity. This calamity was not brought about
by the meanness of the courtiera, by the quar-
rel which he had at the palace with a footman
of the Duchess of Urbino, or, least of all, by
the duke's conduct toward him. The noble
Alfonso !)ore the whimsical freaks of the poet
at Erst with the greatest patience and forbear-
ance, and took the utmost pains to calm and
cure him. At Taaao's own request he had
him conveyed to the monastery of the Fran-
ciscana, in order to await his recovery there.
Notwithstanding the most careful nursing, bis
eondiUon grew worse and worse ; he believed
hunself surroonded by dangers and
by imaginary

selfw

3 the

derangement
guarded monii

lemies, and overwhelmed him-
Dst groundless reproaches. His
)ecame euch that in an un-
it he escaped from the monas-
)f every thing, and leaving be-

hind him even those papers and manuscripts
U> which he had hitherto attached the highest
import;ancc. He hastened to his sister Oor-
-nclia, a widow, who lived at Sorrento. By her
tenderness and solicitude she succeeded in
calming him, and restoring his reason ic hiiu.
The unfortunate poet took heart once more,
and the most magnificent flashes of his genius
burst radiantly through the gloom veiling his
mind, and changing only too soon into the
everiasting night of insanity. He longed to
return to Ferrara, and thought the wedding of
the duke with Margaret Gonzaga the most fa-
vocable time for this purpose. However, hla
expectations were bitterly disappointed. Bi-
atead of giving Wra a kind and honorable re-
ception, the court treated him with coldness
and indifi'erence, and his adversaries sneered
and kughed at him. Both the duke and the
princesses reflised to see him. His patience
was soon exhausted, and he denounced Alfonso
and hi« court go bitterly that the prince was
obliged to have him conveyed to St. Anna's
Hospital, and keep him there in close con£ne-

"PoorTasso!" interrupted Milton. "Are
poets, then, bom only to suffer T "

"One should think almost," replied the
venerable marquis, "that a crown of thorns
is the only endowment of genius. For seven
years the greatest poet of Italy was immured
in his celt, surrounded by idiots and maniacs,
whose ravings and shrieks would have sufficed
fo deprive even the healthiest man of his rea-
son. In the mean time, his numerous friends
were not inactive. His works had created the
greatest enthusiasm throughout his native
country, and Alfonso was urged on all sides
to release Taaso. Princes and (.ilies, above
all Bergamo, the poet's birthplace, sent am-
bassadors to him to demand his release. At
last the dulie was unable to resist these press-
ing representations any longer ; be set him at
liberty, but the great, sublime genius emerged

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154

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMfia

crushed and brokeu from the jail, and the
Ught of liis reason was cearij eitinct. Too
late came ao mvitation from the pope for the
poet to go to Rome and be Bolemiily crowned ■
at the capital as prince of Italian poeey, His
strength was eshausted, and while the most
gorgeous arrangements were being made for
his eoronatjon, the great man brealted his last
at the content of Si Onofrio."

The marquis paused m profound emotion,
and a tear trembled on his gray ejelaahes.
Uilton was likewise deeply impressed by what
he had heard of Tasso'a sufferings. Common
grief attached the youth to the old man, aod
from their sorrow for the departed poet arose
the new leagae of their friendship. The ven-
erable marquis treated irith paternal kindness
the foreign poet, who rewarded his affection
with filial love and reverence. The marquis
made Milton thoroughly famiUar with Naples
and its beautiful environs. Besides, his fre-
quent conversations with the amiable old man
on literature, and the most noteworthy pro-
duotiona of the Italian poets, exercised an ei-
traordmary influence over him. It was owing
to the marquis's Buggestjons that Milton con-
ceived the first plan of wriOng in his mother-
tongue tt great epic, such as those by which
Tasso had immortalized himself. He com-
municated his ideas to the marquis, who en-
couraged him, gave him many escellent hints,
and generally eseroised the most salutary in-
fluence over the poet.

In one of their convecsations he said smiling-
ly; "I am destined to be the friend and patron
of talented men, and I am glad and proud of
it; for, next to the joy which men of genius
derive from their creations, I know cone that
could be compared with that which intimate
with them gives us. I would not
willing to exchange this humble position
any other, and I am content if a ray of the
, whose light fills the whole world, falls to

" Ton really deserve," replied Milton, " that
every poet should priuse your name, for few
possess the noble quality of delightmg in
the productions of talented men without envy-
ing tbem and of assisting them in their thorny
path, as jou did in the case of the immortal
1. Your name will never be forgotten,
but it will be handed down from age to age
jointly with his own."

Only one thing disturbed from time to time
tlie tender relations between the two friends,
who were bo widely separated by age, rank,
and nationality, and yet so eloselj united by
thdr intellectual aspirations. This was the
difference of their creeds. Although the mar-
quis manifested a great deal of toleration, Mil-
ton was carried away by his seal and youthM
impetuosity to utter many an imprudent word
in Naples, which caused trouble and even dan-
ger to his noble host. The marquis cautioned
the rash young man vainly against tlie dangers
in which he himself might be involved in eon-
sequence. It is true, Milton abstained as
much OS posable from eipatiating on religious
questions and the tenets of the different
Churches ; but, after the conversation bad once
turned to such topics, he could not forbear
uttering his Opinion freely and openly, and in
doing so he frei^uently overstepped the bounds
of prudence. Of eoucse, the gentle reproaches
of the marquis touched him ; but when the
amiable old man, filled with serious solicitude
for the salvation of the-young heretic, made a
gentle attempt to convert him, he met with
the most serious resistance. Thus Milton re-
mained under all chcumstances true to his
religious convictions, and both love and friend-
ship were unable to shake his fdth. He
deemed the Reformation the only road to in-
leDoetual progress, and he eon^dered Prot-
estantism equivalent to liberty.

Notwithstanding these slight dissensions,
his relations with the marquis contmued to be
of the most cordial and fiiendly character.

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NAPLES— TASSO.

The old man inTited him often to make c
ciirsions with him into the enylvons of Nap1<
He visited with him one day the charming
little port of Sorrento, where some of Tasao's
relativea were jet living. The town lies at the
eitremity of the bay, on the precipitoua slope
of high mountains, which, descending almost
perpendicularly to the sea-ahore, form a gigan-
tic terrace covered everywhere with oiange-
treea. The Small white houa€s with their fiat
roofe, on which the inhabitants pass moat of
tieir time in order to eiyoy the coolness of the
sea-breeze, emerge from a perfect sea of fra-
grant bloesonis. One of these houses be-
longed lo Taaao'a slater, and her sick, weary
brother had found here a welcome asylum for
a ahort time. Milton, conducted by the mar-
quis, crossed the hospitable threshold with
profound emotion and reverence. At the
door stood a yomig matron with a rosy baho
in her arms, the image of the Madonna and
child. An elder boy waa playing at her feet.
On beholding the marquis, the yoang mother
uttered a cry of joy, and hastened to meet
him.

" How glad mother will be ! " ahe shouted
to him already from afar. "She is in the
garden, and I will inform her immediately of
the honor conferred on our house."

" I will go to her myseh'," replied the mar-
quis. "Lead the way, we will follow you.
Notwithstanding mj advanced age, I am yet
hale and strong enough to treat ladies with
the consideration due to their aes."

So saying, the marquia hastened to follow
the young matron who was leading the way,
and to climb the stairs hewn info the rock,
which led to the garden. Here Tasso's sister
Comeliii, a venerable lady of eighty, awaited
them. It was a touching scene when she held
out her hand to the fodthful friend of her
brother. Her face alill ixire distinct traces of
former beauty, and especiaily were her dark
eyea jet wonderfully radiant. She would have

riaen from the chair on which she was seated
in the open vine-clad bower, but the marquis
prevented her.

"Sit still, Cornelia," said the kind-hearted
old man. " I intended long since fo visit you,
but old age often prevents me from followmg
my inclinationa. But why do I speak of old
age? Toulookaayoungandfreshaain your
heat years."

"Oh, do not mock me," replied the old
tady. "I feel the decrease of my strength
more and more every day, and I shall doubt-
leas aoon follow my poor brother. How glad
I am that it was vouchsafed to me fo see the
day when all Italy acknowledges and praises
him aa iier greatest poeL Since foil Jusaee
haa been done to him, and even his enemies
and enviera have been compelled to admit his
greatness, I can calmly bid iarewell to the
world. I should not have thought that so
many persona would flock one day, aa to a
sanctuary, to this humble house where he
lived with me. Hardly a day passes that dis-
tinguished persons do not call on me and in-
quire of me about the moat inaignificaut events
of his life. Thus, m the evening of my days, I
enjoy yet the happiness of witnessing and par-
tieipating in his triumph."

" And you have amply deserved this happi-
ness by the devotion with which you nuraed
and comforted him. It la not Only Italy that
honora her great poet, but even the most re-
mote nations now render him homage. This
young man, my friend, is an Englishman, who
desires to see the place and make the acijuaint-
ance of Taaao'a sister. He himself is already
renowned as a poet in his native country."

".Ton are welcome," s^d the old lady, in a
dignified tone. "May the Holy Vii^n grant
you the fame of my poor brother, and preserve
you from his sufferings ! "

At a beck from Cornelia the young matron,
who waa her" daughter, Tasso'a niece, hastened
to offer some refreshments io the guests.

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156

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Meanwhile her husliand. an iDtelligent sbip-
master, had come home and took part in the
oonyersation. In the circle of this hoppy and
contented family Milton felt t3iat the hours
were passing with the speed of moments. The
setting sun, which plungeii with eouthecn splen-
dor into the blue sea and turned it Into flaming
purple, reminded the guests that it was time
for them to depart. The shipmaster offered to
convey the two friends in his boat to Naples,
and they accepted bia kind proposition. It
was , a magnificent evening, and the breeze
swellhlg the sails was impregnated with sweet
odors, Millon left Tasso's house profoundly
moved, accompanied by the greetings and
blessings of the noble Cornelia.

" Farewell ! " she said to him, " and become
to your native country what my brother was to
Italy. He is indemnified by everlasting glory
and immortality for his sufferings on eartti."

Her noble face seemed transBgured by the
rays of the setting sun, when she uttered these
words in a solemn voice.

The waves through which the boat sailed in
its rapid coarse murmured and moaned gently.
The moon had risen and illuminated the sea
and the cliffe whose fantastic outlines disap-
peared in the misi The two oarsmen had but
little to do, as a fresh breeze swelled the sails
of the boat One of them, a stout lad with
dark, curlv hair and full whiskers, his head
covered with a red sailor's cap, raised his voice
all at onee in gentle, plaintli-e strains. 'What
the listeners heard was a soi^ and recitative,
strangely impressive and in beautiful harmony
with the sweet murmur of the waves. The
words grew more and more distinct, and Milton
and the marquis soon recognized lines from
Tasso's " Jerusalem DeliTered." The other
oarsman, who was older than his companion,
sang in a deeper voice when the first singer
paused ; his companion soon joined in his song,
and the poet was ddighted with "theip melodi-

f I am not mistaken," said the marquis,
turning to the shipmaster, " your men are
ig from Tasso's ' Jerusalem Dehvered.' "
fou are right," replied ConieUa's son-in-
"Most of our sailors know (he poem hy
heart, and while away Iheir time on the sea by
singing passages from it They love the poet,
and the heroic deeds of Kinaldo, the enchanted
palace of Armida, and Clotilda's love, hve in
the mouths of these simple-hearted men."

" Indeed 1 " exclaimed Milton, enthusiastical-
ly. " Now I can no longer deplore Tasso's
fate. He has achieved the most glorions tri-
umph of the poet : his works live in th e mouths
of the people!"

OHAPTEE Tin.

ArrrR a sojourn of several weeks, which had
passed in the most rapid and agreeable man-
ner, Milton was about to carry his former plan
into eieculion and visit Greece. He had al-
ready made the necessary preparations and
taken an affectionate farewell of the noble
marquis, when he received a letter from his
father which caused him to give up his plan.
He learned from this letter that important
events had occurred during his absence. Civil
war seemed imminent in England, and a terri-
ble revolution was about to break out. The
in&tuated king, who did not lack many excel-
lent qualities of the head and heart, allowed
himself to be carried away by his advisers, and
still more by the high idea which he enter-
tained of his royal dignity, and committed high-
handed violations of the ancient institutions
and laws of the country. Thrice he had sum-
moned Fachament, and as many times dis-
solved it. For ten years past he had governed
without consulting the representatives of the
people. As the necessary funds were lacUcg,

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RECALL TO ENGLAND— ESCAPE PHOM ASSASSINATION.

he resorted, in ord^ to extricate himself from
Ma embarrasaineata, to all sorts of arbitrary
es tortious and reprehensible devices. Old
taxes which had not been levied for eoQtmies,
were declared in full force agaiD, and imposed
upon the people ; he who refused to paj ihem
Ttas subjected to heavy fines and imprison-
ment. One of these arbitrary impositions was
the so-called Bhip-money, which former princes
had raised only in time of war, and which was
then, charged on the ports, cities, boroughs,
and counties of England, foe providing and fui^
nishiog certain ships for llie king's service.
Even the royalists oouSd not deny that this
imposition was not e^mcted for this porpose,
bat was destined merely to provide the king
with money, aod that he could exact it to any
amount and use it in the most arbitrary man-
ner. The whole nation protested most vehe-
mently against this measure, which was pro-
nounced the most dangerous blow jet levelled
at the liberties of the country. Especially
were the people afraid lest the king should use
the money thus obtained for the oi^auization
and maintenance of a standing army, by which
a, despotic ruler might destroy the institutions
of the country and the bulwarks of popular
liberty. At this juncture John Hampden, a
wealthy landed proprietor of Bucldnghamshu*,
of honorable descent, and highly esteemed in
his neighborhood, but antil then little known
throughout the country, opposed the arbitrary
measures of the king m the most courageous
and determined manner lie refused emphati-
cally to pay the Jiegal imposition ; and in a
lawsuit which he instituted against the gov-
ernment, he asserted that it bad no right what-
ever to raise ship-money. Although the venal
judges, who were mostly dependent on the
court, decided against him, his courageous con-
duct gave the signal of general resistance. The
extreme hostility to the king and the court,
which had prevailed until then, was now raised
to such a pitch that the slightest spark would

suffice to kindle the flames of revolution and
civil war.

Even more dangerous religious troubles
were added to the political discontent of the
people. At onee both spiritual and temporal
ruler of his country, the king deemed it in-
cumbent upon him to make the Episcopal
Church the only lawful Church hoth in Eng-
land and Scotland. In accordance with the
deplorable advice of the bigoted and fanatical
Laud, Charles had issued new, and, if possible,
more stringent and rigorous laws against the
Presbyterians and other dissenters. Eicom-
munication and all its dire consequences were
to be inflicted on whosoever dared to question
the divine right of the execrated bishops. AH
meetings and conventicles held by private peiv
sons and preachers for the purpose of eiplaln-
ing the Bible were prohibited under severe
penalties. But the most dangerous innovation
(moat dangerous because it was most obvious
to the common people) concerned the form
of divine worship. Divine serrice was thence-
forth to be held only in strict aeeordanoe with
the precepts oj the Church of England, and
the rites reminding the people of the Catholic
stnice were to be restored. Already the mere
new? that the king had resolved upon such
measures created the most intense excitement
throughout bcotland ; especially were the peo-
ple of the northern capital extremely indignant
at the proposed innovation. On the day when
the service was to be heli for the irst time in
accordance with the new r tea the churches
were crowded with men and w men deter-
mined to resort to extremities in order to pre-
vent the introduction of ceremoni s reminding
them of Roman Catholicism, ho sooner had
the bishop, dressed in his white surplice, and
accompanied by the other prelates and the
magistrates, entered the church, than a storm
of imprecations and invectives burst forth
against him. The deanpirho read the service,
was interrupted by the loud sobs and sighs of

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158

JOHS MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

the ariatocratic ladiea, while the women of the
lower classes received him with wild cries, and
flung the hacks and legs of broken chairs at
him. When the bishop entered the pulpit,
the aoise grew more deafening. He was un-
able to utter a word. Amidst shouts of " A
pope! a pope! Aniichriet! Stone him! —
knock him down !" he had to withdraw and
flee from the church in order to save his life.
The furious populace smashed the windows of
the calheiral and all the chapels The riot
soon became giTieril Tht mtn incited each
other 10 offer the moit unflmthing resistance
to all rehoiona innovntiona , the women like-
wise took part in the mopimenf, and, as is
always the case, with fanatical ?pal and ardor.
The Preabyle^^n dergy thundered furionslj
against poperj aud the litni^, which they
said were the same thm^ The pulpits re-
aomuied with impieeituns ngainBt Antichrist;
and the people who had first declared against
the Utui^ were compared in a not very fial^
tering manner to Balaam's .ass speaking " with
a man's voice." The general faaalicism was
enhanced by the passions of the political
parties; private interests stimulated the spirit
of liberty, and on all rides wete to be seen the
most menacing symptoms of the speedy out^
break of a terrible revolution. Had the king
issued an amnesty under these circumstances,
and acted only with some degree of forbear-
ance in regard to the liturgy, the danger might
have been averted. But instead of adopting
so prudent a course, he proceeded with the
utmost rigor, and accelerated the outbreak of
the crisis by the most unyielding obstinacy.
Before long the mo=t distinguished men were
drawn into the whiilpool of the movement,
which had originated among the lowest classes,
and a real aud important revolution grew out
of a street riot. The heads of the Scottish
nobility and the foremost commoners con-
cluded the famous Uague of the Scottish Cove-
nanters, by which they bound themselves to

resist all interference in their religious services.
Charles attempted to pnt down the Covenanters
with the sword, but ineffectually. As he was
destitute of money and soldiers, nothing re-
mained for him but to summon a Parliaments
This was done in the spring of 1640.

Such was the intelligence which Milton re-
ceived from his father. He did not hesitate a
moment, but made his choice immediately aa
a friend of liberty and of his country. He re-
solved to return at once to England; for he
deemed it disgraceful to roam idly in foreign
lands, while his fellow-citizens were arming for
the great struggle for liberty. A short time
previous to his departure from Naples some
English friends in Home cautioned him against
returning to the Eternal City. They were
mei-chanta who did business in Rome, and
wrote him, that hie bold utterances in regard
to Catholicism, and especially the visit he had
paid to Galileo, had aroused the hostility of
certain persons, and chiefly that of the Jesuits.
Nevcrthelesa, he returned to Eome. The
Eternal City embraced him once more with
her siren arms, and it seemed to him aa though
he could never bid farewell to her. Love con-
tributed not a httle to the prokngition of his
sojourn in Rome So l)n aa hi, had been
aeparated from Leonora Baroni and diverted
his mmd by his familiar intercourse with the
distmguiahed marqms bifl pao« on had slum-
bertd , but at the hight of the beautiful canta-
frice it awoke again with redoubled ardor.
She received him with a cry of joy, and fas-
cmated him more than ever by her caresses.
It is true, he remembered the sorceress Ar-
mida in Tasso's "Jeinsalem Delivered," but
he lacked the courage to liberate himself from
his voluptuous bondage. Whenever he al-
luded to his departure, she closed his lips with
burning kisses. But despite the happiness
which he felt in her company, a profound
melancholy stole over him amidst all hia
pleasures. He felt a secret foreboding of the

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BECALL TO ENGLAKD— ESCAPE FROM AS8AS8INATrON.

159

struggles and troublea whicli were in slot
him in. his native country. He Beemed to hear
a voice calling upon him to hasten to the as-
sielanee of his diatreased fetherland. He often
Blarted up from her arma and gazed gloomily

"What aila you, Gioranni?" asked Leo-
nora, in diamay.

" I can no longer stay with you ; I muet set
out for England. My country is in danger."

" You naughty man ! What does your coun-
try concern you ? My heart, my hoBom, shall
be your home for evermore."

" Leonora, follow me ; I can no longer with-
hold my aeaiatanoe from mj fellow-citizens,"

" I must follow you, and whither ? To a re-
mote country whose gray, leaden sky threatened
to crush me, and whose language I do not un-
derstand. Stay with me in Home, in our magni-
ficent Italy, where the sun shines so radiantly,
and where the sweetest pleasures of life may
be enjoyed. Do not leave me, for itwould kill
me to lose you."

She burst into tears, and Milton was too
weak to resist so touching an appeal. Similar
oonTersations recurred almost every day. It
was in vain that his reason struggled against
this powerful passion. At times he attempted
to liberate himself from this voluptuous bond-
age, and he then wandtrtd alone in the silent
night, amidst the monuments and ruins of the
Eternal City. During the-^e lonely walks he
noticed that a strangei wh =c features were
concealed by h s hat and cloaJt often dogged
his steps, but he paii no pirticular attention
to hmi Onp lay when he visited the Colise
urn after lusk had set in, and was admiring
the «ubl me edifice on which the moon was
'iheddmj, her pale weird light, a man wrappe 1
mailoik and conteiling his features under
a broad-bnmmed hat, rushed toward Milton
In his uplifted hand he held a flashing dagger
but before the assassin was able to carry hi
fell purpose into effect, a strong arm had

wrenched his weapon from him. The villain
succeeded in eacaping, owing to the darkness,
without being recognized. Milton thanked
his liberator, a young man who introduced him-
eelf to him as a countryman of his, named Mar-
veil. The amiable young man impressed Mil-
ton very favorably, and they were soon on in-
tiiaate terms.

"I am greatly obliged to you," said the

"Not tome, but to the accident which led
me this way. My name is Marvell."

" And mine is Milton."

" I have already heard of you, and am there-
fore doubly glad of having rendered you a
slight service. But, above all things, permit
me to caution you. Eriends have told me that
attempts would be made here in Kome to as-
sassinate you."

" I do not see why such attempts should be

" The frankness with which you have uttered
your principles on all occasions has esciled at-
tention. Tou have enemies here that will not
shrink from the most infamons outrages. Tou
have Just seen that people in Rome attempt
to settle a religious dispute by the stah of an
assassin, and to cut off not only the words of
an eloquent speaker, but also the thread of
hU life."

" I did not think that they attached so much
importance to my humblo person."

" You a:

ind do n

appreci-
ate your own worth. Tour poems, which were
publicly recited m the academies of Florence
and Rome have met w th eitraordmirv favor
and pp an e Ees de I understand that our
tilcnted yet unprmcpled en ntrymau '^ r
Kecelm D ^by ntended to e yon as an
1 rument to promote h a da k cch mea and
mtngues Thank Tod joiddntleniyu
elf to cl e p rposes Manj of your
ountryn en who took the h e est n crest n
your w Ifar feared the worst and rumora

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160

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

were rife everywhere that you had i>een eon-
verted to the Catholic Church."

" What an iofamons Blander I "

" Your manly conduct was the bsst refuta-
tion of theec absurd rumora, which nererthe-
lesa had an air of great probability as you
were rcLeiTSd m ao eieeeclmglj k nd a man er
at Cardinal Barbermi s palace But what
seemed to confirm those rumors more than
any thmg elae was yonc intin
w th "^ gnora E iron Pirdon
so unreservedly, but I deem mjaelf in duty
bound not to conceal any thing from you."

" What do yon know about Leonora Baro-
ni ? " aaked Milton, hastily.

"I know that the celebrated ainger was used
by tho Jeauita and by Sir Kenelm Digby, half
wittingly and half unwittingly, as a tool to con-
vert you. I am aorrj w tell you ao, but it is
not the first time that the eignora has been
used for similar purpoaea. Lost year a young
Prench nolileman, a distinguished Huguenot,
languished in berneta precisely like yoti. After
he had forsworn his faith, Leonora turned her
back upon hira. The poor fellow did not sur-
vive this double loss, and the thought of hav-
ing sacrificed bis convictions to a chimera. He
threw bimaelf into the Tiber, and reposes now
in an uneonsecrated grave. If you like il, we
may visit his grave. It might be a wholesome
warning to you, Mr. Milton."

" But who ia tliia Leonora Baroni?" aaked
the poet, mournfully.

" Some assert that she is the daughter, others
the mistress of the cardinal; perhaps she is
both. Since the time of LucretiaBoigia, such
things are by no meana rare in Rome. But,
however that may be, follow my advice and
leave the siren, the sooner the bettCT. Escape
from the danger, for the eyes of the Italian
women are even worse than the daggers of
the Italian men."

Marvell's words seemed to make a powerful
impression on the poet. He had already heard

similar rumors, but had refused to believe
them. Now he resolved to examine them care-
fully, and, if they should prove well-grounded,
to break with Leonora forever. Accompanied
by his new friend, be returned to his rooms.
On the way they conversed a great deal on the
precarious state of a&irs in their native coun-
try, and exchanged views on thia interesting
subject. Milljin found that Marvell shared his
political and religioua opinions, and was an en-
thusiastic lover of liberty.

"We are on the eve of important events,"
said Marvell, " and no man is allowed to lag
behind now that we are called upon to defend
our most sacred boons. For this reason I shall
return immediately to England, The time of
idleness and exgoyment is past for me; duty
calla me, and I shall 1 y t

"And I will foil w y

" Let us shake h d rei 1 ed h y g
man, holding out h ght h d b t
cally to Milton. "W wll b th ledicate
strength to our pp es 1 t y W

against tyranny 1 w f f d m f n-

" War against tyra f feed m f

! " repeatod Milton, solemnly.

CHAPTER IX.

MiLTOK ascertained that Marvell's state-
ments in regard to Leonora's character were
partly true, although she was not as guilty as
he had hinted. She was only half wittingly a
tool of the wily Society of Jesus. No sooner
had Milton ac[[ULred this conviotion, than be
resolved to leave her. He met her with entire
frankness, but brought about the rupture with
becoming delicacy. He felt sincere pity for
this magnificent creature, who had succumbed
to the force of circi

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FABEWELL TO LEONORA— "ADAMO OADUTO."

tioned the joung Ifrench nolilcmaj], shegavea
atari, and her pallor proved that elie waaguiltj.
" Lui^ ! " she sighed. " Poor Luigi ! "
"Tou were the causa of Me death," siud
Milton, in o. mild tone. " Do you feel no re-
pentance f "

" Why should I repent of having saved his
aoiil, aud led it to the Madonna P I only la-
ment the poor young man, or rather I lament
myself. I(iould not love bim, and now fate
hj3 ovectahen me. I love you, and you will

"I uaniiot h

elp it. I should have

apiaemyaolfif

were to act otherwise.'

" Cruel man

I will follow you and 1

slave. Aljuae

ae, kiU me, but do not f

me. If yoii are bent on leaving me, I must
die."

A flood of teara accompanied these wotda.

" Leonora ! " cepUed the poet " jou will not
die. You mistake your attachment to me.
Your whole nature prevents you from feeling
BO profound a passion. Tou are, above all, an
artiate, and art alone affords jou full eatiafao-
tion. I have observed jou too well. Pride
and gratified vanity will and must indemnify
JOU for the joja of love. You are firat an ar-
tiate, and then a woman. When your ainging
earriea away the souls of your audience, every
other feeling gives way before the triumph
achieved by the alnger. Accustomed to rule

satisfy you, and leaat of all for a lifetime. We
ahould have parted sooner or later in any
event, even though faith, nationality, and lan-
guage had not separated us."

"Barbarian! you do not know my heart,
nor the ardent love I feel for you."

" And when art no longer satJsHes you, you
will hare recourse to religion."

" Yes, you are right," she aaid. " I will re-
tire from the world and take the veil. In a
cloister I shall atone for the grierous sin of
having loved a. heretic so intensely."

his li]

uttered a, wild cry, embraced Milton
lore, and imprinted a glowing kisa on

"Aecnrsed be the lips," she exclaimed with
southern vivacity, " that dare to kiss yours
after me ; accursed yourself, if you dare to
love another woman 1 And now go, go ; the
Madonna wiU give me strength to forget yon,
sweet, feithleas heretic 1 "

She diseng-jged heraelf impetuously from bis
arms and pushed him back ; she then disap-
peared, and left the poet stunned and bewil-
dered by thia strange farewell.

Milton left Eome on the following morning
with a heavv heirt. He had pa'Jied the mght
ileeplesa ami readmo' m tht Bible, for he
greatW needed atrength and comfort The
deepest gloom filled his heart In takmg
leave of Rome he had hkeviiae bidden farewell
to lovo and art He felt that he was gomg to
meet a grave and stormy future, and that be
had arrived at the great turning- point of his

In such moments the mind plunges once
more into the paat, that great graveyard of
our thoughts and feelings. It walks there
amid the graves and shades of years long gone
by. It aheds teara on the faded wreaths and
withered flowers, and laments the loss of jontJi
and happiness.

Such was the frame of mind in which Milton
Get out from Eome. Notwithstanding his
longing for bis home, ho did not accelerate his
journey. He tardcd at Florence and Venice
aa thougli he were unable to bid farewell to
the beautiful scenery and azure sky of Italy.
His heart, a part of hia life and love, remained
here. To dispel hla melancholy thoughts, he
Tiaited at Elorence the theatre, where he hap-
pened to witneas the cepresentaliou of a sin-
gular drama which waa to CKerciso a deciaive
influence over bis whole poetical life. The
play waa entitled "Adamo Caduto," by Aq-
dreini, and reminded him of the Bocalled mys-

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JOHN" MILTON AND HIS TBIES.

leries of the Middle Ages. The subject, which
was taltea from tlie Bible, waa &e fall of

When the ourtajn rose, the audience beheld
a chorus of angels singing praise to the Lord.
Afi«r their hymn was at an ead, God the
Father appeared with the Spirit of Darkness ;
the former a renerahle old man with a long
silrec beard and clad in a blue star-spangled
dress ; the latter wrapped !n a costume of fire-
colored taffeta, with fine though diabolical
features. In a brief dialogue God commanded
Lucifer to contemplate the beauty of His cre-
ation and listen to the gratitude of Adam and
Ese, who uttered their joj and adoration in
loud words. This aroused the ire of the Evil
Spirit, and he swore everlasting hatred to the
good angeU and destruction to the mortals.
At his bidding, the seven Deadly Sins, which
be summoned, arose from hell. Their names in
the drama were r Melecano, or Pride; Lurcono,
or Envy ; Kuspicano, or Anger ; Arfarat, or
Covetousnesa ; Maltea, or Idleness ; Dulciato,
or Lust ; and Guliar, or Gluttony. Unseen by
Adam and Eve, Lurcone and Guliar watched
them ; but the prayer of Adam and Eve, who
turned to God with fervent piety and child-
like reverence, drove away the Evil Spirits,
who hastened back to the infernal re^ons. In
their place appeared the Serpent, accompanied
by Ambition and other demons. It approach-
ed Eve, and Bedueed her to pluck the forbid-
den fruit. After a tender dialogue with Adam,
she produced the fruit ; her husband expressed
first intense horror at this violation of God'
commandment, but finally yielded also to th
temptation. Tliey immediately knew that
what they had done was not good, but evil.
Their souls were filled with shame, and fear
and repentance. They sought, as sinnc:
conceal themsLlvcs from God, and hid among
thick bushes. Satan announced his triumph
to bell, and called upon his demons to n
and render homage to him. A ehojus of evil

s celebrated the event by demoniacal
1 and wild dances, which presently passed
eiclamalions of dismay at the approach
of God and His heavenly host. He camo to
judge the two sinners, Adam and Eve. He
cursed them, and told them they should not
dwell any longer in Paradise ; whereupon the
Archangel Michael drove them out of it amid
thunder and lightning. The angeU closed the
act with a chorus exhorting the sinners to re-
pentance and hope. In the nest act Lucifer
appeared again, surrounded by the princes of
hell, profoundly grieved because he had be-
come aware of the predestined incamaljan of
Chtist and the redemption of tbe world, which
would fJTistrate his evil designs. The evi!
spirits tried to comfort him, and be devised
new suares into which Adam and Eve were to
fall. He called to his asMStance three demons,
having the characteristic names of Death, the
Flesh, and the World. Meanwhile, Adam was
bewailing his fate, and even more piteonsly
the sufferings of bis wife. Wild beasts pur-
sued them ; they were compelled to flee, and
felt the fliU extent of their misery. Hunger,
thirst, fatigue, and despair appeared in the
shapes of horrible demons, and tormented the
nnfortunate creatures to the .utmost, so that
Eve bc^ed Adam to kill her and himself.
Death, armed with a sharp scythe, a frightful
skeleton, upbraided Eve with her terrible
guilt, and prophesied to her the fate of all her
children. Seized with horror, Adam and Eve
fled into tbe mountains. Here the Flesh, in
the shape of a lovely girt, approached Adam
and sought to seduce him; but he withstood
the new temptation courageously. Lucifer
appeared to him, and told him he was a man,
an elder brother of Adam ; but a cherub, sent
from heaven, rescued the victim Jrom the
hands of the cvi) one, and stru^lod with him.
A fine-looking man, called the World, ap-
proached Eve, and promised her splendor,
ease, and luxury. At his bidding there

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FAREWELL TO LEONORA— " ADAMO CADUTO."

163

emerged from the ground a magaifieent pal-
ace, filled with sumptuous things of eyery de-
scription. Wanton njmpliB thronged around
Eve, and invited her to ecjoj herself, but
Adam warned her of her peril. The exas-
perated World called tte demons of hell, who
chained the two. Ere begged foe raercj, but
Adam eihorted her to bo firm and put her
trust in God. Lueifer and Death inished upon
the sufferers, when suddenly the Archi^gcl
Michael, clad in a radiant coat-of-niail, sword
in hand, and accompanied by the other angels,
descended fiom heaven. After a violent
Btruggle, Lutifer succumbod to him. Adam
and Eve rejoiced at Michael's victory, and
thanked him, and he Comforted them by
proniitjng them that God would take compas-
sion on them. Angela closed the drama with
hymns of praise, in which thej announced the
coming of the Redeemer.

Although this drama, by its turgid language
and all sorts of fantastic additions, materially
impaired the sublime simplicity and grandeur
of the Bibhcal account of the fall of man, it
did not fdl to make a powerful impression on
the susceptible mind of the yonng poet. For
the first time he conceived the idea of writing
an epic on this grand subject, which he after-
ward carried out in his immortal "Paradiaa
Lost" Bngroaaed with thchLeneshehadjuat
witnessed, ind with the plan of his future epic,
Milton left the theatre, aeeompamed by an
emment Florentine gentlemar to whom he bad
been recommended Signor Diodati, nottd
for his learning and aeeomphhhmenti, broke
the poet's silence by commenting, in a most
sagacious manner, on the subject and the per
fbrmance of the drama

"Of all the revelations of the Holy 'sirip
turei" ho said "the account of the creation
and the fall of man has alwiys ma le a par
tioularly profound impression on me IIuw
childlike and yet hon sublime, how simple
and yat how grind, is the manner in which

it treats the most profound philosophy, the
moat difficult and important question in regard
to the nature of man and the origin of sin ! In
the form of a parable, which ail can under-
stand, it reveals the higheat wisdom, and the
narrative solves the mysterious problem of
human life and nature, so that even children
are able to comprehend it."

"Tou have given utterance to my own ideas
on the aubjeet," replied Milton. " Ko book in

the world, r
which I estf

even the works of the Greeks,

so very highly, equal the Bible

Whenever I open it, a feeling

ae ; I feel the pri^en ce of God,

D tbe

Mid. All

who revi

that human wisdom and genius have conceived
or devised is unable to cope with the truths
which it teaches. Its words are like ' apples
of gold in pictures of silver,' and combme the
simplicity of childhood with the wisdom of
mature age. Heaven and earth, flowers and
stara, the wonders of creation and human Hfe,
are to be found in glowing beauty on every
page. To the happy, as well as to the af-
flicted, it gives food, solace, and comfort. It
is indeed the iporj of fiod aa the world created
by Him g H s f ei? Taeh is the con plem nt
of the other and bo h reveal the g eatne s
omnipotence and w sinm of the Lorl The
better wo become acqua n ed w th he B ble
the more en hant ng beaut es we d scov r m
it Thus a new a ar nas n en upon me a so
to-dav, anl the p ofo d ph o opi y of the
(.reation and the fill of an has produced an
extraordna y pre on on me Ad m anl
Eve are the rep esenta ves of inank ni ind
Paradi e s the sta e of h man nno ence
The voice of God f b'dd" Ad f

the Iruit, ia the v n ?

happv and conte d
piiidiae for him. B
sleep , it beguiles h m

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

paradise. Grief and raiserj then befall
and repentance fills hia heart ; from thia

fallei

history of Adam, or rather man. Eve is des-
tined to show ua the peculiariaea of woman
and female nature. She is first begnilcd by
the aerpent, because her heart la more acces-
sible to temptation, and because her hnaband
is made of sterner stuff. Her senses and pas-
sions dominate her, and hence she is puniahed
more harshly. God says to her, 'Now shall
thou bear children with pain, and in sorrow
shall thou bring them up.' This simple nar-
rative abounds in profound wisdom and sub-
lime truths."

" I share yout admiration entirely, but it
always looks V> me like q desecration to Bee
such eacred traditions performed on the stage,
and God Himself and Hia angela represented
by actors whose private life is generally at to-
riance with the parts they play. In my opin-
ion, they aro entirely unfit for dramatio repre-
sentation, which cannot but impsuc their dig
nity and the 'reverence with which the peopli
look upon them."

" I think you are right, and will confess to
you that the drama has suggested to me tl
idea of treating this profound mystei7 in
more becoming form. Like Tasao, I wonld
like to create a Christian epic which should,
if possible, do full juatiee to the sublime suh-
ject. I have already long sought for such a
task, on which I might try my Btrength.
•Hitherto, 1 thought of writing a poem on the
exploits of King Arthur, but the drama to-
night has caused me to change my mind, and
pointed out to me a nobler and loftier taalt.
Can the poet do any thing better than to make
man in general the hero of his poem, celebrate

the wonders of the creation, and praise the
grcatneas and merey of God? Heaven and
hell, with tlieh^ mysteries, shall be the theme
of my epic, and my imaginatjon revels already
in the depths of everlflsling darkness and in
the land of the blessed. I see the Lord seated
on His glorious throne, surrounded by Hia
angels and cherubim ; while Lucifer, with his
demons, rules over the infernal regions, clad
in the lurid glare of diabolical majesty. As
Homer depicted the war of the Trojans and
Greeks with surpassmg truth and beauty, so I
will portray the far more aaored and grand
struggle between good and evil, virtue and
sin, "heaven njid helL I have not vainly seen
the works of the gceat Italian artists, the
painted and sculptured poema of Raphael and
Michael Angelo ; they shall be my modela,
and I will strive to equal them."

" And you will succeed in your efforts," sud
Diodati, deeply moved by the poet's enthu-
siasm. " I see in my mind already your poem
combinii^ the grace of our Baphac! with the
power and energy of Michael Angelo, for you
possess that of which the poet haa need above
all things, faith m God and love of coantry."

While Milton thus found the subject of his
great poem, the affairs of his native country
were constantly assuming a more threatening
aspeci The parties were more at variance
than ever hefore: on one side, the newly-aum-
moned Pariiament was mstigated by rcll^ous
and political fanatics to take entreme meas-
ures; on the other side, the infiituated king,
with bis court and his reckless and overbearing
adherents, became every day more obstinate
and defiant. One of the most ardent royalists
waa the rash Thomas Egerton, who had re-

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THOMAS EGERTON AT COUET.

165

ceired an appointmeBl in the queen's house-
hold, and, m one of hec majesty's faTorites,
soon took a prominent position in his new-
sphere. The bold youth had plunged reck-
lessly into the nhirl of intcigues and pleasures
which the court offered to him at that period.
There was a eondnuous round of festivals, al-
though the times were any thmg but favorable
to such diireraiona; the court and its adhe-
renta were literally dancing on a terrible toI-

The indignaljon of the people was at its
height By all sorts of illegal and despotic
measures the crown had forfeited the confi-
dence and love of the nation, which sided en-
thusiastically with the courageous adrecsaries
of the king, and with the members of Pariia-
ment who attacked the government in the
most vehement manner. Such men as Pym
and Hampden were the heroes of the day, and
enjoyed the greatest popularity. They alone
were regarded as true patriots, friends of the
people, and, above all, genuine and sincere
Christians. Even an entirely pure and unob-
jecdonable attachment to the court was con-
wdered and derided as slavish scrrility, and
confidence in the king's promises was looked
upon as shameless venality and corruption.
This current of public ophiion was irresistible,
and the sudd di so P m nt

had added to tr ng

Notwithela g th te g mp-

s of ai

and particula
with thi

los hnU
CLaries"

13 too grave, and ahnoat
pedantic, to take a leading part in the gay life
of the court ; but the queen was extremely
partial to fcstJTities, dandng, and theatrical
representation. An amiable companion and a
good dancer, wit and humor were always wel-
come (0 the sprightly Frenchwoman ; and
hence Thomas, who combmeti all those qaali-
ties in his person, had at once found favor in

eyes. Treated with estraordinary distino-
L by her m^esty, he esdted already the
and jealousy of the other courtiers.
Tho polished Jermyn, lie fine-looking Percy,
and he were publicly called the queen's pels.
He was very proud of this, and fanatically de-
voted (0 his at^at mistress. The kindness
and condescension of the royal lady awakened
in the favorite's heart a feeling of boundless
gratitude, which soon passed mto the most ar-
dent love. It is true, Henrietta never acted in
a manner derogatory to her royal dignity, but
she was too much of a Frenchwoman not lo
be pleased with the homage rendered her by
the handsome and agreeable youth. She did
not deem illicit a kind smile, a winning glance
from her fiery hazel eyes, and added thereby
to the flame devouring Ms heart. He would
willingly have ^ven up his life m order to ob-
tain such favors, Ifis attachment to poor
I, who had accompanied him
London, had to give way to
)r the humble country girl, of
t vie with the Queen of Eng-
indeed that he did not treat
formerly, but

Lucy Ilender
so trustmgly

er with the same
L her innocence si

ididn

suspect the true
and ascribed his coldness to the change
ircumstances, his new position, and the
occupations connected with it. She loved him
tenderly as ever, and contented
herself with tho crumbs falling from the table
of his love. When he told her in the most
enthusiastic manner of the beauty and amia-
bility of the queen, she did not feel a particle
of jealousy ; for how could she envy a prin-
On the contrary, she shared his feel-
ings, and, although she had never seen Hen-
1, she worshipped her as a saint, and was,
like her lover, ready b> sacrifice her life for
her.
Quite different were the sentiments animate
Lg our friend Billy Green. The impudent fel-
iw was exceedin^y well pleased with life in

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

the streetfl of LoudoB, and sffll better -with
what he Baw at tourt, where he appeared, aa
the footman of hia joung maacer. Ho was
soon generally known there, and well liked on
account of hia merry jests and trioka. He waa
always to be found among tho idle atrvanta of
the courtiers, and feaated with them at the
expenae of the royal exchequer. A great
change had taken place in his appearance ; he
took pains to imitate Hie tone of the great
city, and particularly of hia surroundings, and
was very aueceaaful in hia efforts. Dressed in
the cast-off clothes of his master, he played
the distinguiahcd cavalier in a somewhat es-
aggerated manner. The plumed round hat aat
obliquely on hia head. A broad lace collar
covered the upper part of the variegatfid
doublet, and very large trousers encaaed his
plump thighs, while hia white atocklnga exhib-
ited a pair of fiae ealvea. He always strolled
about the halls and passages of the palace, and
tried to aaaume the bearing and air of an in-
fluential and polished courtier. He really suc-
ceeded in deceiving a few ahort-slgbted peti-
tioners, whom he promised to intercede in
their behalf, of course only in consideration
of a suitable reward, with the king and other
dislJDguished persona of the court. Billy
Green was also a greater favorite of the fair
aex in his new garb than heretofore, and he
entered into many a tender liahon with cham-
bermaids and the daughters of commoners, on
nhich oceaaiona hia modesty generally caused
him to deny that he waa only a footman, and
to play the rSle of a real cavalier. In ?horf,
the merry fellow was exceedingly well pleased
with his new position, and bleaaed the mo-
ment when he had exchanged the fields of his
native county for the pavement of tho capital.
He remained faithful to ilia young master, save
in one point, Hia nature inclined more to the
independent spirit of the oat than the affec-
tionate attachment of the d(^. Like the for-
mer, he moused on his own account, and pre-

served a certain freedom of action. He pos-
3 than feUne cunning, and
whenever a wily trick was to be played, Billy
assisted his muster in the most effective
r. To-day he was engaged in dressing
ister for the festival, which was to be
at night in the apartments of the queen,
and for which Davenant, the laureate, had
written a ma^k Henrietta liked to divert and
surprise her husband on such occaaions by
witty and pleasant plavs and representations.
To the great indignation of her Puritan aub-
1, she herself frequently took part in these
particularly in the danc-CS.
Thomas Egerton had been invited to take part
in a quadrille, in which the queen intended to
appear, and of course he paid a great deal of
attention to hia dresa, as he waa well aware of
the importance which his august protectress
attached to a taatefiil coatumc and fine per-
aonal appearance. With the assistance of his
footman, he donned a coat of while silk, richly
embroidered with gold, and adorned with the
coatliest Bruasels lace and waving ribbons.
While dressing his master, Billy Green di-
verted him by all sorts of droll stories and
wittidsms, indicative of his low cunning and
shrewdness.

"Ton will have a fine lime to-night," he said
to Thomas I have alreidy been n he
k tcbeu Tnod Lord what an amount f
Looking and roaating was go ng o tl ere 1
My mouth waters at the mere recollect on
And what f, n reus vmei will be set before
tl e gue ts I The ch ef I uUer hal to tap h a
bc^t casks Ah I should like to feast just
once n my life at the roval tal le 1 The cler
loal black-ooa 3 w II rave and thunder ag n
when the odors of tl roaata n the roval

ther

Belei

1 r Thomas all the d h a

derf m n ar ea fom ther empty

"Ton may be right," replied the

of t

dhy Google

THOMAS EGEETON AT C URT

fllscnilj, buttoning bis coal, and pulling on
his scented gloves.

" The other daj," added Billy, " I went for
fun to one of tbeir churches, and listened to
the sermon. If I was king, I wouM bare tbe
rascally preacher hung. You ought to have
heard him ruve. He compared tlie bing nith
Saul, nho perished because he refused to
listen to Sa.muel's Toice. Samuel, of course,
was no otlier than the roundhead preacher

it the

C[ueeii, whom he called the scarlet woman,
another Jezebel, the rain of England, and the
plague of the world."

" If he vrere hero, I would ahut his foul
naouth with my sword, and give him a taste of
cold iron," said Thomas.

"I could not eland it any longer, and com-
menced groanmg aloud. But this only added
to his furj, ' Out with the son of Boal 1 '
cried the preacher; and the whole congrega-
tion rushed upon me, and thrust and kicked
ma until I got out of the church — I hardly
know how. I got a bump on my head as big
as a melon, all in honor of our gracious
queen, whom may God protect I "

" There, take this doubloon
said the youth, opening his
handing a gold-piece to his fo

lart-money,"
y purse and

ed Du

lavished richea and honors on pamt<
Rubens and Van Dyke. The court
a most dazzling spectacle at this mo
Like tbe setting sun, court-Ufe shed

m re m ro T pomp,

lo ee ra ed Tb luxury

ed E eiaoUy

m ted by the

CO m th od ofsim-

pheity was amply compensated by its gui^eous
magnificence. The halls and apartments
where the guests assembled were filled with
plded omamenta, costly hangings, and goho-
lins. Gigantic mirrors of Venetian glass leaned
against the pillars. In the comers stood large
tables groaning under a load of silver vessels,
decanters, gobleta, and massive bowls of beau-
tifiil workmanship. The c^linga were adorned
with frescoes, representing scenes from Greek
mythology in the most glowing colors.
Numerous candelabra and lustres witb thou-
sands of was-eandles illuminated the apart-
ments in the most brilUant mamicr. The style
of the Henaissanoe, which was then at its bdght,
achieved here its greatest triumph In entire
consonance with thL g^v ini Iviiunous ehar
aeter of the court, it was blended with the
manners and costumes of the ppnod into a
harmonious whole. The court, in accordance

brilliunt, and pa'isionately fond of pka'sure

The ntbly atlired guests lur^ed m the»e
magnificent halls and apartments, and awaited
tbe arrival of their majesties The costumes
of the gentlemen, which were made of velvet,
and frequently so thickly stulded with pearls
and precious stones, that tbe original stuff was
scarcely to be seen; the heavy dresses of the
ladies, made of gold-enSbroidered silks, and
sparkling in all the colors of the rambow, were
in perfect harmony with their gorgeous Eur-
roundmgs. A number of separate groups had
formed ; friends and acqualntanoea met, greeted
each other, and conversed on the events of
the day and on poUlics, Tbei'e were several

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16i

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TSMES.

pic lea amcng the adherents ot the t ng.
Some of Ins f lenda who were ■Jtrunglj sup-
ported I ? Henr ett» were an mated with a
blind hatred of the Pari ament and the ei st-
ing lawa wh eh were che<?k'' upon the arbi-
trarj aspirations of the gcvetnment thef
a^nsed h gh handed bold and dee " v
measures Moat of them were il as pated
young men, fond of women and plaj, oourtaer
rather than politieians, soldiers rather tha
Btat^men, cecMeas lovers of pleasure, to whom
restrajnta of anj kind were repugnant, and
who derided the reli^oua zea!, the stem sim
plidty, and the austerity of the Puritans
They did not lack courage and impetuou
valor, but were destitute of camealjiesa, pei
severance, and sagacity. They were called
eavaliera, and the people detested them o
account of their arrogance and immorality
Another party embcaoed a number of honor
able and distinguished friends of the king,
headed by Lord Falkland ; they were not
blind to the impending crisis, but they were
still in hopes that they could succeed in avert-
ing the danger. Occupying a mediatorial
position between the crown and the Parlia-
ment, between the goyemraent and the people,
they reaisted all eftbrts either to impair the
royal authority or to encroach upon the eights

togethe
thirst fi

m y W m ye 3 ju

I crossed each other, a oonflict was i
' unavoidable. Ambition and vanit
r intrigues, and the whole host of ei
bund ample scope here for Uidr p<
letiyity.
as moved with his innate grace ai

ease among these various groups, and Eoon
met with a circle which he joined. A number
of young men dintinguished by thdr elegant
attire, and aiTogant and almost noisy tone,
bade him welcome.
" This way Thomii ' " said one of them to

y yes

g lly regr tt«d

■" E ryb ly k

t d f h fu-
d I ill illin ly lak
)ldo."
"Of course!" sneered

TOthcr.

'Villiei

buys his clothes and sweethearts at second
hand. He gets them cheaper in that way."

"By the way," interposed a third, "what
about the Scottish army? 1 have been told
that the Earl of Strafford will arrive here to-
night^ and then undertake to chastise the vil-
lanous rebels."

"That will gladden Lady Carlisle's heart;
she will certainly accompany him. She is
such a faithful friend of his, she will never
leave his side," said the first speaker, sneer
ingiy.

His words elicited a burst of laughter. A
added to the frivolous tum which
had taken. Itwaa Davenant,
the poet laureate, who was as witty and talented
as he was unprincipled and dissipated. Eia
eipresaivo countenance eihibitcd the traces of
a vieions life. A contagious disease had de-
prived him of his nose, but his dark eyes
sparkled with intelligence and t
ness. According to his own

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THOMAS EGERTON AT CO0RT.

169

's Ulegitlmate eoii, and his mother
was the laudlady of a popular tavern.

"Well, son of Apollo," said Lord Wllmot,
one of the most reckless young men, "how is
jour poelie sou! ?"

" Very well, thank your lordship. Permit
me to express my satisfaction at your haying
escaped the gallows up to this time."

" Dayenant is not Apollo's son, tat a bastard
of William Shakespeare," remarked the hand-

ight," replied the poet.
3 for me than yours did
a father who was a man
Id rather be the bastard
Q of a block-

" There yon ai
"My mother did
for you ; she gare
of genius ; and I would
of a genius than the legi
heod. We may hoth be content, as we have
inherited the qualities of our fathers."

The handsome Percy deemed it prudent to
break off this duel of words with the malicious
ajid sarcastic poet, who had nil the laughter
on his side. He, therefore, turned his back
on him and nodded to a young man who en-
tered the hall at thia moment. He was the
model of a perfect courtier, the greatest favor-
ite of the queen, and her equerry, Lord Jermyn.
Although he was not as handsome as Percy,
his whole appearance was disUnguished by the
highest elegance and refinement. His dress
of brown velvet, richly embroidered with gold,
relieved his slender fbrru to the greatest ad-
vantage. His features bore the geunine aristo-
cratic type ; carefully-arranged blond ringlets

fell d.

and radiant, but as cold as steel ; and an arro-
gant and perfidious emile played round his
E-oely-ehiselled lips. Not only the queen, but
almost all the hidies of the court were enthu-
siastic admirers of the polished courtier, and
the more hearts he broke the more ladiea
longed for a similar fate. It had become fash-
ionable to be deceived and rendered unhappy
by Lord Jermyn.
He was greeted by the joui^ men hi an al-

ntialm

was capable of feeling reverence for any one.
He enjoyed here, at least, a degree of respect
which men of greater wealth refused to him ;
for he was, as it were, the leader and model
of these young men, and treated his satellites
with affected condescension.

"Good-evening, Gormg, Percy, Wilmol,
Egerton," ho said to them, nodding his head.
" Ah, you are there too, Davcnant ! Her ma-
jesty just now spoke tfl me of your mask, and
expressed herself well pleased with the subject
and the manner in which you handled it. —
Well, gentlemen, have you heard the great
news of the day ? "

" That all women are virtuous and all men
areaensible," sneered the poet laureate; " Uiat
Percy no longer gambles, that ViiUers has
ceased lying, that Egerton is no longer a hot-
headed enthusiast, and that Jermyn is no
longer a lady-killer."

" Ton are utterly mistaken, my noble poet.
I will tell you something that is a great deal
better. The Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, the
Earl of Strafford, has just arrived in London,
and is at this moment with the king in his
majesty's cabinet. So far as I have learned,
he advises the government to adopt the most
energetic measures, and ho is the man to carry
them into execution. He is opposed to a policy
of coneiliaf ien and concessions, and proposes
to subdue by main force both the rebellious
Scota and the seditious people of England. He
brings from Ireland money enough to fill the
exhausted ciohequer, and, what is even better,
ten thousand well-drilled soldiers, who, under
a commander hke him, are not afraid of the
devil hiraself. So soon as he is through with
the Covenanters, he will attend to London and
put an end to this parliamentary nuisanoe. By
the Eternal, I myself should like to take part
in a short campaign under Strafford; for the
whole affair will not last longer than two
weeks. Well, gentlemen, what do you thinfc

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170

r MILTON AND EOS TIMES.

tba fronlier?

of sach an exeuraioa t
would be a pleajaut cbac

"It would be a mere breakfaat-partv, at
which each of us would devour ten Scotch-
men," boasted the handsome Percy,

" The only trouble is, that the fellowa are too
tough and indigestible," remarked Goring.

" Then we will pummel them until thej
grow Boft enongh," jested Egerton.

" Do so," replied Jormju, sueeringlj ; " you
will thereby gain the special favor of his ma-
jesty, aud you would have a splendid oppoc.
tunity to distinguish jouiBelf."

" That is to say," replied Thomas, smilingly,
" dear Egericn, do me the favor of allowing a
barele^ed Scotchman to break your neck,
that you may no longer be in my way."

A diadahiful smile curled the lips of the
haughty favprite, and he cast a proud glance
on his rival. " I am not afraid of any man,
much less of a beardless boy ! " be replied,

"Beware of the beardless boy!" threatened
Thomas, angrily; "bo might tear a hole in
your magniScent costume and your milky

Another insultmg remark was already on
the courtier's lips, when the folding-doors
nd the usher announced the arrival
Bsjestics in a loud voice. The ad-
had only Ijme to cast furious glances
on eacb other, as their position required tbem
to go to meet their luiyesties. The other
guests ranged themselves in the order of their
rank and birth, and awaited thus the approach
of Charles and Henrietta.

opened, :
of their

CHAPTER XI.

CuiELES I. was not a man of impos-
ing appearance; his form was of a middle
stature, and his bearing was timid and embar-

rassed, Bemg a younger son, he had origi-
nally been destined for the Church, and it was
not until after hie elder brother had died that
he became heir to the throne of bis father.
The peculiarities of his early education still
clung to him, and his whole bearing was that
of a learned theologian rather than the son of
a King of England. It ia trne, long-conlinued
military a d qu t a i h d gradually

imparted n d abl t nfith t h body,
but neverth 1 a cert n awkw dnesa, such
as ia often p ul t hi t k o him.

b d

nd w ll-c<

plexioned a d ngil ipre n fmelati-
choly, a foreboding as it were of his terrible
fate, was stamped on his features. Physiog-
nomists assert that this peculiarity is often
noticed in persons destined to die by violence.
His slightly. defective utterance added to his
timidity and r^erve.

The character of this prince was a strange
mixture of good and badqnalities. Weakness
was the leading feature of his whole nature,
the key of all his actions; he displayed stub-
bornness aud obstinacy when energy and man-
ly dignity were indispensable; and, when be
was unable to resist the force of circumslancea,
he resorted to low cunning and the most rep-
rehensible deception. Uis beneficent dispo-
sition was clouded by a manner not very gra-
cious; his piety was tinctured with supersti-
tion ; his good sense was disfigured by a defer-
ence to persons of a capacity much inferior to
his own ; and bis moderate temper eiempted
him not from hasty and precipitate resolutions.
Many of bis good qualities were offset by some
latent frailly, which, though seemingly incon-
siderable, was able, when seconded by the ex-
treme malevolence of his fortune, to disappoint
ihem of all their influence. His strong incli-
nation to promote the interests of his fiicnda
misled him into blind devotion to unworthy fa-
vorites ; his attachment to the queen and his
&mily rendered him their abject slave. He

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CHAKLES 1. AND HIS QUEEN AND COUNCILLOKS.

171

loved art and literature, but fostered thei
without exorcising a salutary and vivifying ii

r then

e did Ji

■ g!V

them as much freetlom aa they needed, but
caused them to pine away in the unhealthy at-
mosphere of the court. Like most men of
weali character, he often bad fits of sullen
IS, which he believed to be strength

ifgJi

was tinctured with a spirit of cruelty which
was foreign to his original and better nature.
In his contests with his adversaries he did not

und the honesty and straightforwardness which
always go hand in band with manly strength,
were entirely wanting to him. Heknewneithcc
how to yield nor to be arm in time ; he allowed
himself to bo compelled to make concesiioHS
which he might have easily granted of his own
accord; and while tendering liberty with his
right hand to his people, he already held out
the left to take back his gift. As he lacked
strength and courage to refuse openly, he re-
sorted lo all sorts of subterfuges and prevari-
cations, by which he utterly forfeited the re-
Epeot of his subjects. Estimable in Ms private
life, and adorned with many domestic and hu-
man virtues, fate had put on his head a crown
which his weak shoulders were unable to bear.
Nevertheless, he might have become an cicel-
ient ruler if he had lived in quiet times. Cn-
happily, his fate threw him into a period when
the genius of the people ran violently toward
liberty, and the tempest of revolution shobk
the foundations of Ihe British empire.

The king was accompanied at this moment
by a man made of sterner staff than himself.
It was Thomaa Wentworth, Earl of Strafford,
the all powerful minister, who at once became
the cynosure of all eyes. His firmly-knit
frame, with iti powerful cheat and shoulders,
heomed ehiitlled out of granite ; his muscles
and 6inews forged out of Eteel, such was their
strength and elasticity. The powerful neck.

which was not accustomed to bend, was sur-
mounted by a mngnificant head crowned with
a dense mass of ringlets. His high, expansive
forehead, and his clear, piercing eyes, indicated
the mmd of a great statesman and diplomatist ;
while his bushy eyebrows, bis arched temples,
his defiant mouth, and firm chin, which was
fringed with a black beard, told the beholder
that he was an intrepid soldier and esperienced
captain. His decided bearing, and hia firm,
noiay gait, betokened a spirit of defiant energy
shrinking from no difficulty whatever. Foi>
merly an enthusiaslje adherent of Parliament,
an advocate of popular rights, the most emi-
nent orator and statesman of his party, he had
succumhcd to the ilatteries of the court and to
the craving of his ambition, and turned his
back upon the cause which he had defended
with so much eloquence and ability. Like all
apostates, Strafford now persecuted hia former
political friends with wild fanaticism. Never
at a loss for resources, and inexorable in his
hatred, he was at this juncture the moat dan-
gerous adversary of Pariiament and of popular
liberty. He constantly advised the most en-
ei^etic mearares and determined resistance,
and cautioned the king against the dangers ia
which, he asserted, a conciUatory course would
involve him. He devised a plan to place the
king in a perfectly independent position by
organizing a standing army and malting large
reductions in the public expenditure, and
afterward boldly repealing the constitution.
For this purpose he had already taken all ne-
cessary steps, levied troops, collected taxes in
Ireland, and secured the coiiperation of the
most ardent rojaliata. He was now only wiut-
ing for a favorable moment, and espedally for

of the Seottish

this plan, which was fully approved by his
1. The people, who justly considered
him the author of all oppressions and persecn-
tions, of all violent and illegal measures of
the government, detested him instinctively.

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172

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Heiiag cxconted all over the i.oun(ry but he
laughed tlie threata of h a enemiea lo scorn
and ppr ecuted Bith rtlentle 3 perseveranui,
bis fonuer fnenda wbo neio now h b mortal
enemies Bit tbe great man hal treo at
court many opponenta whose enraitj lie bad
aroused by his implacable severity, his bound-
less pride, and bis rude bearing. Even tbe
queen and her ailhe ents were jealoue of the
influence and fnendsl ip ivhich Charles grinted
to hia mimiter Tw) persons only were
strongly attached to Strafford tbo beautiful
and accompbhbed Countcs of Carlisle wbo
was generallj believed to bo his mistress and
the bigoted Archbishop Laud, tbe spiritual ad-
viser of tbe king. By moans of the countess,
who was an intimate friend of Queen Henriet-
ta, be infl.uenced her m^ j- and he anat-
ieal prebite helped him n bi p wcr

over Charles himself. W h h anoe

Strafibrd deemed bis p a p j lafe

and impregnable.

With his proud cons h mpa-

nied his sovereign through tbe magnifioe
apartmenta of Whitehall ; and so great w
tbe imprcasion produced by his appearano
that he eclipsed tbe less distini-uisbed figure o
his royal master and riveted the attention
all guesls. Charles perceived thia with a
slight tinge of envy, to which bis suspicions
mind, which was bo fully impressed with the
dignity of his position, was always very prone.
Meanwhile tbe queen bad aealed herself on
her throne, surronnded by a bevy of her beau-
Uful ladiesof honor. Maria Henrietta accord-
ing to the portraits which have been binded
down to us, masalovelyand sprighllv princess
deficient neither in charma nor understanding
It is true her features were not entirely r^ilar,
but ber el^nt form, her dark hair, her shape
ly mouth with dazzling wliite teeth, the arch
dimples of her cheeks and chin, and above all
her brilliant eyes, rendered her very piquant
and interesting. Educated by ber ambitious

mother, and instructed by Richelieu as to the
best ise she might make of her position, she
went fc England with the firm determination
to render important services to the Catbobc
religion and the members of ber church. She
pursued her course with less prudence than
was necessary in a Protestant country, and
placed herself at tbe very outset m a falao po-
sitbn tonord her b bject« Though her hus-
band was very fond of her she did not suc-
i,eed n ohta ning m ich infiuence over bun
until after the leath (f Buckingham, the
king s favorite advi er So long as the duke
was ahve the k ng alwavs fnllowcd his coun-
sels. After his death, Henrietta took bis po-
sition, and exercised soon a decisive mflucnce
over the government and its political meas-
ures. Ignorant of the customs and peculiari-
ties of the people, hostile lo the laws which
set bounds to the king's authority, she con-
tributed not a little to tbo dissensions and
difficulties previiiling between tbe kmg and bis
subjects. As a Catholic, she was already from

terePanTl p ddwh

scathin a a ks upon he queen, whom the
fanatical p b ed a Canaanite, a

daughter of Heth, and j,n idolatress. On her
part, she repaid hatred with hatred, and per-
secutions with even more relentless peraecu-
iions It was principally at her instigation
that several popular orators were prosecuted,
■ind that a heavy fine was imposed upon the
cell bra ted Pjm. Although no definite charges
could be preferred against her morals, her
frivolity often gave rise to the roost iiyurioua
reports.

At to-night's festival, Henrietta acted agam
in a very imprudent manner. To the regret
of all sagacious adherents of the court, she

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CHARLES L AND HIS QUEEN AND COUNCILLORS.

173

played a part in Davenant's mask, and recited
some verses in it, an innovation upon whicli
no Queen of England liad ventured up lo this
time, and wliioh even many old courtiers
deemed ntl«rly incompatible with royal dig-
nity. Henrietta, however, derided aueh scru-
ples, and gave rein to her merry and viva-
cious temper in the most unconcerned manner.
She danced alternately with Jermyn and
Thomas, whom she delighted by her conde-

" Sir Thomas Egerion," she whispered, smil-
ingly, "jou have made eonaidetable progress;
in a very ehort time you have become the best
dancer of our court,"

" How could it be otherwise, when I had eo
august a model before mj eyea f "

"To-morrow all the pccaehecs of London
will denomiee again my harmless pleasures."

" Command me, and I will shut the mouths
of these miserable preachers with my rd

" The time for that has not come
you may, perhaps, in the course
weeks have an opportunity to draw t rd

for your queen."

"And JOU accept me for your knig
If on are fa thfnl and d screet
Pu me to the test vourmajes j Dm
mj If mj blood an 3 I n 11 joyful y give

Henr tti rewarded l^e youth a enthus asm
n th her moat winn ng 8a le Bo that Thomas
f r^ot all around h m He was very i eir
kne 1 ng down 1 elore h s adored m Btreas a

the

t the nhole <

Jerni

who was lianl ng tad 'Jtanee, observe I w th
sec et rage the progre s nh eh I nval mode
in the queen's fkvor. While he looked en-
tirely unooncemed and smiled sweetly, he
brooded over a scheme for removing his dan-
gerous adversary as soon as possible.

The king had, shortly after his arrival, with-
drawn again with the Earl of Strafford, to con-
fer with him and some other adrisers of the

crown as to tiio measures necessitated by the
impending war with the Scottish rebels. Moat
of them counselled the Icing to pursue a con-
cihatory course, and enter into negotiations
with the Scots; but the proud mmistermged
Charles to carry on the war with the utmost
energy.

" I hope," he saia, in the eonsciousncas of
hiij strength, to put down th ■i bcott ah rabble
in a verv short time, and then I mtcnd to
carry into execution the plan whnh I have
long since laid before his majeatv and to
quell these disorders at a Hon Boheve me
mv lords and gentlemen the populate is hko a
barkin^ dog if lou betn^ timidity it will
only bark tie louder aaJ show its teeth but
give It a kiel, and it will run away with a
whine For Cfodi sake, do not suffer your
[>elves to be con e 1 and do not yield an inth
in the 1 ice of its demands ' Above all th ngf,
m m some noisy lead-

by force or by
1 me has always one

ml rs of these leaders

ess and disperse.
R m ro whole edifice of

re n the first place,

II ts a wcll-disdplined

aimy loyal and devoted to his m^eaty, and
then teach the people of England that dis-
obed en to the king's orders is a grievous

Bit a standing army is contrary to the
law of our country," remarked the noble
ialkhn , faithful to the ancient constitution.

H who has the power need not trouble
h m e f about the laws," replied the Edrl of
Strafford. " Tell me a better means, if you

" A new Parliament will, perhaps, prove less
obstinate, and vote the necessary troops and

"You are utterly mistaken. A new Parlia-
ment will be even more arrogant than its

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174

JOHN MILTON AND HIS 1

preiteeeaaora. The people will elect only men
of whose hostility lo the govemment they are
firmly conrinced. Uoder the present circiun-
stanees it would he the height of impradence
for us to summon a Parliament. Oh, I am
familiar with those men aad their evil designs ;
I know the insidious Pjtn, and the wily
Hampden, who conceals the most boundless
ambition under the mask of atraighlforward-
ncss. Summon them, and they will shake the
throne so frandealjy that it will soon totter to
the earth. The king will have to purchase
every shillmg that they vote with a sacrifice
of some of his prerogatiyea, until nothing re-
mains to him save the empty title, the vain
shadow of his dignity, provided the Parlia-
ment is gracious enough to leave him so much."

"And rel ion w a h cby incur the
greatest per ema k d Ar hbishop Laud,

who took pa n he nf n e. " The ene-
mies of the Ep opal C h b are wiuting only
for an opportun y (o ca y eir pernicious
purposes into Lffeet, they demand freedom
for their accursed teachings, and toleration of
their sectarianism. What is to become of the
Btate if the Church loses its dignity, and is
mocked and derided by the people ! "

" I do not want to summoa a Parliament,"
cried the king, resolutely ; " I will not tolerate
any other masters by my side I Strafford and
Laud are right. The throne and the altar
would be exposed once more to the furious as-
saults of their enemies. God Himself placed
the crown on my anointed head, and mtrusfed
me with my power; and I shall know how t
maintain t^em. The I*rd will grant me H
protection and chastise my adversaries."

"Amen I" said the archbishop, clasping h
hands.

The other advisers of (he crown, and espe-
cially Lord Falkland", ventured once more
offer a feeble resistance ; but the king adhere
to ha resolve to comply with Strafford's con

ParUament,''
'ith petulant
ipletely mtimidated

"I do not want
repeated Charles
obstinacy, until he
and silenced his faithful adherents. He there,
upon instructed Sir Henry Vane, the secre-
tary, to note down what the Earl of Strafford
had proposed, and add the paper to the doeu-
ments preserved in the secret archives.

The festival was drawbg to a close. The
queen, tired by the dance, retired to her
rooms. On taking leave of the overjoyed
Thomas slie once more smiled graciously upon
him, and he loft Whitehall in an ecstasy of de-
light, and dreamed of the love of a princess.

CHAPTER Xir.

PAHLLIMENT TBI AC

The success of the war with the Scottish
rebels was by no means such as Strafford had
expected. The noble earl had underestimated
the strength of hia adversaries; their religions
fanaticism made up for what they lacked in
nimibers and discipline. The soldiers of the
king'were demoralized, and dissatisfied with a
contest with a kindred people, for whose opin-
ions and principles the people of England felt
the liveliest sympathy. Notwithstanding the
efforts and surpassing ability of the coni-
mander-in-ohief, the army made no progicss,
and even sustained some serious defeats. The

emment Thus urged on ail sides, the kmg

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PAEUAMENT— TRUI, OF STRAFFORD.

waa obliged, against his mil, to LOmph with
the wishes ol hi'j subjeeti

When the nation was bo generally diaeon-
fenled, no wonder thit almost all elections
ran in favor of thuou who had espouheJ the
cause of the opposition Old and new oppo-
nents of the king filled the benchps of the
House of Commons, and, firmly supported bj
public opinion, they soon obtained almost ah-
8oluto sway. This was the lime when gunius
and capacity of all kmJs, freed from the rc-
Htridnt of authority, and nourished hy un-
bounded hopes and projects, began to eicrt
themaelres and be distinguished by the pub-
lic. , Then was celebrated

tured, not chilled, by his advanced age and
long eiperience. Then was displayed the
mighty ambition of Hampden, supported by
courage, conducted by prudence, embellished
ty mndeity Then, too, were known the
dark and ardent character ot St. John ; the
impetuous spirit of Ilollis, violent and sincere,
open and entire in his enmities and in his friend-
ships , the enthusiastic genius of young Vaue,
eitravitrant io the ends which ho pursued,
sagacious and profound in the means which he
emplojed, incited by the estemala of religion,
neglij^nt ofthe duties of morality ,

B h d ra d es

»ga "^ rp dd he

proceed "s P m n M w ro

dai b d m wn

business, waa wholly int n h d f

liberty and religion. B £ n,

the popular feehngs wer mmnn d m
breast to breast in this p g al n-

deivous and society. Th p h us d

the public questions nd m mp rtant
events of the day with a fanatical zeal, raising

the escitemunt of their audiences to the high-
est pitch. The press, delivered from its fornier

^ther aide with more eiasperation than pru-
dence and ability. Innumerable pamphluia
and treatises were printed, and offered for
sale in the streets of London under all sorts
of strange titles calculated to allure pur-
chasers. Even Parliament and the govern-
ment did not disdain this means of influenciug
the people on ali important occasions.

A political club m d R t ty f

the most promine t 1 Id f h

afott

tth

were made there d p It al d
topics were discn d by t m mb r'
poet Harrington d 1 p d ti
"Oceana" the pla f al r bl

two centuries bef C b th C mi
published his " Ic

Frightened by ti f rs f I

pending crisis, Ch 1
around for a savior. B
serve him better than
whom he deemed stron

3sl k d

! thoiij,ht no one tould
the Earl of &trafford,
enough to guide the
leaking ship of the government with a firm
band through the tumultuous waves of the
revolution. Strafford, sensible of the load of
popular prejudices under which he labored,
would gladly have declined attendance in Par-
liament; but Charles, who relied entirely on
the carl's capadty, thought that his counsels
could not be dispensed with dnriog the critical
session which approached ; and when Strafford
still insisted on the danger of his appearing
amidst so many enraged enemies, the king,
little apprehensive that his own authority was
so suddenly to expire, promised him protec-
tion, and assured him that not a hair of his
head should be touched by Parliament,

No sooner was Strafford's arrival known,
than a concerted attack was made upon him
in the House of Commons. At the head of
his Bwom aietnies was now the all-powerful

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176

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Pym. They had been friends m former jeata,
and had sLared the same pobtiuil opinions,
beforeStraffnrd passed over to the govemmeEt
Bide. This only served to sharpen thcu^ mu
tual esasperalion, and Pym, in a long studied
discourse, divided into many heads, enumer-
ated all tho grievances under which the ca
tlun labored ; and, from a, complication ot such
oppressions, inferred that a delibirate plan
had been formed of changing entirely the
frame of government, and eubverticg the an
dent laws and liberties of tho kingdom.

" Wo must inquire," said the speaker,
" from what fountain these waters of bitter-
ness flow ; and though doubtless many evil
counsellors will be found to have contributed
their endeavors, yet there is one who chal-
lenges the infamous preeminence, and who, by
his courage, enterprise, and capadty, is enti-
tled to the first place among these betrayers
of their country. He is the Earl of Strafford,
Lieutenant of Ireland, and Pcerident of the
Council of York, who, in both places, and in
aE other provinces where he has been intrusted
with anthoiity, has raised ample monuments
of tyranny, and will appear, from a survey of
his actions, to be the chief promoter of every
arbitrary counsel."

Pym afterward entered into a more per-
sonal attack on the earl, and dwelt even upon
his loYc-aiEiirs with the Countess of Carlisle
and other ladies. And in conclusion he called
upon Parliament not to spare the crimmal be-
cause he was invested with an exalted dignity,
but to proceed against him regardless of his
position, and impeach the Earl of Strafford of
high-treason. Pym sat down amid loud ap-
plause, and the impeachment was immediately
voted in secret session. The doorkeeper of
the Commons, James Maxwell, was sent t^ the
House of Lords, which Slraflbrd had just en-
tered, to summon him to the House of Com-
mons, lie appeared there with his wonted
haughtiness, and would have seated himself.

but loud shoiits arose, ordering him to wait
it thi, door until he should be called. After
a short consultation, he was summoned to the
bar , he was ordered to fall on his knees and
hhten to the resolution passed against him.
He W10 thereupon delivered into the hands of
the doorkeeper of the House, who was in-
structed to keep him in custody until he had
pui^ed himself of all the charges preferred
against him. The proud earl once more gath-
ered his whole enei^ and attempted to ad-
dress the assembly, hut his voice was drowned
by the general clamor, and he was ordered to
withdraw in silence. At tho door, Masweil
took his sword from him ■md conluctedJum
through the gapiii!, crowd to hi^ carriage No
one greeted lum no one took off his hat be-
fore the all powerfiil man to whom the
wealthiest and proudest lords had bowed
that very morning The people rettived him
in silence yet few ventured to dende hun,
for even after his downfall he maintained so
dignified a beaim^ that the populace could
not refuse him respect On avrivmg at the
place whtro ht had left liii carr age it couM
not be immediately found. Ho had therefore
to retrace his steps through the same curions
crowd. It was not until some time afterward
that the carriage arrived and conveyed him to
hia prison. Laud also was immediately, upon
the same general charges, sequestered from
Pnrliament, and committed to cnstody.

The king, who in the former part of his
reigu had oflered the most obstinate resistance
Ut tho as yet moderate encroachments of the
Commons, seemed as if struck by lightning,
and completely paralyzed by these events. He
looked on quietly nhile his foremost advisers
and best friends were arrested, and made no
attempt tc deliver them. Perhaps he hoped
to regidn the confidence of his people by
pliableness, by concessions, and by a total
conformity to their wishes and inclinations;
perhaps he was all at once overcome by the

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THE FLOOR.

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PARLUMENT— TRIAL OF STRAFTORD.

177

feeling of his impotcncB in the face of publi
opinion. Perhaps lie tliougiit too lie would i
due time retiace bis steps and recover all h
had lost. Por the Mine being, however, b
kept perfectly quiet, resented none of tho at-
tacks made upon Lim, and did not interfere
with the pEOcoediogs insUtuted against Stcaf-
ford.

To bestow the greater solemnity on this im-
portant tiiul, platforms covered with red cloth
were erected io Westminster Hall, where both
houses sat, the one as accusers, the other as
judges. Besides the ohnii' of state, a close
gallery was prepared for the king and queen,
where they could witness the proceedings un-
seen. An aecusalion carried on by the united
eSbrt of three kingdoms against one man,
uniirotooted by power, diseountenaneed by au-
tliority, was likely to prove a very unequal
contest; jet Huch were the cdpacity, genins,
and presence of mind displayed hy this emi-
nent statesman, that, ao long as argument,
rcison, and law, had any place, he obtained
Bu undisputed victory. And he perished
last, ovenvhelmed, but still unsnbdued, and
his death cannot but make us forget the faiilis
ndecors fhslfe.
<" n the "Ist of May the pr oner was con
re ed un ler a tron^ escort from the Tower
to Vi e'tm nstcr Ha I Bes les the Pari oment
t ere were present tho k n f e quee ind
1 wl ole court tl e most di»t gu shed h
he' a d abo e all, the Countess of Carl sle
tuuk the 1 V host nterest n tho tc al and
fl u pat zed almo t witl o t escepl on w ih
he pr on r =! ifford wore a e mple but
n=tly elwt dre s. He firmly glanced over
t e hr 11 ant a? c nblv and many a he t f 1
T mot n s own w th heart felt sympithj
\ ler tie art les of mpeachnt t had been
e d Strafford took the floo Never d d an
rca g ed p so r reply w th greater majesty tempt us to desire tbat we may become
th n d d btraftord o I s h t defence be ore acquainted than they were with these de
his accusers an 1 h s king Athens and Rome ' tive and perfidious arts of incriminatin"
la

c sublimity

I present no incident of m
in their uoitcd onnals.

" Unible to find in my cond ct " sad Straf
f d n the ourse of h 8 udn ratio defen e
any tbmg to ch ra ht be aj p ed t e
nam o p n hment of tre so my enem es
hi e n en ed n d fiance of all law a ha n
of oondtru(,t ve and a cumulative ev den
by Bh h my act ons although n ocent and
laudable when taken seta ately v ewed a
tl collected 1 ght be ome treason 1 It
hard to be questioned on a law which cannot
be shown.

" Where liath this Gre hin hid so many hun-
di'edfl of years without smoke to discover it
I bursts forth to consume me and my
children? It is better to be without laws al-
;ether than to persuade ourselves that we
have laws by which to regulate our conduct,
id to find that they consist only in the en-
ity and arbitrary will of cur accusers. If a
man sails upon the Thames in aboat, and splits
himself upon an anchor, and no buoy be float-
ing to discover it, he who owneth the anchor
shall make satisfaetion; but if a buoy be set
there, every one passeth it at his own peril.
Now where is the mark, where the tokens upon
this crime, to declare it to be high-treason?
It has remained hidden under the water; no
human prudence or innocence could preserve
me from the tuin with which it menaces me.
For two hundred and forty years every species
of treason has been defined, and during that
long space of tune, I am the first, I am the
only exception, for whom the definiUon has
been enlarged, that I may be enveloped in its
meshes. My lords, we have lived happily
within the limits of our own land ; we have
lived glorioQsly beyond them, in the eyes of
the whole world. Let us be satisfied with what
fathers have left us ; let not ambition

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178

JOBS MILTON AKD HIS TIMES.

Cence. In this manaer, m j lords, you will aet
iviaoly, you tvill provicie for your own safety
and the safety of your descendants, while you
soeura tliat of the whole Itms'loni. If you
thi-ow into the Sre these sanguinary and mys-
terious selections of constructive treason, as
the first Christiana consumed th^ic books of
dcngerous art, and confine yourselves to the
Binaplo meaning of the statute in its vigor,
who shall say that you have done wrong?
Where will be your eiime, and how, in abstain-
ing from error, can you incur puniehnietit?
Beware of awakening Ihese sleeping lions of
your own destruction. Add not tft my other
afflictions that which I shall esteem the heavi-
est of all — that for my sins as a man, and not
for my offences as a minister, I should be the
Hufortunale means of introducing such a pre-
cedent, such on example of a proceeding so
opposed to the laws and liberties of my coun-

"My lords, I have troubled you longer than
I should have done were it not for the interest
of these dear pledges a saint in heaven hath
ieftme." Here he stopped, letting fall some
tears, and then resumed : "What I forfeit my-
self is nothing; but that my indiscretion should
extend to my posterity, woundcth me to the
very soul. Ton will pardon my infirmity.
Something I should have added, but am not
able ; therefore let it pass. And now, my
lords, for myself, I hare been, by the blessing
of Almighty God, taught that the afflictions of
this present life are not to be compared to tlio
eternal weight of glory which shall be revealed
hereafter. And Eo, my lords, even so, with all
tranquillity of mind, I fi'eely submit myself to
your judgment ; and whether that judgment
be for life or death, ' Te Deum liudamus.' "

So powerful was the impression of this speech
that the judges, filled with compassion, wa-
vered, and Strafford B enemies feared lest he
shoiild be acquitted He had refuied every
charge preferred against him, and his convic-

tion secracd impossible. If he had been ac-
quitted, his adversaries would have been pur-
sued with relentless vindietiveneaa by the in.
esorable and indefatigable minister. It was a
mottRj combat. The lion had shown his for-
mer strength; bis voice had resounded as of
old, and its tremendous notes had struck terror
into the hearts of the leaders of the opposition.
The king himself, seated in his gi'ated gallery,
had followed the proceedings with the closest
attention and suspense. Now he rejoiced at
the triumph of the earl, whose acquittal seemed
no longer donblful. At this moment rose the
gloomy St. John, who conducted the prosecu-
tion. A sinister smile played round his hps.
After espatiating on the nature of political
trials, and arguing that the judgment should
rest on the moral conviction of the judges
rather than the strength of the proofs, he drew
forth i paper which he read in a loud voice.
It contained the advice which Strafford had
^ven to the king a short time ago, and of
which Sir Henry Vane, secretary, had taken
notes. A fen days ago he had sent the keys
of his cabinet to his son, Sir Henry, in order
U> search for some papora which were neces-
sary for complethig a marriage settlement.
Toung Vane, falling upon this paper of notes,
deemed the matter of the utmost importance,
and immediately communicated it to Pym and
St. John, who now read the paper to the as-
sembly. " The question before the council
was, ' offensive or defensive war with the
Scots,' The king proposes this difficulty :
' But how can I undertake offcDsive war, if I
have no more money ? ' The Earl of Strafford
then made the following proposition ; ' Borrow
of the city a hundred thonsand ; go on rigor-
ously to levy Bhip4noney. Tonr*majesty hav-
ing tried the affections of your people, you are
absolved and loosed from all rules of govem-
mcnt, and may do wliat power will admit
Tour majesty, having tried all ways, shal! he
acquitted before God and man. And you have

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THE QDEETCS CONSMRACT— ESECDTION OF STRATFOED.

179

am HTQiT in Ireland, which jou moy employ to
reduce this kingdom to obedience; for I am
confident tbe Scots cannot hold out Eye
montha,' "

Curing tbe reading of this decisive docu-
ment, a stifled orj burst from the royal gallery.
Cliarlsa had bent forward and clutched the
woodea trellis, concealing him from the eyes
of the ossembly, so riolentlj with both hands,
that it broke in pieces. He himself now re-
aiaiueil exposed to the eyes of all. The cou-
rageous Strafford turned pale, but he soon
regained his former composure, and, with great
ingenuity, called the attention of his judges to
the vagueness of the words, which might be
understoid of the Scottish rebels rather than
the people of England ; and, besides, he denied
crer having made the proposition imputed to
hiia. Keverthelflss, the evidence of Secretary
Tane caoscd the judges to convict the pris-

They found the Earl of Stcafibrd guilty of
high-treason, and passed sentence of death

CHAPTER SIII

The king left Weitminator Hail, profonndly
moved, and firmly resolved to strain every
nerve in order to save his minister. He im-
mediately summoned his pnvy council to take
the necessary steps into consideration. Con-
trary to his CTpeetntion, with the exception
of the venerable Bishop Ju'^nn, no one spoko
in favor of the condemned earl. All pointed
more or less emphatically to the necessity of
sacriBcing the prisoner to public opinion. Yet
tho king would not allow himself to be con-
vinced, and was still in hopes of being able to
save Straffui'd's life.

Tbo people of London received the sentence

passed upon Strafford with bloodtliii'sty exul-
tation, and demanded the eseeiilion of the
prisoner with the utmost impetuosity. Tbe
populace flocked about Whitehall, and accom-
panied their demand for justice with the loud-
est clamors and most open menaces in order
to force the king's assent tj> the sentence.
Sinister rumors were circulated, and the popu-
lar passions were lashed into a ferment which
threatened some great and imminent convul-
sion. On whichever side the ting cast his
ejei, lie =aw no resource or security All his
servants, consulting their own sifcty rather
than their master's honor, declined to mter
poM with their advice between him and hH
Parliament Strafford himself, heiimg of
Charles's irresolulioe and anxietv, took t verv
extraordinary step ; he wrote a letter, in which
he entreated the king, for the sake of public
peace aud his own safety, to put an end to his
unfortunate Ufe, and to qiuet the tumultuous
people by granting them the request for which
they were so importunate. "In this," he
added, "my consent will more acquit yon to
God than all the world can do besides. To a
willing man there is no injury. And as, by
God's giace, I forgive all the world, with a
calmness and meekness of infinite contentment
to my dislodging soul, so, sire, to you I can
resign the life of this world with all imr.ginable
cheerfuhicss, in the jnst acknowledgment of
your exceeding favors."

Perhaps Strafford hoped that this unusual
instance of generosity would engage tlio king
still more strenuously to protect him ; perliaps
he gave up his life for lost, and Ihis conviction
armed him n4th that coQrage and constancy
which thenceforth never left him. The king,
who had repeatedly assured bira that ho would
protect him, was a prey (o the most violent
anxiety and doubt, and he was not courageous
enough either to defend or desert his minister.
Re sat, brooding over his misfortunes, in bis
cabinet at WMtehall, when the qneen came m

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

and Terj gently encireleil him witli her

"What aila jou?" said Ilenrictta fa her
movlrnfiil huaband.

" I am required to sacrifice my best ftientl,
my moat faithful Bervant, to the fury of the
populace. Henrietta, do you comprehend the
grief with which tbia idea fills mc?"

"Oharles, it must be done. Think of roe,
of your children."

"You advise me to break my royal word.
Who will henceforth repoae confidence in. mc (
I shall stand, a dishonored aovcrcign, before
-myself, before my servants, before the whole
country. No, no ; never, never will I do it ! "

"It is better that one man should perish
tlian all of ua. He is your servaut, and his
life belongs to you. Strafford himself has
offered his head to you."

" But I am not at liberty to accept his offer.
The whole world would deapiae me if I should
sign the death-warrant of my best and dearest

" The signature would not be so important,
itmamDch as the eiecution of the sentence
might bo deferred. Yield lo the will of Par-
liament, and submit seemingly to the importu-
nate demands of the populace. Leave it to
me to dcTisB ft plan for saving the earl. Charles,
my lord, my beloved i submit to stern neces-
sity, and preserve the menaced throne to your-
Relf and your children What we loae to day
we may regain o morrow The e w II be

better

yo ■

luthor 7 ind y r r y I powe You know
the flcklene t of the people aithou"h tl ey
ate now rtl il n„ aga n^t you thev m y n i
f w weeks iro Irate them elves at your 1 cL
Prudent con cess ons aeconpl h frequently a
g eat oal mo e than ob timte stubbomneBS
It was not Achilles, with his savage strength,
but the wily Ulysses with his ingennity, that
vanquished the Trojans. Imitate the eiample
set by Dlyseea, who, after eustaimng many

misfortunes, triumphed over
killed the impudent suitors."

The lovelyqucen in thia manner overwhelmed
him with supplications and blandishments, and
when they proved insufficient, resorted to teats,
until Charles was weak enough to yield to her
importunities. He signed the dcatli-warrant
in her preseDee. No sooner had he taken the
fatal step, than he buried his face ui hia hands
as if to conceal his shame and repentance
even from his consort. Her smile encouraged
him again.

"Rely on me," she said, comforting him.
" Strafford shall not suffer death, for all that."

"What ate you going to do to avert the
doom from his head ? "

"That is toy secret for the time being. It
is better for you not to know anything about
it, as I know your timidity. I will tell you
only that I have friends who will not hesitate
a moment to sacrifice their lives for me."

"You are more fortunate, then, than I,"
said the unhappy monarch.

No sooner had Henrietta left her husband,
than she called her de* otcd lady of honor,
Madame de Motteville, a Frenchwoman, who
had accompinied her to England, and in
whom 'he could repose unphtit confidence.

" MotttTiJIe," she said, " take this note, and
deliver it secretly to Su' Thomas Egerton. I
shall await him toward duslt. You will con-
duct him to my cabinet bj the private stair-

The wily Frenchwoman, who suspected,
perhaps, an illicit liahon, looked inquiringly at

" Go I " said the queen, impatiently ; " lose
no lime, and be as silent as the grave."

The elegant, musk-scented note of the
queen, which contained an Invitation to a
tele-d-tUe at an unusual time, filled the passion-
ate youth with no little excitement. Hopes
and fears agitated his heart, and, a prey to the
most intense impalience,he counted llie slowly-

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THE QUEEN'S COfTSPIRACY— ESEO0TION Cf STRAPrORD.

181

passing hours of the day until thu moment
came which promised him so much happiness.
He cautiouslj approached the indicated door,
which, accordiDg to his agteameat with Ma-
dame de Motterilie, opened to him after he
bad softly knocked at it three times. Madame
do Motteville received him at the door, and
conducted him to the private oabmct of the
queen. Henrietta was languidly reclining on
a crimson divan. A lamp filied with. per
fumed oi! shed a magic lustre upon her lovely
and interesting face. She held out, with a
irinning smile to the dazzled youth, her deli
cate hand, which Thomas, kneeling before
her, pressed to hia burning lips.

" Sir Thomas," said the queen, " I sent for
you in order to ask you to render me aa im-
portant service."

"Ask my life, and I will gjve it ap for you
with the utmost willingness 1 " exclaimed
Thomas, in an ecstasy of delight.

IS not mistaken in i

.mg upon you.

Be seated, and listen calmly to me ; but n
must h vfe no wi(ne5°ei

The qieen maJe ■» =gn to Madime de
Motteville who lockiJ tl dinr car filly,
lowered the crimson c irtaina and left the
room Nevertheless we cannot doul t that
Madame de Motteville overheard the followmg
conrecaation by appljmi^ her car to the thin
partition and j,lancing frnin (me to t me
through the key hole '^hi. was however dis-
appointel mher espectatiODi is neither the
c[ui.en nor her adorer overtteppeJ in any man-
ner the 1 ounds of propr etv or of the tone
preva Img m court c rel Eeepinj it a re-
epaolful distancL Thomas cont nted himself
with silently adm nns; the chirms of hia
a u-ust m stress After a short pau=e the

who shrinks from
3 one I believe I hi
conceived a plan, d

of a resolute and discreet man
danger whatever; such
found in yon. I have
aed to save not only the

Earl of Strallbrd, but also the threatened throne.
He who takes its eseoulioa upon himself may
imperil Mb head in case the plan should mia-

"I should lay it nnmnnnuringly on the
block fur my queen. Command me ; what am
I to do?"

"You must set out for the camp this very
n'^ht ind trv to giiu over the army to our

ic I Ii nw that you are intimately ac-
quaint d w th most of the officers ; besides,
you w 11 m t there several fiiends of mine.
ONeaJc Follirl Ashbumham, ace devoted to
me and lo the I. ng. Jerrajn, Percy, Wilmot,
and Goring shall assist you. In the first place,
try to win over the commanders, and, nesl,
the soldiers ; I shall furnish you-with the ne-
cessary funds for this purpose."

"And what is to be done in case my mis-
sion should succeed ? "

"The first object to be attained is to in-
timidat* the Parliament. Por this purpose,
have a strong petition to the king and Parlia-
ment drawn up, and get it suhscribed by the
army. This pciltion must be writteii very
carefully. The petitioners mu'rt represent the
great and unexampled concessions made by
the king for tlie security of public peace and
libeitj; the endless demands of certain in-
satiable and turbulent spirits, whom nothing
less will content than a total subversion of
the ancient constitution; the frequent tumults
which these factious malcontents have es-
clted, and wliioh endanger the liberty of Par-
liament, To prevent these mischiefe, let the
army oBtr to come np and guard that as-
sembly."

" But would it not be better for na to lead
the army at once to London, and disperse the
Parliament by its aid? "

" Certainly !t would, but I am afraid of the
lukewarmnesa of many office and f h 1
diers who are still imbued with atta h t lo
sides, tl people would

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182

JOHN MILTON AND 1

itnmeJiatoIj take up arms anil resist sucli
hlgli-handed meiisurea. For the present, we
must try to retain the semblance of law, and
fight rarliament with its own weapons. As it
is raenjcit^ and intjmidating the goyernment
by means of politiona and seditious tumults,
BO we will now pursue the same coutse toward
it. If the House of Commons sees tlio army
siding with us, it will become more pliable,
;.nd comply with our wishes. We may then
demand of it Strafford's release, and still other
concessions. Tou see, therefore, how much
depends OB a rapid and careful oieeutioa of

" I will set out this very hour."

"Count upon my unbounded gratitude.
Deliver these letters to Jeimyn and Pcrty;
they arc to be your (tedentiats. Tell them,
however, to bum them iramediately in your
presence,"

Thomas took the letters from the queen's
hands, although he would have much preferred
Co bear the dangers and reap the honor of the
enterprise all alone. At the same time Henri-
etta handed him a large sum of money, which
she had realized by the sale of some of her
jewels. She took the most gracious farewell
of the youth, who left her cabinet fully de-
termined, if need he, to sacrifice his life for
his adored mistress. He ordered Billy Green
in hot haste to saddle his horse, and, attended
by his shrewd footman, set out immediately
for the camp. On his arrival there, ho falfilled
without delay the eommission intcQsted to
him. Most of ^e officers assured him that
they would enei^etically second her majestj's
plan, and by means of the money which he
had bi'ought with him, and scattered with
lavislj hands, he hoped to gam over a majority
of the soldiers, who were displeased at some
marks of preference pvcn by the Commons to
the Scots.

The insidious Jermyn feigned the greatest
devolioQ towards Thomas, and seemed to have

entirely r" ten h q
had with h m m m

h b

solemn oh k p h
second th q
ability. A b q Q th
closed th n
deal of m d
quaffed m p 1

coupling w h h
threats a P m

was stand h h d m h care

fully trea d w d h d On

the followm mmgThm dbk

to Londo to mf m h q h ta

of his m n J Tn d promi d h ra O

get the p tl n bed mimcdi _ , and

to deliver it himself, at the head of all the offi-
cers, to the Parliament. However, no sooner
had Thomas, relying on this promise, left tlie
camp, than the insidious oonrtiec summoned
his friends, Wilmot, O'Neale, Pollard, and
Goring to his tent. He told them he did not
dipapprOTe at all of the plan of her majesty
the queen, but was utterly dissatisfied with
the choice of the confidant of whose services
she had availed herself on this occasion.

" I believe," he said, ''there are other men
who might conduct such an enterprise far bot^
ter than a beardless stripling, who has passed
only a few months at court. Wo must not
suffer such a spirit of favoritism. Moreover,
his Imprudence may involve us in fearful dan-
gers. If Parliament should hear of the con-
spiracy, we should be hopelessly lost"

"What are wo to do?" asked Goring, who
began to tremble for his head. •' Already too
many men Imow of the secret. Therefore, it
will he best for us to take the matter into our
own hands, and drop Egerlon entirely. We
will draw up the petition, and, instead of sub-
scribing it, submit it to the king to sign it.
When bis name heads those of the other
^gners, we have nothing to fear. Under his

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THE QUEEN'S C0N8PIEACY— EXECUTION OF STKAFFORD.

saootioji, we may present the petition with
perfect impunity to tlie House of Commons."
Tlib proposition met with unaninioua ap-
pkuse. The same cavaliers who, a few months
afterward, fought with the greatest valor and
intrepidity for the king, and in courage yielded
to none of their adversaries, were now filled
with eowardly fear of the ontboritj of Pariia-
ment, and cautiousiy reOred behind tJie fegis
of the royal name. Howerer, their prudence
was in y^n. Billy Green had lived at court,
and became aequLunted with tbe demoralization,
perfidy, and venality reigning there. Tiie re-
sult of Strafibrd's trial bad greatly shaken liis
CO fid tip fthk dhu

h m b th th tl ty f P 1 m d the

tim ta f th peopl H p da

lam p ! t 1 t t d d d ft nt
urn t es h m ^ht b 1 m c-

oesflplti Hw aedhthe

CO Id I d m h b S f m his

nn t th il 1 d 1th u^h

bo torn he s filled w tb a c s o to the
ruling party, owing to its Puritanic austerity, he
felt attracted toward it, hke all mean men who
follow the tide and join the victorious side.
He knew, besides, that a rogue and bypocnte
might do just aa he pleased under the mask
of virtue, and that at bottom even the sternest
Puritans were men, secretly dcank tbeir wine,
and kissed their sweethearts. These ideas
had long filled the mind of the shrewd vagnr
bond, and he only waited for an opportunity
to leave his mobtci and turn his political and
religioua coat His sympathies for his young
master bad nevei been strong enough to m
duce him to sacnflte for them his self inteieiit
and the pros^iect of obtaining a large reward
Such thoughts engrossed the attention oi
Billy Green during the journey from the camp
to London. Ho bad accidentally discovered
a secret whieb be resolved to turn to acoc
and sell aa deai-ly as possible to the ene
of the government. This was the timi

mutual espionage and treachery ; botli the
court and Parliament availed themselves of tbe
lowest tools to watch each other. The coa-
ecicnee of parties is never very Ecrupulous ia
the choiee of means, provided they are cafeu-
lated to lead to the desired ends. Billy Green
counted already in anticipation the gold-pieces
whieb he hoped to receive for bis treachery.

No sooner had he reached London, than he
went to Pym, the well-known loader of the
opposition.

"Wbat will you give me," asked the hn-
pudent fellow, " if I betray to you a secret on
which the safety of Parliament depends f "

Pym fised his cold, piercing eyea on the
vagabond,

"You do not look like one to whom any-
body would intrust an important secret; but
Set me hear what you know."

"Not before I have secured my reward,"

"If your information is really important,
you will be liberally rewarded."

" All right, sir. Let me tell you, then, that
my master and the most distinguished officers
have agreed to disperse ParUament by the aid
of the army, under the pretext of protecting
the Commons."

" Have you any proofs ? "

" I knew you would not trust my word, and
took my steps accordingly. Read these letters
which the queen herself has written."

"And bow did you obtam them ? "

" In a very s

I 1

structed to throw them into the fire, but pre-
ferred to keep them."

"You were right In so domg, and are en.
titled to a liberal reward. Take this purse on
account. Parliament wilt take care of you,
Foi the present youmay return to yourmaeter,
and wbcn yon have additional news of impor-
tance for me, you know where to find me."

Billy Green withdrew, overjoyed and well
satisfied with the reward, and with the pros-
peot of a lucrative position which Fjm had

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181

JOHN MILTON AND fflS TIMES.

held out ii

I fulfil mj dutj
nen. At bottom
; for prcTcating

On the way back to his
master's rooms, however, he felt some remorse,
and resolved to caution Tbomas.

"Everj one," argued Billj to himself, "is
in duty bound to take care of himself. It is
not until he is through with his own afiaii-s
that he can think of others. My master, who,
on the whole, baa treated me tolerably well,
shall see that I am grateful,
to myself and to my fellow-
Sir Thomas must thank m
him from committing such an act of extreme
folly. A change of air will do him good, and
the sooner he gets away from here the better
for him. I will write bim a letter, and tell
him that it will bo best for him to leave Lon-

So saying, Billy Green went to the next
tavern, where he refreshed himself with a
glass of wire; he then requested one of the
wajt«ft to convey to Sir Thomas Egerton a
letter which he had written to him in ^ dn-
guised hand, and in whith he informed him
that every thing was belraved, and that he
could save his life only bv speedy flight

On the same day Pjm opened the matter m
the House The di losure concerning the
con p racy of the cfScers was received with
general nd ^it n an J the House resolved at
one that the gultv parties should be pros-
ecuted with mexorablo rigor. ConatableB were
sent out to take them into custody. Thomas
had received Billy Green's letter and made his
escape in time. He took the road to Wales,
where his sister Alice waa living with her hus-
band. He hoped his place of concealment
there would not be discovered. Percy suc-
ceeded likewise in finding a safe hiding-place,
and Jermyn deemed it prudent to go to France
and wait there for the storm to blow over.
Goring, however, was arrested and esamined
by a committee of the House of Commons.
A prey to the most abject terror, he made a
full confession, and betrayed bis friends as

well as the qoeen, whose complicity, moreover,
was clearly established by tiie autograph letters
delivered to Pym.

The failure of this project damaged the
royal cause far more than its success would
have benefited JL The charges heretofore
preferred against Charles and his consort were
rdtcrated with redoubled Tehemence. But
the immediate consequence was, that the un-
fortunate Strafford's execution became inevita-
ble. The people demanded hia head with the
utmost impetuosity, and all the pulpits re-
sounded with violent denunciations of his ad-
herents. Eiecrated by the populace, urged
by the entreaties of his advisers and the tears
of the queen to raise no further obstacles to
the execution of the ■prisoner, Charles never-
theless made a last effort in Strafford's behalf
Ho sent by the hands of his little son, the
Prince of Wales, a letter addressed to the
peers, in which he requested them to confer
with the Commons about a mitigation of Straf-
ford's sentence, and begged at least for some
delay. But all remained deaf to the voice of
the father and the intercession of the child.

Strafford was prepared for every estremity
after beiug abandoned by those whom he had
most loved and served on earth. Neverthe-
less, when it was announced to him that the
king had signed tlie death-warrant, nature
triumphed over resignation, and a reproach
escaped him in his grief, " NolUe fdere prin-
lApiliiB et filih ftominKm," he cried, raising Ijis
hands in astonishment toward the vaulted
ceiihig of his prison, " g«ia iion est sahis iii
illia." " Put not your trust in princes, nor in
the sons of men, for in them there is no help."

He requested to be allowed a short inter-
view with Archbishop Laud, imprisoned in (he
Tower on a, similar charge with himself. This
mterview, in which the two royalists hoped to
fortify each other for life or death, was re-
fused. "Well," said Strafford to the gov-
ernor of the Tower, "at least tell the arch-

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THE QUEEN'S CONSPIRACY— EXECUTION OF STRAFEORD.

bishop to place himself

dow at the hour when I paaa to the eoaffoM,

that I may lud him n list farewell "

Th J as p po rdf d

to a fc g m h

p«op h d pi

tea m h han tim d d

Pjm d ra H se m

"^ ff k b h

people in the face ; whether I die bj the hand
of the executioner or by the furj of the popu-
lace, if it should so please them, matters little

In pas^ng under the archbishop's windoir
in the prison-yard, Strafford recollected his
request of the previous night, and raised his
eyes toward the iron bars, which prevented
him from seeing Laud distinctly. He could
only perceive the thin and trembhng hands of
the old man stretched out between the bars,
trying to bless him as he passed on to death.

Strafford knelt in the dust and b^nt his
head. " My lord," he said to the archbishop,
" let me have your prayers and benediction."

The heart of the old prelate sank at the
sound of big TOice and emotion, and he fainted
It) the arms of his jailers while uttering a part-
ii^ prajer.

" Farewell, my lord," cried Strafford ; " may
God protect jonr imiooence ! "

He then walked forward with a, firm step,
although suffering from the effects of illness
and debility, at the head of the soldiers, who
appeared to follow rather than to escort

Strafford's brother accompanied hun weep-
ing. " Brother," he said, " why do yoa grieve
thug? Do you see any thing inmjIifeordeatJi
which can cause you to feel any shame P Do
I tremble liko a criroinal, or boast like an
atheist ? Come, be firm, and think only that
this is my third marriage, and that you are my

185

1. This blocli," pointing to that upon
which he was about to lay his head, " will be
tny pillow, and I shall repose there well, with-
out pain, grief, or fear."

Ilaving ascended the scaffold with his broth-
er and friends, he knelt for a moment as if to
salute the place of sacrifice; he soon arose,
and looking around upon the innumerable and
sil(mt multitude which covered the hill and
Tower of London, the place of execution, he
raised his voice in the same audible and firm
tone which ho was accustomed to use in the
House of Commons, that theatre of his m^es-
tie eloquence.

"People," he said, "who are assembled
here to see me die, bear witness that I desire
for this kingdom all the prosperity that God
can bestow. Living, I have done my utmost

■e the hi

JSOf f

is still my most ardent wish ; but I beseech
each one of those who now hear me, to lay his
hand upon his heart, aad esamiue seriously if
the commencement of a salutary reibrm ought
to be written in characters of blood. Ponder
this well upon your return home. God grant
that cot a drop of mine may be required at
your hands! I fear, however, that you cannot
advance by such a fatal path."

Ailer Strafford had spoken these words of
amicus warning to his country, he again knelt,
and prayed with all the signs of humble fervor
for upward of a quarter of an hour. Then,
hearing a low murmur, either of pity or im-
patience in the crowd, he arose, and address-
ing thoge who immediately surrounded him,
said, " All will soon be over. One blow will
render my wife a widow, my children orphans,
and deprive my servants of thdr master. God
be with them and you !

"Thanks to the internal strength that God
has given me," he added, while removing his
upper garment, and tucking up his hair, that
nothir^ might interfere with the stroke of the
axe upon his neck, "I take this off with as

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

traniiuil a spirit aa I Lave ever felt when taking
it off at niglit upon retiring to rest."

He llien made a sign to (he executioner Ui
approach, pardoned him for tlie blood he was
about to sbed, and laid his head upon the blocli,
looking up, and prajing in Heaven. His head
tolled at tlie feet of his friends, "God save
the king!" cried the executioner, holding it
up to eshlbit it to the people.

• CHAPTER SIY.

Dfrino these tragic scenes MilWn had re-
tumcd from Itolj. His sojourn in foreign
lands, his intereouree with the most distin-
guished and illustrious men, had ripened his un-
derstanding ; tho jouth had become a man.
The time of idle reveries and poetical enthuai-
asm was past for him ; he longed for a aerions
and ueeiut field of action, a permanent and
well-regulated occupation. In the first place,
he resolved to carry into effect the plan he had
conceived long since, and become a teacher of
youth. The profession of a teacher was at that
time neither very honorable nor lucrative ; yet
Milton did not hesitate a moment to devote
himself to the service of mankind. He moved
into an humble house in the neighborhood of
St. Bride's churchyard, and instructed there
hia two nephcwB, John and Edward PhiUipa
the song of his sister, as well as several boy?
who were confided to him. He devoted bim
self to Lia task with the moat diaintereattd
zeal, and followed out his own system, the re-
sult of mature reflection. In hia opinion, a
complete course of education should enable the
pupils to liischai^ all the duties of puhhc and
domestic life, of war and peace, in a skilful,
able, and thorough manner. He afterward
expressed the principles guiding him m this

respect, in a passage of "Paradise Lost," a
follows :

That which before as lies in daily lire.
Is Uie prinjo wisdom ; what iB more, Is flmie."
It was in this manner that he developed the
muds of his pujils by strenf,thcmi ^ their
morihlv arousmg their latent energy and
famihanzmg them with the dnlies and ta^ka
ot praLtiul life without neglectmg the r eci
entjBo studies ^otwlth'Jtlndmg tho scmpu
Ions consc entiouaness with which Milton dis-
charged hi^ duties as a teachir he found
1li urc to take part m the great events of the
tunes and m the di^cu hion of the questions
agitating the public mind. He did not possess
that objective calmness, or rather indifference,
which would have led him to be an idle looker-
on of the stn^glc, keeping aloof from tho
contests of parties, and secluding himself anx-
iously from the world. The time for writing
poetry was past for him at present, and life
imposed graver duties on him. Well prepared
by thorough theologjcil and poUycal studies,
he felt called upon to break hia silence and
espouse the cause of liberty in the most en-
ergetic manner. Since Strafford's death and
Laud's arrest. Parliament had devoted a gre?,t
deal of attention to the affairs of the Episcopal
Church The bishops were chiefly to blame
for the oppress ve mea ures adopted ag ULt
the d ssenters M Iton atta ked tl e preten
B ons n a s ort treati e wl h eipo ed the
il sast s consequences of the r sys em dad
uroent j demanded a ho ongh reform n mat-
ters of faith. Written in an entliusiaatie and
dignified style, his treatise created the greatest
sensation Loth among friends and foes. The
autiior was admired, applauded, and attacked.
Several replies were published, and Miiton
noticed them in a hecoining manner. Before
long the poet was also famous as a political

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MILTON'S MARKUGE.

187

essajisl. The most distinguished members of
Parliament, and especially the younger Vane,
visited him in his retirement and became his
friends. He was cequeated to come to the
Itota, that poliljeal club which was the model
of all subsequent socieiiea of the same dcscrip-
tioo. On appearing there, he saw himself auc-
rounded by numbers of young and old men
who ardently longed to enter into relations of
intimate friendship with him. Especially was
he soon on terms of great cordiality with the
brave and liberal Overton, whom we have met
already in Haywood Forest, where he attended
the secret service of the Puritans, and chas-
tised with his Ewovd the arrogant Thomas
Egerton. He felt attracted to lUlton, and the
stern, austere republican became the Ilfc-long
friend of the poet.

Milton, however, did not suffer himself to be
unduly involved in the whttlpool of poUtica, but
maintained even here a eerlain independence.
The party whose cause be espoused was na-
ther that of Parliament nor that of the estreme
republicans and religious finatics, but that of
liberty, common-sense, and juatica Amidst
these manifold labors and occupations he was
one day surprised by his father, who visited
him at his house. After their first greetings
were over, the venerable old man, who was
filled with tender soUcitude for the welfare of
his son, spoke of a subject to which he had
already frequently aUuded in his letters to
Milton.

" I think," said fais father, after a few intro-
ductory remarks, " it is time for you. to marry,
Tou can no longer remain a, bachelor. If you
have not yet made a choice, I should like to
point out to you a young girl who lives in my
neighborhood, and would certainly be a. good
partner for you."

" I cannot make up my mind so easily," re-
plied the poet, who thought of Leonora Baroni

It this

" And yet I am very ai

13 that you should

marry and settle before your old father dies.
You have already reached an age when ' it is
not good for man to he alone.' The enthusi-
astic dreams of youth aro behind you, and
yonr judgment must have told you that wed-
ded life only is the source of true happhieas.
Follow my advice, and he^tate no longer to
gladden your old father's heart by complying
with his wishes. I shall not leave London un-
til you consent to accompany me, and, at least,
make the acquaintanee of the girl whom I have
selected for you. If you do not like her, you
will, at least, have complied with my wishes,
and may follow your own inehnations."

Milton yielded to his father's entreaties, and
aeeompanied him to his country-seat m order
to see his young intended. Closeto his father's
house there iived a wealthy country gentle-
man, Eiehard Powell, whose daughter Mary, a
blooming girl of nineteen, made a very favor-
able impreaaion upon the poet. She was of
slender form, and her rosy face, surrounded
with a muss of blond ringlets, combined many
a sweet charm with youthful fr
was not destitute of a
seemed to possess a serene and pleasant tem-
per. In her eyes, too, the delicate and intel-
lectual beauty of the poet's fiice found favor,
the more readily as she longed to marry as
soon as possible, and exchange her rural sur-
roundings for the noisy and brilliant life of the
capital. Like a true daughter of Eve, she was
CKceedingly fond of fine attire, diversions, and
amusements, all of which she hoped to obtain
by her marriage to a gentleman from the city.
Her wit and good-humor caused Milton to over-
look many a fault of bee education, and her
voluptuous gracefulness prevented hirn from
perceiving that sbe lacked depth of the heart
and mind.

A kind of reagnaUon which had seized his
soul .facilitated the conclusion of this union.
His female ideals bad escaped him, partly by
his own feult, partJy by that of others, Alice

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Egerton had become Carbiiry's wife, and lived
TFith liim in Wales ; since bis retucQ to Eng-
land he Iiad Dot bad an; news from her.
8be irss lost to him, and, na ho was obliged to
Bdmit to bimself, owing to his foolish self-
abnegation. In Leonora Baroni he had mtt
with a truly artistic nature, but as a woman
she had been unable to satisfy the longings
of his ardent heart. He was downcast now,
and had obtained the convietion that weakness
was the inheritance of woman, and that no
woman waa entirely faultless.

The cheerful life which the inmates of For-
est Hill were leadhig, and the cordial recep-
tion with which he met at their hands, pre-
vented these ihonghta ftom fuQy maturing in
his mind. A gay spirit reigned at Richard
P ed wn

00 as of

pense of otier people, flocked to the bouse in
large numbers. In the spaiaous hail the mer-
ry company was seated round the large fire-
place, m which a nboit forest seemed to bum.
Apples were roasted at the fire and thrnwn
hissing into the foaming beer Amid loud
laughter, the young folks amused themselves
with the game of forfeits, dnnng which many a
kiss was half snatched from rosy lips, half
given by them, while the old foilts, seated in
their large easy-cbaira, were oouversing about
days long gone by, and tclUng stories of the

Hero was still to be met merry old England,
fnll of eiubeiant mirth and good-natured hu-
mor ; the noise and quarrels of parties had
not yet penetrated into this hospitable honse.
All drank the health of the king, and paid

little or no attention to polities. The merry,
harmless life at Powell's house afforded a
pleasant diversion to the poet, and after the

hustle and e

t reigning at the capital

the tranquillity of the country-seat made a,
most agreeable impression upon him. Origi-
nally he intended to stay only a few days at
Forest Kill ; but he passed several weeks in
the company of fair Mary, who received his
proposals most favorably, and, after the lapse
of a month, accompanied him as bis wife to
London. There, however, she was grievously
disappointed ; instead of the brilliant life to
which she had looked forward so longingly,
she saw herself confined to the house of a
young scholar, and to the intertonrse with
him and his few friends and pupils.

Immediatijy after his marriage, Milton re-
sumed his former studies and occupations,
leavmg the management of the household af-
fairs to his young wife. Mary, however, did
not like this at all ; neither wedded life cor
her position in London was in accordance with
the expectations she had entertained in regard
to them. She had dreamed of festivals, dances,
amusements, and parties, but the capital was
utterly averse to Buch pleasures. The play-
houses were empty or closed ; flutes and vio-
fins were silent ; the moat popular amuse-
ments had gone out of fashion. Neither bear-
baiting nor cock-fights attracted any specta-
tors, and the circus and arena were lonely and
deserted. On the other hand, the churches
were filled with vast crowds, listening atten-
tively to the popular pulpit orators. The more
vehemently they inveighed against tlie former
amusemenla of the people, the more eagerly
they were listened to. Men and women laid
aside thdr silken garments, and all their or-
naments and trinliels, and dressed in plain
black or brown. In obedience to their enthu-
siastic convictions, or to hypocrisy — as the
power of the Puritans waa constantly on the
mcrease — they put on

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MILTOH'S MAKKUGE.

and renounced all the joys of the wofld. Pub-
lie banquets and balls were abomiaationa in the
eyea of the pioua, and even a harmless jcBt
was considered a grierouB sic. The streets of
London mostly eshibited a gloomy aspect, acd
the daily tunjulta^nd alarms filled the mind
with terror and ansiety. The leaders of the
opposition, foe reasons easy to divine, fuvored
theae disorders ; they constantly f 'gn d f rs
of llie treacherous schemes o h ad a
lies, whom they charged w th sorts of
well^oundcd or utterly S ti
disperse Parliament ojid sub e n ti u

Billy GrecQ had a great deal to do now.
The shrewd vagabond naa employed as a hired
spy and informer, and made daily reports to
his patron Pym. To inspire more confidence,
he had assumed the bearing and garb of a
devout Puritan. He had his hair cropped,
wore a pointed hat, exchanged hia embroidered
doublet for a blown woollen coat, and his
white collar was of eia^erated breadth.
Hanging his head, with eyes downcast and
hands clasped in prayer, he was always prowl-
ing in the neighborhood of Parliament, so as
to be always on hand when be was nPeded
He was highly successful n m tatmg h s pat
terns; he assumed a most sanct momous air
and took care to interlard h s ei nyersat on
with pious phrases and B b cal quotat on
In this new guise ho appea ed every day w h
fresh information, partly true, part y false for
which he received a round rnee Whenever
matter was lacking, he did not shr nk Irom
inventing stones, in which ha I v ly niaE,mx
tion tendered him valuable serice He hai
lurmed a regular society of fel ows hke hun
stlt, m order, if need be, to have with 1 m
wilncsbcs who might confirm h staten ents
and who had acquired great fluency in perjur-
ing themselves.

By the aid of a boon companion, a broken-
dowu tailor, named Beale, !^1y Green bad

d oeovered in Iher eorkpiraty tie plot (I the
oEBiers havmg pn»ed so lui-i tivc iur him
The two honoiille men informed the Com
mons thit wilkmfc in the fields they had

hearkened

e of c

Ji persons

nimtwn to theni A hundted and e ght ruf
fian:! they learned htl been appointed to
murder a hundred and eight 1 rdb and com
moncra and were prom ed renaids for these
assassin itions at the rate of ttn pounds for
each lord and forty ahill ngs for Lich com
moner Billy and h s fr end did not hesitate
to sweir to the r statements Vew arrests
mostlv of innocent peiaoi s weie the natural
consequence uf such faL.e information wb oh
in a time of f,cncral escilement, was only too
read ly credited

At last Charles hecmid to awake from hiB
apathy Frightened hy the progiess wh ch
Parliament made every day tired of the uon
cessions he had already made, and irritated at
the resistance with which he met nevertheless,
he sufiered himself to .be led on to a high-
handed stop which added fresh fuel to the
flames of the revolution, and involved bim in
the most disastrous consequences. He re-
solved to seize the 1 ad rs of th o| pos t on at
a blow Fo th s p n ose he sent Herbert
the attorney gene al to the House of Lords to
enter an ace .al on of b Ji tr ison a„ mst
Lo d Eimbolton and fi e c nn oners HoD s
^a Arthur Hazl r g Hampden Pj m and
Strode. The art des we e to the effect that
they had t i t<:r u ly enl avorcd to onhvert
the f ndomentil laws and gove nment of the
ki gdom to depr vc the king of h fl ri^l

t ary and t j rann al antho j tiiat h y had
nvited nd en oura^cd th 'fcots to nvade
Fngland and had aotu.ilIy rai. ed and counte-
nanced tumults against the kmg and Parlia-
ment. Great was the astonishment and indig-
nation of the assembly, whose liberty and ex-
istence were threatened by this step ; but the

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190

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMEa

members had not leisure to nonder at the in-
diseretion of the king A eergeant at aims
followed the attorney general, -mA m the
ting's name, demanded of the House tlii five
meoibers; he was ssnt bSLk ivithout any posi-
tiTe answer. The Mag employed messengers
to search for them and arrest them. Their
trunks, chambcrB, and studies were sealed and
locked. The House voted all these acts of
Tiolence to be breaches of privilege, and
eommHadod cvL-ry on© lo defend the liberty
of the members. The king, irritated by all
this opposition, resolred to come m person to
Ibe House, with the intention of demanding,
perhaps of seizing in their presence, the pe>
sons whom he had aeeused.

This revolution was betrayed before it was
carried int« execution, and intelligence was
privatelj sent to the Sve members. The
Countess of Carlisle, Strafford's former mis-
tress, since the death of the earl, whose ruin
she not unjustly attributed to the king's weak-
ness, bad entered into a secret understanding
with the leaders of the opposidon. The beau-
tiful countess' was a lady of spirit, wit, and
intrigue. So long as Strafford was the fore-
most statesman in England, she wss faithfully
attached to him, and her ambition felt flattered
by his love and homage. After his death siie
cast out her nets for Pym, the most influential
leader of the opposition. Like Dame Fortune,
she always followed the victor, and turned her
back without shame or remorse upon the van-
quished. As lady of honor to the queen, she
was informed of all the plans of the court, and
did not hesitate to warn her new favorites of
the danger menacing them.

The king, accompanied by a numerous ret-
inue, nnd by two hundred soldiers armed, with
halberta, repoured to the House. lie left the
latter at Ihe door, and advanced alone through
the hall, while all the members rose to receive
him. The speaker withdrew from his chair,
and the king took possession of it. After

having been seated, he made the fallowing
speech ;

" Genilenien, I am sorry for this occaaon
of coming to you. Yesterday I sent a ser-
geani-at-arms to demand some who, by my or-
der, wereacctiaed of high-traaaon. Instead of
obedience, I received a message. I must here
declare to you, that though no king that ever
was in England could be more careful of your
privileges than I shall be, yet in cases of trea-
son no person has privilege. .Therefore am I
come io tell you, that I must have these men
wheresoever I can find them. Well, since I
see all the birds are flown, I do espcet that
you will send them to roe as soon as they re-
turn. But I assure you, on the word of a
king, I never did intend any force, but shall
proceed against them in a fair and legal way ;
for I never meant any other. And now, since
I see I cannot do what I came for, I think this
no unfit occasion to repeat what I have said
formerly, that whatever I have done in favor
and to the good of my subjects, I do intend

When the king was looking around for the
accused members, he asked the spealier, who
stood below, whether any of these persons
were in the House. The speaker, falling on
his knee, prudently replied; "I have, sire,
nwther eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this
place, but as the House is pleased to direct
me, whose servant I am. And I humbly ask
pardon that I cannot give any other answer to
what your m^esty is pleased to demand of

The Commons were in the utmost disorder ;
and when the king was deparling, some mem-
bers cried aloud, " Privilege 1 privilese ! "

That evening the lecu'ied n embers to show
the greater apprehens on removed mto the
city, which was their fjrtrcss Tht citizens
were in arms the ni ole ni 1 1 tonie people
who were appoinlLd for thit purpoot or per
haps actuated by their own terroro, rin from

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MU-TON'S MAERUGE.

gate to gate, trying out that the cavaliers
were coming to bum the city, and that the
kiDg himself was at their head. Billy Green,
accotnpaTiied by a crowd of armed apprcnljcea
and idlers, moved from one quarter of the city
to anotiier, and added to the tumult. He met
several officers and parlj^ans of ths king,
and he entered into a Tiolent altercaHon.

"Down with the cavaliers, with the blood-
hounds I " he cried out in a thunderiug voice.

"Down with the roundheads, with the vil-
lanous Puritans ! " was the furious reply.

From words thej passed to blows ; tbe ap-
prentices brandished their bludgeons mounted
with iron; the eavaiiers drew tlieir swords,
and soon there was a genera! meUe. But, while
the populace and the courtiers were brealimg
each other's heads, the wily vagabond deemed
it prudent to sneak away, and let otl era fight
out the quarrel which be had stirred up

Next morning Charles resolved 1^ make
some concessions, in order to allay the geneitl
excitement He sent to the mayoi, and or
dered him to call the Common Council im-
mediately. About ten o'clock, he. himself, at-
tended only by three or four lords, went to
G-uildball. Ue told the Common Council that
he wafl sorry to hear of the apprehensions en-
tertamed of him ; that he was come to them
without any guard, in order to show how
much he relied on their affections ; and that he
had accused certain men of high -treason,
against whom he would proceed in a legal
way, and therefore presumed that they would
not meet with protection in the city.

After many other gracious espressions, he
told one of the two sheriffs, wlio was thought
the least inclined to bis service, that he would
dine with him. Tet he departed from the
hall without receiving the applause which be
expected. In passing through the streets, he
heard the cry, " Privilege of Pailiament 1 —
privilege of Parliament ! " resounding from all
quarters.

austere Ilendcrson. When the king dre
nigh, the zealous Puritan rose and called oi

Toy.

the words emplo d bv t e mu no s I ra I
63 when tbey abi done! Peholoan the r
rash and U-couuse led sovere .n Charles
was f i^htened by the fenat al fury wh el
Ilenderson s wild glances flashed at him.

" Who are you S " he said to the Puritan.

" A servant of the Lord," replied the gloomy
fanatic, "who has come lo warn thee. 'Mene,
mene, tekel I ' "

The king ordered his coachman to drive
faster, in older to CJiapt from the crowd, but
Hendecaon'o cry of Mene, mene, tekel ! " pur-
aULd him mLLStantlj He arrived at his pal-
ace in utter exhaustion, and sank into gloomy

Meannbile Parliament had resolved that the
aucu^ed members should, with a triumphant
and mihtarv proiession, take their seats in
the House The t ver was covered with boata
and other vessels, laden with small pieces of
ordnance, and prepared for fight. Skippon,
whom Parliament had appointed major-gen-
eral of the dty militia, conducted the members,
at the head of this tumultuary army, to West-
minster Hall. The mora to intimidate the
king, Parliament renewed the expedient of pe-
titioning. Billy Green displayed the most as-
toniEhing activity on this occasion, and showed
great skill in collectmg and forgmg signatures
At the head of his apprentices, he presented
to the House a petition signed by six thousand
persons, who promised to live and die in de-
fence of the privileges of Paihiment It is
trne, many did not know what thei had lab-
scribed, and were by no means will ng to be
taken at their word. The very women nere
seized with the samo rage, owing to Billys
persnasiye eloquence. One day he appeared
with several thousand women, headed by a
corpulent brewer's wife, with whom he was

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192

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

well acquttinteci. The latter, who, with her
Ultle black mustache and bloated face, looked
like a man rather tfaa.n a, woman, demanded,
in her own name and in that of her sisters, to
be admitted to the House in order to presen
a petition, in which the petitioners expressed
their terror of the papists and prelates. They
had been necessitated, thej said, to imitate
the eiaraple of the women of Tekoah; and
they claimed equal rights with the men, be-
canae Christ had parchased them at as dear a
rate, and in. the free enjoj'ment of Christ con-
aista e[[uall)' the happiness of both sexes.
Pjm came to the door of the House. A. sar-
caatic smile played round his hps when be
thanked the brewer's wife for her zeal.

" Mj fair friends," be aaid, with a hypocriti-
cal air of cordiality, "cook and wash for youc
husbands, and, if jou haTC any lime to spare,
pray for the success of the Commons."

The women retired with load shoula of
" long live Pym I Long liye ParUament ! "

Under such circumstances Charles's laat

P P y ^

from the IcMt hint, Ibe will of their leaders;
nor was it safe for any memtier to approach
either Ilnuse who pretended to control or op-
pose the general torrent Both Pym and
Holh- declared loudly that tht people must
not be restrained in the espres^ion of thdr
ju»t desires Especially was Hie queen an ob-
ject of theic hatred The ra|,e of the people
was, on account of hec religion as well as her
spirit and activity, leTcUed against her. She
was vehemently denoimced, and, in. pait not
nnjustly, charged with being at the bottom of

the sore Iroublea of the tingdom. Under
these droumslances she resolved to leave Eng-
land and escape to Holland. In order to facil-
tate h pehdedlhLig mke

flirth e« H w h m h

yed m ibnbmhd

d ed b U nh h was pa^ ed ran
the control of tho armed force of the kingdom
from (he king to Parliament, or rather to its
partisans among the officers of the army.
Charles refused to sanction this bdl, and as
bis position at the tapitul became daily more
precarious, he resolved to remove farther from
London, and went lo York, where he issued a
public manifesto against tlie encroachments of
Parliament, and prepared likewise for war.

Civil war, then, was declared, and the aword
waa t« decide the great question of the times.

OHAPTEE XV.

ening in Marcli, Milton's young

in her humble room. The

storms howled around the

d rain pelted noisily Ihe closed

and the wind rushed down

fir and threatened to extiijgaish

mall lamp was burning on the

table, and all around lay books in picturesque

disorder. A feeling of profound loneliness

stole over the young wife; she had dropped

her needlework on ber Imees, and stared into

the glare of the coal-fire. Her eyes filled

with tears when she thought of the fine days

she had passed at the house of her parents,

where merry conversation and pleasant society

had never been wanting. Now she had to do

without both, much as she longed for them.

Her huab.ind passed most of his time in his

school-room with his pupils, and even late at

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MILTON AKD HIS WIF&-WAIt DECLARED.

193

evea of the books, which, in her opiaion, en-
grossed him by far too much.

After brooding for aome time OTcr hoc sup-
posed grleranees, she suddenly sprang to her
feet and by her quiclt movement threw a few
folio volumes from tho table. Instead of
taking them up, she disdiimfullj pushed them
aside with her small foot, and wreaked in this
manner a ehildiah revenge npoa her supposed

" You may lie there," ahe said angrily, kick-
ing the innocent books once more. With a
quick step she (hen hnslened to the door lead-
ing to her husband's study. She rapped twice
without receiving a reply ; at last her patience
was entirely exhausted, and she rushed into
the ealra asylum of the poet. He seemed not
to notice her, and contmued writing until she
stood before him, her face flushed mth anger,
and seized his arm.

"What is

IV ? " he asked, irritated

; interrupted ii
i the mat

"Wliat is the matter? " cried the young
wife, greatly excited. " The matter is, that I
can no longer bear the life I am compelled to
lead here. Do jou think I married you for
the purpose of pining away? All day long I
am confined to my lonely room, and hardly
know how to kill my time, while you are
buried amidst your books, or repeating Latin
words with your schoohboys. I cannot stand
it any longer,"

" Oh, do not get eidted," replied Milton,

who had calmly listened to her reproaches.
" I shall soon finish the work on which I am
now engaged, and we will tlien pass the even-
ing together. My friend Overton will talie
supper with ua."

" I do not care much about his company.
A fine' companion, indeed, is this melancholy
Puritan, whom I have never heard lai^h yet.
In truti, I would rather bo alone Aan have
this mournful fellow about me."

" Yon would do -well to speak in more rs-
Bpectfut termsof your husband's friends," sdd
Milton, "Mr. Overton is a gentleman distin-
guished aJike by hia mind and character."

" Of course, you prefer his company to that
of your wife. You irill sit together agdc,
talk of the wretched Parliament, and inveigh
against the poor bishops, who are a thousand
times better than your Overton, no matter
how pious he may feign to be."

" Mary I " said the poet, beseechii^ly, " do
not use such language. You allude to a. sub-
ject which, ovi-ing to your, education, you do
not nuderstand at all. Let us drop this un-
pleasant suhjccli and go to your kitchen in
order to prepare ouc supper."

" Of course, I am always good enough for
that. The poor wife is to cook, bake, wash,
and sew, and that is all. You treat me as a

" Your reproacbas are utterly unjustified, as
I treat yoB on all occasions, as 1 do toJay,
with a forbearance bordering on weakness."

"And I repeat that I am only a slave, a
servant^giri, in your hoilse. I must work aU
day, and at night, when all other husbands are
with their wives, making visi^B or going to
parties with them, yon pore over your books

talk politics with your friends. You con-

rse eagerly with them, but do not address a
word to your poor wife. I am too stupid for
you ; I am not able to appreciate your learn-
ing; I am only a poor ignorant woman, for
whom yon do not care at all."

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194

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

So saying, Marj burst into tears and loud
sots. Although this scene was by no means
the first of tlie same description, Milton al-
lowed himself to be touclied aneir; he pushed
his books aside, and tried to pacify his eicited
wife by his kisses and gentle remonstrances.
Mary soon passed from one estreme to the
other. The moat playful mirth succeeded to
the outhurst of her despair, and while the
tears were yet glistening on her' rosy cheeks,
her ecimson lips smiled already, and her eyes
beamed with arch gayety. She was a true
daughter of Ere, whimsical as the sky in
April, and fickle as the sea. Amid laughter
and jests she hasteneif to the kitchen to pre-
pare their supper.

At tJie wonted hour appeared the espected
gnest, whom Mary received more cordially than
usual. JTilton and Overton were soonengaged
in an animated convarsAtion concerning the
desperate condiyon of the country.

" I believe war is inevitable," said Overton.
" Parliament is already levying troops and call-
ing out volunteers foe the impending struggle.
I have likewise enlisted, and received an offi-

"I intend to take the same step," replied
Milton.

"You? " asked Overton, wondcringly.
" That would be downright folly on your

" And why should I not, just as well ss you,
devotemyhfe to my country, now that it is iu

" Becanse yoa can tfe more useful to it with
your head than we with ourhands. Every one
after his own fa^ion. The scholar is a soldier
too ; his weapon is the pen ; it is even sharper
than the sword, and more pointed than the
lance. It requires more courage to declare and
defend one's opinion than to rush into the
thickest of the fight on the field of battle. The
mind has acbieved more victories than brute
force. Therefore, stay quietly with your books.

and leave it to na soldiers to fight out this
struggle."

" Then you do not believe in the possibility
of a reconciliation between the king and Par-
liament ? "

"If the contest were confined to those two,
peace might not be impossible ; but the strug-
gle is greater, it is much more important and
estensiie. It is the old war between liberty
and tyranny, between ilesputism and republican-
ism, between intolerance and freedom of con-
science. No mediation is possible between
these two sides. Men no longer oppose men,
but truth combats falsehood, liberty oppres-
sion, and despotism law and order. Mortal
enemies may be" reconciled, but immortal prin-
ciples, eternal contrasts, do not admit of a rec-
onciliation: their war will continue to the
day of judgment."

" Yes," eielaimed Milton, enthusinstically,
" it is thus that I imagined the struggle of the
fallen acgela with thehostoftheLord, of light
with darkness. I see my dreams embodied,
and the creatjona of my imagination realized.
It is not Charles andParUament,bul the great
and mighty contrasts of the world, that are at
war, and light will and must triumph."

The entrance of Mary, who brought in the
supper, turned the conversation in another di-
rccHon, and, for his wife's sake, Milton avoided
further allusions to poliUcal a^rs.

Unfortunately their domestic peace was dis-
turbed again a few days afterward by the ar-
rival of Mary's parents, Richard Powell, Mil-
ton's worthy father-in-law, and his wife paid
their long-promised visit to London. On his
journey he had passed through York and seen
the king. His loyal heart was overflowing
with devotion and fidelity to Charles and his
cause. The honest country squire of Porest
Hill did not conceal his political sentiments.

"How long Will It be," said the loyal old
gentleiQin, "until the king recoiers his full
authority and returns to London ' I was at

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MILTON AND HIS WIFE— WAH DECLABED.

Tork and saw him in person ; he was so a&ble
and condescending that I should haye at once
drawn mj sworiJ for liim but for my advanced
years. The whole country, with the exception
of the accursed capital, shares my sentimenla ;
but London will certainlj Bubmit as soon as war
breaks out in earnest. Hitherto the ting has
been by far too gracious and indulgent. If I
ware in his place, I should know what to do.
I should summon all mj loyal subjceta and
match directly upon the accursed city. I would
cakh a few of the ringleaders, have them strung
up, and the whole fuss would be at an end."

Milton contented himself with quietly Ugten-
ing to the narrow-minded opinions of the ei-
eellent squire ; but when Mr. Powell rebuked
his Eon-inJaw for liis political course, and par-
ticularly for his treaOse against the authority
of the bishops, he broka his silence, and replied
to his father-in-law with manly dignity. The
discussion terminated in. a violent altercation,
which led to the speedy departure of the old
gentleman. Mary's mother, however, allowed
herself to be persuaded by her danghter to stay
yet a few days at Milton's house. Mrs. Powell
improved this opportunity, like a genuine
mother-in-law, to sow the seeds of as many
weeds as possible in the young household ; she
encouraged Mary in her resistance, and in all
sorts of whims. Never did she fail to dispar-
age Milton in the eyes of his wife, to blame his
retired life, and to deride his political views.
Mary was unfortunately a most impressionable
creature, and her mother exerrased unlimited
influence over her. The teachings of Ihe old
lady fell into a fertile soil and grew with amaz-
ing rapidity. On her departure, Mrs. Powell
invited her daughter m^ntly to pass the sum-
mer at Forest Hill.

"You will be able," said the worthy matron,
" to rpereate and divert yourselfthere. If you
do not like to Hve in London, and with your
husband, you will always find an asylum in
yont parental bome. It is true, you will not

195
■r with learned

meet there with anv bool
conversations, but with a good piece of roast-
beef, foaming ale, and merry friends and ac-
quaintances, who will bo very glad to see you
again."

So saying, the mother-m-law took leave of
Milton's house. Mary soon followed her ad-
vice, and begged leave of her husband to pass
a few weeks at the house of her parents. He
willingly complied with her request, and pei^
mitted her to stay there till Michaelmas, al- "
though her absence inconvenienced him not a
little. He hoped that this brief eeparation
would osercise a favorable effect upon himself
and his wife. A few days after her departure,
his father Suddenly arrived at his house. The
old gentleman had removed to the residence
of his younger son, a lawyer and royalist at
Beading; but at the outbreak of hostihties
between Charles and Tariiament he deemed
it prudent to take up bis abode at Milton's
house in London. He met with the most
tender and reierential reception at the hands

of hi

On a

it of his

arrival, Milton desired his wife to return at an
early day; but Mary did not seem disposed to
comply with his wishes; she was too well
pleased with the numerous amusements which
she eiy'oyed at her father's house. Her broth-
ers and relatives had sided with the king,
whose prospects seemed iVr more hopeful at
tills juncture than heretofore.

la compliance with the king's proclamation,
the nobility of York and the adjoining counties
flocked to the royal headquarters. Before long
he was surrounded by a numerous rednue and
army ; his ministers, Falkland, Hyde, and Cole-
peper, had arrived from London ; over forty
peers followed them, and so did many of the
commoners. From all quarters came country
gentlemen, veteran officers, and cavaliers, with
squads of men ; it is true, these soldiers lacked
arms, uniforms, ammunition, and, above all
things, discipline; but in return they wore

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196

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

animated with ardent zeal and courage. The 1
streets of York eshibited a. most llveij spec- ]
tacle. Thej were crowded witb courtiers and
soldiers; the taverDB were filled witli jovial
guests, who never Urcd of diinting the king's
h(alth. The cavaliers dragged their long
BworJs noisily over the pavement, and the
courdera raised their heads again with tlieir
former haaghtiness. The air resounded wilh
derisive songs about Pacliamect, the Scots, and
the Puritans, and thej were never mentioned
but in terms of boastful arrogance. The cava-
liers were In the highest spirits, and vented
their insolence m all sorts of defiant esprea-
sions and jests. Although the (lueen was still
in Holland, where, disposing of tlie crown
jewels, she had been enabled to purchase a
cargo of arms and ammunition, moat of her
former courtiers and adherents had repaired to
York. The handsome Percy, the dissipated
Wilmot, Ashbumliam, and O'Neale, had left
their hiding-places ; Jermyn had returned from
France, and Thomas Egerton had hastened up
from Wales as soon aa he heard that hostili-
ties were about to hreok out. All these young
men joyfully looked forward to the campaigp,
which thej considered an agreeable change
their mode of life. Nor were ladies wanting
to the new court, and the cavaliers proi
t* perform tho most valiant eiptoits under the
eyes of their mistresses. The ladies were by
no means idle ; besides the usual court and

nngu

a London, i

T k, than she

U te of joy, she

h d rm r, who

a urpn d h 1. She did

It notice the i-onfusion and coolness wilh
Inch he received her, as the image of the ab-
;nt queen still engrossed his heart. Aftei
le first outburst of ber joy was over, he tried

to prevail on ber to leave York again, repre-
senting to ber that she could not possibly stay
there, so near the court, and in the midst of
the camp. But she never tired of overwhelm-
ing him with tearful supplications.

"I am wilHng," she said, clinging to him,
to conceal myself from all the world, as I
know that my presence might involve you in
unpleasant consequences. Smce Billy Green
left you, you have no footman ; let mc be your

" That will not do." .

" Oh, let me see to that, I have already
thought of jt before now, and procured a boy's
suit, which I will don immediately."

She took an elegant doublet and a hat from
the small bundle which she had brought with
her. In a Sevi moments she was disguised
and appeared in the garb of a page. The
elose-Qtting costume sat very well on her
charming form, and ThOTnas could not refrain
from admiring her appearance.

"And now," she added, smilingly, "jou
will not send me away any more. Ko one
will recognize me, and I will be a more f^th-
ful footman to you than Billy Green ever

" I am aftidd you will be unable to bear the
latigues of mihtary life. We shall set out in
a few days, and attack the enemy."

" Have CO fears on that head. I can bear
any fatigue if I am allowed to shave it with
you. Henceforth I shall no longer leave your
side. I shall accompany you, even though you
go to the ends of the world; I shall nurse you,
undci^ all dangers with you, fight by your
ade, and, if you should be wounded, not leave
jour bedside. I will gladly do all, all ; only
do not drive away your poor Lucy, who for
your sake sacrificed every thing, and has no
one but you in the whole world."

Touched by her self-sa'ctiflcing love and gen-
erous devotion, Thomas was no longer able to
withstand her entreaties, and kept Lucy with

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SEPAKATION OF MILTON AM) HIS WIFE.

197

'a page.

him. No one iwwgnized her
and all believed her f o be hei
In the mean time erenta
menacii^ aspect. The king had ao &r com-
pleted bis preparations that be cauaed hil
standard to be unfurled on the 29th of Auguat.
It waa a stormy evening. The squ set in
blood-red clouds. Charles appeared, attended
by his moat faithful adherents, on the castle-
hill at Tort, where a large crowd had assem-
bled to nitneas the seeDe. Marshal Vemcy
bore the colors oontdning the royal eoaUof
arras, aad a Land pointjng to the crown, which
waa Eurmoiml«d by the inscription, " Render
unto CEcsar the things which are Ctesar's.'
The ground was so stony that they were
hardly able to dig a hole for the flag-ataff
The crowd was profoundly impresaed with the
ceremony, and the king looked even gloomier
than usual. Even the arrogant cavaliers ati-
Btiuned from jesting; they foresaw the suf-
ferings which awaited them. The profound
silence waa broken only by the flonriahea of
the bugles and the deep roU of tlie drums. A
herald read in a loud voice the declaration of
war against the rebelhous Parliament. All
then took off their hats and shouted, " God

The aame night the atorm redoubled m
violence and upaet the ill-fastened flag-staff.
This occurrence waa conaidered a bad omen
by Charles's partisans.

CHAPTER XVI.

Tub aummcr was drawing to a close, and
Mary had not yet returned to her husband's
bouse. She did not aJiswer his repeated re-
quests and letters, however, her parents
were most to blame for this unpardonable con-
duct, ^uce the king had planted bis standard

at Torfc, fickle Dame Fortune seemed to smile
on bim again. Surrounded by eiperienced
officers, who assisted him m reorganizing his
army, he had obtsuned important victories
over his leas-discipUned adveKariea, Hia ad-
herents, with whom Biohard Powell openly
sympathized, now raiaed their heads proudly,
and passed from the deepest dejection to the
most overbearing arrogance. The femily of
MUlon'a young wife began to repent of havmg
bestowed their daughter upon a man who
sided with thL oppoaitiun and had ncurred
the liispleasuM of the court 1-y 1 it, work
agamat the bishops They feared lest Ihg
union should discredit their loyal sentunents
and ata n the honor of their eseuttheon feelt
intereat, too, mfluenced their eoiirst on this
occasion, inasmuch aa they espected that the
king, in case he should recover his power, as
seemed more than probable now, would re-
ward their fidelity in the most liberal manner.
Mary was weak enough to listen io theh^ in-
sinuations, although she still lored her hus
band. Her mother intentionally withheld Mil-
ton's letters from her, so that in this respect
she waa much less guilty than she seemed to
be. At timea she felt remorao, and made up
her mind to retnm to London and to her hua-
land ; but these better resolves were always
ipped in the bud byher own frivolity and the
ad advice of her parents, Milton's pride was
■ounded m the most paiofnl manner ; he re-
solved to make another attempt to lead his
disobedient wife back to the path of duty.
For this purpose he requested hia friend Over-
ton to go to Forest Hill and bring Mary back
London. Thia choice waa not a happy one ;
the young wife had always felt a, great aver-
the grave and almost gloomy friend of
her husband. If Milton himaeif had gone to
ihe would surely have yielded and fol-
lowed him ; but she recdved his messenger
with a coldness bordering on disdain.

Mj fi4end Milton has sent me to you,"

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JOH!f MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

said Overton (o her, as soon as he was alone
with hec. "Tour husband is profoundlj'
grieved at yonr conduct, and insists on jour
ImmediatQ return."

" I shall go to him when it suits me," re-
plied Mary, sullenly.

" Consider well what jon are doing. You
owe obedience to jour husband, according to
divine as well as human law."

"You had tetter preach your sermons at
jour couTenticles ; we have nd' need of them

" For the sake of mj ftiend, I will not take
umbrage at jour hisulting remarks. But,
aboie all things, I demand a definite reply,
whether you will aooompanj tne or not."

Mary reflected and hesitated; she would
probably have followed her better natuK
gone with him, but for het mother,
rushed impetuously into the room and inter-
rupted th^r conversation.

"My daughter," cried Mrs. Powell, in the
imperious tone which had become habitual to
bee, " will stay here ; she will not return to
the bookworm, the l^iMicrite, who feels nei-
ther respect for his majesty nor regard for the
venerable bishops. Tell him that he has no
nee for a young wife, because he prefers his
muatj parchments and his miserable friends to
her society. Neither does Mary bug for the
dry old curmudgeon. My poor daughter re-
vived onlj after she had returned to us, for
Bhe ^ not even get euoudi to eat in Lon-

■" interposed Mary, tin
"Let me speak ont; I will make a B
reply to this gentleman. My child is too good
for a sohoolmaBter, who makes a precarioi
living by giving lessons to naughty bojs. Oi
familj is highly respected all over the coui
try, and even his majestj (God save him !)
knows ns well. Instead of appreciating the
honor we conferred upon him by this jroion,
Mr. Milton disgraces us and ruins our reputa-

tion m the whole neighborhood. My excellent
husband tears out his gray hair, and his lojal
heart bleeds at the conduct of his son-in-law ;
wherever he goes, people talk of the accursed
scribbler and his contemptible writings. I
curse the hour that he set foot in our house,
and that Mary gave her hand to this beggar 1 "
" And yef," replied Overton, angrily, " ttds
beggar took your daughter without the dower
of one thousand pounds into his house, and
never demanded nor received the money."

"A thousand pounds T'cried Mi-s. PoweU,
enraged at hearing him mention this fact,
which she could not denj. " A thousand
pounds 1 A thousand stripes he shoulij get
from us for the ill-treatment which our daugh-
ter received at his hands. Indeed, a thousand
pounds for such a vagabond I "

Marj sought m vain to pacify her angry
lOther ; the furious woman was perfectly be-
.de herself, and gave the reins to her violent

■'I will c

e jou," she shouted, "if you

only think of returning to Milton. And now,
Mr, you have heard our answer ; repeat it to
your friend, and the sooner you do so the
more agreeable it will be to me. At all events,
you have no business here."

Notwithstanding this insulting hint, Overton
deemed himself in duty bound to hear Mary's
own reply ; but she was so completely under
her mother's sway, that she did not dare to

" Tell my husband," she relied to him, eva-
sively, " that I intend to stay yet a while with
my parents."

Without vouchsafing to her another glance
or word, Overton left Powell's house. No

sooner, however,
the keenest temc
after him. It wa

e gone,

than she felt

;e, and was near bastenii^
too late, and only a fiood
of tears bore witness to her repentance and
weakness. However, she soon dried her
tears, and her rosy face beamed iiith childish

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SEPARATION OF MILTON ASD HIS WIFE.

joy when her mother, to console her, presente
her with some trinkets, fotwhich her daughti
liad long wished.

Milton awaited Ms friend's return with the
utmost impatience. When Overton
him a detailed account o
sion, and of Mary's eondnct, be was seized
with poignant grief, which soon gave way to
violent anger.

"Very well," he said, after a short mward
struggle. " Nothing remams for me then but
to obtain a divorce."

" Tou can bardly hope to accomplish your
purpose, as our church regulations and civi)
laira render it almost impossible for any one
to get a divorce."

Milton admitted this, and said :

" If it were serioualj aaked (and this is the
very question now) who, of all teachers and
musters that have ever taught, has drawn the
most disciples after him, both in reli^on and
IE manners. It might be not imtrnly answered,
Custom. Though virtue be commended for
the most persuasive m her theory, and con-
science in the plain demonstration of the spirit
Ends moat evincing, yot^ whether it be the se-
cret of divine will, or the original blindness
wa are born in, so it happens, for the most
part, that Custom still is silently received for
the best instructor, although it fills each estate
of life and profession with abject and servile
principles, and depresses the higli and heaven-
bom spirit of man far beneath the condition
wherein either God created him, or sin has
flunk him. Custom is but a mere face, as
Ecb a m e e, and she resta not in her
una mi 1 hm nt unt 1, by socret inclination,
she a porat h If irith Error, who, be-
ing a llmd and s rp ntine body, without a
bead wilhngly ac pt what he wants, and
snpphes what her mcompleteness went seek-
ing. Hence it is, that Error supports Custom,
Custom countenances Error; and he who op-
poses them muat submit to slander and enmity.

any outward touch
this iil hap wait on h

f rth

dishonest

the ignominy of h m b h

till Tune, the midw hin

of truth, have was d and ei
declared her legitim

" I am afraid yoi wil b

opposed, hut thus m n wh ra
is pleasing but un d d d
without pale or p rt n, w
to see you arguing h p
of their debaucher

" Bad men, like spiders, draw vt
tte most innocent fiowere. But tl
prevent us from telling the truth, t
honest liberty is the greatest foe to
license. I deem the ijuestion of divorce of
the highest importance to society, although it
is not treated jet by any means with the at-
tention which it deserves. Indeed, miin's dis-
poadon, though prone to search after vain
yet, when pomts of difBeuity are to
appertaining to the removal of
wrong and burden from the per
pleied life of bur brother, it is incredible how
cold, how dull, and far from all fellow-feeling
we are, without the spur of self-concernment.
Now, what thing is more instituted to the
solace and delight of man than marriage ?
And yet the misinterpreting of some Scripture,
directed mainly against the abusers of the law
for divorce, given by Moses, baa changed the
blessing of matrimony not seldom into a fa-
miliar and ooinhabiting mischief; at least into
a drooping and disconsolate household cap-
tivity, without refuge or redemption. No place
in heaven or earth, no place escept hell, where
charity may not enter; yet marriage, the or-
dinance of our solace and contentment, the
remedy of our loneliness, will not admit now
either of charity or mercy to come in and
mediate, or pacify the fierceness of this gentle

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200

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

ordinanee, the nnremedied loDelinesa of thli
cemedj. Be nbo marries, intends ae tiltlo tjj
conspire his own ruin as bo that swears alle-
^ance ; and as a whole people is in proportion
to an ill goyemiBent, so is ono man t& an ill
mairiage. If they, agdnst acj unworthy au-
thority, eoTCnant, or statnte, may, by the
soverdgn edict of chatitj, save not only
Hirar lives but honest libertiea from unworthy
bondage, as \rK!l may he against any private
covenant, which be never entered to bia mis-
cbief, redeem himself from unsupportable dia-
tarbancea to honest peace and just content-
ment. For no effect of tyranny can sit more
heavy on the coramonwealth than tbis house-
hold nnhappinesB on the family. And fare-
well all hope of true refonnation in the state
while such an evil as thia lies undiacemed or
UBcegarded in the houae, on the redress where-
of depends, not only the aplritual and orderly
life of our own grown men, but the willing
and careful education of our children."

" I have no doubt of the eorrectneas of yonr
views ; however, they are cot iu accordance
with the teachinga and principles of ^he
ChQccb, which acknowledges only adultery as
a cause of diToroe."

"And jet all s«nee and equity recMms, that
any law or covenant, how solemn or strait ao-

and man, should bind againist a prime and
principal senpe of its own institution. And
what God's chief end was of creating woman
to be joined with man, His own inatntntmg
words declare, and are infallililo to inform us
what is marriage, and what is no marriage.
'It is not good,' aaith He, 'that man shonld
. be alone; I will make liim a help meet for
him.' From which words, ao plain, less can-
not bo concluded, nor is by any learned in-
terpreter, than that in God's intention a meet
and happy conversation is the cMefest and the
noblest end of marriage; for we find here no
necessarily implying carnal

iio f revention of lonehnes-i to
Qd and spirit of m^D And niih all
generous persona married thus it is, thjt
where the mind and person pleases aptly,
there some unaicomplishment of the bodv's
delight may be better borne with, than when
the mind hangs off in an unclosing dispropor-
tion, thov^h the body be as it ought ; for
there all corporal deUght will soon lieeoine un-
savory and contemptible. And the solitariness
of man, which God had namely and principally
ordered to preTcnt by marriage, has no remedy,
but lies under a worse condition than the
loneliest single life ; for, in single life, the ab-
sence and remoteness of a helper might inure
bim to espect his own comforts out of him-
self, or to seek with hope ; but here the con-
tinual s^bt of his deluded thoughts, without
cure, must needs be to him, if especially his
compleiion inclines him to melancholy, a daily
trouble and pain of loss, in some degree like
that which reprobates feel."

" For this reason the most careful examina-
tion ought to precede the choice of a consort,
and he who resolves to marry should proceed
with the utmost deliberalion."

"The utmost dehberation and care do not
exclude miafakes in all human matters. The
most deliberate and calm men are generally
those who have the least practical experience
in this regard. But it docs not follow from
this that any one, by committing so pardon-
able a mistake, should forfeit bis happiness for
all bia lifetime. Marriage is a covenant, the
very hdng whereof consists not in a forced co-
habitation, and counterfeit performance of du-
ties, but in unfeigned love and peace. I do
not know if you are familiar with the parable
of the ancient sages, which, it seems to me,
might be aptly quoted on this oi:

" I am not, and woald like t(
yonr lips."

" Eros, the god of love, if be be not twin-
bom, yet baa a brother wondrous like bim.

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SEPAEATION OF MILTON AND HIS WIFE.

201

called AnleroB ; whom while he seeks all about,
bU chance is to meet; with miiny false and
feigning desires, that wander singly up and
down in his likeness ; bj them in their bor-
rowed garb, Eros, though not wholly blind, as
poets wrong him, yet having hut one eye, as
being bom an arnhcr aiming, and that eye not
tile quicltest in this dark r^on here below,
which is not love's proper sphere, partly out
of the simpUcity and credulity which is native
to liim, often deceived, embraces and consorts
him with these obvious and suborned striplings,

he thinks them, while they subtilly keep them-
selves most oa his blind side. Bat after a
while, as his manner is when soaring up into
the high tower of bis Api^iemn, above the
shadow of th^ earth, he darta out the direct
raya of his then most piercing eyesight upon
the impostures and trim disfiuises that were
used with him, and discerns that this is not his
genuine brother as he imagined ; he has no
longer the power to hold fellowship with sneh
a personated mate: for straight his arrows
lose their golden heads and shed th^ purple
feathers, his silken braids untwine and slip
their knots, and that or^ual and fiery virtue
gjven him by fate all on a sudden goes out, and
leaves him undeified and despoiled of all his
force ; till finding Anteros at last, he kindlea
and repairs the almost faded ammunition of
his deity by the reflection of a coequal and
homogeneous fire. Thus mme author sung it
to me; and by the leave of those who would
be counted the only grave ones, this is no mere
amatorious novel, but a deep and serious verity
showing us that love in marriage eunnot live
nor subsist unless it he mutual; and where love
cannot be, there eau be left of wedlock noih-
ing but the empty husk of an outside matri-
mony, as undelightful and unpleasing to God
as any other kind of hypocrisy."

Overton had listened approvingly to the par-
able; nevertheless, he renewed agdn and again

his objections to Milton's resolution to obtain
a divorce from Mary. Hilton, however, per-
sisted in it, and continued to present additional
arguments to his friend.

"What can be a fouler incongruity," he said
in the course of the conversation, " a greater
violence to the reverend secret of nature, than

and to sow the sorrow of man's nativity with
seed of two incoherent and uncombining dis-
positions? Generally daily esperieuce shows
that there is a hidden efficacy of love and
hatred in matt as well as in other kinds, not
moral but natural, which, though not always
in the choice, yet in the success of marriage,
will ever be most predominant But what
might be the cause, whether each one's allotted
genius or proper star, or whether the supernal
infiuence of schemes and angular aspects, or
this elemental crasis here below ; whether all
these jointly or singly meeting friendly or un-
friendly in either party, I dare not appear so
much a philosopher aa to conjecture. Seeing,
then, there is a twofold seminary, or stock in
nature, from whence are derived the issues of
love and hatred, distinctly flowing through the
whole mass of created things, and that God's
doing ever is to bring the due likenesses and
harmonies together, escept when out of two
contraries met to theh^ own destruction He
moulds a third eristence ; and that it is error
or some evil angel which dther blindly or ma-
lieiously has drawn together, in two persons ill
embarked in wedlock, the sleeping discords
and enmities of nature, lulled on purpose with
some false bait, that they may wake to agony
and ^trife, later than prevention could have
wished, if from the bent of just and honest in-
tentions beginning what was hegun and so con-
tinuing, all tiiat is equal, all that is fair and
possible has been tried, and no accommoda-
tion likely to succeed; what folly is it still to
stand combating and battering against invin-
cible causes and effects, with evil upon evil, till

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202

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

eithtc the best of our daj3 be lingered out, or
ended with Bome speeding sorrow I If the
QOiaomeQe^ or disfigurement of bodj can soon
destroy tlie 'jmpa,thj of mind to wedlock du-
ties, much more will the annojance and trouble
of mmd mfuae itaelf into all the facultica and
acts of the body, lo render them invalid, uu-
kindlj, and even ucholy Rgainfit thelai? of na-
ture. What is life without the rigor and epir-
itnal exercise of life I How can it be useful
either to private or public employment ? Shall
It therefore be quite dejected, though never eo
valuable, and left to moulder away in heavi-
ness, for the superstitious and impossible per-
formance of an ill-driven bargam ? It is not
when two unfortunately met are by the canon
forced to draw in that yoke an unmerciful day's
work of sorrow tin death unharnesses them,
that then the law keeps marriage most unvio-
lated and unbroken ; but when the law takes
order, that marriage be aceounlant and respon-
^ble to perform that society, whether it be re-
hgiouB, civil, or corporal, which may bo con-
scionably required and claimed therein, or else
to be dissolved if it cannot be undei^nc. This
ia to makemarriagemost indissoluble, by mak-
ing it a just and equal dealer, a performer of
those due helps which inatitutedthe covenant;
being otherwise a most unjust contract, and
no more to be maintained Qnder tuition of law,
than the vilest iraud, or cheat, or theft, that
may be committed. Let not, therefore, the
frailty of man go on thus inventing needless
troubles to itself, to groan under the false ima
ginatiun of a strictness never imposed from
ftbove. Let us not be thus over-curious lo
strain at atoms, and yet to stop every vent and
ccaony of permissive liberty, lest nature, want-
ing those needful pores and breathing-places
which God has not debarred our weakness
either suddenly break out into some wide riip-
ture of open vice and frantic heresy, or else in
WBrdly fester with useless repinings and
blasphemous thoughts, midcr an unreasonable

and fruitless rigor of the most unwarranted

CHAPTER XVII.

The longer Mary delayed returning to him,
the more filed became Milton's purpose to re-
pudiate her forever. But, in reflecting on the
nature of matrimony and divorce, he had in
view not so much his own individual case as
Uie general welfare of his country. He longed
to abate the evils which he believed csert«d
the most injurious effects, and he really in-
tended to benefit his fellow--3iii2ens far more
than himself. His own case seemed less im-
portant lo him than the pernicious conse-
quences of that legislation which made the
institution of wedlock an indtasolubJe bond, an
intolerable tyrant for all. Ha did not wish to
deliver himself alone, but the whole worid was
to enjoy the liberty for which be strove. Thus
he rose above his own grief, and sought io
free himself from the sufferings weighing him
down, in a less egotistical manner, and to the
benefit of all men. For this reason he wrote
out in an elaborate manner the ideas to which
his conversation with Overton had given rise,
and dedicated his " Doctrine and Discipline of
Divorce" to the British Parliament.

Milton was not a little surprised at the un-
espected attacks which were mide upon this
work from a sidi whence he had expected
tl tm least The Prchl vtenan clei^y, which
be had defended so i.ourageou''!y and ably in
hia pamphlet against the Episu>pai prelates,
took umbrage at this essav and preferred
charges igamst the author on account of his
liberal sentimento The same party, which
had but a short time ago groaned under the
pcrhecntons of the b shops, anl fought for
lieedom of conscience and faith persecuted
trnth now that it had achieved a viotory. For-

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ASKA DAVIES— EEUHION OF HUSBAND AND WIFE.

tonatelj, Parliament did not listen W ita in-
tolerant charges, unci dropped the whole
ms,(ter.

Deaerted by liia wife, Milton eougbt to com-
fort and divert himself at the houae of a nohle
lady. Lady Mai^aret Ley was the daughter
of the Eai'l of Maclbocough, and endowed with
rare qualities of the heart and mind. At lior

jtthen

who, amidst the troubles and disorder of a
bloody civil war, preserved a refined taste for
art and science, and worshipped the Uusesand
Graces in this peaceful asylum. Here Milton
wag a welcome and much-eourtcd guest. His
domestic sorrow added to h nterest which
the ladies took n h p while his geniua
and learning cap aied m n He passed
bis evcnmgs th p an and instructive

conversation. Emm m inb rs of all patties
met there, as w e, n n al ground, and
it was at this bouse that Milton made the ac-
quaintance of the accomplished Lady Ranekgh
and her distinguished brother, the Honorable
Eobtrt Bovle, the celebrated nixturalist. Hat-
nral phUosophy was cultivated with especial
preddection in those days, and it had become
fashionable even foe ladles to speak of phlo-
giston, observe an eclipse of the moon through
the telescope, and admire magnified infiia
by means of the yet imperfect microscope.
One evening Robert Boyle brought with
the lur-pump which Otto Guecicke bad inv
ed, and the construction of which he had
tcrially improved, and astonished the specta-
tors by his ingenious esperiments. Removing
from two hollow balls the air contained Ihereui,
he pressed them together in such a manner
that they could not be torn asunder, and de-
monstrated thus the pressure of the ai
phere around us on ull bodies.

" The air around us," said Milton, on
occasion, "resembles our ideas. Both
cisc an invisible power over man. Wi

» acknowledge aa forces only

they are

dpal wheels of the creation.

" Tou are right," replied Lady Ley ; " above
all, it seems to me, love ia one of those mys-
terious forces of Nature which are revealed to
man only bj their effects. Unfortunately, we
have DO natural philosopher who demonstrates
its peculiarities to us as dearly as our friend
Boyle did in c^ard to air."

"Love would only lose thereby," said a
timid young lady. " Its nature requires se-
crecy, in which it hides itself from the world.
Take from it the veil in which it is chastely
wrapped, and it is no longer love. The poet,
and not the naturalist, has alone the right of
revealing the purest and most sacred feelings
of the human heart."

Milton applauded the words of the youthful
speaker, who was graceful and mtercsting
rather than beauliful. He had long smce
noticed the charming creature. A eweet es-
pression of melancholy was stamped on the
slender form, which was slightly bent forward,
and on the noble feature of the girl, who was
a daughter of Dr. Davies. From her blue eyes
beamed a glorious soul; they resembled a
mountain lake, and were, like it, clear, deep,
and mysterious. Generally she was tacitum
and reserved, and she was one of those women
who know even better how to listen than to
speak, and who, therefore, are so agreeable io
talented men. Her manners indicated true
womanly grace, and a modesty equally remote
from unbecoming bashfulness and secret pride.
When Milton approached her now, a sweet
blush eufihsed the pale cheeks of the amiable
Anna, and her charming confusion made ber
almost look beautiful. The poet soon entered
into on animated conversation with her, in
which she displayed profound knowledge and

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20i

loamiDg. la the course of the ■
she espreseed hep Bympathy for tha misfor-
tunes of the poet, and the delicate mami
which she ottered her compassion added t

On his nest visit tj) Ladj Ley, the Idnd-
hearted lady baotered, him for tbe attention
he had devoted to Anna on the previous i

"If jou were divorced," she said, "Anna
would lie an eieellent wife for jou. I belie
she is quite fond of jou. She is a dear friend
of mine, and will surely render happy the g
upon whom she b^tows her hand. Her
complishmenta and the escellent education
which her father gave her qualify her espe-
dally to become the wife ofa learned man like

Milton made no reply ; he was absorbed in
deep thought. The lady, however, with femi-
nine persistency, would not so easily drop the
plan which she had su^sted. She praised
Anna's virtues and accomplishments until she
had excited in him the liveliest desire to become
more intunatelj acquainted with the excellent
girl. It was not difficult for Milton to gain
access to Dr. Davies's bouse. Here Anna
made an even more favorable impression upon
him than in tbe brilliant drcle where he had
met her hitherto. The deep but not chilling
gravity with which she always received him,
and her dignified but cordial kindness, attached
him to her, and gradually there arose between
them an afFectionata friendship, which, how-
ever, never threatened (o overstep its bounds
and pass into a more tender feeling. Milton
was not yet divorced from his wife, and hence
he could not enter into a new union ; and Anna
was too conseientious and sensible to encpoach
upon the rights of another woman, however
much she had deserved her fate. With seeming
tranquillity she saw the poet come and go ;
but in the Linennost recesses of her heart she
bore a more tender affection, which she carc-

JOHN MILTON AM) HIS TIMES.

fuily concealed both from hiiu and the world.
She possessed eitcaordlnary self-command,
and would have died rather than betray the
secret of her heart. To her natural timidity
were added all eortg of religious scruples on
account of her attachment to a married man,
for such she considered Milton so long as he
was not divorced from his first wife. The in-
cessant struggle with herself threatened to
kill her; she became even paler than before,
and her father, a skilful and sagacious phy-
sician, feared lest she should fall a victim to
consumption, of which Anna's mother had

Although Milton's wife lived apart from
hhn at the house of her parents, her love for

It jet cj

lost sight of him, and frequently inquired of
her London acquaintances concerning his life
and all that happened at his house. Thus she
ilso informed of tha frequent visits which
Md to Anna. This news filled her with
profound grief. Fear and repentance seized
her soul, and what neither Milton's rcmon-
ces nor her own reason had been able to
accorapliah was brought about by jealousy,
and bj the thought that another woman
might obtain her place. Hitherto Mary had
allowed her parents, and particularly her
mother, to guide her In her conduct toward
her husband ; now she suddenly recovered her
independence, and instoad of her usual weak-
ness, she displayed now an almost unfilial
harshness. Mrs. Powell was not a little sur-
i at this change, and still more at the re-
;he3 with which her daughter overwhelm-
ed her. They had eschanged parts: the weak
daughter showed an unusual veliemence, and
the imperious mother the most extraordinary
forbearance, aa she feared lest a harsher
se on her part should drive Mary to es-
lities. Por days the latter locked herself
ler room, bathed her face with scalding
;, and refused to take food. She was near

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ANNA DAVIES— REUNION OF HUSBAND AND WIFE.

205

cursing ber mother, as tbe latter had threat-
ened to do in regard to her if she returned to
her husband. As usuaJ, ebe had not been
able to appreciate what she poaseased until
she had lost it, Posaesaion doea not make ua
half as happy as the loss of the thing poaseBSed
renders us uubappj.

It was not until a rival threatened to rob
ber of Milton's love that she felt the full ex-
tent of her guilt, a.nd the whole worth of tbe
man whom she had mortified so grievously
onlj a, short time aacc. Sfvayed by her pas-
sions, and not by reason, and going from one
extreme to another, ahe gave way to un-
bounded despair. As formerly her sojourn in
London, so now her abode under the parental
roof, had become an intolerable burden to her.
The ground, as it were, was burcing under her
feet, and ahe was desirous only of returning as
suoQ as possible to her husband.

Meanwhile Milton was a daily viaitor at the
lioctor'a house. He bad likewise perceived
Anna's pallor and feeijlencss.

" Tou seem to be unwell," he said compas-
siouately, taking ber band.

A slight shudder ran through her frame, and
he felt the tremor of her bands.

"What ails yon, dear Anna? "he aaked,
still retaining her hand. "If yon grieve, com-

yourt

me, for

have no better friend in this world than me."
"It is only a slight indisposition," she re-
plied, evaaivelj.

"Tour father is quite aosious and afraid
lest you should Ije taken sick. Pray take
good care of yourself for his and my sake."

"Why should I?" she replied, with a sus-
picious cough. " The world will not lose
much by the death of a poor girl like me.
Since I saw my mother die, I am no longer
afraid of death. She fell asleep bo gently and
biissfullj, with a sweet aniile on her pale lips,
tliat I almost envied ber fate. Blessed are
the dead 1 "

" Yon ei

ievous sin if you yield to
such gloomy feelings, I myself was formerly
a prey to these sombre spirits of melancholy ;
they are in our blood, and in the air, but we
must keep ihcm down. Life is so beautiful if
we only know how to take it ; and even our
suffoiinga are only the passing shadows accom-
panying and enhancing the light."

"Tou are right, and I will eiyoy yet the
brief span vouchsafed to me."

A mournful smile played round her pale
lips, and she endeavored at least to seem se-
rene. Nevertheless, their conversation re-
mained grave, owing in part to theu^ peculiar
surtoundmge. They were seated in tbe small
garden, which bore already an autumnal as-
pect. The breeze sfirred the foliage, and sear
yellow leaves aitted softly at their feet. Tbe
whole scene breathed gentle melancholy; it
was as though it were preparing for its depar-
ture. Anna gazed thoughtfully on the with-
ered foliage, and felt as if she herself were
about to hid farewell to earth. Contrary to
her habit, she gave way to her emotjon, and
tears trembled in her eyea.

" Winter is cloae at hand," she said, afWr a
pause, in a tremulous voice, in order to break
the dai^erous, oppressive silence.

" And spring will succeed to winter," replied
Milton, with an encouraging smile,

" Death and resurrection I " murmured An-

" Nature confirms thus the faith which
keeps up cur hope. Every tree, every flower
preaches in autumn that immortality which
only fools can questiou. We shall meet again

" Certainly, we shall meet again," repeated
Anna, her face transfigured with heavenly joy.

"And what we have lost we shall recover
purified and ennobled," added Milton.

" I wish t/aa would recover aa soon as
possible what you have lost. Tou have a

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JOHN MILTOir AND mS 1

On hearing Mary alluded to, the poet gave
a start, and looked al Annii bese^cluDgl;.

" No, no," she said; "jou shall and must
listen 1a me. I have hitherto avoided ellud
lug 1^ an. a^r which caonot but stir sorrow
fill ■oil cl'ons in jour bosom ; 'but ihe time
hs m when I must speak to jou frankly,
and 18 jOQ true friend. I have attentively
read on e say on divorce, and, despite ni>
re gi u B pies, I must admit that you are
gh on whole. You have conTineed my
mind, but not my heart ; and yon are aware
that women reason with the heart rather than
the head. I am snre your wife is far more to
blame than jou, hut are i/om enUrely free from
gailtf Should you not accuse yourself also,
instead of blaming only yonr weak wife ?"

" No man is devoid of faults."

"Therefore, judge not tliat ye be not
judged"

" Another motive guided me. The longer I
lived with my wife, the more I nas impressed
with llie fact that the sympathy necessary for
wedlock was wanting to ug, and Uiat our char-
acters were incompatible."

"It was because you neglected to devote
the necessary time and attention to bringing
about this harmony. We women resemble
delicately-stringed instruments which must be
played by arUatio hands to utter their true
sound. A breath of air, to say nothing of a
rude contact, untunes us at once. We must
be treated tenderly and affectionately. If you
fail to do so at the outset, there remains a dis-
sonance, which it ia difSeult afterward to re-
loove. I am afraid this happened in your
wedded life. Tou did not know how to play
the instrument intrusted to yon, and as it did
not at once emit sweet sounds, you cast it dis-
dwnfuUy aside. Give it another trial, take it
up again tenderly, familiarize yourself with its
innermost nature, devote yourself fondly to
studying its peculiarities, and you will discover
every day netv and beautiful harmonies, Gucb

as slumber in every female heart, and such as
true men and artists are ahnost always able to
elicit from it "

"My wife IS not a euphonic instrument.
Education and habit have spoiled her better

"In aLCusing her, you excuse her What
her pirental education spoiled should be re-
paired by hei matrimonial eduntion For
matrimony is a continuous mutual school, in
which husband and wife are both pupils and
teachers. The sternness of the husband is to
be lessened and ennobled by the mildness of
the Tvife; the weakness of the wife by the
strength of tho husband. And as some claim
to have noticed that married persons, after a
long wedded life, b^in to bear a strong phys-
ical res to h h d
that inte m ymp wh h

your

condi

bewa

nmg

deaf

with

your wife, I can

neither conceive nor

appro

vethe

idea of your being divorced from

" What !

You ask m

e to take her back?"

said Milton

mournfully.

eamEfltly call upon you to take this

step.

rephed Anns, w

th dignified resigna-

tion.

"I demand it as

proof of your friend-

• He was about to make a reply, but Anna,
who was afraid lest he should make a de-
claration of love to her, interrupted him
quickly,

" Pledge me your word that you will reoon-
dle yourself witb your wife as soon as she
feels repentance and returns to you."

Milton hesitated, but he was unable longer
to withstand her pressing entreaties, ilnally,
to indicate his consent, he held out to her his
hand, which she grasped In thoughtful melan-
choly. She then averted her fece, and agued

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ANNA DAVIES— RBDMION Or HUSBAND AND WIFE.

207

lo him to leave hec. No sooner had lie done
so, than she pressed Ler white handkerchief ;
to her feverish lips; when she removed it,
the fine cambric was reddened nith the blood
flowing from her lunge. She leaned her head
in utter exhaustion on her arm. <

"It will soon be over," sbe mumrared, in a

Her ftther oame into the gardeo. She pei^
coived him, and hasteneiJ to conceal llie traces
of her heart-struggle and bee disease from his
searching eyes.

" How ace yon ? " he asked, ansiously.

"I am better, mucb hetter," she replied, al-
though her pale cheeks refuted her cheerful

Hilton waa unable to banish Anna's image
from Ms heart ; he was thmkiog all day long
of the eicellent girl with whom he had he-
come acquainted too late. He was vividly
impressed with the eeatiraeat which he ex-
pressed afterward in the following lines of his
" Paradise Lost ;"

. This mlscMef had not tb
ore thit ahflll beMI ; iTimin
inDces on earth through femaL;
Kit conjnMtion with this Bei :
M shall find out fit mate, hat s
le mi^lbrtmie brings hi

be&ilen,

Throngh her p<
By a lUr worse ; or, if she love, ■
By jiarenla ; or hia liappiest cho
Sbsl! meet, alvesdy linked and '
To a fell adTcraary, bis hate or i
"WUch iDfinlte calamity shall ca
To bamim life, and hoasehold pi

hall geldon

A few weeks afterward, Milton paid a visit
to a near relative in St. Martin's Lane. He
was, as he had always been, received by the
family with great liindness, but not without a
certain embarrassment. While be was en-
gaged with the husband in an animated con-
versation on various topics, the wife was walk-
ing up and down in great uneasiness. From
time to time sbe added a remark to the con-
versation, which she tookp^ns toiurn toward
Milton's wife.

" Have you heard any thing of Mary ? " she
inquired.

"Foe months past I have Dot had any
news whatever from Forest Hill," ha replied,
evidently nnwilling to speak of tills subject.

"You do not know, then, that she has left
her parents secretly ? "

" I do not. What may have induced her to
take such a step, and whither has she gone?"

" I believe she acknowledges the fault
which she committed, and that it was repent-
ance that drove her from the house of her
parents. The poor woman ia at a loss whither
to turn, and is now wandeiing about among
strangers — without parents, without her hus-

" If she really were repcnfaal, she would not
hesitate to approach him."

At these words, the door leading to the ad-
joining room opened suddenly. A sobbing
woman approached MilUin and threw herself
at his feet.

" Mary ! " esclMmed ber husband, in aur-

3, it is I," she sighed ; " it is your guil-
, who implores your fo^veaeas on her
kuees. Oh, have mercy on me ! "

He averted liia head irresolutely. Pride and
just sensibility struggled in his heart with his
innate kmdnesa and the pity with which her
humble condition filled him. She had clasped
his knees and moistened his hands with her
scalding tears. Her dishevelled hair full upon
her heaving hosom, and her rosy face betrayed
tbc most profound grief of which she was ca-

" Do not disown me 1 " sbe wailed, with up-
lifted hands. "I willingly admit that I aloue
am (0 blame for every thing, but I can no
longer live without you. I left the house of
my parents secretly to return to you. If you
do not take me back, I do not know where
to go; nothing remains for me then but to

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JOHN MILTON AHL ms TIMES.

with jour wislies as tbough I w

3 your I

"Tou shall not be my Bcrrant, you ahall be
mj wife," he said, soothing her Tiolent agita-
tion. " I atn not blameiess either."

"No, DO," ehe cried, vehemently, " Tou
displayed more forbearance than I deaerred.
Oh, repeat tome that I may stay with you, and
need not leave you again."

"Ton shall stay with me forever," he re-
pUed, imprintJu^B kiss on her erimaon lips.

Perfectly recondled, Miltou and hia wife
left the bouse of their relatives. A few months
afterward, AnnaDaviea was buried; her father
said she had died of hereditary oonsamption.
She herself knew and concealed the eauae of
ber sufferings. A short time previous to her
death, Milton reeeived from her a letter, the
characters of which indicated extreme debil-
ity. The last wotda were; "Be happy, and
foi^et your unfortunate friend."

A withered linden-leaf waa enclosed in the
letter. Milt«n moistened both with his teara.
Never in his whole life did he forget tbe vir-
tuous and lovely Anna.

pHAPTEE XVni.

Pbicb had been reatorcd to the poet's house,
but civil war was raging with terrific violence

throughout the country. Every town was
transformed iato a camp, every castle into a
fortress. The citizen relinquished hia trade the
peasant laid doivn the plough, and both tiok
the sword The whole nation was in a state
id the partjes were

side, tlie k n
the Parhjmi

: with h:

cavaliers on the other,
a adhe t It t

king, which increased with every victory, and to
the distrust and the unabated demands of Paiv
liament. After varioua ftuitlesa attempts, the
decision waa left again to the sword and the
fortune of war.

But, the more furioua tha struggle grew, the
Mgber the tide of revolution rose, the more
marked became the dissensions which had
hitherto slumbered in tbe bosom of the Parlia-
ment. Presbyterians and Independents, or
Brownists, who, up to this time had been
striving harmoniously to attain the same ends,
namely, to overthrow the absolutism of the
government and the tyratmy of the Episcopal
Church, separated from and made war upon
each other. The Presbyterians had accom-
plished their purpose, and were read; to liiake
peace with tbe king. They had striven for
the eoircdion of abosea and the mtroduetion
of reforms, but not for the overthrow of all
euhting iDSlitutions But the zeiJnno Inde-
psndents with whom the republicans united,
did not content themselves nith tins They
were intent on bringing jbout, if poiiible, the
downfall of royalty and of all church institu-
tions. What they lacked in numerical strength
and influence they made up by their courage.

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CITIL WAR— UtEEDOU OF THE PREsa

of tie first a
the deliteran

activity, arfd uidefatigttble enei^ These
were the leiy quahtie? which could not but
secure thtu- tnumph otei their advoraaries,
tbc Presbjteuans, whom tbeir previoas buc
cesses had rendered careless and lukewinn
In a revolution, yictorj will ilways perch it
least for a time, on the banners of thit party
which acta with the utmost conaiateney and
ehrinks from no measnres how hazardous so-
ever they may be.
Milton himself, who naturally was not an
IS forced, almost agamst his will
iirse the Presbytenina parsnid tow
\o side with the Indepea luils One
its of the Farhiment had been
■,e of the prei'' from tl
tiona with which it bad been fettered by the
governmeat of the king, partiuularly by the
hateful Star-Chamber. All the laws raterfer
iag with the freedom of the pres^ were re-
pealed. London and the whole country were
at once flooded with countless pamphlets con-
Yeyiug from one end of England to the other
the hopes and grievances of the Presbyterians,
who were in the ascendant in Parllatoent.
Some of those passionate satirical papers cre-
ated a great sensation, and became eiceed-
mgly popukiF. King Charles, who read them
all, and often replied to them, once paid (en
pounds foe a copy of a somrilous pamphlet
which he was aaiious to read. At this lime
the press, and especially tho newspapers, ac-
quired great importance, and became a for-
midable weapon in the hands of the parties.
The MercuHm Fragmaticua long defended the
cause of the Presbyterians, while the Mcr-
curim Aulicua, edited by Sir John Birkenhead,
was tlie organ of the court. None of these
lournals were slow in dendmg, and even slin
dering their opponents After a while, this
freedom of the preas displtased the Presbv
teriani, and, having availed themselves suffi
ciontlv of this auiiliaiT, they strove to de-
btroy It when they hid no longer need of it,

■ffldwhenit threatened to become dangerous
to themselves. They had intended only to
wrinch a powerful weapon from tho hands of
the government and tlie Episcopal Church;
and, although they themselves had established
freedom of the press, they indulged in secret
threats against the writers who openly es-
poused the cause of tho king. They dreaded

Th P

assa m P yte

P m (rom E g

land had expected so many blessinos He did

wi h as m h urag as

1 ag h Rota h cele-

li P h d n been

es hro ged H d unced

es n mp ed th press ;

and m h in mb rs h club,

whi h ed nac pirit,

B ppd thredm h press.

Oh h goom J n difl.

lawyer, said to Milton ; " It is not

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210

JOHI^ MILTON AHD HIS TIMES.

possible that jou can advocate entire and un- 1
limited freedom of the press."

■' Cert^nly not," replied Millan. " I deny
not but that it ia of greateat concemment in
Hie Church and commonwealth, to have a vigi-
lant e je how booka demean themaelTeB aa well
as men ; and thereafter to confine, impriaon,
and do shaipeat justice on them as malefac-
tora ; foe books are not absolutely dead tbinfjs,
bnt do cont^n a progeny of life in them to be
as aclive as that soul wsb whose pn^eny they
are : nay, they do preserve oa in a vial the
pnreat efficacy and extraction of that living in-
tellect that bred them. I know they are as
lively, and as vigoroualy productive, as those
fabulous dragons' teeth ; and being aown up
and down, may chance to spring up armed
men. And yet on the other hand, unleaa wari
nesa be good, as good almost kill a man as kil
a good book : who kills a man kills a reason
able creature, God's image ; but he who d
atroys a good book, killa reason itaelf, killa th
image of God, as it were in the eye. Many i
man lives a burden to the earth ; but a goo<
book ia the prcciona life-blood of a maste
spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose
to a life l)eyond life,"

" But license," objected St, John, " is as old
as literary production. So long as any books
have been written, the state has had the right
of watching and suppressing them, when they
do more harm than good."

" I must deny the correctness of this asser-
tion. Neither the Greeks nor the Romans
knew the licensing of books Even during the
first centnries after Chnttianity had been es-
tablished, the Chnreh condemned only such
books as were directly immoral and attacked
the fundamental truths of relig on Afltr the
Nicene Council in the eighth century the popes
introduced a formal censorship, which is not
only a disgrace to Immanity, but an ntterly
useless mvention iihich never yet a
object Good and evil, we know, in the field

of this world grow up together alruost inaepa-
ofgoodisso involved
fith the knowledge of evil, and
many wiimi ng resemblances hardly to be
discerned, that those confused seeds which
were hnposed upon Psyche as an incessant la-
bor to cull out, and sort asunder, were not
more intermlsed. It was from out the rind
of one apple tasted, that the knowledge of good
and evil, as two twins cleaving together, leaped
forth into the world. And perhaps this is that
doom which Adam fell into of knoivmg good
and evil. As therefore the state of man now
is, what wisdom con there be to choose, what
continence to forljear, without tlie knowledge
of evil ? He that can apprehend and consider
Vice with all his baits and seeming pleasures,
and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet
prefer that which is truly better, he is the true
■warfaring Chrlstiin. I cannot praise a fu^-
and redVrt n re and un

h dus and hea

Y frg haalmn n
lOugh to withatand temptation. Do you not
fear the infection that may spread ? "

If yon fear the infection that may spread,
all human leammg and controversy in religious
points must remove out of the worid ; yea, the
Bible itself; for that ofttimes relates blaa-
phemy not nicely; it describes the carnal sense
of wicked men not elegantly. Tho andentest
fathers must nest be removed, as Clement of
Alesandria, and UmtEusebiaQ book of evan-
gelic preparation, transmitting our ears through
a hoard of heathenish obscenities to receive the
gospel. Kyoushut and forlify one gate against

corruptioi

jsitated to leave

others round about wide open. If you think
to regulate printing, and thereby to rectify
manners, you must regulate all recreations and
pastimes, all that is del^tful to man. No

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CIVIL WAE— FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.

211

muaio must be heard, no song be set or sung,
bat what is grave and Doric There must be
licensing dancers, that no gesture, motion, or
deportment be taught our youth, but what by
their allowance shall be thought honest. It
will ask more than the work of twenty licea-
sera to eiamine all the lutes, the Tiolins, and
the guifcirs in erory houac ; they must not be
Buffered to prattle as they do, but must he li-
censed what they may sny. And who shall
^lenoe all the airs and madrigals that whisper
softness in chambers? The windows also,
and the balconies, must be thought on. The
Tillages also most hare their visitors to mquire
what lectures the hagpipo and the rebec read,
even to the ballatry and the gamut of every
municipal fiddler. And i
succeed in shutting all
mind, what would you
is compared in Scriptur

n though you should

; if her

1 thereby? Truth
a stream ing foun-
in a perpetual
muddy pool of.

gression, Ihey sicken im
formity and tradition."

" To preserve the purity of truth is the duty
of its servants, the ministers of the Church,
and Parliament."

" I reply that a man may be a, heretic in the
tenth; and if ho believe things only because
hia pastor says so, or the assembly so doter-
mincB, without knowing other reason, though
his belief be true, yet the very truth he holds
becomes his heresy. A wealthy man, addicted
to his pleasure and to bis profits, finds reli^on
to be a traffic so entangled, and of so many
piddling accounts, thatof all mysteries he can-
not skill to keepa stock going upon that trade.
What should he do ? Fain he would have the
name to be religious, fein he would bear up
with his neighbors in that. What does he
therefore, but resolves to give over toiling, and
to find himself out some .factor, to whoso care

and credit he may
of his pehgiouE

it the whole n

iS'airs

maging

must be. To him he ad-

heres, he resigns the whole warehouse of bis
religion, with all the locks and keys, into hia
cnslfldy; and indeed makes the very person
of that man his religion; esteems his assodat-
ing with him a sufficient evidence and com-
mendatory of his own piety. So that a man
may say his religion is now no more within
himself, but is become a dividual movable, and
goes and comes near him, according as that
good man frequents the house. He enlcrtains
him, gives him ^fts, feasts him, lodges him;
his religion comes home at niglit, prays, is
liberally supped, and sumptuously laid to sleep ;
rises, is saluted, and after the malmsey, or
some well-spiced brewage, and better break-
fest«d than He whose morning appetite would
have gladly fed on green figs between Bethany
and Jerusalem, his religion walks abroad at
eight, and leaves his kmd entertainer in the
shop trading all day without his reli^on.
These are the fruits which a, dull ease and ces-
sation of our knowledge will bring forth among
the people. No, no, wc must not suffer this.
The time demands freedom of thinking and
writing for all. "Whether all the storms of
opinion will sweep at once through the world
or not, Truth is in the field and well able to
cope with Error. Truthindeed came once into
the world with her divine Master, and was a
perfect shape most glorious to look on ; but
when He ascended, and His apostles aftorffim
d asleep, then straight arose a wicked
deceivers, who, as that story goes of
the Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators,
how they dealt with the good Oslns, took the
b Truth, hewed her lovely form into a
sand pieces, and scattered them to the four
Is. From that time ever since, the sad
friends of Truth, such as durst appear, imitat-
ing the careful search that Isis made for the
mangled body at Osiris, went up and down
gailierihg up limb by limb still as they could
find them. We hare not yet found them all,
nor ever shall do, till her Master's second com-

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212

JOHN MILTON AND
lec every joint and

i TIMES.

ing ; He shall bring toge
member, and shall mould them into an immor-
tal feature of lovelmees and perfection. Suffer
not these licensing probitjitions io stand at
every place of opportunity forbidding and dis-
turbing them that continue Bcekiug, that con-
tinue to do our obsequies to the torn body of
our martyred BBJnt."

Milton's speech was warmly applauded by
all the members, and even the gloomy St.
John admitted that he bad refuted bis ai^u-
mpnt. The noble defender of freedom of the
press was requested to write a pamphlet on
the subject and publish iL He promised to
do so, and i»sued shortly after his "Areopa-
gitica, a Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed
Prmtmg," which he likewise dedicated
liameDt
courage

was the fato of Harrington's " Oceana,'
ren the repablie did not protect the re-
pubUcans. Millon'a pamphlet, however, pro-
duced one effect which bore witness to iU
■Img value : one of the censors of the press,
named Gilbert Mahbot, resigned Ms office after
reading the " Areopagilioa," stating that Ms
office seemed to him illegal, dangerous, and
injurious rather than useful. At the same
time he proposed that all authora who signed
their writings should be allowed to print them,

courts in i
contrary t

being caDed to accou
,se their books contained i
law and morality.

CHAPTEE XIX.

lEELANn — CROMWELL J

The poet thus defended with m

ne of the noblest boons of mankmd,

> the present time hardly any thing

this noble essay has been written

ime subject. It met, however, with
opposition. The learned Baxter, On a stormy day in February, Sir Ecnelm
perhaps the most eminent of the nonconformist Digby, attended by a man who, notwithsland-
divines of this period, published a, violent at- ing his concealed tonsure and carefiil disguise,
teck on the freedom of the press, alleging that was evidently a Catholic priest, rode acro^
it led to the puhhcit on of count e-^ books one at tho e n merous bogi wh cl esUnd li
by bad and ncompet*nt authors and was many m es n th u te or ol I ehma

dec dedly njur ous to the dis em natioL of

Better books must be wr Ittn then and
yon may be sure that, like the staff of Moses,
they will swallow the works of the impious,"
replied Milton to him.

Bailer went so far in bis blind zeal, that he
wished to die previous to the triumph of the
detested Uberty of unlicensed printing. While
the Presbyterians were at the helm of govern-
ment, the press was fettered as heretofore.
During Cromwell's protectorate, it is true, the
system of licensed printing was abolished, but
prosecutions of authors and printers were not
unknown. Manuscripts were frequently taken
from authora while they were b^g printed.

id been softened by lon(,-cont tiu d
. I ansformed mto I la k nure The
saturated bo I trembled at eve v step of the
horses, and the strong animals were m con
Btant danger of sinking into it. An icy breeze,
which dashed the largo rain-drops mixed with
snow-flakes into the faces of the travellers,
added to the uncomfortable frame of then'

" By the saints ! " growled Sr Kenelm, " I
would we were already under shelter. Night
will soon set in, and then it will be impossible
for us to advance another step. Nothing would
remain for us but to encamp in the accursed
bog, if we do not prefer perishmg in it,"

At these by no means encouraging words

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REBELLION IN IKELAND— MARSTON MOOE.

213

his pjons compimioQ heaved a deep sigh and
cposeed himself.

" Terhapg there is a cabin near bj," he said,
" where we might find shelter for the night
Esert your eyes, dear friend. The 8now.storm
has almost blmded mine."

" I am afraid I ahal! not be able to see any
more than you, reverend ftther. Beautiful
Erin doea not abound with habitable dwellings
and wliat few of ihem were left have been de
Biroyed by our dear friends, the Irish rebels.'

".Si majorem, Dei gloriam,'" said the priest,
clasping his hands.

" 1 would our hol^headed friends had done
their work less thoroughly. Moreover, they
should have deferred their insurrection for a
time; but sueb are the Irish, always rash and
imprudent. Every thmg was arranged in the
most judicious manner, all necessary disposi-
tions were made, and Dublin would have fallen
into their hands without 'their strikii^ a blow ;
but these men cannot wait, and want to pluck
the ftuit from the tree before it is ripe."

"You forget entirely that the eonspiracy
was prematurely betrayed. That was not their
fault."

" And then the unnecessary massacre of the
Protestauls, the cruelties committed agdnat
innocent women and children! I am eotirely
opposed to bloodshed, and do not want our
just cause to be stained by such abominable
outrages. As a matter of course, the king had
to repudiate and attaeli them. He would have
forfeited tbe last remnant of respect felt foe
him by the people of England, if ho had not
treated the rebels as enemies and traitors. Pol-
icy itself compelled him to adopt this course."

"But he is secretly negotiating with the
Irish. You know this better than any other
man, for what other object can your journey
to Ireland have, and why did you come to me
and persuade me to take part in this jonmey,
which I have cursed already more than once
on aeeouut of the fatigues and privations to

which it subjects uaf I am afraid it will in.
volve us ill serious trouble,"

"You are mistaken on that head. What I
am doing, I do on my own responsibility. I
am first of all a good Cathohc, and afterward
a 6ul ject of his m | ^^ty The Ir sh have risen
n the name of the Cathol rel gion ; their
othe mot ves do not conce n me Hence,
I deem mvself m dutv bound to as st them
w th my advice Th men who ■ire at the
head of the rebels need t f r Phel m O'Neale
has no more sense m his thick skull than the
hocee I am riding."

" And what do you purpose doing ? "

"Above all things, I am going to obtaui a
clear insight mto the whole situation. When
I know the strength of the rebels, and the
means at their disposal, every thing else will
follow of itself."

" And in what capacity are you going to in-
troduce yourself to the leaders?"

"Aa Sir Kenelm Digby, as a zealous Cath-
ohc, as a true friend of our oppressed Church."

" They would certainly bid jou welcome, if
you came as envoy of the king to negotiate
with the Irish."

Sir Kenelm made no reply to the further
questions of his fellow-traveller, but accelerat-
ed the step of his horse so far aa the mire per-
mitted him to do so. The day was drawing to
a close, and twilight had set m. The situation
of the two travellers became more and more
disagreeable. There was no house far and
near ; not even a wretched hovel was to be
seen anywhere ; only the black bog extended
as far as the horizon, where it seemed to blend
with the clouded sky. The road was almost
invisible, and withal impassable. There were
places where the horses stuck in the mire,
and could be extricated only after almost su-
perhuman efforts. Moreover, they feared lest
they should he attacked In this dismal region,
which had become more unsafe tbau formerly,
owing to the (uvii war. ^ Eenelm, there-

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31i

JOHN MILTON AND I

tort; deemed it prudent to cock hispietola and
keep them in readiness for an cmergeaoj.
They had continueci their way tbrnugh the
darkness for aljout half an hour, when the
road became entirely iuribible. Night had
Bet in, and they could not see a step before
them. Already they were preparing to pass

the night in the open i
of a dog stirred new I
bosoms.

" There must bo n

r, when the loud bark
ipes and fears in their

1 close by,"

i Sir

Kenelm, cautiously drawing his pistol.

" Holy Ignatius 1 " prayed the Jesuit, " pro-
tect us, and send us an angel to lead us back
to the right path 1"

Ihe dog then barked once more, and louder
thaa at first. The roar of the storm, and the
darkness, prevented them from perceiving the
approach of some persons who soon enrroiind-
ed the travellers.

"Who are you?" asked a rough voke with
a strong Irish brogne.

" Poor travellers who have lost their way,"
was the reply.

" Whence do jou eome, and where are you
going ? "

"We haye come across the channel, and
are going to the camp. My friend," added
the priest, " can you not give us shelter p
shall be very grateful to you."

"Follow me."

So saymg, the stranger seized the bridle of
the priest's horse, while his companioi
the same with Kr Kenelm's animal. Both
seemed to be perfectly familiar with the
culiarities of the road. Despite the u
darkness, the travellers advanced more rapidly
than before, and soon was to be seen a light,
indicatmg the proximity oi a human dwelling.
The guide uttered a shrill whistle, whereupon
several men rushed out of the door of a house
and conducted the travelled into a spacious
room where a comfortable fire was bumiog.

Around the fireplace sat or lay several armed
whose appearance and majiners were not
exactly calculated to inspire them with con-
ience. Their costume consisted of a few
igs, and their shaggy unkempt hair hung
Dwa on their shoulders. Their language and
lively gestures indicated that they were natives
of the soil. On the entrance of the strangers,
rose with flashing eyes and threatening

"They are Englishmen 1" cried a Herou-
au man, raising the hatchcC which he held in
bis hands.

"In that case theyjnust die," added another,
casting a covetous glance on the golden chain
and costly weapons of Sir KcnclmDigby.

The priest trembled with terror, while Digby
was calm and collected.

" You are miatalien, mj friends," he sfud,
with a quiet smile. " It is true, we ate Eng-
lishmen, but we are good Cathohca and friends
of Ireland. We wish to go to the camp and
see your leader Phelira O'Neale, as we are the
hearers of important news for him."

His words seemed to make some impression
on the men ; at least they held a brief con-
sultation, the result of which was favorable to
the travellers. The guide, whose dress was
not less ra^ed than those of the others, but
who seemed to esercise considerable infinence
over them, took part in the consultation, and
announced to Sr Kenelm Digby and his com-

panion

that their live

n danger, hut

that they would have to accompany him im-
mediately to the camp. The priest heaved a
deep sigh on being told to bid farewell to the
uncomfortable, bnt at least warm room, and
ride again through the dark night, God knew
whither. However, nothing remained for him
but to comply with the bidding of the guide
and follow the example of Sir Kenelm Digby.
It was past midnight when the travellers ar-
lived at the camp. Already ftom afar thoy
camp-fires glistening in the

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REBELLION IN IRELAND— MAESTON MOOE.

da Ine « b t n coming p Slo e o them,
they eea ed to be n the abode of demons
cothec ban a amp of o 1 c a Grouj of
hi f nakei persons squa ted round he fi es in
TUT 0U3 po on and even women and cbil-
dren were w rm ng themae ve nhJe o hera
were dan ng □ wild n oi at on round the
G ■es of b immg wood and et iw and uttc ng

nl •

nndn„

e heai

the cnea of the doomed The gu de con-
ducted th 1 1TC le a Ihro j,h these oupa,
awafcenmg bere and there w th a kick a
alccp r s retched out atro ate road or pu h-
ing hin qu eljlj aside At la. t they rea hed
the tent of the chief, where thej had to wait
a long time before thej were admitted.
Phclim O'Neale, anrcounded by hia officers
and several Catholic priests who were staying
in the camp, met theni in the proud congdous-
nesa of his dignity. The coarse features of
hia counienance indicated enei^ rather than
understanding or shrewdness.

"Who are jou?" ho ashed the travellers,
imperiously.

" My name is Sir Kenelm Dighy," replied
the oouitier, " and I believe you are acquainled
with my companion."

At these words the Jesuit advanced a few
steps toward the chief.

"Reverend father!" eieloumed Phelim, in
surprise. "What! you yourself have come
to me, and iu so bleak a night ? "

"At the request of Sir Eendm Digbj I left
my safe asylum, and shrank from no danger
to second hia plans. If I am not mistaken, he
is the bearer of important news, uid he monies
with the Srm determination to serve you and
the good cause."

"Both you and he are a thousand times
welcome I " a^d the chief, holding out bis hands

While Phelim O'Neale was conver^ng with
them, a squad of soldiers approached with two
prisoners. The officer in command of the

squad spoke a few words to the chief, who
nodded assent.

"Hang them at sunrise," he said, lacoiu-

The doomed prisoners were about to defend
themselves, but Phelim ordered them to be

"You are convicted spies," he added, "for
what else brought you so close to the camp ?
Besides, you are natives of England, and
therefore our enemies. Prepare for death."

" Pardon me," replied one of the prisoners,
fearlessly, " I have a Beeret message for you.
This is the reason why I approached llic
camp."

"From wiom is the message?"

" I can only tell you that alone, and not m

On hearing the first words of the prisoner,
Sir Kenelm had cast a glance on him, and rec-
ognized him immediately.

"Sir Thomas Egertonl" he eiclaimed, in

" Ton know the man f " asked the chief of
the rebels.

" I know him, and warrant the truth of
what he aays. He cannot be an enemy, a
traitor, smoe he is in the service of her ma-
jesty the queen."

At a bcclt from the ehie£| Thomas and his
companion, who was no other than Lucy Hen-
derson, in male disguise, were delivered from
their fettera. Thomas, in the first place,
thanked Digby with much feeling and warmth
for the service he had rendered him.

" How do you happen U) be here f "

" The queen sent me hither," replied Thomas,
in a low voice. " Her majesty commissioned
me to repair to the camp of the rebels."

A significant smile played round Digby's
lips when he received this reply.

" In that case I am doubly glad of having
rendered you this insignificant service. I be-
lieve we have both come hither for the same

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JOHN MILTON AKD fflS TIMEa

purpose, and may, therefore, speak without
reserve."

Am tbe night was alteadj Ijjo far adraneeil
for them to apealc of bndneas mutters, the
chief dismissed his guests, to whom he as-
signed a corainoii tent. Exhausted hj the
fetigaes of the journey and the dangere they
had incurred, Lucy and the priest soon fell
asleep, while Thomas and Sir Kenelm Digby
conversed yet for a tijnc. Digby bad soon as-
certained the object of the mission intrasted
to Thomas. He was instructed by the queen
to offer her support secretly to the Irish
rebels, and assure them that Charles was dis-
posed to conclude an anuistice with. them.
This communication fiDed Sir Eenelm Digby
with glowing hopes for the Catholic party,
whose triumph he fondly wiahedla bricg about.

On the following morning Thomas had the
wished-for interview with the chief of the
rebels, and rec^ved from him an autograph
letter to the queen, whereupon he left the
camp, while Sir Kenelm Digby remained there
for some time longer. On taking leave of his
young friend, the courtier offered of his own
accord to conduct the negotiations between
Charles and the Irish rebels under the seal of
profound secrecy The king, after some hesi-
tation, accepted the offer, and while he was
seeminglv wagmg war with the rebels, Sir
Kenelm Digby managed secretly the threads
of an intrigue, the object of which was, in the
first place, only an armistice, to which was
then to succeed the conclusion of a formal al-
liance BO that Irish troops might help the
k ng to put down the Pari ament ind subvert
the Uertes of England It wat by ouch
step wh eh could not be en ely conceal d
from the people that Cha les forfe ted the
synipath es of even those of h s subjects who
were still attached to him, but whose fidelity
to the Protestant religion and horror of popery
far surpassed their devotion and loyalty to the
king. His worst enemy was hia duplicity,

which, like all his fkilmga, proceeded from his
innate weakness.

The fortune of war, which had hitherto
smiled on Charles, seemed to desert him. The
Scottish Covenanters had formed a junction
with the army of the Parliament, and the
united forces had given battle to the Rojalists
on Marston Moor, and inflicted a disastrous
defeat on them. Prince Supert, son of the
king's sister, commanded the royal cavalry,
and snffered himself to be carried away too far
in the ardor of the battle. He was opposed to
a general alike brave and sagacious, Oliver
Cromwell, a man whoso name had only recent-
ly become generally known. In ParUament,
of which he was a member, he had hitherto
achieved very little distinction. He was a poor
speaker, but a great captahi and party leader.
In the course of a few months he had secured
a commanding position by his valor and skill
in organizing troops. On Marston Moor his
boldness, coupled with estraordinacy presence
of mind, decided the battle m favor of Parlia-

The setting sun shed his rays on the bloody
field of battle, and on the corpses of the slain.
Here and there severely wounded soldiers ut^
tered groans and craved relief. Horses with-
out riders sped spectre-li^e through the dark-
ness. The loud booming of artillery had died
away, and been succeeded by profound still-
ness. Cromwell rode across the gory moor,
attended by old Henderson, who had not left
his side during the battle. Abroad wound on
his fbrehead, which was but slightly dressed,
bore witness to the gloomy Puritan's intrepid-
ity. Both were grave and taciturn. It was
not until the moon rose and shed her pale light
over the battle-field that Cromwell opened his
lips, round which a triumphant smile was play-
ing.

" The Lord has deUvered His enemies into
our hands. In truth, England and the Church
of God have been greatly blessed by Him. No

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REBELLION IN IRELAND— MARSTON MOOR.

217

moce brilliant riototy lias been gained since
war broke out."

"The country is chieHj indebted for this tri-
mnph to your Talor and wisdom."

" The praise and honor are due to the
Almightj. nis is the glory. 1 am only His
and the Parliament's sefvant."

"If jon chose, jou might be the ParUa-

" What do you say, Henderson I I must
not listen to such ai^eBtions."

" Will you shut yonr ears to the truth ? Ton
are not blind, Oliver. You know as well as I
that the Spirit of God no longer illumines the
axsemhly at Westmmsttr Hall Many of its
members re^erahle Korah and his com-
pany, and rebel against the Lord and Hia

"Alas' whit you aav i'j but too true,"
sighed Cromwell

' Nor are all the generals like you, Obrer,
the elect of the Lord Eases, Fairfai, and
Walkr idhere to tbe Presbyterians who re-
fuse to carry on the war agamst Chatle".
Their arms h^Te Ijewme weik, and their htarts
are intimidated."

" You inTKgb against men who are braver
and worthier than we are ; and yet there ia in
your words a grain of truth, which I will sift
out. I likewise look in vam for the necessary
harmony and zeal that should animato the war-
riors of the Lord. I will reflect on the beat
way of remedying this evil, confer with our
friends, and partieulaclj seek for the necessary
light in prayer. The war should be continued
with greater zeal and energy, if it is to be
brought to a aueceasful termination. I am
afraid all of our men are not possessed of such
purity of heart as you and I. There are among
them ambitious persona, who, for the sate of
their cialted position and of other worldly ad-
vantages, would like to protract thewar. That
mnst not be tolerated."

"Tou may count upon the support of the

pioua, whenever you bring the matter before
Parliament."

" God forbid," exclaimed Crarawell, feign-
ing dismay, " that I should oppose those worthy

" Others, then, will do it. I shall see Sir
Harry Vane, St. John, and Nathaniel Tines
about ilu The command-in-chief should be
intrusted to more deserving hands, and I know
of no one worthier of our confidence than you,"

" What the Lord resolves in regard to me
will be done, and I shall submit to His will.
Do what the Spirit prompts you to do, and act
according to God's will. But, above all things,
go now and have your wound carefully dressed,
lest the cool night-air prove injurious to it."

" Have no fears on my account. This wound
gives me no more pain than the bite of a gnat;
it shall always remind me of him who struck
the blow, and whom, by God's help, I hope to
hit better one day than he did me."

"Who was it?"

" Your enemy, as well as mine — the impious
youth who abducted your Lucy."

" Woo to him, if I ever should meet him ! "

" I perceived him in the thickest of the fight,
and singled him out. Oar blades crossed each
other, and I believed already that the Lord had
deUvered hira into my hands, when suddenly
a beardless boy, who seemed to be his servant,
attacked me from behind. While facing about
to defend myself against this new assailant, I
received this wound across the forehead. The
streamir^ blood blinded my eyes and prevented
me from seeing. The next moment both my
adversaries had disappeared, and I did not see
them any more."

" Bo will not escape us, and a fearful retri-
bution will then be wreaked upon him. Have
you heard nothing of Lucj ? "

"My researches were invnin. lonlylcarned
that she left London secretly, but no one knows
where she went."

" Her death cannot grieve me more bitterly

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218

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

tlinn her Eirful life. She is !ost io me, lost
forevermore."

Cromwell urged Henderson again to Icavo
the field, that his wound might be attended to,
and that he might enjoy the necessary repose.
He himself remained, absorbed in deep reflec-
tions. His pnat life appeared before hia eyes.
Onlj a few years since entirely unknown, and,
fuv the s'ike of his faith intent on leai'ng his
native tountrj ind emigrating, to the wilds of
Amenta lie had now, in conserjuence (f the
revolution beuomL a famous ^uieru.] and one
of the mo't inflnentiil le'iders of the most
powtrful party His ambition which had
hitherto slunibeied unknown to him m his
bo'Jom bLf,un to stir impetuoualr He was
one of those great ind pec diar men whom
Providence calls forth in reyolutionary tunes
to lulfil a special mission Cromwell com-
bined in hia estraocdiiiacy nature Ihe most op-
posite qualides. nis sincere piety by no means
escluded a certain worldly shrewdness and
great power of dissimiilotion. Endowed with
a keen understanding, he was an ardent fanat-
ic, and his nice penetration and keen judg-
ment were frequently blended with a some-
what scurrilous humor. He was a hcto with
the manners of a clown, a sagacious politician
in the awkward shape of an English grazier ;
the genius of hia age with all its faults. There
could be no greater contrast than tliat between
Cromwell and hia royal adversary. Weakness
was the leading trait of the one, strength of
will that of the other. Charles was descended
from a long line of august ancestors, and com-
bined in his person all the good and bad qual-
ifjes of the English aristocracy, while Crom-
well embodied the pecuharitics of the eom-

camatiou of reli^ous zeal, coupled with the
keenesr intellect — the revolutionary spirit of
the period, opposed to the despotic obstinacy
of the king. In obedience to a higher neces-
sity, <iie two principles met in mortal combat.

The higher Cromwell rose, the clearer and
more far-sighted became his judgments He
grew with events, and, on reaching the sum.
mit, ho stood a mortal of colossal size. Not
only his understanding, but a certain demoni.
acal instinct, urged him onward in the path
which he had entered. It is true, the necessi-
ties of the moment dommated him, but he al-
ways tnew how to profit by circumstances in
the most judicious manner, and thus he waa
simultaneously their master and their servant.
Hia power of dissimulation, and the hypocrisy
with which he has so often been reproached,
did not arise from bis innermost nature, but
were imposed on him by his peculiar position —
his auxiliaries, a? it were, but which he dis-
banded after gaining a victory. His purposes
were always great, but his actions were often
necessarily little ; yet he never lost sight of
his chief aim, namely, to render England power-

At this moment, he was ga^ng into vacancy.
White mist arose from the moor and veiled
the dead; they united and assumed all sorts
of fantastic shapes in the pale moonlight. A
long weird procession, as it were, composed of
the ghosts of the slain, passed him. Tear did

a slight shudder ran through his frame. He
thought of the immediate future and the men-
acing events to which this fratricidal war wonld

"No, no," he murmured to himself; "this
war must not be continued; a speedy end must
be put to it, or itwill involve England in utter
ruin. A few victories yet, and Charles must

He did not conclude the sentence, but stared
eloomily before him. He added only after a
long pause;

" If the kmg succumbs. Parliament will get
hold of the helm of government — Parliament,
which is sitting quietly in London, and wran-
gling about trifles, while the soldier is shedding

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LADY ALICE CARBDRT— THE CASTLE BESIEGED.

his blooa in the field. It seems to me the
Spirit of God animates the assembly no longer,
and their doings are vain. Many men, many
minds. They lack a firm will, of which we
haTC need at this juncture. Esses and Fairtai
are not the men to achieve om^ great under-
taking. The Lord will choose another servant
to reveal His will. Whosoever he may be,
he willtake a heavy burden upon his shoulders,
a task wMch only the best are able to accom-
plish. But tlie will of the Lord be done on
earth as it is in heaven."

The moon illuminaied the form of the pray-
ing general. His devotion was soon inter-
rupted by the arrival of a squad of mounted
men headed by old Henderson, whose vfound
had been carefully dressed.

"Behold the instrument of the Lord, the
chosen leader of Israel I " eKclaimcd the fanat-
ical Puritan, pointing to the kneeling general.

The soldiers greeted their commander rc-
spectfully. He seemed to awake from a pro-
found dream, and looked around wonderingly,
as though he had not noticed them before.

" Go," ho said to them, " and do your duty.
Pursue the enemy, and give him no quarter
wherever you meet him. I shall pray for you
while you are fighting."

CDAPTEE XX.

Amip the mountains ofWales la;
shidv ijIIlv, through which flowed
rivulet The whole landscapi
large romantic park ; a somewhat precipi
hill was surmounted by an imposing ea
which evidently dated from thi
ment of the Wars of the Hoses, but had since
been greatly extended and improved. It had
retained its original Gothic style, and looked
imperiously down from its hills with its high

a limpid

bold projections and plllara.
Surrounded by a strong wall, protected by a
drawbridge, and covered by ramparts and
other focliScatJons, it resembled a small for-
well calculated to withstand even a nu-
is force during a protracted slcgo. Alice
Egerton had lived here for several years by
the side of her husband. After Milton's de-
parture, the eicellent girl had yielded io the
persistent suit of the noble and bravo Ba
Eohert Carbury, and accompanied him as his
wife to his native country. She had no reason
to regret the choice she bad made, as her hus-
band was one of the best men she had ever
known, and tneJ to fulfil hu every w'sh even
before sh had utt r 1 it ^everthel ts she
was not alle t ) efface the memory of M Iton
entirely fium her heart There were houra
when his d ir mage appeared to he agam
and again although a tuattd by a =teru s^nse
of duty, she fltren ouslv resisted all such
temptations L ke many distmguished ladies
she preserved tl e ideal of an early love m her
heart, without thereby violat ng the fa h she
had plighted to her h sb nd Sh ed Car-
bury only the more and sought to nd mnify
hun by the most de o ed end n s and self-
denial for these recol ections wh h a o e upon
her in spite of herse f She had bo ne to him
a son, who drew still closer the ties uniting his
father and mother. To-day she was seated m
the castle-garden, and by her ade stood the
cradle in which her little son was slumhering.
A Bible, the constant companion of the truly
pious Afice, lay open before her ; but, while
she was reading, the eyes of the tender mother
wandered from the pages to the rosy haba.
A sweet smile played round the lips of the
iitile one, and the mother bent over him, not
kiss him, for fear of awakening the
!er e^ea feasted iu an ecstasy of de-
the dear being, and she hearkened
the hght breathing of the
delicate breast which rose and fell with rhyth-

chiid. I
light on

dhy Google

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

mical regularity. While she was thus enjoy-
ing this delightful spectacle, she Buddenly felt
two vigorous arms encircling her.

"Alice, my dear sweet wife," whispered the
well-known voice of her husband.

She turned and beheld Carburj, attendi
his worthy chaplain. Her husband was i
trarelling-dress, and his fece, notwithstanding
the forced smile illuminating it, wore an almost
aolemn espression.

" Tou ate going away ? " she asked, in sur-

" Only for a short time, I trust I shall be
back to-morrow. Our worthy doctor will stay
with you in the mean time."

So saying, she pointed to the clergyman,
whose gentJe and intellectual face could not
but inspire confidence. Nevertheless, Alice
was greatly alarmed by this sudden departure.

"I can eertalnly," she said, "wish for no
better protection, nor more agreeable com-
pany, than Ihat afforded to me by Doctor Tay-
lor's presence; and yet your resolve surprises
m h m k n m when

w th

Wal

aa( oyalty to the kin^ are fienerally known."
"This is the very eause of my departure,
I have been informed that a coup de main is
in contemplation against us. The garrison of
our caatle is too weak to stand a vigorous and
protracted siege. I therefore applied I* the
king for reenforcements, and although he him-
Belf is hard pressed on all sides, he has prom-
ised to send me the necessary troops. Your
own brother is to lead them to me, and I am
now going to meet them, because their fwl-
ure to arrive before this tune Slls me with

" Then you look for a regular attack o
our castle ? " asked Alice, anslously.
" I do not think any thing very serious wi

happen to us," replied Catbury e

"but will make all necessary disi

an emergency. When our enemies perceivt

that we arc sufficiently prepared t

them, they will not lose their time by entering

upon a useless siege, by which, at the best,

they can gain littJe or nothing."

"And my brother Thomas is to lead the
reenforcements tons! It is a long time since
I have heard any thing of him and the other
members of my family."

" He was a long time in the service of the
queen; but after she left England and escaped
to France, he joined the king's army, in which
he has already distinguished himself on more

" How glad I shall be to meet Mm, even
though the canse of his Ti

Dt very cheer-

" Never fear, tny sweet wife. I hope that
the storm will blow over this time also."

"God grant it!" added (he pious and
learned chaplain, with clasped bands.

Sir Kobert Carbuty took the most affection-
ate leave of his wife, and imprinted a kiss on
the lips of his slumbering son, who, aroused
from bis sleep, started up weeping, and
stretched out his tiny hands toward bis mother.
Ahce quieted the crying babe by ainging a
lullaby to it, and soon the small blue eyes,
which resembled those of the mrtther, closed
again. The chaplain accompanied Carbury to
the gate, and then returned to stay with the
lady of the house. He found her occupied
with reading the Bible. After a short time
she laid the book adde.

not strange," she said, "that the
k which to me is a source of peace
sliould so violently inflame
so many people P Catholics and Protestants,
Independents and Presbyterians, as well as
the Episcopal Church, claim the Bible as au-
thority for their tenets, andfight in its name."

"Blessed ace the peacemakers," replied the

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LADY ALICE CABBUKY— THE CASTLE BESIEGED.

chaplain ' True believers maj be known bj
the <,liacitj and toleration with which they
treat thobe who diffijr from them. When
Abraham, ai-tording to tie ancient legend, was
oefiicd at the door of his tent to invite, aa he
was in the habit of doing, weary IravellerB to
eome in, he beheld an old man, who, weighed
down Ijy hia yeara and the fatigues of his jour-
ney, approached wearily. Abraham I'eeeived
him kindly, washed hie feet, and invited bim
to sit down and partske of his food. But on
DOtifiing that the old man prayed neither be-
fore nor after the meal, he asked him why he
did not worship God m heaven. The old man
told him that he was a fire-worshipper and did
not recognize any other God. This reply
made Abraham so angry that ho drove the old
man from his tent' and espoaed him to the in-
clemency of the night and the dangers of the
desert. After the old man was gone, God
called Abraham, and asked him where the
stranger was. He replied, ' I drove him away
becauae he did not worship Thee.' But God
said to him: 'I have borne for a hundred
years with his neglect, and couldat thou not
tolerate it a single night, although he did not
offend thee in the least?' Then Ahraham
perceived tliat he had done wrong, hastened
after the old man, begged his pardon, and
took him humbly bock to hia tent ! "

" And we will do ao, too," said Alice, rising
from the bench.

"I know many an escellent man who differs

cemed,and jet I would not hate hira for it.
He who seeks for truth shall remain our
friend, even though he should pursue another
path than ours. All the virtuous and good
will meet at the goal.''

Alice passed her day, like all others, in
faithfully dischai^g her duties. She had to
attend to manifold household careg, and to di-
rect and superintend the labors of a large
Domber of servants. Tenants came and went

they brought the rents of their holdings,
which Alice received and carefully entered in
a book. Almost all of them compMned of
hard times, and demanded large or small re-
ductions in the amounts they owed. Alice
granted willingly all she could, and, by her
kindness, increased the number of the friends
and faithful adherents of the house, who, if
need be, were ready to die for their landlord.

Toward evening she went, attended by the
chaplain and her faithiiil maid, to the cotlagea
of the poor and sick, spreading everywhere
consolation and relief, and greeted by the
blessings of those to whom slie was an af-
fectionate mother. After kissmg her babe
once more, she took from a private drawer of
her bureau, which was neatly inlaid with ivory
and silver, a book, to which she was m the
habit of confiding her most secret thoughts,
sentiments, feelings; and adventures. For
years past she had ^veu to herself a strict ac.
count of her doings and ideas ; she eiamined
herself iu so doing, and these carefully-pre.
jes were a mirror of her aoiil. Here
she had also noted down the sweetest secret,
her first love for Milton. Now she wrote the
following words, which bore witness io her
purity and amiability :

"September 15th. — My lord set out early
this morning to make inquiries concerning the
enemy, who ht said to be only fifteen miles
from our castle. He hopes to return with my
brother and some royal troops. When he left
me I grieved sorely, and took up the Bible to
console myaelf. The chapter which I hap-
pened to open oauaed me to feel in the most
vivid manner the goodness of God toward His
weak and ignorant children. Thank God, no
learning and lalcnts are requh\^ to under-
stand the Gospel I I believe that poor simple
women oifen entertain better and healthier
views of life than we with all our knowledge.
I larely see bhnd old Betty, whose cottage I
visited again yesterday, without learning a

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.-

great deal from her and being comforted bj
her eiarople. She has lost her husband, and
all her chUdren except one son, who left. her
long ago, and of whom
know whether be is etill alive. Moreover, she
has been blind for fifteen years past ; and yet
she ia serene and flill of conSdence in God.
Thii^ blind old woman Sees better tlian 1 do
with niT eyes open. While I was thus read-
ing and meditating, there came to me our
good ehapHio, who had accompanied my lord
to the gate. He brought me greetings from
my husband, and wo spoke of toleration tow-
ard those who differ from us. The worthy
clergyman shared my opinion, and I was glad
to hear him utter such mild views. On this
occasion I thought of the man who is still
dear to my heart, despite my duOca as a wife
and mother. My little son was slumbering
calmly, and I thanked God for the precious
pledge He has intrusted to me. All my grief
vanishes whenever I contemplate the smiling
face of my child ; every impure thought is si-
lent in the presence of this sweet innocence.
I feel purified and elevated by its aspect.

" At dinner I felt lonely, as my lord was
absent. It is not only the force of habit
that attaches me to my husband, but the most
fervent esteem and love for the beat of men.
He conquered my heart by his virtues, and
stifled every previous affection in it. For the
companion of my youth I feel ni
cere friendship. It is my firm con
he has not forgotten me either. 1
visited the dairy-farm, and found
in good order. Cicely is a faithful girl, and
the cattle thrive under her care. I praised
her, for praise from the mistress gladdens the
hearts of fdthful servants. Always be more
sparing of your cenanre than your praise. The
sheep are again covered with wool; they were
shorn in May lasi Poor animals I How they
rebelled at first against the cold iron, and yet
finally submitted patiently to tb^c fate ! The

young lambs bleated ; they seemed not to rec-
ognize their mothers in their altered garb. I
returned through the park. Never did I see
the chestnuts and beeches so beautiful in their
autumnal foliage. A sunbeam gilded the red
and yellow leaves, some of which rustled
!ant]y at my feet I thought of my death.

but the idea did r

spart

. frighten me; I only
IS gently and smilingly

"I settled all accounts with the tenants in
my lord's absence. I am almost afraid that I
devote too much attention to worldly affairs,
and neglect the eiamination and improvement
of my heart. Others may believe that I am
doing my whole duty ; for who penetrates the
secret faults of the heart ; who knows the re-
luctance, imperfection, and coldness with which
I serve my Creator, the egotism and reprehensi-
ble motives prompting my benevolent actions ?
Since I am a mother, I must watch myself
with redoubled attention. When, tu«d by
settlmg all those accounts, and filled with ap-
1, 1 laid my babe on my breast, my
gloomy, anxious face seemed to frighten the
e. The hay, notwithstanding his age,
already pays close attention lo the phjsiogno-
nies of the persons surrounding him. The
apression of my countenance must have
(tardcd him, for he cried violently. My
smiles and caresses again quieted the little

;, who laid his head on my breast and soon
incident is very trifling in it-

self, ai

1 jet it teaches me how ni

'• always to be careful of what we are do-
Now, if this duty is incumbent on us
toward our children, and toward all men,
how much more so toward Him who sees
through our hearta and knows our most secret

On the following day Sir Eobcrt Carbuty
returned with a small detachment of soldiers
commanded by Thomas Egerton, whom the
king had sent to him. Alice went to meet

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LADY ALICE CARBURY— THE CASTLE BESIEGED.

-wished-for brother
! aooD perceived an
^ief ia the features

her huabttnd, "what
t conceal any thing

ner husband and her lo
with unfeigned jo j ; but
expression of
and conduct of the

" Robert," she sa
has happened? E
from me. You know that I ani not l^mid, and
aa your wife I have a right to share your sor-
rows as well as your Joys."

"I ara afraid," replied Carbnry, after some
hesitation, "that we mast part^ Yon must
not stay any longer at the castle. The enemy
ia drawing nearer and nearer to it, and he may
ho here l^i-niorron' and begjn tlie siege. You
will set ont this very day, attended by a faith-
ful servant, to Ludlow Castle, wharo you will
be safe at the house of your parents."

"Whatl do you think I conld leave yoti?
My place is here at vour side. Ho danger can
tear me from your side. We have solemnly
vowed not lo leave each other to our last

"But I cannot, must not expose you to the
terrors of such a siege."

" But I am not afraid. Put me to the test,
and you will see that I shall not tremble."

" Think of our son. Tor his sake I heg, I
implore you to leave the castle 1 "

" The duties of the wife are not loss stringent
than those of the mother. My life belongs to
you as well as to my son. I shall not leave
you."

Carbury's entreaties, and even orders,
in vain ; Alice persisted in her determh
to share all dangers with him. Thomas, who ,
loved bis sister tenderly, was likewise unable
to shake her will. She thei'efore remained,
and calmly awaited the impending siege.

In a few hours the caatle had lost its peace-
ful aspect. The court-yard and the halls were
filled with noisj soldiers. Two small pieces
of ordnance, which had formerly only been
nsed on festive occasions, were planted on the
walls ; the last time they

honor of the birth of an heir, and they had
ice then lain unused in a comer of the castle.
They were now taken out and loaded with
3 of lead and iron. Some servants were
ordered to fell the old tree.'i in the park, lest
they should cover the besiegers. The decayed
parts of the wall were hurriedly repaired and
provided with loopholes. The drawhridge was
raised, and the necessary sentinels were posted.
Alice assisted her husband and brother in this

ntheni

with

of the

garrison, and, so far as the time permitted,
caused the tenants and laborers, who were de-
voted to her, to drive the cattle from the pas-
tures into the oourl-yard, and convey aa much

J the castle. The ci

yard was soon filled with lowing cows and
bleating sheep, and the store-rooms with com
and fiour. A large fire was bumins in the
kitchen, and the cook boiled and baked all day
long for the hungry garrison,.

Sir Eobert Carbury had sent ont some stout
lads to reconnoitre iho operations of the enemy.
The intelligence with which they returned was
any thing but reassuring. The Parliamentary
army, commanded by Fidrfax, had taken by
assault and destroyed most of the castle and
fortresses of the country; a detachment led by
Major Overton, bad started for the possessions
of Sir Robert Carbury, and was already so

) them that It

appearance

looked for on the following day. There eould
be no doubt whatever as to lis destination,
Sir Eobert Carbury being considered one of
the most zealous adherents of the king. The
night passed amid gloomy apprehensions. On
the following morning Sir Robert Carbury or-
dered all the women, children, and sick per-
sons to be removed fcom the castle. Only
fflithfiJ Cicely and two servant-^rls remained.

it their

arduous labors.
Immediately after dinner Thomas and Car-

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224

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.,

bury ascended the ttiwer to natch with spy-
glasaes the approach of the enemj. Toward
three thej deacried, in the horizon, a cloud of
dust approaching with considerable rapidity.
Here and there flashed from it a glittering
weapon, a musket, or tlie hilt of a bi
They alao heard the noiae and rhythmic tread
of a detachment of Boldiera. Aa yet the num-
bers of the force could not be ascertained,
but, to judge from the size of the cloud of
dast, it could not be inaigniflcnnt. Thua the
danger waa drawing nigh, valed, like a som-
bre Becrel, concealing in ita bosom destruction
and death. It was not till some time after-
ward that they distinctly perceived the whole
column moving hke a serpent amid the hi
and valicya, now disappearing amoug the
trees now emevin" again 'nto the plain. At
h h h h commander,

ujT d d h w ffi r* behind him

m d rtt h Ed d di ', the Saints
o Is ae h y ed h m cs. On te-

h d b as th nc a pious hymn,

and advanced as calmly aa though they were
about to go to church instead of making an
assault on a fortified place.

" I Buppoae," said Thomas, " the rascals in-
dulge the hope that they will carry the walls
of this caatle, like thoae of Jericho, by their
sanctimoniona noise. Would it cot be prudent
for UB to give them a more coi'rect opinion of
the situation by a well-aimed cannon-shot ? "

" We shall have time euough for that here-
after," replied his brother-in-law. " We must
save our powder; they are as yet too far from
the castle to fear our cannon-shots. But, not-
withstanding their singing, they are good men,
and their whole bearing indicates that they
arc brave and well-tried soldiers."

"Hold on," interrupted Thomaa, "the fel-
lows seem to be more polite than I thought
they were. By the Eternal 1 they are sending
to us a flag of truce, probably in order to sum-
mon us to surrender."

"Come, we will receive the bearer of the
flag of truce, and hear what he hna to say,"

After deacending from the tower, Sir Robert
Carhury met at the drawbridge a Pariiamen-
tary officer, who demanded an interview with
him. He called upon Carhury to surrender
the castle and submit uncond onallv o Pa
liaraent, when bia life, as we 1 aa tho of he
garrison, would be spared. "^ R be t de
olarcd that ho was a loja adh en of th
king, and that he would defend huns f to he
last drop of blood.

"Your blood be upon your own head, then,"
sdd the Puritan officer, spurring his horse.

The enemy immediately encamped, and dis-
played the same evening the utmoat activity.
On reconnoitring his position from the tower,
Sir Robert acquired the conviction that ho
had to deal with an adversary alike brave and
skflled in military operationa.

"We shall have a hard fight," he said to
Thomas. "Tho eoramander seema to be a
man who understands hia business."

" I know Mm, and am glad to have an op-
portunity to settle an old account with him.
This man, Overton, is sliU in my debt"

Tho approach of Ahee and tho chaplain
now gave another turn to the conversation.
She invited the men to supper, of which they
partook in a grave and solemn frame of mind.
Afterward Sir Robert posted the sentinels, and
urged them to l>e as vigilant as possible; he
himself did not go to bed, but remained awake
all night long, in order to be on hand for any
emergency that might arise. Alice stayed
ith her babe. Before falling asleep, ahe
clasped her hands, and prayed God to avert
the imminent danger.

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MAKRUGE OF THOMAS AKD lUCY— CAPTUKG OF THE OASTLE.

225

CHAPTER SXI.

The autumnal sun rose in golden radiance.
The mists which were floating lite airy veils
round the billa and mcadowa vanisheiJ, and
the landscape exhibited au aspect of n-ondroua
beauty. Nothing indicated that sasage war
was raging in these rural Bcenea. Every thing
was yet hushed; only the flocks of the departs
m n grato b d und d h w 1

n e- Ah had pp d h wmd nd
gazed up n

I h

h b h d
wh h k ■>

da k hntid -c ud h d d

yet m the heavens, and the morning -star
twinkled comfortingly to her. Profound si-
lence seemed to reign in the camp ; but loud
flourishea resounded suddenly, and in a few
moments the whole aeene was changed. Sol-
diers rushed from the tenta and formed in
line ; seahng-laddors aud faeeines for enabhng
the troops to climb the walla and Gil the
ditches were brought up. The column moved,
and advanced at the quick-step to within can-
non-range of the castle, shouting wildly, " The
sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" There
was a fearful pause of several minutes, during
which Alice heard nothing but the throbbing
of her own heart Meanwhile, Sir Kobert
Carbury was -at the head of the besieged. He
had likewise closely watched the operaijona
of the enemy, and awaited his approach on
the rampart. He now ordered bis men, in a
loud voice, to point the cannon and Ere at the
assailants. The nest moment the booming of
artillery shook the air, and Alice, ftom her
position, was able to oljserve the destructive
effects of the balls. Several of the Parlia-

mentary soldiers had fallen, and considerable
gaps were to be seen in their ranlca. The lal^
ter closed up again, and the assaulting column
advanced with the utmost firmness and in-
trepidity. The brave commander encouraged
his men incessantly, and by his words and ex-
ample immediately restored order in the ranks
of his soldiers. The besiegers were soon so
close to the castle as to bo entirely out of the
range of Sir Robert's artillery; they suffered
at the most only by the musketry of the gar-
rison, which, however, injured them but very
slightly. By means of the fascines which they
had brought along, they tried to approach the
ditch and the ramparts, and to gain the draw-
bridge, by which they hoped to penetrate into
the caaUe. Already the boldest had climbed
up, and were preparing to cut with their axes
the chains fastening the bridge, when it was
snddenly lowered, and Thomas, at the head of
fifty volunteers, rushed out and drove back
the surprised enemies. The foremost were
either killed or compelled to jump into the
ditch, in whose muddy waters they perished,
unless a bullet put a speedier end to their suf-
ferings. A terrible iiiilk took place in the
middle of the bridge; the enemies fought
hand to hand, and tried to push each other
into the ditch. Overton brought up reen-
foreeraenls, but they were likewise unable to
force an entrance into the castle. The Par-
liamentary troops had to yield to the impetu-
ous bravery of the besieged, and were com-
pelled to retreat. Murderous volleys of mus-
ketry from the ramparW of the castle pursued
the fugitives, and it was not until they were
close to their camp that Overton succeeded in
rallying his dispersed suldiers.

The first assault had been successfully re-
pulsed, and Alice thanked God for her hus-
band's victory. She hastened immediately
into the court-yard, where she met Sir Eobert
and Thomas, who had been slightly wounded
m. the hand-to-hand conflict. A handsome

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226

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

youth, who seeined to be his secvant, was en-
gaged in dressing his wound. Alice did nottit
once recognize her friend Lucj Henderson, mho
attended to the wounded, and took good care
not io look at her. But nhen she was about
to nithdcaw, and turned her face toward AUce,
the latter uttered a cry of surprise.

" Lucj ! " she eiclaimed, in dismay.

The poor girl dared neither to stay nor to
leave. A deep blush of shame suffused her
cheeks.

" Come with me," said Alice, who euapecled
that tbere was a secret at the bottom of this
strange disguise.

Lucy accompanied her friend to her room.
Amid a flood of tears she eonfeesed to Alice
her illicit Ioto for Thomas, her escape from old
Henderson's house, and all her adventures since
tha performance of "Comus" at ludlo'H'
Castle.

" I am unworthy," she said, at the conclu-
Eion of her narrative, " to be addressed by a
noble ladj like you. Ah 1 1 was filled with
shame and confusion on beholding yon; you
must consider me the vilest creature on earth."

"God forbid I "replied Alice, mildly. '"Jndge
not, that ye be not judged.' The Saviour for-
gave the greatest sinner, and how could I con-
demn you ? My brother ia at least as guilty as
yon are. I shall speak to him about you."

" Do BO, but do not drive me to despair. T
feel that I can never leave him."

"And yet it is necessary that you should.
But, above all things, you must doff your male
attire, and put on a costume becoming your

" I will do all, all that you ask ; only do not
tell me to leave Thomas."

" It is not I, but he, that is to decide what
is to be done. He toofe your honor from you \
he shall now restore it to you."

"WhatI Did I understand you right?"
asked Lucy, as if awaking from a dream, " Ko,
no, that is impossible. It can never be.

Thomas, your brother, become my husband ?
Tou forget that nether my birth nor my for-
tune entitles me to such a position."

Alice tried to qu ted g b h

was unable to prev n h h b d

and feet with kiss d h

Cicely, who assist d L an"i b

garb. The kind-he ed h d m hed

irtieles, wh h fi L y

itf

dhL

h d

and grave interview with him.

" You have to make amends for a grievous
wrong," she said to him. "It is your fault
that poor Lucy lost her honor. I know that
she loves you ; she has proved it to you by her
boundless devotion. It is for you now to re-
store honor and reputation to her. Your liai-
son must cease, and be converted into a more
sacred union."

Although Thomas fully shared the frivolous
views of life entertained by tie young cavaliers
of his age, ho was not bold enough to profess
such principles before his noble sister. The
virtue and purity of Alice filled him with pro-
found reverence, and in her presence he did
not venture to utter an unbecoming word or a
frivolous jest. Up to this moment Lucy had
not raised any such claims, and be did not by
any means look upon Ms union with her as an
illieit one. Such love-affairs were very com-
mon among the cavaliers of the time, and were
not only tolerated but encouraged in tiielr cir-
cles. Nevertheless, Alice's words seemed to
make a deep impression upon the light-hearted
young man. Perhaps the many touching
proofe of fervent love on Lucy's part were ex-
ercising a decisive influence over him at this
moment. He went to Lucy and held out his
band to her.

"The chaplain," said Alice, "is wiling for
you in the chapel, in oi'der to marry you this
very night."

Weeping, overcome at once by shame and

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MARRIAGE OF THOMAS AND LtTCT— CAPTURE OF THE CASTLE. 337

joy, Lucy sank inlo tie arma of the rirtaoua
ladj. Accompanied only by Sir Robert Car-
bury and his wife, who were present
ceremony as witnesses, the young couple stood
before the altar, where the pious chaploit
dressed ft few appropriats remarks to them,
Chen marrieil Ihem.
filled with an affection^orderirg
for her new sister-in-law. After the ceremony
was over, Alice kissed Lucy, but (his did not
satisfy the impetuous girl ; she threw herself
lit her feet, and kissed her hands, notnithatand-
ing Alice'a entreaties not to do so.

Meanwhile the siege took , its coiirse. The
troops of the Parliament had soon recovered
from their first defeat, and burned with the
desire of ayen^ng their disoomfiture as soon
as possible. Theyrequested their coinraaoder
Overton to order immediately another assault,
but he preferred to surround the castie more
closely, and starve the garrison into a surren-
der. For this parpose he posted all around
the castle detachments which rendered it im-
possible for Sir Robert to obtain supplies from
the Burroimding country. He also had heavy
artillery brought up, in order to breach the
walls, and then undertake another and more
snceesaful assault. What few supplies the
garrison had were soon exhausted, and ammu-
nition was also scureo. Sir Robert was under
the necessity of tearing all the lead and iron
from the roofs and windows, in order to make
balls and bullets. The enemy's artillery d^ly
made sad havoc ; the walls were soon in ruins,
and the castle itself had already been injnred
to some estent. The ranks of the garrison
were thinned, many of its soldiers having been
killed and wounded. Under these circmn-
stances, a council of war waa held, and the res-
olution taken to make a sortie in order to pro-
vision the castle, and, if possible, to compel
the Parliamcntaty troops to riuse the siege.

In the dead of night the intrepid garrison,
firirea to eitranity, left the eastle and ap-

proached the advanced line of the besiegers.
A soldier of the Parliament, who was about to
give the alarm, was slain by Thomas himself.
Already they were in the open field when they
met a strong picket, which attacked them. It
was not until now that they used their fire-
arms. The reports of thdr muskets aroused
the whole camp, and Overton himself hastened
up at the head of his troops, which he had
hastily formed in line. A desperate stru^lo
now ensued in the profound darkness, which
was broken only by the flashes of the muskets
and tho glittering of the swords. It was a
most savage and bloody hand-to-hand conflict
Friend and foe were scarcely able to disdn-
guish each other m the darkness of the night.
It was not until the moon rose and shed her
pale light on the scene that Overton asoertaiaed
the ins^ificant number of his adversaries.
They were soon hemmed in on all sides, and
nothing remained for them but to surrenderor
force a passage through the ranks of the ene-
my, which, at tho best, involved them in the
heaviest losses.

"Follow me 1 " shouted Thomas, courageous-
Iv. " Sell your lives as dearly as possible."

So saying, he rushed ujtrepidly at the iron
wall of the enemy, in order to break it ; hia
men followed him with desperate impetuosity.
But Overton opposed him with his veteran sol-
diers. Twice they crossed thdr blades, and
the old adversaries recognized each other in
the dim moonlight.

"Take this for Haywood Porest!" cried
Thomas, levelling at the Puritan's head a
powerful stroke, which Overton parried with
great skill.

Surrender I " shonted Overton. " The
Lord has delivered you a second time into my

"Stop your sanotimonions phrases, which
! me only with disgust ! "
They fought with cstrerae esasperation, and,
before, the two were surrounded by a circle

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIUEa

of men who, attracted by the cstraordinarj
scene, liad ceased fighting. Both adTerBacics
had already received sereral wounds, when Sir
Robert Carbury.who had vtunly tried to break
the line of the enemy at another point, ap-
proached them. He niehed Impetuously upon
the Puritans, and the struggte became general
again. In the niiUe now ensuing Thomas was
separated from Overton. The victory re-
mained long doubtful; the scales of success
inclining now to one side, now to the other.
Sir Robert performed prodigies of valor; sur-
roundu-d by his most faithful servants^ he suc-
ceeded again in opening a bloody passage
through tlie ranks of the enemy; but the
superior numbers of the lattor rendered it im-
possible for him to follow up the advantages
h had obtained here and there His force
WIS thmoei m<te and mon ^nd his !>rave
men sank mortally wounded at his feet,
tlcjer and closer became the net which he
va nly tned to biok Hithert ) he had i
oi,cd to keep hH bick free h) tttreating
small grove which wis covered by a shallow
ditch With his rear protected m this
ULr, he was able to resist the superior force of
the enemy for some time. Overton, however,
with his habitual penetration, had not
looked this natural bulwark; at Ms bidding,
a smill detachment of his soldiers forced a
passage, sword in hand, through the bushes.
The clash of the swords and the breaking of
the branches informed Sir Robert of this
and imminent danger. After a few minutes
the soldiers had removed all ohstructions, and
only the narrow dit h Berred him yet as a
warl which he reso ved to defend at any
The besiege s waded the ditch and rushed
up tho op 03 te bank which was only a few
feet h ^be Here thev met with a truly
peratc resist nee La bury profited by the
si ght ad an igea of Ins position, and, aided
by h s fa thful men hurled the soldiers,
thej vrere chmbmg up, again and agaia into

the ditch. The dilch filled with the corpses of
the sliun, which formed k natural bridge for the
living. They stepped over them to return to
the charge. All efforts of Sir Robert were in
vain; attacked both in front and rear, he was
unable to prolong the fight. After reasting
in the most heroic manner, he sank mortally
wounded to the ground. , But his fall was the
agnal of a atill more desperate struggle.
Thomas, who had pcredved from afar tho
danger menacing his brother-in-law, hastened
up with the remainder of his men to rescue
him from his perilous position. He came too
late to save him, but determined at least to
avenge his death. He attacked Overton and
his troops with furious impetuosity. His
grief added to his intrepidity, and the besi^ed
fought for tho same reason with redoubled
valor. The soldiers of the Parliament began
to give way, and Thomas succeeded in break-
ing their ranks and retreating with his men to
the castle, without being pursued by the en-
emy. He had Sic Robert's corpse conveyed
into the courlr^yard, where Alice met the mourn-
ful procession, and, uttering a piercing cry,
threw herself upon the bloody bier.

Notwithstanding her profound grief at the
terrible loss which had befellen her, Alice did
not lose her presence of mind , ■(he was de-
termined to cnry out the intentions of her
lamented husband, and defend the cattle as he
would have done Alter his remains bad been
interred in the famdy vaull^ hhe appeared in
her weeds befire the gainson which was now
commanded by Thomas Htr noble form
was wrapped m a blaek veil flowing to the
ground, and leaving liee only her pale face.
In her arms she cair cd her or[han ton, who
was playing unconcernedly with the dark rib-
bons on hei bosom Thus she addressed the
brave Uttle garrison and called upon them to
' redst tho Puritans with unfiinching courage.
Her aspect touched and fired the hearts of
these valiant men ; many an eye, which had

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MABRIAGE OF THOMAS AND LUOF— CAPTURE OF THE CA8TLK

BeMom or never wept, filled with tears. All
Bwote of thdr own accord to lire and die for

Despite Carbnry's death, the besiegers met,
as before, with im imeipectcdly vigorona re-
sistance. Accompanied by Lucy, Alice ap-
peared at all hours of the day among her faith-
ful defenders to fire their courage, and she
never failed to do so. Wherever the danger
seemed more imminent than anywhere else,
there sho was sure lo be found. Her whole
natxu'e bad undei^ne a sudden change.
Hitherto timid and retiring, she had all at once
become a heroine, avenging the death of her
husband and keeping the faith plighted to her
king. Uke the heroic women of antiquity,
she did not shrink from the terrors of war, the
clfieh of arnia, and the sight of the dead and
wounded. After sharing by day ail the dan-
gers of her men, she walked by night through
the halls to dress the wounds of the brave,
Sho herself underwent the greatest privations,
and as the lack of provisions became every
day more distressing, she willingly deprived
herself of her wonted fool and comforts. The
whole garrison, among whom there was not a
single deserter or traitor, displayed a fidelity
and pcrscveranee unheard of in this war.
Nevertheless, all efi'orta of the besieged were
unsuccessful. The artillery of the besiegers
had destroyed the larger port of the ramparts
and walla, and the garrison was unable to re-
pair the damages. Exasperated by this un-
expected delay, Overton resolved to venture
on another assault. At midnight, when the
garrison, overcome by the fatignes of the inces-
sant struggle, had fellen asleep, the Pariiatoen-
tary troops sealed the walls, and, before the
sentiaels were able to give the alarm, they

The ooutt-yard soon filled with soldiers,
who attacked the surprised garrison from all
quarters. But the besieged offered even now
the most desperate reastance. Thomas had

cing their ranks,
vea of humanity.

thrown himself with a number of detemuned
men into the tower ; there was also Alice with
her child. The brave men fired from the win-
dows at the enemy, and their bullets killed
yet many a soldier of Parliament. A detach-
ment of intrepid volunteers, armed with aies,
approached to break in the iron doors leading
into the tower. Several well-aimed volleys
of (he besieged, however, were sufficient to
dislodge them. Overton himself led his men
once more to the charge ; they no longer
listened to his orders, but gave way dismayed
at the shower of bullets thini
There remained only c
their commander, from
had hitherto reflised to resort ; but cow he
ordered his men to fetch pitch and torches to
set fire to the lower. Dense clouds of smoke
arose after a few minutes, and the greedy
flames, fed by straw and fagots, consumed the
worm-eaten timber with great rapidity. The
devouring conflagration rose from story to
story, and soon threatened to bam the gar-
rison. No escape seemed possible, and all
prepared to die in the ra^g sea of flames.

" It is better for us," said Thomas, at last,
" to fall sword in hand than to perish so miser-
ably in the fire. Let us, at least, sell onr lives
as dearly as possible."

His pmposition met with general approval.
Thomas then signed to hig men, who drew
back the bolls of the non door, and (he be-
sieged, now reduced to a very small number,
m?bed from the bnming tower. In their midst
were Lucy and Alice, who carried her son in
her arm'. The Parliamentary troops imme-
diately surrounded them. Escape was hardly
possible, but all the more desperate was the
struggle. Thomas succumbed to the odds of
the enemy, and was taken prisoner ; the same
fate befell such of his men as were not slain by
the OKasperated victors. The two women were
more fortunate. In the darkness and general
confusion they succeeded in effecting their

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230

JOHN MILTON AKD HIS TIMES.

escape without being pereeived by the infuri.
ftted soldiers. Alreadj Ihej bad reached a
amall gate leading to tbe park and the open
fields, wben the erica of the babe attracted the
attention of a soldier, who immediately pur-
sued them. It was no otliec tban Billv Green,
who, imitating the example of ma mil
adTcnturera, waa now seeking for I y anl
promotion in the Parliamentary arm aft h
patron Pym hod died, and his prof a^

spy and infonner was nft longer so 1
OS at the outset. He took good ca keep
out of danger, and walehed only for pp
tunity, after the fight was over, to fiU h
poekela witb the spoils that fell into th h d
of the victors. Such an opportuni y eem d
to haTC come for him now. Owi t th
bright glare of the burcing tower, ha discovered
the fleeing women immediately; and when he
had to deal with women ho woa always ex-
ceedingly brave. He had soon overtaken Alice
and seized her dress.

"Hallool" he shouted, "My sweet little
dove, you will not escape in this manner."

" For God's sake, let me go ! What do you
want of tae f "

" What a foolish questiou ! " laughed the
villain. " Tou wear on jour neck a, golden
ch^n which pleases me amazingly."

"Take it, then, and do not detain me any
longer,"

" There is also a little ring glittering on your
finger. I should like to get it for my sweet-

"It is my wedding-rii^," replied Alice,
mournfully.

" Let me see whether it is worth any thing,"
was his unfeeling reply.

Billy grasped her hand in order to draw
the ring from it. In doing so, be had ap-
proached BO close to her that she recognized
him aa the impudent OomuB of Haywood
Forest. He seemed to remember her like-

" Thunder and lightning!" he cried out.
" If I am not mistaken, I have caught o, pre-
cious little bird. You and your child must
accompany me. Give me the babe."

" I will die rather than do bo," replied Alice,
resolatelv, pressing her litUe son firmly to her
h mg bo m

\ f 1 J d B llj gruffl T

ar th 1 d f th astle, and my pns
D t m J th t I k w h

Al ly mpl ed h m t p h d

h h 11 Ah-ead B lly h d t h

hand t thbb hi fhm

hhdhhtlk oeht

ush d t b ill h th f, f

grj 1 B f h hi to p t

her, she bad snatched the pistol which he wore
in his broad belt.

"Stand back I" she shouted to him in a
thundering voice, "or, as sure aa there is a
God in heaven, I will instantly shoot you

Billy, seized with terror, staggered back a
few steps, and the livid pallor of cowardice
overspread his features ; but he was soon en-
couraged by the thought that he had to deal
only with a feeble woman. He left Alice and
turned to his new enemy.

"Stand back!" she shouted to him once
more, cocking the pistol

Whether the villain was ashamed of his
former eowardice, or was unpelled by the de-
sire of effecting an impori;ant capture, and
thereby securing a large reivard, he disre-
garded the threat, and put Ma hand on his
sword in order to intimidate Lucy and arrest
her and Alice; but before he was able to carry
his purpose into effect, Lucy aimed at him and
discharged the pistol, Billy Green fell wound-
ed, and shouted pileoualy for help. Before
any of his comrades had heard his cries, Lucy
had adzed the band of her aster-in-law and
fed with ber.

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CHAPTER XXII.

EXECUnON OF CHARLES I.— CROMWELL AND THE LEVELLERS. 231

had hitherto coimect«d the two hostUe parties
was broken. The discord between the Preabj.
teriana and Independents broke out ivlth un-
disguised fury. Both were mtensely jealous
of each other; the former preponderated in
the Parliament, the latter in the army. To
doprite their oppoaenfa of the support of the
army, the Presbyterians resolved to disband a
part of if, and send the remainder to Ireland,
where the rebellion was atill raging with una-
bated violenee. The soldiers, to whose valor
alone Parliament was indebted for its trinmph,
were extremely indignant at theao measures.
They beld AsXlj meetings of the most eicited
character in the camp, and appointed <xim-
mittees to mdntain the rights of the army.

Old Henderson, who exercised oonsiderabk
influence over his party, stood, a fen days
after the king had been delivered to the Eng- '
lish, in front of his teat, surrounded by a
number of soldiers who shared his opinions.
Some had Eibles in their Lands; others leaned
on the hilts of their long swords. Their stern
faces wore even graver than mual ftnitn,al
zeal reddened their cheeks, ind gleamed from
under their shaggy eyebrows They resembled
a eongr^ation of ecstatic worshippers rather
than a crowd of soldiers

"Israel, arm I' shouted the old Pnnlan
"Gird on thy sword and prepare for the
struggle with the heathens The Loid has
vouchsafed a great VLctory to the I on of Ju
dab, but the cowardly jacl^al is intent on de-
priving him of his well-de=ervLl rtward, and
robbing him of the spoda that belong to him
alone. While we were fighting the idle bab-
blers reposed in safety , whdo we were starv
ing, they revelled m wme while wl were
watching, they slept on soft cu^h ons Instead
of thanking us, they mock and revde the war
riors of the Lord. Woe, woe to them ! "

" Woe, woo to them 1 " murmured the sol-
diers, grasping the hilla of Ihelr swords in a
menacing manner.

HlSFORTlTHE after misfortune had befallen
the king ; his troops bail been routed, his ad-
herents were fleeing or iraprieoned ; he himself
was wandering about from place to place with
the demoralized remnants of his army. Thus
deserted by all the world, he listened at last
h m els of Montreville, the French am-
b d d repaired to the camp of the

1 H preferred to intrust himself to

h So h rather than hia English subjects —
d ubtless, partly on tbeic generosity,
p U he jealousy constantly previuling

n that he had been ni

k Th Scots sold the king for the si

h red thousand pounds to the Ei

h P ham nt. The Presbyterians, who wi

n h ascendant, seized the king, and a

usual duplicitv, he seemed to listen readily to
the terms and proposals of ParUament, while
he was secretly trying to be delivered from
their handh He thought the fanatical Inde-
pendents and the army would help him to re-
cover hi? liberty He hated the moderate
Preabytenani, who were in favor of a consti-
tutional monarLhy, far mora than the republi-
can Independents Defpotism always inelmes
more toward estreme democracy than toward
the constitutional friends of liberty.

No sooner wjs the struggle ended by the
capture of the king, than the last tie which

dbyGoogle

232

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

"Are we to be insulted with impunity f"
asked the fanatical speaker. " Are we to suf-
fer Item to deprive the mdustiious laborer of
his wages, and defraud him of Ihe fcuite of
his toils? ZephaDiah, tell vi3 your opinion,
for I know that jou are a, wise and prudent
soldier."

The soldier whom he thus addressed started
up, unsheathed his sword, brandished it in
the air, and then relapsed into his former
broodmg.

" I understand you," added Henderson.
" The Bword ia to derade between us and tbem,
between the victorious army and the ungrate-
ful Parliament."

Zephaniah contented himself with nodding
his head, to indicate that this waa his opinion.
Most of the other soldiers assented to it like-
wise. Only a cornet, named Joyce, made
another proposition.

" The time has not come yet," he said, " for
us to settle our aeeounls with Parliament. We
have to deal with a bad dehtor, and hence let
□s soze a pledge, that the reluctant debtor
may remain at our mercy. Such a pledge is
(he king, whom Parlianoent is guarding. He
who bas his person bas the power. I there-
fore advise you to start immediately for Holm
bj, and convey the king to the camp, either
by a stratagem or by mom force. Who is
more entiUed to Charles than the army which
vanquished hun ? To it belong rightfully all
advantages that may be derived from his pres-
ence; and if negotiations are to bo entered
upon n'th h'm, it is better that this should be
d na n h part of the army than on that of
P 1 m n

Th L d inspires you to speak thus ! "

lamed 11 Henderson. "Wo will not he^-

t, t t f 11 wvouradviee immediately. — Mount

your horses, soldiers ; and you, Comet Joyce,

Bhall be our leader."

Shortly afterward a detachment of soldiers,
headed by the fomet, set out for Holmby.

Toward midnight they arrived at that plaee,
and demanded to see the king. The commis-
sioners of Parliament were not a little sur-
prised, but they relied on the fidelity of their
soldiers who were guarding the king. Genera!
Browne and Colonel Graves, who were in com-
miyid of tbe troops, asked the comet for his
name, and what he wanted, before admitting

" I am Comet Joyce," he replied, boldly,
" and wish to see the kmg,"

"By whose order?" they inquired.

"By my own."

The officers laughed.

"Ton need not laugh," he said, very gravely.
" I have as good a right to see him its any one
in England."

The officers told him to^'emove hia soldiers,
and apply on the morrow to the eomraiasionars
of Parliament.

' I ne ther need your advice ' he rtphed
"norhavelto leal ivith the commi'Jsioner'J
but only with the kmg I will and inust see
him immediately '

Browne aLd Graves ordered their suldiers
to draw the r swordi, but thev had already
recognized some of thtir old eomiidef and
come to an underslani ng with them Instead
of obeymg their (ffiters, they themselves
opened the gate and welcomed the Puritan
soldiers After post ng sentinels in front of
the rooms of the commissioners, Joyce de-
manded, pistol in hand, an interview nith the
king. The four chamberlains informed Charles
of what had occurred, but the king refused to
see Joyce until the following day.

Early in the morning he admitted him.
Joyce came into his presence armed with pis-
tols, and told him that he must immediately
go along with him.

" Whither ? " said the king.

" To the army," replied Joyce.

"By what warrant? " asked the king.

Joyce pointed to tbe soldiers whom he had

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EXECUTION OP CKARLES I.— OROMWELL AND THE LEVELLERS. 233

brought along ; toll, handsome, and well a
coutred.

"Tone warrant," said Charles, amiling, "
written in feir characters, legible without spe

, who had been sum-
moned in the mean time, were compelled to
consent lo the king's removal, and resolved to
accompanfbim. Charles seemed not at all dis-
pleased with Joyce's mission. He had really
more confidence in the army than the Parlia-
ment; he hoped he would now ba able to enter
into direct connection with the commanders of
the troopa, and gain them over lo his side. In
the first place he was conveyed to Hampton
Court. His expectatiOTis seemed at first to he
verified. On the way to hia new place of con-
finement, he was allowed to embrace his chil-
dren, the Dukes of Tork and Gloncester, and
the Fiincess Elizabeth. The impressionable
populacewho witnessed this affecting interview
were deeply moved by it. They strewed flowers
and leaves at the feet of the royal family, and
even liis guards were so profoondly toached by
this tender scene that they gladly permitted
him to keep his children several days with him.
At Hampton Court he did not live by any means
as a prisoner ; he resided in the most snmptu-
■ous rooms of the magnificent palace, and was
attended by a numerous retinue. Bis adher-
ents flocked to him from all quarters, and
one was denied access to him.

Presbyterians and Independents, Parliament
and the army, every party and sect vied in
efforts to derive as much benefit as po
from the peculiar position of the king,
wished to come to an understanding with
Charles, and bring about his
throne on as favorable terms
he became the centre of the
interests and all sorts of intrigues ; he was
courted and flattered by the leaders of the par-
ties and the army. Members of Parliament,
generals, and

apartments of Hampton Court around the pei^
son of the fallen monarch, as formerly at
Whitehall, when Charles was still at the height
of his power. Wily mediators went to and
fpo; the king used for this purpose his confi-
dant Berkeley and his faithful adherent Ash-
bumham. Through them he negotiated now
with the Pariiament, now with the army, stir-
ring hopes m both, making promises, and hold-
ing out prospects of rewards. So great was
the charm of majesty, that, after having lost
all, it yet possessed enough to excite the am-
bition, cupidity, and vanity of the victors.
Eten tie shadow of this setting sun was yet
surrounded with seductive splendor and impoa-
ii^ grandeur.

Notwithstanding Ms downfall, Charles was
placed iu a more favorable posture than during
the war; but he did not know how to yield
little things in order to gain great ones. His
old obstinacy awoke again, and he deceived
himself again as to the extent of his power. In
hia inSituatioD he ascribed the position which
he owed to circumstances and to the mutual
jealousies of the hostile parlies, to hia own per-
son and his supposed innate and Heaven-given
royal majesty. His old duplicity and treachery
added to this infatuation ; he sought to over-
throw the Presbyterians by the Independents,
the Parliament by the army, and vite versa,
and get rid of one adversary by means of the
other. For this reason he listened to all par-
ties, and negotiated with all ; now with the
Scots, now with the English'; with the com-
missioners of Parliament, as well as the com-
manders of the army. At the head of the lat-
ter were Generals Fairfax and Cromwell. It
was chiefly with Cromwell and his son-in-law
Ireton that Charles entered inln clandestine
negotiations. He made Uromwell promises
brilliant enough to satisfy the ambition of the
Puritan general. It was owing perhaps to
Cromwell's dissatisfaction with Parliament that
he listened to them ; and yet he never ceased

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JOHN MILTON AHD HIS TIMES

to look with the greatest distruBt upon the
ting.

CromweU and Iiehta had learrted from
spy that the king was keeping up a oontinnous
corieiipondence nith the queen, nho hud fled
to France They had been mfurmed that
letter conceimag them was to be forwarded
from Hampton Court by a groom who had con-
cealed it in a saddle. Henrietta had reproached
her husband with negotiating with the " aeoun-
drels" Cromwell and Iret«n, and promising
them tillcB and orders. Charles's letter
tained IiIb reply, and it was now all-important
for the two generals to find out Lis [me opi

For this purpose they watched at midnight
at the gate of the palace for the departure of
the messenger. The groom, who did not sus-
pect that every thing had been betrayed, ap-
peared at the staled hour, bearing the saddle
on his head.

" Stand, villain ! " thundered Cromwell to

"What do you want of me?" asked the
groom, falhng on his knees.

" What do you bear on your head ? "

"A saddle, sir," replied the groom, trying
to look unconcerned. " It is nothing but an
old saddle which I am goir^ to lake to the
saddler who is to repair it."

"Atthiahourofthecisbtf Giv us

we will save you Ihe trouble."

"No, that would not do. I cann
have the saddle."

" You roust," cried Cromwell, att mp
take it from him.

" Help, help ! " shouted the groom, resisting

Before any one could hear him, Ireton had
drawn his sword and stabbed hun. The mes-
senger sank lo the ground without utiering a
groan. The generals hastened away with the
saddle ; they opened it, and found in it a let-
ter written by the king, containing the follow-
ing words : " Never feai. Tou may leave to

me the re fth n ti t I m f mil

ioT with th ualj n, and k p ly

what todmd h mta Ih

entered mt I t th h dr Is

Cromwell d Ir ly J t g

thcmov m df hrttm Im

far from km my p m ea ly d

instead f th d f th garte th hil
which they deserve awaits them so far as I am
concerned."

After reading these lines aloud, Iretfln burst
into imprecations against the king and his pei-
fidy. Cromwell remained calm ; only a wild
peal of laughter indicated his intense hatred.

"I believe," he added, gloomily, "that Ms
neck is in greater danger than ours. A traitor
falls by his own hands. He shall presently
tremble before the scoundrels."

After this event, a sudden change took
place in the treatment of the king; he was

and religious sect the so-tailed Levellers ha*
risen h rmy Th d ca d ij
IB b n prop rty h hu n f

d nk, a d p h

cth

h n
d h

and so did several supenor ofScers, such as the
well-known Colonel Harrison, who dreamed,
moreover, of a millennium, and a republic of
the saints. These fanatics uttered loud
threata against the khig, and said they would
seize his person. Charles had been warned
of their pbns, and this was the chief motive
of his flight.

He had succeeded in deceiving his guards
by means of a skilful disguise and escaping.

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EXECUTION OP CHARLES I.— CROMWELL AND THE LEVELLERS. 235

attended only by a faithf 1 ant. H was
presently joined by his ehaml 1 n_ B k 1 y
and Ashhumham, wbo, mf m 1 f ry
thing had been naiting f h m on th ad.
Chirlos himself was at a 1 wh t g At
first he thnugbt of cepainng to London and
mtcusting h raaetf to fh'e laty or the Parlia-
ment but thia Btep seemed too dangerous to
him'jelf then again be resolved to escape to
Jersey A^hbumham finally proposed to him
to go to the Isle of Wight, whose governor,
Himmonil an 61d friend of his, he said, would
surely befr end his majesty. The king was
well plea ed with this proposition, and dis-
patched his chamberlain to Hammond to as-
certain more about his sentiments. Hammond
professed great readiness to afford the king all
necessary proteclion, and promised to call
himself upon Charles and accompany him back
to the isle.

No sooner had Ashbumham returned, tban
Charles regretted what he bad done, and ex-
pressed fears as to the governor's fidelity.

" I am afraid," he said, " that Hammond
will betray me."

"If your majesty has no confidence in him,"
Kplied Ashbumbam, " you need not admit

" I have, moreover, dispatched Berkeley i
yonr absence to Southampton, to find a vesst
that can convey me to France, and look mc
mentarily for his return. What are we to di
when the governor comes ? "

" If your majesty deems it best, I will kil
him. I will conceal myself behind the curlwc
and shoot him as soon as you sign to me."

"We will see," replied Charles, with hi
usual irresolution;

Hammond came, and whs admitted. He a^
Bnred the king so solemnly of his fidelity ani
attachment, that Charles's apprehensions dif
appeared. Ashbumham waited in vain fo
the sign which had been agreed upon. Th
king did not ^ve it.

Charles embarked with the governor for the
Isle of Wight, and accoinpaoied hira to Caris-
brooke Castle, where he deemed himself per-
fectly safe. His fdthful attendants, Ashbum-
ham and Berkeley, did not leave him. Here,
too, his position at the outset seemed by no
means unfavorable. Both Parliament and the
Scots sent commissioneis to negotiate with
him. With the latter he concluded a secret
treaty, by nhich he recognized their rights,
while they themselves engaged to restore him
to his throne, if need be, sword m hand. He
sent his fwthful Berkeley to tlie generals of
the army, to renew his former negotiations with
them. As a matter of course, he met with a
very cool reception.

Meanwhile the religious and political &iiad-
cism of the Levellers had risen to such a pitch
as to endanger the discipline of the army.
Cromwell, with his wonted sagacity, penetrated
the pernicious consettuences of tins mutinous
spirit, which he himself had at first encouraged.
He issued a proclamation forbidding his sol-
diers to hold meetings and present petitions.
Nevertheless, the Levefiecs met secretly, and
several regiments openly mutinied.

"We must make a severe example of them,"
he said to Ireton. " This mutinous spirit is
spreading rapidly, and the Levellers will ruin
the commonwealth."

" Are they not our friends ? " asked bis son-
in-law, wonderingly. " Did they not drive the
king to the Isle of Wight, where he can no
iot^^er escape us, and intimidate Parliament ? "

"rrieuds may become burdensome to as,
and do us more harm than good. We must
no longer look on idly; uthenvise this spirit
of rebellion will involve us in general ruin.
These saints injure the good cause, and turn
the quiet cidzens against us. They advocate
a distribution of property, and abolition of afi.
distincdons of rank. I do not intend to divide
my property with them, nor tfl give up an lota
of mj vested rights."

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236

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

" What ore you going to do ttith them ? "

" I will enish them before tliey are stcong
eoongh to resist me! Go, ItetoG, and have
the anny formed in line for a review.''

The army drew up in an open field. Crom-
well soon appeared, attended by all the gen-
erals and staff-officers. With his usual tran-
quillity and impenetrable face, be rode down
the line and stopped in front of the mutinoua
re^ments. He kuew tlie ringleaders, and or-
<)ered them to step fornatd. Among Hiem
was old Henderaon.

" Seize them ! " Be ordered, in a loud voice.

The eleven men were instantly surrounded
and given intj> custody. He summoned a
council of war, which passed sentence of death
upon the mutineers.

Cromwell approached them, and fixed his
piercing eyes upon tliem, Hia gaze fell upon
the Puritan, liis former friend, but he feigned
not to reoogdize bim. After looking at them
for a Ume, he pointed out two of the most
violent Levellers.

"Take them and execute them," he said, in

Both were compelled to kneel do«n, acd
were shot in the presence of the whole armj.
No one dared to murmur; a salutary terror
spread through the rtaiks. The other prisoners
eipected that they would be executed like
wise. Henderaon was the first of them ; he
was calm and composed. Already the mus-
kets had been reloaded, and the sentence was
about to be carried into effect; already the
intrepid Puritan had knelt down to pray, when
Cromwell waved his hand.

"It is sufBcienI," he said, with a peculiar
sraile. " Let this day be a warning to all. I
tolerate no disobedience among my soldiers."

The army marched in silence and deep emo-
tion past the general, whose enei'gy and cour-
age had thus stifled the mutiny and restored
discipline araoQg his soldiers. Old Henderson
only remained infleiiWe, and his former al^

taehment to Cromwell turned into a mortal
hatred.

Shortly after this domestic triumph Crom.
well was obliged to lead the army against a
foreign foe. An insurrection had broken out
in Scotland in favor of King Charira, and his
partisans rose also in several parts of Eng-
land, and partioularly in South Wales. The
general suppressed these risings in favor of
the unJbrtunate king with his wonted bravery
and sagacity. All these events added to the
dangers menadcg Charles. Cremwell became
more and more satisfied that nothing but a
bold Btroke would restore order. Both he and
his friends resolved to sacrifice the king, and
abohah the royal throne. In Parliament, too,
there were many who deemed this the most
prudent course. People were tired of negotia-
ting with Charles, whose duplicity had disgusted
and csBSperated all parties.

Governor Hammond, with whom Cromwell
corresponded, received orders to deliver the
king to Colonel Cobbett, who was instructed to
convey hua firat to Hurst, and thence to Lon-
don. On the road, Colonel Harrison, the fa-
natical champion of the millennium. Joined the
escort. It was not till he beheld the dreaded
fanatic, that CliarleB lost the serene indiffeN
encc which he had eihibited up to this time.
However the colonel treated the kmg with
soldi rlv pohtenesa and hia blunt though
frank condnct a d bear ng gradually inspired
him n th c )nfideni.e He took his arm and
conversed a lonj, t mo with h m

"I have been told," said. Charles, "thatyou
intend to assassinate me,"

" Your majesty has been misinformed," re-
plied the colonel. " I may justly repeat what
I have said so often, that the laws protect
everybody, the noble and the lowly, the rich
and the poor ; and that justice must be done
without regard to persons."

Tbe king seemed offended by his frankness,
and broke off the conversation after a while.

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EXECUTION OF CHABLE3 I.— OEOilWELL AND THE LEVELLEKS. 237

"Mark, child, what I Kay," he added.
They will cut off my head, and perhaps
lake tbee a king. But mark what 1 say,
]ou niust not be a king, as long as thy broth-
ra Charles and James are alive. They will
nl off thy brothers' heads when they can
oateh them ; and thy head too they trill cut
off at lasL And therefore, I charge thee, do
not be made a king by them."

" I will be torn in pieces first," replied the
boy. So determined an answer, from one of
such tender years, filled the king's eyes with
tears of joy and admiration.

On the morning of his execution, Charles
rose early, and prayed in the presence of Her-
bert, his faithful servant, and Bishop Juson,
whom the Parliament had allowed to assist
him in his deyotions. The king then walked
to the scaffold, where he uttered only a few
words, justifying bis conduct, and forpving hia
nenu s When h was prep r n" h mself in
th block B s op Juion called to m
The e = e I ut one stage mo e wh eh
though turbulent and trouble ome yet a
y y short one Cons der n 1 oon irrv
you a great wav t will ca tt jou f om ea th
to heaven; and there you shall find, to your
great joy, the prize to which you hasten, a
crown of glory."

" I go," replied the king, calmly, " from a
comiptiblo to an incorruptible crown, where
CO disturbance can have place."

He himself gave the signal of death by mov-
ing his hand.

A roan in a black visor performed the office
of tsecutionir At one blowwis the kings
1i ai leierel from his body At the "ame
moment the asicmbled apeclators burst into
deafening shouts which indn,ited perhaps
more lompission than approval

The eitcuiioner held up to the speitatora
the held streaming with blood, ind cried
alo d Thia is the head of a traitor '

Ho sooner had Charles reached London, than
the Parliament preferred charges against him.
The trial of the king took place at Westmin-
ster Hall. The court conasted of one hun-
dred and thirty-three members, among whom
were Cromwell, Ireton, and Harrison.

The charges were read, and the king was
called upon to defend himself. He did so with
dignity and tnoderalion, but without actnowl-
ed^ng the competence of the court. Above
alt things, he appealed to his inviolability as
king, who, according to the English constitu-
tion, could do no wrong, and therefore could
not be punished. His appeals, however, were
unsueeessfuL The court was determined to
convict him, and sentence of death was passed
upon him.

Three days were allowed the king between
his sentence and his execution. All Ihe steps
taken by his friends and relatives in his behalf
proved utterij fruitless. The people
different, and manifested ndther !ovi
tred of hi

fence of

e intimidated, perhaps
troops in Lon

don. Charles passed this interval with great
tranquillitv, chiefly in reading and devotion
All h f mily that remained in England were
II ed ss to him. They consisted only
f th P esa Elizabeth and the Duke of
Gl t all the others had made thdr es-
p Ch les comforted and exhorted them,
anil tenderly embraced his weeping daughter.

"Tell your mother," eselaimed the unfortu-
nate king, " that during the whole course of
my life I have never once, even in thought,
failed in my fidelity toward "her, and that my
conjugal tenderness and my life shall have
equal duration."

To the young duke, whom ho held on
knee," he said; "Now they will out off thy
father's head."

At these words, the child looked very stead-
fastly upon him.

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BOOK III.

Milton had hitherto taken little or no direct
part in public affaire ; he lived mostly in quiet
retirement^ engrossed with the education of
his pupila. It was not until the king had been
eiecut«d that he waa aroused from his traa-
quillity. He had joined the Independenta al-
most against hia will, as his former political
friends seemed to piofit bj their victory onlj

so ardently devoted. Once a member of the
extreme partv, he iKd not shrink from any
of the eonseqnencca of ita principles. The
bloody deed had been perpetrated; the people
bad availed themselves of Ihdr power, and
killed Charles. But, as usual, death proved a
great conciliator ; the melancholy end of tbe
unfortunate monarcli caused the public to for-
get Ilia faults, and the fickle multitude pitied
him almost as much aa it had formerly hated
him. It was all-important now to enlighten
public opinion and give it a definite direction,
fis the VBCillating sentiments and feeUnga, and
pass a calm judgment amid the storm of paa-
^ons. Milton took upon himself this aiduons
task, which might involve him in the greatest
perils, without hesitation, without prospect of
rewards or thanks, solely guided by his love
of liberty.

A gloomy silence had succeeded the intense
escitement of the nation, which now stood
aghast at its own power and boldness. No one
ventured to raise his voice and defend the exe-
cution of King Charles. So great was theawe
inspkod even by dead majesty, that the men
who were now at the helm of government en-
joyed tbe fruits and divided the spoils of their
victory in silence.

Milton entered, without hatred of tho king
or of tbe monarchical system, upon an esami-
nation of the great problem of popular aover-
eignty, which he tried to solve with the dia-
paasionate calmnesa of a phiioaophec. It waa
not till hie adversaries, among whom the cele-
brated Lejdcn professor Salmasiua played the
most prominent part, overwhelmed hum with
tho vileat invectives, that Milton retorted with
a warmth which embittered all hia later years.
The success of his political pamphlets was as
great as it was unexpeoteil. The attention of
the council of state, which was intrusted with
the administration of the country, waa called
tJD the learned aud enthuaiaatio lover of liberty,
and it appointed Milton foreign or Latin sec-
retary. In this capacity be wrote the corre-
spondence of the new republic in Latin, which,
ance the peace of Westphalia, had become the
language of the courla. In this manner be be-
came acquainted with the leading men of the
country, and Cromwell, who was already at the

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MILTON iJO) DAVENANT— LADY ALICE'S DIARY.

head of the administration, waa on intimate
terms with Milton.

A short timeafterMillon had been appoiEted
to his new office, the witty poet Davenont
threatened with death. He had accompanied
his patroness Queen Henrietta, during hec
fl ght to Trance At her request he had
returned to England to ejtabl ah
In favor of the eoled hereditart pr nee with
the diacootented royalihts Hi'
were bLtrayed to Ciomwell, who bad
retted and examined hini person illv
m^ the plana of h s idicrJanes The general
approiched the pneoiier with a quick "tep

nd threatened to pierte him with hia kitn
tic ^ otmthstandmg his dangerous pred ca
rnent the 1 nht-heacted poet had not lo t his

Id humor

lou are a lelf uonvicte i irailor said
i. jmncll in i tttrn voice ' and shall not
eiLjpe jour fale I shall 1 ave jou han,, to

You need not be in a hurry about it I
am free to confess that I should like to wait a
few years vet."

"Leave jour jests, and prepare rather to die
Kke a Christian."

"I have always been a good Christian, and
am not afraid of death."

" A good Christian ! Do you suppose, Uien,
that I do not know you ? Did yoa not write
all tho lasdvious farces and masks that were
performed at the court of Charles Stuart with
such extravagant pomp and splendof ? You
deserve the halter for the hfe which you have

iOrld were to be pun-
ished according to his deserts, all the halters
in England would be .insufficient."

"Enough said I " cried Cromwell, sternly.
"1 will send jou my chaplain."

"For God's sake, dou'tl I hale nothing
more intensely than water and priests. If you
will do mo a favor, send me a bottle of wine;

itwiU comfort memuch better than your chap.

Cromwell turned angrily from the incor-
rigible jester, and ordered tho guard to take
him away. On entering the anteroom, the
doomed poet met Milton, with whom he had
been slightly acquainted in former times.

" Davenant ! " eselaimed Milton, in surprise.
" Where are you going ? "

" Where aU go sooner or later— to death."

" Yon are under sentence of death ? And

'' On aeconnt of my devotion to the qneen.

I have shared the days of her prosperity, and

therefore could not forsake her in the days of

her adveraty; she fed me with her bread, and

therefore I will ^ve np my life for her. It is

true, I have never paid my debts, but I am at

least going to discharge this one."

" You must not, shall not die."

"Do not take any trouble (o save me; I

know that all will be in vain, Cromwell has

pronounced my doom, and I look upon myself

already as a c

me once more ; perhaps w

in a better life, where ther

and cavaliers, no soldiers a:

you the truth, I am not afraid of death ; but I

am sorry to leave the farce of human life at ao

early a stage. Ishould not have eipected this

tragic deiiouemail."

" I shall do all I can to save you."

"Accept my thanks for your kindness,

which I appreciate very highly. Give me your

, dear Milton 1 I always considered you

>d-hcarted, generous man. You are only

swhat too pious, and too zealous a lover

of liberty. Believe me, it will result in noth-

ing. The pcopleespel one tyrant to esehange

for another who is a great deai worse ;

and the same thing is the case with religion.

We men, like you and me,' should not

le with such trifles at all. Do not be

at this ; I hick taste for such things, buC

Shake hands with

10 Puritans
»nd priests. To tell

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240

JOHN MILTON" AND HIS TIMES.

I really do not see why two sensible men
should hate and persecute each other because
they differ on certiuu points."

Milton shook bands with the poel, and
promised to obtain a pardon for him ftom the
general He found Cromwell in a gloomy
frame of mind. The joung repubhc was at
this juncture threatened from all quarters ;
ioreign and domestic Lnemies united to over-
throw it avil war waa stJl riging in Ire-
land, and Cromwell a pccsem-e thett wna ur-
gently dLmanded The StOts had cilled the
son of Cnarks I, Charlei II , and conRrred
the crown of hig father upon him, though on
very ngotoua conditions. The Lerellers had
been Intimidated, but not crushed ; they were
again lii open rebellion, and threatened Ut sub.
vert law, order, and soiaety. Add to all this
the intrigues of the partisans of the late king,
rfug into new plots.
t frowning in front of a map,
an of a new campidgn, by which
,0 annihilate all
e he gave a
around distrustfully. On
* however, he kindly held out

" It is joa, Mr. Secretary," be said, with
winning smile.

" I bring you the letters to th
public, and to Cardinal Mozarin."

" Put them on the table, and be seated. I
wish to speak to jou. Tou arc an honest and
pious man, in whom I may confide. Many
others are not at all like you. The Lord has
laid a heavy burden upon me."

"Ho knows what He does. To the strongest
shoulders He intrusts the heaviest burdens.
You are the only man capable of saving the

" I thank jou for yoitt good opinion, and
would like to do something for jou.
have acquired some influence, every
whelms me with requests and demands ; joa
alone bave not jet opened your mouth.

I may hope the more, then, that you will

rgect mj prayer to-day."

Tell me frankly what jou want of me."

I ask of jon the life of a man whom jou
have just sent back to bis prison."

" What I " said Cromwell, wonderingly,
"you ask me to pardon Davenant, that in-
famous sinner? Do jcu know what he is
chained with ? "

le has remained fmthful to his queen, and

) the ci

lea

■a him m

devising tl
he intended t(
Milton's I

t, and boked

is hand tc

le Dutch Eo-

highly for this thau many aji apostate who has
Buddenlj turned republican, whether from fear
or self-interest."

"Bahl We must not judge our political
friends too scrupulously.. I know there are a
great manj rogues and hypocrites among us ;
but thej do far less harm than the wrong-
headed, stubborn, honest men. If I am not
mistaken, jour friend Overton is one of the
latter. He and John Lilbum give me more
trouble than the royalists. Give jour friend
Overton a hint to beware of me. I know that
sympathizes with the Levellei's and rebels
in the armj."

"You assuredly do him injustice. It is
true, he is an ardent enthusiast, but I do not
believe that he shares the views of the Level-
lers and, hko them, is bent on subverting law,
order, and sodetj. He loves Uberty and the
republic. This is certainly no crime ailer the
royal government has been abolished."

"Ofeourse not," said Cromwell, mildly. "A
republican government is certainly a nice
thing, provided it be understood correctly.
Fools deem it a field where they maj gratify
their Ucentiousness ; but wise men consider it
a form of government like any other. But if
I am not mistaken, we were speaking of Dav-

" And I repeat my former request."
"He docs not deserve to be pardoned. He
is a miserable playwright, an unmoral scape-

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MILTON ASD DAVENANT— LADY ALICE'S DUKY.

f'For that reaaon lie is the more harmless
* is talented, and I ahoold greatly tegtet i

o warmlj in his behalf,
let him iieep it, although I cannot comprehend

"He is a poet for all that, and as such at
least he is entitled to my sympathy,
divino poeay wherever I find it, and for the
sake of the precious eonfenta I would like to
preserve the vessel, even though it should con-
sist partly of base metal and be disfigured by
many reals and holes."

" Well, I believe you are right," said Crom-
well, with a sudden burst of mirth. "Dav-
enant i^ a broken jar with many rents and
holes, ilc has one hole which ia very large,
and his nose is gone."

The geceral then reamned hia former dig-
nified tone, and drew up the pardon for which
Milton had applied.

"Go," he said, Idadly, "and inform Mm
personally that I consent to release him ; but
if he should enter again mlo a political con-
spiracy, nothing would Save his head. I do
not care if he writes farces and masks, but
tell him to beware of meddling with pohtics.
That is a dangerous, very dangerous game for
such inexperienced hands."

So saying, the gentral dismissed Milton.
He repaired immediately to the prison of
Davenaot, whom be found engrossed with a
bottle of wine.

"I bring you your pardon," he said.

"Do you, indeed? Well, God Mess you for
what you have done for me I You see that I
was already preparing for death. Wine ia the
best confessor and moat effideut comforter.
Nevertheless, I was uuable to get rid of a
somewhat unpleasant feelmg. I must eonfesa
tliat I am a little ticklish, and when imagining
a halter round my nect, I feel a very peculiar
itching. You have reheved me of this nn-

241

pleasant feeling, and I shall always be grateful
to you for it. There may soon be an opportu-
nity for me to prove my gratitude, for, to tell
you the truth, I have very little confidence in
this republic of the sdnts. The people feel at
ease only when they have a master ruling over
them. If hia name is not Charles, it will be
Cromwell. The general looks very much like
a man who would not pass a crown if he
should find it ui his path."

"You misjudge Cromwell; his whole en-
deavor is to put an end to the civil war, and
render England great and happy."

" I have no doubt of It ; he will fatten the
goose before killing it. But I do not want to
eiaaperate you. You are an innocent, honest
man, a genuine poet filled with illusions, and
always seeking for some object of your enthu-

siastic admiration, I ai

L precisely hke you in

this respect. We shall always be the fools of
our enthusiasm, and fool others thereby. Pace-
well, my esoellent friend in need."

"Where are you going now?"

"To my old mother, who ia still keeping
tavern and entertaining drinkers of all confes-
aions. I shall await there quietly the end of
your republic, write farces, and soon compose
a coronation hymn for Charles II."

Daveoant drank another glass of wine and
left hi? prison with that tymcal m hfference
whi(h i ad bLCome hah tual to him Mdton
accompin ed him a short diatanee and then
reiurued to his hou'e He found theie his

end Overton who had been eipettinj; hun
r some time. Tlie major was about to start
for the arm.T in Scotland.

Before departing "foe the army," he said,
after greeting Milton cordiaUy, "I wished to

" Where have you been so long ? " asked
Milton, kindly.

" Now hero, now there, wherever the events
of the war led me ; to-day in the south, to-
morrow in the north. A aoldicc is always on

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2i2

JOHN MILTON AND H13 TIMEa

the Bing, and it may be a long while jet be-
lore I sliall be able to take repose."

" You seem to long for it."

" To tell you the truth, I am tired of this
I'ough life. You know that I prefer sdeoee
and the muaea to anj thing else. War, how-
ever just the cause for which it is waged, is
always a very melancholy business. I have re-
cently seen all ilB horrors in Wales."

" In Wales ? " aaked Milton, eagerly.

" I have fought there many a hard fight, and
destroyed many a fine castle. It is true, lonly
did my duty, but I did it with a Heeding heart.
The most painful duty imposed upon me was
the destruction of Golden Grove. The garrison
defended tho caalle with the most heroic intre-
pidity, and after the proprietor had fallen, his
wife offered us a most uneipeeted re^stance.
I should have liked to spare her, bat it was be-
yond roypower. Nothing remaincdformebut
to take the castle by storm. On this melan-
choly occasion I discovered accidentjdiy that
the distinguished lady must have formerly been
on irtiinale terms with jou."

" Her name waa AHee Carbury," said Mil-
ton, deeply moved.

" Alice Carbury. Carbury was the name of
her husband, and she herself was the daughter
of the Earl of Bridgewater, formerly Lord Pres-
ident of Wales. I penetrated into the castle
and passed several days there. The rooms of
the lady had been ransacked ; my soldiers had
destroyed the furniture, torn off the hanging?,
aud broken open the cabinets. This diary,
which I found there, attracted my attention. I
opened it, and saw your name on almost every
page ; this eicited my curiosity, and I kept it
in order to give it to you."

" But what became of the lady ? " inqnired
the poet, anxiously.

"Unfortanatelj, I am unable to give you
any satisfactory hiformation on this point
tbon^ all that I ascertained about it leads me
to the beUef that she succeeded in makiog her

escape. One of my men, a cowardly vagabond,
asserted that he had seen her, and had even
been wounded by her female companion on at-
tempting to arrest them, I did not make any
further inquiries concemins them, and, from
regard for you, desisted from pursuing them,
should be very glad if the lady succeeded in
making her escape. I will let you keep the
diary, aa it may bo exceedingly interesting for

[ton received with profound eraotioo at
the hands of his friend the pages which re-
ed him of the noble lady, and of bis own
youth. He thanked him by informing himof
Cromwell's warning.

" I know that he is not partial to me," s^d
Overton, with a sombre smDe. " He is jealous
of my influence, and afraid of the frankness
with which I criticise his measures. I am a
republican, and consider a republic our only
salvation. According to his habit, the general
tried to ascertain my opinions, and I did not
conceal them from him."

" But you do not believe that he intends to
restore the monarchy and recall the Stuarts ? "
"lie will assuredly not recall the Stuarts,
but I should not like to pledge my word that
he docs not intend to convert our present gov-
ernment again into a monarchy. The genera]
seems intent on becoming the tyrant of Eng-
land ; but before he is able to attain his ends,
I and my comrades will oppose him and frus-
trate his plans."

So saying, Overton took leave of Milton.
The poet held in his hands the diarv, tlie first
trati. of hia beloved fnend with which he had
met atlcr so many yeari A ftel n,. ot ane
prevented him from opening it in mediately,
and he hesitated whether he had a right to
penetrate into the secrets of thiu n tie female
heart. At last, it was not his cunosity that
triumphed, but the tender iuterest which he
took in Lady Alice's fate. In reading the
diary, ho felt anew that he once possessed and

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LADY ALICE IN lOKDON— MILTON AND SAIMASIUS.

243

forfeited in ber the supreme happincsa of bis
life. What purity of heart, what innocence
and cultivation of mind met him in lier every
line ! He followed, with profound emotion, the
noble woman's straggle between duty and love,
until at last her heart turned entirelj to her
husband, and felt for Milton only a pmified
friendship, the sweet Ihougli melancholy mem-
ories of a blissful past^ Every word ho read
bore witness io bep noble heart, her profound
mind, and her simple and gentle faith.

Milton was seized with the deepest grief, and
his tears moistened the precious leaves, the
only token of the fair frienii of hie youth, the
only woman wiiora he had truly loved. Ho
thought of her with moumfnl longing, and a
deep sigh escaped his breast.

CIIAPTEE II.

One day when M Itun icco 1 ni; to h s
habit, was tak n^a wilk in the nvirons of
London, he beheld two women and i child;
they were plainly almost poorly dressed and
hotly pursued by a man who was about to
overtake them. Thej tried to accelerate their
atepi, but the pursuer was already so close to
them that he needed only to Gtretch out his
hand in order to catch them, when one of tbe
women uttered a loud cry.

" Save us ! " she cried, in an anrions Toice,
which seemed well known to Milton.

Meanwhile the man had also come np.

"What do you want of these women?"
asked the poeL

" Is that any of your bu^nessf I need not
give you an account of what I am doing.
These women must follow rae ; I arrest them
Si the name of the commonwealth,"

" And by what right f "

" Thej are traitresses, for I have recognized
them despita their disguise, Thej know me
too, and that not to-day for the first tune.
Many a year has elapsed since we first met in
Haywood Forest Is it not so, Lady Alice ? "

On hearing this name, Milton trembled with
joyous surprise.

"These two ladies are under my protec-
tion," he said, with dignified firmness. "I
will be their bondsman, and that you may
know who I am, I will mention my name and
official position."

" That is unnecessary," replied Billy Green,
with his wonted impudencp, " We are old
acquaintances, Mr, Milton, and I hope to meet
you and jour />to(^^^s before long."

So sajing, the vngahond left them.

The meeting of Milton and the lady he had
loved so dearly was highly affecting. Alice's
eyes filled with tears when ahe held out her
hand to him.

"Little did I think that such a meeting was
in store for no " she said profoundly moved
"lam
ofScers oe na

Tower, an m

tion. L m

this chil ol ed

mjself to m

" I deeply deplore the moumfhl fate which
has befallen jou, and of which I have not re-
mained wholly ignorant. I hope, however, io
be ahlo to alleviate your sufferings, as Itave
influential friends, and I mjself am now hold-
ing an office in which I may bo useful to you,
For the present, pray accompany me to my
house, where you shall stay until I have pro-
vided a safe aajlum for you."

Milton succeeded by his influence in ob-
taining a pardon for Alice ; and she was al.
lowed to reman in London, as no danger was
apprehended .from a woman. Even a portion

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244

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

of ber fortune was restored to her, so tbat
alie WB3 euffioiently, protected ' fram want.
Luey, however, was nnable to obtain a pardon
for ber husband. Thomas remained impris-
oned in the Tower, and a delay of hia exeou-
tiou wns all that Milton could obtain by his
interccasion in his behnlf. Alice passed her
days henceforth in quiet relircmcnt, mourning
her heroic husband, and devoting herself es-
oluaively to the education of her child. The
only friend with whom she held intercom'se
was Milton, whom she now calmly saw coming
and going. Notwithstanding their political
and religious differences, she was still affec-
tionately attached to him. Without timidly
aroiding an exchange of their views, both took
pains to meet on the neutral ground of art and
poetry rather than in the arena of the wild
straggle of parties. Each *espcctcd the
othei''s convictions; tto royalist and the re-
publican exercised mutual forhearonce, a mild
toleration. So far as Milton was concerned,
this intercourse eierted an eslraordjnary influ-
ence over bis creative power as a poet, for
Alice sought altnost insenably to lead him

back to his original vocati
his political labors were at
the sublime task Nature h

" You

; yet to

n. In her eyes
aberration from
.d imposed upon

]her to the World,

■e work," said she once, half
seriously, half jestingly. " But since you have
been appointed foreign secretary t(f the Coun-
d! of State, joa have bidden farewell to the

"You are mistaten, dear friend. Notwith-
standing my manifold occupations, I do not
Sack leisure to think at least of divine poetry.
I have conceived a great many plans; but I
have not yet made up my mind whether to
imitate the example of Shakespeare, or follow
the sublime models of Horoer, Tirgil, and
Tasso. I have already elaborated in my head
several tragedies, the subjecta of which I took

from English history and from the Bible. Up
to this time I have not felt incUned to write
them, because I shrank from being compared
with that immortal genius. For this reaEon I
really prefer an epic, with which I have been
engrossed for some time past."

" Would you inform me of the subject of
this poem ? Pardon my curiosity, to wbich 1
may assuredly gire the nobler name of sincere
sympathy."

"I will not conceal any thing from you.
Durmg my sojourn in Italy several years ago,
I attended at Florence the performance of a
play which, despite many imperfections and
faults, made a deep unpression upon me. The
subject waa the fall of man. I was powerfully
struck at the time with the simple grandeur
of that revelation. The subject seemed lo me '
Bubjime, and worthy to claim the earnest ef-
forts of a poetical mind, and it gave rise to
m ptions in my imagination.

I w w of Paradise, that garden of

d w h m gnificcnt trees and golden
ra w h agrant flowers and shady

g Th d Adam and Eve in undis-

bed p e, p re innocence, until the ser-
pent came and beguiled Eve to cat of the
fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and
evil. Thus Adam and his guilty wife were
driven oat of Paradise; death and sin clung
lo the heels of the sinners. Tho history both
of mankind and of every individual is con-
tained in that sacred tradition. Is not an-
other Adam born in every man, and another
Eve in every woman ? Have we not all a
lost paradise to weep over ? " .

"Entitle your epic 'Paradise Lost,'" said
Alice, with a mournful smile. " You are right.
Who has not a lost paradise to weep over?
The innocence of childhood; the dreams of
youth ; our hopes and expectations, which are
so oflen disappointed ; the enthusiasm and
ardor which prematurely succumb to stem
reality ; the still and calm peace, which is

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LADY ALICE IN LONDON— MILTON AND SALMASma

2i5

drowned by the noisy clash of arms; the lofty
faith, which doubts and sneers try to undet-
mine; lore, mith. its divine transports, which
pass away so swiftly; our most bcautifbl
ideals: all are the lost paradise!] of poor fau-
maoitj."

" But, above all tbmgs," replied Milton, '' I
intend lo give promineoce to the great and
eternal struggles between tbe good and evil
powers, between heaven and hell. Before my
eyes stands the form of the follen angel, who
rebelled, ftrst of all, against the Creator; I be-
hold him, still tieautifnl, with hypocritical fea-
tures and seductive form, not denying his di-
vine origin even after his foil. Again and
again he rises against the sway of the Eternal ;
and again and again he must acknowledge bis
impotence, for heaven and its angels always
triumph over him."

The poet thus laid the outlines of his im-
mortal epic before Alice, who listened to him
in an ecstasy of delight; and he left her with
the promise to carry out bis plan as soon as

possible; but the time for him ti
not yet come.

Soon afterward, 5
Council of State a mi

ohad

on received from the
in with which he was
obliged to comply. A few days after -the
kmg's eiecution, there had been published in
England a book entitled " Eikon Basilike," or
"The Portraiture of His Most Sacred Ma-
jesty." It was ascribed to Charles L, and
contained the feelings, sentimeutg, meditations,
impressioiK, and stru^les, in short, (he whole
soul of the unfortunate monarch, and a his-
. fory of hia eufferinga and trials, which caused
him to appear in the light of a sainted martyr.
Tbe book created the most extraordinary
sensation. The partisans of the king raised
their heads again, and every reader of the
book was seized with compassion and admira-
tion. In spite of its prohibition by the gov-
ernment, it was rapidly circulated throughout
the country, and Parliament trembled lest it

should bring about a eounier-revolution. One
man only was able to neutralize its baneful
effects, and that man was Miiton. He was
called upon to write a reply to the book. On
assuming this task, he did not conceal from
himself the painful consequences which would
arise from it for him. He was to attack an
unfortunate man, who was pitied by a vast
majority of tbe people even iu his grave, end,
as it were, act as an intellectual executioner
toward tbe beheaded corpse; ho ivas to ex-
pose himself to the hatred and rpsentmcnt of
the royalists, who. In their blind vindictive-
ness, did not shrink from a&sassination, ah
was afterwards proved in many instances.
But all these coniiderationa eiercised a less
painful effect upon bim than the thought of
his relations to Alice. Eis fair friend wor-
fehipped Charles I , and had made the greatest
eaeriBces for bim. Was he to lose ^ain, by
bis own fault, her who had just been restored
10 him ?

"I cannot refuse to fulfil my duty," bo said
to her, on informing her of the commission
which had been intrusted to him. " I am al-
most afraid of losmg thereby yoor friendship,
my most precious boon ; and yet I cannot act
otherwise."

" Obey your convictions," replied AUee, re-
spectfully. " You are a republican, and I am
a friend of the king; but tbia must not pre-
vent us from holding intercourse on the same
terms as heretofore. No one can regret mort
intensely than I that you have entered thi-
path, and thrown your talents into the scale
of the enemy ; but these party struggles shall
not deprive me of my old and well tried friend
I honor and esteem you as a man, even though
I can never share your political views."

" I esteem you only the more highly," re-
plied Milton, deeply moved by the lofty senti-
ments of the noble hidy.

Both thus set a glorious esample of tolera^
tion. Amid tbe general discord, they re

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246

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

aa devoted friends as ever. Pare huminitj' In
lUDphed in, tbem orer the hatred of the hostile
parties, nowerer, before Milton left Ahte,
she fijpd her eyes upon him with an, espces-
aion of tender anxiety. Inteasant toils had
undermined his health, and espedallj injured
tia eye^gbc. It is true, hia ejes aeemed a'^
lustrous as ever, but he himself had nfitioed
that their Btrength Lad been failing fnr some
time past, and had ofien complained of this
evil to hia compassionate friend. When he
was now about U> leare Alice, she was sur-
prised at his t>eing almost unable to see the
door, and groping his waj to it. She hastened
after him in dismay, and conducted him into
the street.

" Tour health really makes me uneasy," ahe
said to Mm, compassionately. " You must
take better care of yourself, and, abore all
things, give the necessary repoae to jour eyes.
For this reason, if for no other, I should like
you to desist from writing that treatise."

" How can I ? I must not delay writing it."

" Consider that you may lose your eyesight.
Oh, I cannot bear the thought of yonr becom-
ing blind ! "

" I am not afraid of blindness, nor of the
terrors of night, ivhich are threatening me ; for
to me beams the faith in a kind Proridenee,
the sympathy and tenderneaa of my friends,
and, before all else, the conviction that I am
doing my duty. These atara twinkle brightly
in the darkness which will perchance surround
me before long, ' Man dotJi not lire by bread
alone, bnt by every word that proceedeth out
of the mouth of God ;' why shall I not, there-
fore, content myself with the knowledge that
my eyesight is not my only light, but that tbe
guidance of God will illuminate mc sufficiently f
So long as He Hunself looks forward tii the
future for me, so long as He takes care of me,
as He has done all my lifetime, I wQl gladly
let my eyes keep Sabbath, as such Eeems to be
His will."

"But your adversaries and enemies may
astnbe the loss of your eyesight to Divine
V1-, lation, and deride you for it."

' Let them do so, let them make me the
'porii of their sneers. They shall soon find
that so far from receiving my lot with repent-
ance and despair, I strenuously adhere to my
principles, neither fearful nor sensible of the
wrath of God, bnt recognizing in this, as in all
important events of my life. His paternal good-
ness and mercy. The consciousness of my
rectitude will always sustain me, aod I would
not exchange it for all (he riches of this world.
If the cause of justice and truth requires me
to give up my eyesight, I am willing and proud
to make the sacrifice. Nay, if it were neces-
sarj for me to sacrifice my life for this purpose,
I should not shrink from death. Between my
duty and my eyesight I cannot hesitate a mo-
Animated with this spirit, Milton disre-
garded Alice's warnings, and took in hand a
work which involved him in a number of vio-
lent controversies and proved most injurious
to hia health. Above all things, he took p^ns
to refute the general belief that the king wa.-*
the author of " Eikon Basilike," and tried to
prove, in a very ingenious manner, that it
must be the production of another writer ; a
supposition which aeemed to be veriSed some
yeara afterward, when the authorship was
claimed by Dr. Gauden. Milton accomplished
his task amid incessant sufferings, and op-
posed a true portrsut of the king to the false
image traced by Dr. Gauden, although he
could not avoid introducing many an odious
trait, and oitentimca used his pencil in too
merciless a manner. At all events, his por-
traiture of the king did not conceal the failings
and unperfeotions of Charles's character fiom
the public gaze, and aroused the intense rage
of the whole royalist party against him. Old
and new adversaries arose against him; the
celebrated Salmasius, a professor of Lejden,

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LADY ALICE IN LONDON— MILTON AND SALMASIUS.

247

Fort!

WB9 tbc foremost among them,
sand gold-piecea Cliarles 11. purohnscd the ever-
ready pen of this great Bcholar to jiistiij the
memory of his father and abuse the whole
English nation. Suoh, however, was the influ-
ence of the press already at that time, that the
Parliament again took notice of the work
written by Salmaaius, and inatructed Milton
to publish 1 reply to it It is true, the author's
name added greatly to the importance that
was attached t5 this pamphlet

was considered the

nOBt learned man of hia

age, he "poke all livmg and dead languages,

Latm ind Greek, e

en Perhiaa, '^viiie and

Arabic At thL uni

trsitv he taught at the

same tnnL all Bcien

cts, theology, mediune.

jurisprudence, and h
innumerable treatisi

ston B) mc^ns uf his

and learned prefices.

., comment'ines, notes,
he had gamed the great-

ist cdebnty throughout Europe, and hitherto
no one bad ventured to dispute with him Lis
Bupveraacy in the learned world. lie was
courted by the most powerful monarchs ; both
Richelieu and Mazarin. bad taken the utmost
painj to win him for Prance, and the eccentric
Queen of Sweden succeeded only by means
of urgent prayers in prevailing on him to com-
ply with her invitation and come to Stockholm.
When the celebrated professor was sick, or
would not leave his house, owing to the eold
climate of the north, Christina herself came to
him, kindled the fire in the stove, cooked his
breakfast, and often stayed for whole days at
his bedside ; so that the professor's wife be-
came jealous of the queen, and compelled
her learned husband to leave Stockholm and
Sweden.

Such was the disputant with whom Milton
now had to deal. All hia friends were afraid
lest this controversy should result in his signal
discomfiture, and sought to dissuade him from
entering upon it. Milton, bowever, was con-
aeious of hia strength, and knew that his abil-
ity was not only equal, but superior to that of

a venal and pedantic poljhiator. Milton's
learning was not merely a sterile and useless
aoeumuladon of indigested material, however
well calculated to tickle his own vanity, or to
impede upon the blind multitude His knowl-
edge had passed into flesh and blood, and lie-
come united with his whole character, and
with bis peculiarities of thinking and feeUng.
It was, therefore, under the promptings of a
more esalted spirit that he entered upon this
new task and wrote his " Defensio Fopuli"
In this defence, he developed already, with
surprising boldness, the principles whicb
Rousseau afterwards only repeated inhis "Con-
trat Social," and which were sufEeient to shake
the foundations of the whole oivilijed world.
Milton rested his ailment likewise on popular
sovereignty, and contended that the nation
had conferred power on the king solely for the
sake of its own security. The seusalaon which
his work produced was extraordinary. So
eagerly and universally was il; perused by the
nation and throughout Europe, that fifty thou-
sand copies were sold in the course of a few
weeks. The forrfgn ambassadors congratu-
lated Milton on this unespected success ; even
the former patrons of Salmasius turned their
backs disdainfully upon the discomfited pro-
fessor, and lavished praise and flatteries on Ms
victorious opponent. Queen Christina now de-
rided her former favorite even more than she
had once admired and revered him. Salmasius
vainly made new efforts to wrest from his ad-
versary his newly-gained laurels ; every such
attempt resulted m more profound humiliations
for him. But Milton achieved his triumphs
ofily at a heavy cost. Every word which he
wrote, and by whIcb he crushed the venal ped-
ant, impaired his eyesight. A dreadful head-
ache, with which he had often been affected
from his earHest youth, added to the pams of
his suffering eyes ; but he paid little cr no al>
tention to the augmentation of hia ills. Like
a brave soldier, be continued the struggle with

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248

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMEa

bleeding wounds, and, tbough fearfully in-
jured, stemlj refused to leave the field of
battle.

The medieval toumiunenta had now given
place to the scientific controversies of the most
illuatrioua Bchnlara, and the public took as
much interest in them as in the knightly con-
tests of former times. Princes and peoples
were the spectators, andthe power of the press
had vastly extended the bounds of the formerlj-
restrieted arena. A remnant of the knightly
spirit of old lingered in these adentiEc com-
hata, in which folio volumes kiok the place of
ouicaBses, and Ihicit "Fathers of the Church"
were used as ianees and shields. The advei^
saiies entered the arena well armed with quo-
lulions from classical authors, and with the
ample stores of a learned srsenal ; they fought
with words instead of swords, and with theses
and dogmas instead of battle-aies and apears.
They fought not only for truth, but still more
eagerly for honor and fame; hence, the war on
both aides was oftentimes carried on with a
degree of virulent abuse and personality which
IS calculated to "inke a modem rLodcr viith
amazement. The contest assumed mostly a
personal character, and terminated only when
one pirty or Ihe other had been utterly de
feated The di^putanli did not shrmk from
infiicting the most pamlul wounds on each
other, and the venom ol -Janderand miirerie
SLntation added to Ihe pains ol modified van
ity. The whole educated world took more or
less interest in these intellectual tournaments,
in proportion to the names and reputations of
the disputants. Milton had entered uponsuch
a duel with the learned Salmasius, and all Eu-
rope applauded the victor with the most rap-
turous aeclaraationa. Ills reputation annihi-
lated She mora] authority of his opponent and
hurled him from the throne which be had ar-
rogated. Salmaeius was mortally wounded,
not only figuratively, but really; he survived
hia defeat but a, short time, and died, because.

as his friends asserted, Millon's severities I
broken hia heart.

Milton had conquered, but almost lost
eyesight in the struggle. To his triumph st
succeeded the everlasting night of blindneaf

3 bravery, had

Meanwhile Cromwell, by hi
delivered the new republic in tlie course of a
few weeks from all its enemies. lu the first
place, he had subdued the rebellious Irish, and
crushed Uieir resistance by means of the most
merciless measures. Nest, be turned against
tie Scots, who had young Kins Charles II. in
their midst. Worsted in two battles, the
young prince wandered for some time about
the countrj, and escaped only in an ahnost
miraculous manner to France. After these
victories Cromwell retnmed triumphantly to
London. Surrounded by his ofSeers, and fol-
lowed by numeroua priaoners, he made hia sol-
emn entrance into the capital. The ParUa-
ment, which acknowledged his deserts only
with reluctance, and justly feared lest the vie-
toiious general should soon become a desporie
usurper, sent four commissioners to meet him
dt Ajlesbury, and salute him in the name of
the assembly. In London he was received by
the Speaker and a large number of members
of the House, the president of the Council of
State, and the lord mayor and aldermen of
the city. Tliousands of the most respectable
citizens joined them and accompanied Crom-
well to Whitehall, amid the booming of artil-
lery and thejubilant acclamations of the people.

The general received all these honorswi^
devout modesty ; he spoke very little of his
own merila, and ascribed hia triumphs almost
eielnsively to the mercy of God and the valor

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DI8PEE8AL OF PAELIAilEST.

of his soldiers. However, espressions of ill-
concealed eiultation and secret ambition burst
from time b> time from nnder the mask of this
assmncd modesty. Ho rewarded the commis-
Bioners sent to him bj Parliament with princelj
munificence, presenting tliem not only nlth
horses which hud been takett during the war,
but also with wealthy and aristoeratio prison-
ers, nho, it was to be espected, would pay a
heavy ransom for tlidr release. Thus he en-
deavored already to win for himself friends
and devoted adherents. His bearing, his man-
ners, and bis language seemed to have under-
gone a complete change, and plainly exhibited
the conadousness of his undisputed power.
Ail these symptoms added to the apprehen-
sions with which Parliament looked upon the
influence and the schemes of the successful
general, who, at the head of a victorious army,
could demand and dare every thing. This
distrust eould not &il to lead sooner or later
to an open rupture, and the straggle between
the two sides seemed inevitable. Cromwel!
leaned upon the army, and oountcii upon the
imprudence with which his opponents daily laid
themselves open to his attacks. He did not
hasten to strike the dedsive blow, but pre-
partd every thing in secret. Few great men
have possessed the instinclive prudence and
sharp-sightedness of this upstart. Seemingly
iiiaotive, he watched his enemies like a spider
m lis web. Like the latter, he was gifted with
the finest scent for puhUo opinion and for the
sentiments of the peojile. Representing the
wishes and ideas of the latter, he acquired a
gigantic strength, a demoniacal power. Since
the beginning of civil war, the whole authority
of goTccnmeni had centred in the Parlia-
ment, which was held responsible for every
public measure. It had governed too long
already not to excite in the nation the longing
for a change. Like every assembly of the
same description, it was not fwe from the fail-
ings and weaknesses which always pertain to

the e

r under similar

among them, the quarrelsome John Lilbume
VS3 most prominent. Rarely iias a politician
enjoyed so much popularity ; he was worshipped
by the people, and espedally by the lower
classes of London. Already, during the reign
of Charles L, he had gained ttie reputation of
a martyr of liberty, and after the king's ck-
ecution his restless spirit impelled him to op-
pose the Parliament with the same obstinacy.
Ks contemporaries characterized his quarrel-
someness moat aptly by saying that, if John
Lilhurue were to remain all alone in the world,
John would enter upon a quarrel with Lil-
bume. However, it was not this innate pe-
culiarity of his character that dictated his
course, but he was guided far more hy a strong
sense of justice, and the conviction that the
rights of every Englishmen must remain unim-
piired no matter what pretests m „ht be ad
duced for 1 contrary course In the city
where he had passed hii youth and in the
army, where he hid serred with honor and
d atinetion, he had a hct of friends, citizen'^
and apprentices, officers and privates, religions
and political enthusiasts, who, tike him, were
ardently attached to dcmooratie ideas and
principles, and who cared neither for the re-
quirements of Boeial order nor the stability of
the government, but were always ready to crit-
icise and attack the latter when it did not
come up to its demands and dreams, or pursued
a course -offensive to thdr pride or their con-
victions. Now, Lilbume possessed not only
the talent of esaspera^g the public by means
of his writings, but the still more dangerous
gift of raising this eiaaperation to the highest
pitch. He was indefatigable in Eetting up
petitions, in holdmg seditious meetings, in in-
fluencing the tfimper of the army — in short, in
all the democratic measures calculated to keep
up a spirit of rebellion and to shake the jiower
of the existing government. This remarkable

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TUBES.

1 ilieci

■e of ti

discrediting the Parliament in tlic eyes of the
multitude, and in undermining its infiuence
and autbority. In bo doing, he served unwit-
tingly tie ambition of Cromwell, against whom
he inveighed afterward with the same rancor
and violence.

CromweE profited by the unpopularity of
the Farliamettt, to which he secretly sought to
add as tnuch a£ possible. For this purpose,
he frequently assembled the most influential
party leaders and the generals of the army,
partly to ascertain thdr sentiments with his
accustomed caution, partly to make sure of
tlieir assistance. Thus lie gradually matured
the plan which had long slumbered in his soul.
However, before resorting to violent means.

authors ; neither the wrath of Parliament oor
the power of the Council of State was able to
restore its influence, or to silence the enemies,
who were well aware that Cromwell shajed
their opinions, and was a secret ally of theirs.
Tbe Parliament was already morally dead, and
yet it was mtent on continuing its semblance
of life; it lacked alike moral and material
power ; neither the people nor the army, who
agreed ia their aversion to it, were willing to
tolerate it any further. Under tbese circum-
stances; the leaders of the republican party
themselves deemed it prudent to move tlie
dissolution of Parliament and the holding of
general elections ; but they took

secret to secure their reelection and the reten-
tion of the government in them hands. Crom-
well was highly indignant at these intrigues,
and made up his mind to frustrate tbem at any
cost. The meetings of his friends at his roorns
took place in a more rapid Eueeession than
heretofore ; he used means to add to the num-
ber of his partisans, until he at last felt strong
enough to throw down the gauntlet and dis-
perse the Parliament by main force. What
no King of England had ever attempted, what
Charles Stuart, despite his despotic tcndeucies
had never dared, was now unhesitatingly un-
dertaken by Cromwell. When all was ready.
Colonel Ingoldsby informed Cromwell, one
day, that Parliament was sitting, and had come
to a resolution not to dissolve itself, hut to fill
House by new elections. Cromwell in
e immediately hastened to the House,
Tirried a body of three hundred soldiers
with him. Some of them he placed at
oor, some in the lobby, some on the
He entered the ball alone, without
tmg a eensatiun in the assembly. He
black coat and gray woollen etookings,
his custom when not appearing in uni-
Cromwell took his seat and seemed to
en attentively to the debate; only from
time a grin or sarcastic smile illumi-
nated his stern features. Like an eagle, he
was silent and calm before pouncing on his
prey. Not a gesture betrayed his emotion,
and yet his heart throbbed perhaps more im-
petuously to-day than it had done in many a
bloody battle. He had arrived at the Rubicon ;
in the nest moment he would be eitber a pro-
scribed traitor or the sovereign ruler of three

His friend St. John spoke to him. It was
not until now that Cromwell broke his ^lence,
and told him that he had come with tlft pui-
pose of doing what grieved him to the very
soul, and what he had earn^ily with tears be-
sought the Lord not to impose upon him.

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CEIBD CROMWF.r.T

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DISPEESAL OF PARLUMENT.

But there naa a necessity, m order to the
glory of God and the good of the nation.

" I do not know what jou refer lo," replied
St John, "but God grant that whatever you
do may redound to the good of the common-
wealth 1 "

Be went in dismay to bis seat, and left
Cromwell, engrossed witli his tlioughts. Fi-
nally, tlie latter beckoned Harrison, and told
him that he now judged the Parliament ripe
for a, dissolution. The intrepid soldier shrank
from the great responsibility, and whispered

" Sir, the work is rery great and dangerous ;
I desire you a^riously to coueider before you
engage in it."

"Tou say well," replied Cromwell; and
thereupon sat atill ahout a quarter of an hour.
It was a quarter of an hour full of the greatest
suspense and agitation for the general. He
saw before him a scaffold and a crowu ; death
at the hands of the" executioner or the throne
of England awaited him. Already the nest
minute might decide the matter. He muttered
something sounding like u prayer, as though
he wished to make God an ally of hia plans.
The mostyarious thoughts and feelmgs Btbred
like wild waves in his bosom; ambition and
sense of duty, pride and devout humility, truth
and falsehood, alternated in rapid succeaaon
in his mind. He shrank from taking the de-
eialso step, but not a moment was to be loslj
for the speaker was ready to put the ques-

He said again to Harrison, "This ia the
lime; I must do it." He then rose and took
the floor. Cromwell was not a good speaker ;
besides, be liked to conceal his thoughts under
turgid phrases. Notwithstanding these de-
fects, the assembly listened to him with the
closest attcndon, his position and acknowl-
edged merits commanding Ihem to treat him
with the greatest deferenca At the outset,
he spoke iu respectful teims of the Parliament

and its members, doing full justice to the
zeal and activity; but be gradually Chang*
his tone, and his expressions and gestures b
trayed the most violent
and his large eyes flashi

r at hit

itation. He fiowncd,
glances of inesorahle
i. Finally, he loaded
vilest reproaches for

the Parliament with t
its tyranny, ambition, oppression, and robbery
of the public. Then stomping with his foot,
which was a signal for the soldiers to enter—

" For shame I " he said to the Parliament ;
" get you gone I Give place to honester men,
to those who will more faithfully discharge
their trust. Tou arc no longer a Parliament.
The Lord has done with you ; He has chosen
other instruments for carrying on His work."

He crossed the large hall repeatedly wilt a
noisy step, and then stood still once more with
folded arms.

" Take him down," he said to Harrison,
pointing to Lenthal, the speaker, who sat with
a pale face in his chair.

The colonel called upon him to rise, which
he refused to do.

"Pull him down I" cried Cromwell, ines-

Harrison obeyed, and draped Lenthal from
the chair.

Sir Henry Vane esdaiming against this pro-
ceeding, Cromwell cried with a loud voice :

"Oh| Sir Harry Vane, Sir Harry Vanel
The Lord dehver me from Sir Harry Vane ! "

He then turned to the other members,
whom he reproached in the most scathing
manner with their weaknesses and fdiUngs.
"Thou art a drunkard," he said to one;
" thou art an adulterer," to another ; " und
thou an extortioner," to a third. In this
manner he preferred just Or unjust chaises
against the members, who, from fear of the
soldiers, or consciousness of their guilt, durst
not defend themselves.

"It is yoi^" he said tfl the Hoase, "that
have forced this upon me. I have eooght the

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262

JOHN MILTON AND HIS HUES.

Lord night imd day, that He would rather slay
mc than put me upoc this work."

He then commanded a soldier to seiz
mace. " What shall we do with this bauble?
Here, take it awaj."

Having commanded the Boldiers to clear thi
hall, he himself went out the last, and order
ing the doors to be looked, departed to hk
lodgings in Whitehall.

Alter the downfall of the Bo-called Long
Parliament, Cromwell, who waa now maeter
of the situation, to preserre at least the sem-
blance of liberty, ordered new elections. The
Parhament, however, which met under his
RUBpices, and consisted mostly of men desti-
tute of ability and influenee, dissolved itself.

a the

of it

Bignifieance. It was an ohjeet of general ridi-
cule, and the public gave it the nickname of
Barebonc's Parliament, because a worthy
dealer in leather, Praiae-God Bacebone, was
one of its most ludicrous members.

Four days afterward, a long procession
moved between two lines of soldiers from
Whitehall to Westminster. The lord mayor
and aldermen of the city of London headed it,
in their gorgeous gala equipages ; next came
Cromwell, attired in a black velvet coat, and
with broad gold lace around his pointed hat-
His guBTds, mostly veteran soldiers, and a
large number of noblemen who had submitted
to him, preceded his carriage, which was sur-
rounded by the most distingaished officers,
who held their drawn swords m their hands.
On arriving at Westminster Hall, the proces-
sion entered the large hall, at the end of which
had been placed a purple chair of state. Crom-
well stood before the chair, and, after all the
memhers of the procession had assembled
around him, Major-General Lambert announced
that Parliament had dissolved of its own ac-
cord, and demanded, in the name of the army,
of the three nations, and of the requirements I
of Che times, that the'lord general should take I

upon hunself the protectorate of England,
Scotland, and Ireland. Although the whole
scene had been preconcerted, and although the
parts had been distributed beforehand among
the actors, Cromwell, foe appearance' sate,
hesitated to make a definite reply, and yielded
only to repeated and most pressing icquests.
One of the secretaries then read the new
constitution, which he signed ami 'iolemnly
swore to ohserre. Msjor-General Lambert
knelt down and presented to him a sheathed
sword, the symbol of civil authority. On re-
ceiving it, Cromwell took off his own sword
and laid it down, aigiufying thereby that he
would no longer govern hy martial law. The
lord keeper and the judges thun invited him
to take the chair of state. He sat down, and
covered his head with his hat, while all the
others stood bareheaded. After the ceremony
was over, the procession returned to White-
hall, where a sumptuous banquet closed the
festivities of the day. Heralds traversed the
streets and announeud the event to the

.ong live the pioteeter!" shouted the

multitude.
Only oni

man did not join in their acclama-
Bs Henderson, the old Puritan,
las betrayed us," he murmured,
' He has betrayed the I^rd, and

CHAPTER IV.

:nE LORD PKOTEOTOB'a COURT.

life began now at Whitehall. Crom-
off his mask more and more, and
seemed to manifest a desire to seize the crown
of England. Cautious as usual, he first tried
sentiments of his adherents
taking another step forward. Ahnost
everyday he had long interviews with his offi-
cers, as well as with the most influential dti-

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THE LORD PROTECTOR'S COURT.

253

zens In. t e e n erv wa he took ol as n to
hint va^ ely ha EC;, and on^ht to have a
mona ch cal govoranent, and thus gradua ly
prepared thorn for t e change wli h he hati
a c ntemplaljo He h d anq si ed th
Fresbytenans and Cons t als by tbe Inde
pend ta an Pep ^hcaIla and ot tirown
these □ th r tu n hj means of th irmj so
that he only had to deal irith the latter. It is
true, he met here with nneipected resistance.
Already his title of Protector eioitoil discoa
tent, and Colonel Harrison ind Miyor Uyerton,
Milton's friend, jJeclared openly against it
They and their adherents threatened the
usurper and opposed his lehemea Cromwell,
however, headed them oB, and before they
were able to carry their plans into effect he
cttused them to be arrested M Iton was not
a little 8urpFk«d on hearing of this Lrtnt and
deemed himself in duty bound to ask the pro-
tector, at the first opportunity that should
offer, to pardon his esteemed friend.

For this purpose he repdred to Wliitehall,
where Cromwell had taken np hia quarters in
the apartments of the executed Mng, and had
already surrounded himself with a sort of
reUnue of courtiers. A special lifeguard woa
poBted in front of his doors. The anterooms
:e crowded with persons who

la di m-

an fa la d

still saw in Cromwell on y m ,

were walking up and down in threadbare uni-
forms, and dva^ng their long swords noisily
on the floor. It was evident that they con-
sidered as an abomination tlic splendor which
surrounded them here. They cast distrustful
glances on the young courtiers who, like flies
in midsummer, had quickly made their appear-
ance to buzz in the rays of the rising sun ;
they had now another idol to which they could

beod their kneea and whisper fulsome flal>
tcries. Milton was not a little astonished on
meeting here many an ei-cavalier, who but
recently had apphed to Cromwell the nick-
name of "Old Satan." All was forgotten
now; the protector tried to conciliate the no-
bility, and had of late treated the aristocratic
families with surprising lenity. They made peace
with him, either from fear or from self-interest,
and received at his iiands, besides other auh-
Btantial proofs of his favor, their estates,
which the commonwealth had confiscated.
Such being his course now, the nobility flocked
to the new court, whose centre was composed
of Cromwell's own family. A motley crowd
now presented itself to the ojea of the be-
holder. In yonder comer stood an old Inde-
pendent, or a fanatic expecting the fifth mon-
archy of God and the New Jerusalem, now
gijmly gazing upon the unwonted bustle. His
awkward manners, his strange dress, which
was very plain and dark-colored, and his lan-

e, interlard

I every

moment with Bible

quotations, were secretly derided by the pol- ,
ished courtiers, who, however, dared only to
smile furtively at them. At the other end of
the hall some clergymen were engaged with a
few officers in an animated controversy on
theological questions, which were discussed
with hair-splitting keenness on toth wdes, and
in which the uncouth soldiers ftequently got
the better of their learned adversaries, Yon-

.e young

■ersmg ii

a low tone about the love-affiira of his high-
ness the protector, and tried to ascectam
whether he gave the preference to the beau-
tiful Lady Dysart or to the accomplished Lady
Lambert. Soldiers and priests, arisiocrata and
republicans, the austere Puritan and the frivo-
lous skepUc, were now united here by the will
of the new ruler, or by their rarioua interests,
and blended together notwithstanding thac
difif;rcnoeB. A very peculiar tone, therefore,
of Whitehall. Demo-

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254

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

e pliamij,

nalicfll enthusiasm and cool, sober selfishness,
went hand in hand, and produced a tnily ■
decftil effect.

WhUo Milton vroa engroEsed with such ob-
sersaljons, he was frcEjuentlj greeted and ad-
dressed by friends and acquaintanecs. Lord
Broghill, the brother of the Countess of Bane-
lagh, shook hands with him. The poet Waller,
a relative of the protector, and jet formerly
a fevorite of Charles I., spoke to him. He
had just left Cromwell's cabinet, where the
protector had giren him an audience.

" Clin I see the lord protector ? " s
miton to him.

" I do not know," replied the merry but
principled Waller. "His highness has w
him at this moment a saint, a shoemaker i
mated with the Holy Ghost. George Fox is
Ihe name of the queer fellow ; be has already
founded a sect called Friends or Quakers, He
will no longer tolerate any clei^ymen, nor
take off his hat to anybody, nor take oaths.
He addresses every one with 'thou.' I tell
you, it was rich to see him approach Cromwell
and say to him, 'Peaee bo with thy house,'
po po gi al

When you are m Rome you must do as the
Eo d T h h ruber

fpnh hmLwk

Man hBn hJwromAmr-

d m w h ad pre n d n h wn
n ud h w h a

petition, m which they be^ed leave to live
and trade in London. What do you think of
such impertinenee ? "

" In my opinion, the application of the Jews

ought not to be r^ected, but they should be
received and treated with hospitahty and toler-
ation. They are, as it were, the trunk from
which Christianity, that noblest blossom of
hnmnnity, has developed itself. Add to this
that the chosen people display rare commer-
cial talents and activity, and will assuredly
bring riches into our country,"

" That is just what the lord protector
thinks. He immediately snmmoned a confer-
ence of merchants, theologians, and Jurists, at
which he himself presided, and warmly advo-
cated the cause of his proiigea."

"Ho is a great tnan in every sense of the

" Of course be is, and he lacks nothing of
being a king but the lojal title. To tell yon
the truth, I believe my worthy cousin will, be-
fore long, put the crown on his head."

" Ton muBt be jesting," said Milton, deeply

"Not at all, sir; I have already written a
coronation ode, and I should seriously advise
you, for the solemnity of the coronation, to
take your own Pegasus from the stable and
mount him, which you haro not done for a
me pa'iL"
cannot beheve it,"
And yet it is only necessary for you to
round these apartments to be convinced
have told you the truth. What is want-
then, to the restoration of the monarchy ?
W side at Whitehall, the royal palace; we
splendid lifeguard, and a full retinae
of courtiers. See, yond« stand the Earl of
Warwick and Lord Eroghill; and here comes,
if I mistake not, Sir Kenelm Digby, to render
homage to the new ruler of England."

" Sir Kenelm Digby, the Catholic, the exiled
royalist ? " asked Milton, wonderingly.

" Well, you need not wonder at it. He has
obtained permission to return to England.
We have need of him for secret purposes.
Jews, Catholics, and Anabaptists, meet at our

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THE LOBD PBOTECTOE'8 COURT.

255

court, and I should not bo surprised if the
pope himself should come to Wliitehall one
day to pat the crown on his highnesa's head,"
So saying, the gay poet moved on and dis-
appeared in the crowd. Milton remained, a.
prey to mournful thoughts and apprehensions.
He feared more and more lest the republic, to
ivbicb he was so ardently attached, should be on
the brink of ruin. A new despotism, muro in
tolerable than any other, because it rcJted on
the brute force of arms, threatened to tate
the place of the former tyranny. Milton had
hailed Cromwell as the liberator of his fither
land, the protector of freedom of conscience
the greatest man of bis age ; and now his ideal
lay before his eyes broken and trampled in
the dust. What he had revered he could not
bat despise; what he had loved he could not
but hat«. It is the greatest affliction that can
befall a noble soul to be compelled to tear its
idols with its oivTi hands from ita heart and
hurl them fhim their esalted pedestals. It is
not love deedved, but faith and trust betrayed
and abused, that strikes the deepest wounds,
because it envenoms man's heart and mind,
and buries and destroys all his ideals at one
fell blow The poet s soul wax filled with bil-
(er gne^ and he wept in secret not only over
bis country but oier the fite ot the whole
wotll He asked hm oelt if libertT wis only
an empty illusion only Ihe dceam of a
heated imagination On gating upon the un-
principled crowd about him anl ob'ernng
their doin^jh an I a'jpintions, he felt doubts
arising in his snul whether the people wouli
ever be ripe for freedum Tl e dtgr
humin nitnre and the mnate hln
the T le mult tude impressed him w
mg forte and he espei enced the di m
which lofiy sp nts so often look
miseries and weaknesses of mauk B

soon thesL mournful thoughts gav
the sensp jf Jin own d gmti whic
to hmi his filth in liberty and H

deemed himself in duty bound to utier his
convictions fearlessly and onreaervedly, even
in the presence of Cromwell, and at the peril
of incucrmg the wrath of the powerful ruler.

While he was engrossed with these thoughts.
Sir Kenelm Digby, who recognized him, in
spite of their long separation, approached
him. After greeting him wilh seeming cordi-
ality, he said to the poet :

Well, Mr. Milton, I am sure you ace libe-
wiSL here for the purpose of salutmg the sun
that has lately risen over England. I am al-
most inclined to bet that you have in your

; poem written in honor of the

" Xou are mistaken," replied the poet, in-
dignanlly. "I have come to Whitehall to
wait on the loid protector in my capacity as
Secretary to the Council of State."

" Then you have really followed my advice.
Ton have bid farewell to poetry, and turned
politician. Well, I am glad of it, and wish
yon joy of your new career. Beware only of
heing impeded in your path by your poetical
vagaries. A politician must be COOl, Sober,
and desUtutec^ poetical illusions. I am afraid
you still possHS too much iraa^ation and en-
thusiasm ; at least, I have noticed these pecu-
liarities in your late writings, which, as on old
friend of yours, I read with a great deal of In-

" I thant you for the sympathy which yon
vouchsafe to my writings, but I cannot share
your views. In my judgment, a great and

s d him t

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256

Hew

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

1 bj the Lord, because he had
a heart for the sufferinga of his people."

" Precisely like our lord protector," aaid
Sir Eenebn Digbj, sueeriugl j ; " only, I be-
lieve, with tbif diffcrccce, that Ms highnesa
will not edntcnt himself nith Tiewing the land
ofpromise from afar. Unless all symptoms
deceive rae, I believe we shall presently have a
coronation in London,' and in that ease it would
have been a better policy foe you not to have
Eo openly avowed your love of liberty and your
republican sentiments. Believe me, my dear
friend, liberty is nothing but a chimera of the
poets, and a republic eiista only till the right
man arises to subvert it. Nowadays it is
generally only a production of weakness and
impotence, a sort of fever which closes with
general eihaustion, and is cured by a skilful
pbyeieion. But in talking politics, I forgot to-
communicate to you intelligence which con-
cerns you personally. I have been at Rome
and seen Leonora Baroni."

" Leonora ! " echoed the poet, giving a atatt.

"I thought," continued Sir Kenelm Digby,
" that you had not yet forgotten the signora.
She fares no better than you ; she told me to
greet you, and I bring you, perhaps, her last
farewell."

"She is dead? "asked Milton, moumftilly.
" Oh, tell me what has become of her."

" Shortly after your departure s
siek, she loved you so fondly,
growing weake d y to

herself to, be c n y d a
saw her ; her ch L y j

sembled a.

with fervent ad d b m he

joys of this w d h b d ess b .
The signora will soon uitereede for you in
heaven. Ah 1 how anxious she always was for
the salvation of your soiil ; with how touching
aa affection she thought of yon ! I left her on

her death-bed, and had to pronuse her to visit
you and convey her last greetings to you."

Milton's eyes filled involuntarily with tears,
which he consecrated to Leonora's memory.
This cobleand artistic nature, then, which had
onee divided his heart with Alice, had also de-
parted this life !

" Poor Leonora ! " he sighed, foi^ving her
the pain which she had caused him.

CHAPTEE V.

Still profoundly moved by the news he had
just received, Milton entered the cabinet, where
the protector gave his audiences. Cromwell
sat, with his eyes almost closed, and absorbed
in his reflections. Before him lay an open
Bihie, in which ho seemed to have just been
reai&g. His eyes wandered from the sacred
volume to the ceiling and the wainscoting of
the wails. He contemplated musingly the
golden crown and the royal uviiials which were

n the n;

This

the goal of bis wishes. At present he was the
most powerful man in England. Europe bowed
to him ; France courted his friendship, and the
wily Maiaiin flattered him in the name of his
sovereign by means, of complimentary letters
and costly presents. The whole Protestant
world looked upon him as its protector. His
mere word had sulHccd to intimidate the Duke
of Savoy, who, with unheard-of cruelty, had
persecuted the descendants of the old Wal-
denses in the mountain-valleys of the Alps for
the sake of their Protestant faith. He stood,
honored and dreaded, on the summit ol an a)
most absolute power to which he had risen
solely bl his ments and (be strength of his
mind. Nothing was wanting to him, cxctpt
that eroftn which was here flishing toward
him oa all sides It was only necessary (or

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THE CROWN KEFUSED BY CROMWELL.

257

to stretch oi

Ms iDuermost

fitith enhanced hi
faoaticisin was bli

Is hand for it, for the newly-
summoned Parliiiment had Toluntarily offered
it to him, or rather sought to force it upon him;
and jet he hesitated to accept it. He thought
it ivas not time yet ; public opinion had not
been sufficieatlj prepared for this last and raost
decisice step. Through it he had become strong
and powerful ; to him it was the voice of God,
to which, he said, he would never turn a deaf
ear. This was oa his part no hypocrisy, but
Qviction, for he regarded him-
nent ofProvidence, and as the
■f the Lord. His belief in his
ilj rooted in his soul, and this
s greatness. Thus religious
uded in this wonderful nature
with a clear, eohor understanding, which, in
thinking of heaven, did not forget the earlh
aud its worldly schemes; his fear of the Lord
was coupled with a high sense of his own dig-
nity and an insatiable ambition. Fanatidsm
and a spirit of intrigue penetrated one another,
and thereby added to their mutual strength.
But for his religious fanaticisno, Cromnell
would have remained a common schemer all
his lifetime; and hut for his cool, sober sa-
gadty, he would have been a blind fanatic like
Colonel Harrison. Possessed of these two an-
tagonistic qualities, he was the greatest man
of his age.

Milton's entrance put ail end to bis medita-
tion. He drew his strong hand repeatedly
across his broad forehead, as if to dispel tho
spirits t^at had haunted him. He feigned per-
fect tranquillity and indifference, which he
dropped only in the course of the conversation.
With a kind gesture he invited the poet to be
seated. Although he himself had not enjoyed
a very good education, he esteemed tlie more
highly the learning and knowledge of others.

To the beholder the two men presented the
most striking contrast. Cromwell was heavy-
set ; hia body, in spite of tho fatigues and pri-
vaAions which it had nndergone during the war,
IT

seemed hewn out of granite ; bis fltished face
indicated eitraordmary strength of will, and on
his coarse features was stamped a firmness
commanding respect. Pecuhar to him was his
glance and the expression of his lai^e, clear
eyes, which now gleamed with enthusiastic fire,
now seemed apathetic, asif turned inward and
sunk into their sockets, until they suddenly
and uncspcctedlj shot flashes and threatened
to crush the beholder. On the other hand, the
poet's figure was slender and almost feeble ;
fine dark-brown hair surrounded bia delicate
ikce and pale cheeks ; from his high forehead
beamed the noble expression of a profound
thinker, and the traces of his intellectual toils
and long-continued exertions were imprinted
on his fragile frame. It is true, his suffering
eyes had retained theil" old radiance, but the
immobility of the pupils indicated the almost
entire estlnction of his eyesight. However,
the light that was departing from them seemed
now to float around his whole being; he re-
sembled a transparent alabaster lamp illumined
from within. Thus tho tno representative men
of tlieir time stood face to faoc — ihe energy of
the ruler and the enthusiasm of the poet, the
beautiful ideal and the stern reality.

Milton addressed the protector, and en-
treated Mm to pardon Overton, whom Crom-
well had sent to the Tower.

"I should gladly grant your request,'' said
the protector, " but your friend bimself renders
it difficult for me to do so. I call God Hi
witness that I am a well-wisher of his, and
that I am sorry to treat an old comrade with
so much rigor. It is no fault of mine ; but
both he and Harrison hove forced me to adopt
this course. The Lord alone knows my heart,
and will judge between me and them. Say
yourself if I can act otherwise. They con-
spired against the government, and stirred up
a mutiny in the army. Had they been royal-
ists, I should have caused them to be be-
headed ; but, as they are old Mends of mine,

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JOHN MILTON AKD BIS TIMES.

I have contented myself irith imprisoning

" So far as I knon, their only cnme consists
m thtii mtcniie di,yoti<m to the repubhc

Both are fanat t* mcomgihle madcaps bent
on iceomphsbmg impofaibilities and thcri,by
breeding eonfu'jon and disorder If the r
Titub were i,arried into effett, we should hive
no government whatever TheT dream of a
slate of society that woulJ be nothing bat
utter anarchy This I Linnot tolerate and
therefore nothing remained for mi, but to
render them hat ale'*'' I Rwcar to you that
no hirm shall befall either Overton tr Har-
rHon Cod forbid that I should consent to
the estcation o( smh brave men who shed
thtir blood for the good iau^l ' I will only
keen them impriaoned nnfil thev hive seen
the errors to nhioh they have yielded Do
not j^evp, Mr Secretary, and do not 1 e an^ry
with me, if I eamiot grant this request of
YOurs. You know that I am your friend, and
am always glad to see you. If jou wish to
say any thing else to me, speak, for I regard
.7011 aa a man alike wise and modest."

The protector thus unwittingly came to
meet the poet, and Milton seized unhesitai^
ingly the opportnnity to lay Ma i4ews before

"I grieve not only for the sake of my
friend," he said gravely, "but still more for
the fate of a fair woman, I might almost say
the beloved m h

" Ah, ah ! ' med m 11, in a plaj-

llil tone. " Has ecretary for

the foreign Ui gu heart ? For

aught I know marr d and I have

always heard you spoken of aa a, hirictlj moral

" I do not speak of 11 mortal woman, but of
divine liberty and this republic. The general
impression is that both are endangered."

"And by nhom?" asked the protector, who
was saddeuly all ear.

"By a man whom Providence has raised
higher than any other mortal, who delivered
England from intolerable oppression, who
achieved glorious victories in countless battles
over the enemies of the people, and whom
the gralefal country calls the father of the

"And what do they say of this man now?"

" That he is stretching out his hand for a
crown, and hankering ailer a title unworthy
Ihe transcendent m^esty of his character.
As yet the friends of freedom will not and can-
not credit this rumor ; they refuse to think the
great man capable of such littleness. He will
respect the fond eipeotations which we cher-
ish, the solicitudes of his aniioQS eountcy."

Milton paused to await the impression pro-
duced by his bold words. Cromwell, however,
remained silent and seemed absorbed in deep
thought. Carried away by his oivn enthusi-
asm, the poet discarded all timidity as unwor-
thy of his character, and addressed the pro-
tector without further circumlocution.

" Eespect," he exclaimed, with flushed
cheeks, and in a, voice of noble enthusiasm,
" the looks and the wounds of your brave com-
panions -in-arma, who, under your banners,
have BO strenuously fought for liberty ; re-
spect the shades of those who perished in the
contest; respect also the opinions and the-
hopes which foreign s
ing us, which promise
advantages from that Uberty which w
bravely acquired, from the
that new government which has begun to shed
its splendor over the world, and which, if it be
suffered to vanish like a dream, would involve
us in the deepest abyss of shame."

"I am only an instrument in the hand of
the Lord," interrupted Cromwell, as if to es-
cuse himself to Milton, and to himself.

" Therefore, respect yourself. After having
endured so many sufferings and encountered
so many perils for the sake of liberty, do not

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THE CEOWN REFUSED BY CROMWELL.

259

auBer it, now it ia obtained, dther to be vi-
olal«d by yourself, or in any one instance im-
paicetl by others. Indeed, jou canndt be
truly free unless we ace free alio ; for such is
the nature of things, that he who trenchea
on the liberty of others is the Erst to lose his
own, and become a slaTe. But if you, who
have hitherto been the patron and tutelary
genius of liherty — if yon, who are exceeded by
no one in justice, in pieij, and goodness,
should hereafter invade that hberty which yon
have defended, jouc conduct must be fatally
operative, not only against the cause of lib-
erty, but the general interests of piety and
i^rtue. Tour integrity and virtue will appear
to have evaporated, your faith in religion to
have been email; yourcharacter with posterity
will dwindle into insignificance, and thus a
moat destruetire blow will bo levelled against
the happiness of mankind."

Was Cromwell really moved S At all events
he heaved a deep sigh. Milton continued,
without taking any notice of his real orfeigtied
emotion :

" I know full well that the work which you
bave nnilertakeu is of incalcHlable moment ;
that it will thoroughly sift and expose every
principle and sensation of your heart ; that it
will fully display the vigor and genius of your
character; and that it will determine whether
you really possess those great qualities of
piety, fidelity, justice, and self-denial, which
made us believe that you were raised by the
special direction of the D«ty to the highest
pinnacle of power."

" I am only a weak man, an instrument in
His hands," murmured the protector. " In
tmth, the Lord speaks out of your mouth;
therefore, speak out fearlessly."

"At oace wisely and discreetly to hold the
sceptre over three powerful nations," added
Milton, thus encouraged, " to persuade people
to relinquish inveterate and corrupt for new
and more beneficial maxims and L

to penetrate into the remotest parts of the
country, to have the mind present and opera-
tive in every quarter, to watch against sur-
prise, to provide against danger, to reject the
blandishments of pleasure and the pomp of
power — these are eiertions compared with
which the labor of war is a mere pastime;
which will require all the energy, and employ
every faculty that you possess ; which demand
ft man supported from above, and almost in-
structed by immediate inspiration."

" What yon say is true, very true," replied
Cromwell. " The Lord Himself will illumi-

" I have no doubt that He is with you. Bat
yon will bear my feeble words in mind, and
consider especially how yon may discharge all
these important duties in such a manner as
not only to secure our Kberlies, but to add to

When Milton ceased, the protector rose
from his chair and strode, as was his habit, up
and down the room.

"Go, go," he said, laying his hand on Mil-
ton's shoulder. " You are an honest, excellent
man, and I would I possessed your geuiu'J and
virtue ; hut the Lord has endowed us all with
difiecent gifts. To you He has vouchsafed
learning and eloquence ; but to me — "

Cromwell did not finish hU 'Jentence. With
a kind gesture he dismissed the poet, who left
the great man with renewed hope and confi-
dence. After he was gone, the protector be-
came again absorbed in his reflections. In his
mind arose once more that long struggle be-
tween his ambition and his sense of duty.
The temptation was too strong, and the old
demon soon seized him again. An old augury
came into his. mind. In his boyhood, in a
Latin play performed by the pupils of Cam-
bridge, and representing the struggle of the
human limbs, he had played " the Tongue,"
and Snally been crowned as victor, all hia
schoolmates kneeling down and paving homage

dhyGoo^le

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

to him. He inyoluntarily reefllleii all this, and
it filled hini anew with superslitioua faith in
bis misaion.

A private door ia the wall opened noiaelcss-
ly, and the head of a man looked cautiously
into the room. His face, furrowed by a ttiou-
saad small wrinkles and lineB, his keen, tnmk-
ling cjcs, and the pliable attitude of the bowed
frame, indicated a shrewd and adroit servant.
It was the protector's confidant.

" Thurloe, come in," said Cromwell " We
are entirely alone. What do jou bring to
me?"

" Glad tidings — the confldenUal deputation
of Parliament to offer you the crown, and re-
ceive your definite reply. I preceded them to
prepare your highness for their arrival."

" Thank you, thank you. But it is difficult
for me to make up my mind. The matter is
fraught with many difficulties."

" What t you hesiiate to accept a crown ? "
" New misgiviaga have arisen in my EOul.
A man who spoke to me on the subject has
just left me. I confess that his words have
made a deep impression upon me, although he
is a half-blind enthusiast."

" Tou refer to Milton, the eeoretary to the
Council of State? "

" I do. He is a very eieellent and respeet-
ahle man, and many people in England share
Lis views."

" If you win listeu to the Utopian vagaries
of such fanatics, you will never reach the glo-
rious goal beckoning to you."

" Tou are right, Thurloe. Admit the com-
missioners of Parliament."

Cromwell received them standing. They
were headed hy Lord Broghill, who addressed
the protector, and, after enumcratii^ once
more all the ai^uments in favor of the resto-
ration of a monarchical government, nrgcd
Cromwell lo assume the royal title, after hav-
ing so long been invested with royal author-
ity and power. Cromwell's reply was long.

vague, and interlarded with reflections, remi-
niscences, prodicOons, and allusions.

" Genlleinen,". ho (replied to the deputation,
" I have passed the greater part of my life Id
fire (if I may so speak), and surrounded by
commotions; but all that has happened since
I have meddled with public afiiiirs for the
general good, if it could be gathered into a
smgle heap, and placed before me in one view,
would fiul to strike me with the terror and re-
spect for God's wiU which I undergo at the
thought of this thing jou now mention, and
this title you offer me. But I have drawn
confidence and tranquillity in every crisis of
my past life from the conviction that the
heaviest burdens I have borne have been im-
posed upon me by His hand without my own
pariieipatiOQ. Ofleu have I felt that I should
have given way raider these weighty loads if
it had not entered into the views, the plans,
and the great bounty of the Lord to assist me
in sustaining them. If, then, I should suffer
myself to deliver you an answer on this mat-
ter, so suddenly and unespectedly brought un-
der my conadcration, without feeling that this
answer is su^ested to my heart and lips by
Him who has ever been my oracle and guide,
I should therein eibibit to you a slender evi-
dence of my wisdom. To accept or refuse
your offer in one word, from desires Or feelings
of personal interest, would savor too much of
the fiesh and of human appetite. To elevate
myself to this height bj motives of ambition
or viun-glory, would be to bring down a curse
upon myself, upon my family and upon the
whole empire. Bo te w d b ha I d
never been born. I#a rn h n k

counsel at roy lei re d n m wn

conscience ; and I h p h d m

tions of a light a d h u h p p

the selfish wishes of those who expect to be-
come great in my greatness, may influence my
decision, of which I shall communicate to you
the result with as little delay as possible."

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LADT CLAYPOLE— "KILLING NO MUEDEK."

261

Tbree hours afterward, the parliamentary
returaed to press for his answ
m many respects confused and anini

"Eojalty," he said, "is composed of two
matters, the title of king and the functions of
monarchy. These functions are sa united bj
the very roots to m oM form of legislation,
that al! our laws would fall to nothing did we
not retain in their appliance a portion of the
kingly power. But as to the title of liing,
this distinction implies not only a anpreme au-
thority, but, I may venture to sa,y, an authority
partaking of the divine ! I have assumed the
place I now occupy to drive away the dangers
which threatened my country, and to pievent
their recurrence. I sliall not quibble between
the titles of king and protector, for I am pre-
pared to continue in your service as either of
these, or even as a simple constable, if you so
will it, the low fli m h and in

truth, I have ft □ d my If ha I am,
ia fact, nothi f, m h n b main-

taining the o dp he p n h I

am, therefor
sary for you
the title of k
equally answ

heart here, a i
the moment wh

pt.

II d

work, and p ned b d m ny

others more w hy h n m h wis I ?

Nothing mor h n a mj pta n dra-
goons in a regiment ot mihiia. My commanii-
ing officer was a dear friend, who possessed a
DOble nature, and whose memory I know you
cherish as warmly as I do myself. This was
Mr. Hampden. The first time I found myself
under fire with hun, I saw that our troops,
newly levied, without discipline, and com-
posed of men who ioved not God, were beaten
in every encounter. With the permission of
Mr. Hampden, I introduced among them a

new spirit — a spirit of zeal and piety ; I tauglit
them to fear God. From that day forward
they were invariably victorious. To Him be
all the glory 1

" It has ever been thus, it will ever contJnue
to be thus, gentlemen, with the government
Zeal and piety will preserve na without a king.
Understand me well; I would willingly be-
come a victim for the salvation of all ; but I
do not think — no, truly, I do not believe that
it is necessary this victhn should bear tbe title
of a king."

With this reply Cromwell dismissed the
committee which had offered him a crown.
When tlie members bad left, his private secre-
tary, Thurloe, asked him what his real opinion

"A crown,'l said Oromwdl, plucking his
confidant's ear, is "a nice thing, but a clear
conscience is still better. The Lord will settle
it all to our best. Come, let us go to dinner ;
the long speech has given me a good appetite,
even though it may have greatly puzzled the
gentlemen of the c(

LiDt CLAYPOLE — "kiLLINQ BO MURDiai."

Crohttell dined to-day with his favorite
daughter, lady Claypole, who esercised an
cstraordinary influence over her father. She
was a lady of rare delicacy of feeling, endowed
with accomplishments aud understanding,
faithful to bee friends, magnanimous toward
her enemies, and fondly attached to her father,
of whom she always tbought only with pride
and solicitude. When Cromwell was ex-
hausted by his public labors, and full of care
and aniiety, he joyously sought relief and
tranquilUty in the Society of a, heart boldmg
aloof from tbe ambitious atru^les and violent
deeds with which his life abounded. The very

dhyGoo^le

JOHN MILTON AND EIS TIMES.

ooly a book, a

p Ch h wh h h

I G al n wood, h d h

pup h b d Xb

h oe L yC Tp Em

came in, accompimied by the little ijaugbter
of tlie lady, a sweet child three years old, with
blond ringlets. Horringtoa took the little
^rl in his anas, and pluyeii with her until Ladj
Claypole came in.

" My lady," said the poet, pntting down the
child, " it is fortunate that you have come, for
Iwas about to steal yom' sweet little daughter."

" Sleai my daughter, and why P " nsked the
mother, pressing her darling to her hearts

" She will certainly make more brilliant
conquests one day, but I will confess to you,
my lady, that revenge, and not love, prompted
me to steal her."

" Aud what have I done to provoke your re-
sentment f" she asked, wonderingly.

"Nothmg, mv lady. I only wished to re-
taliate upon jou, as your father haa stolen
from me a child of which I am as fond as you
are of yours."

"Oh, my father is incapable of doing any
thing of the kind. The protector is severe,
but just."

"And yet he took my child from mc. It is

of political ro-

Lady Claypole smiled at the double mienAte.
" I will apeak to my father about it ; he shall
restore your child to you."

"Act^pt my thanks beforehand. I shall
dedicate the work to the protector, and pre-
sent the first copy to you, my lady."

The poet ttithdrcw, and Lady Claypole went
to meet her father, who arrived a few moments
afterward.

"My lord protector," said the amiable lady,
after tenderly embracing him, " permit toe to
intercede in behalf of a poor child which you
have stolen from its father. Do yon kcow
Harrmgton, the poet f "

" I do, my dai^hter."

" I have promised him that you would give
him back his manuscript."

Cromwell frowned, but his daughter stroked
bis forehead with her delicate hands, until it
became smooth again.

" You are cot afraid of a book, father? "

"I am not afraid either of the book or of
the author, who would like to deprive me of
my power and put his chimeras in my place;
but no attack with a little paper^n shall take
from me what I have gained by the sword. I
must asSumc tlip office of lord high constable
to reestablish peace between the hostile par-
ties ; fur they cannot agree on any form of
govemroentj and use their pow^r only to ruin
themselves. For your sake I will let him print
the book, and even accept its dedication."

At dinner Cromwell, as usual when he was
at ills daughter's house was in very {,ooil
spirits, and to-day his fiyety was ?o "Teat as
to excite her surprise.

" Something very agreeible must hive hap-
pened to you to-day she sa d svmpatbet eally

"The Parliament to-day offered me the
crown for the thhd time I 1 el ere I shall
have to accept it, cvti if t weie only to pro
cure for you the title of royal highness."

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LADY CLATPOLB— "KILLING HO MUEDEE."

Lady Clajpole turned pale and heaved a,
deep eigli. Her uneaab^ss and paleness made
a profound iropreseion on tlie protector.

" My thild, reassure yourself," lie exclaimed,
deeply moved. " I hare not yet made up my
mind. Tou will gradually aeoustora jourself
to this idea."

"Never!" replied his daughter, reeolutely.
"The crown on your head would only be a
misfortune for our whole house. Like my poor
grandmother, I should be unable to sleep
calmly for a minute ; for I should always see
the assassin's dagger raised against you. Oh,
father, listen to me quietly, and do not be
angry with me. I am only a feeble woman,
and am unable to appreciate your lofly plans ;
hut, if you love me, if you feel only the slight-
est tenderness for me, then content yourself
with the greatness which you have already
achieved, and do not aspire'to a title which, as
you say voursclf, has no greater value than the
plume on your hat I feel that your accession
to the throne would cause my death."

"No, no," cried Cromwell, in dismay; "you
shall not, must not die. What would your old
father do? Kothmg would remain for him
bnt to follow you immediately."

Tears moistened his cheeks, and the man to
whom all England bowed, and who annihilated
his enemies without mercy or compassion,
trembled at the mere thought of sueh a loss,
nis paternal love drowned the voice of ambi-
Ijon, and those projects which the most influ-
enlial and powerful men viunly sought to shake
gave way, at least for the time, before ihe
glance and the words of a feeble woman. But
Cromwell was unable to give up every thing
so abruptly. It is true, hia feelings had over,
powered bim, but his understanding and hia
inflamed passions stirred up his ambition again.
The prize beckoning to him was too templing.
So long as he was with hia daughter, he forgot

he left her peaceful company than he plunged
anew into the whirlpool of intrigues and affairs,
steadily keeping his goal in view But he had
to contend in his fam Ij not alone with the
pious and tender oljett ons of h s daughter.
His brother-in-law Desborough and his son-in-
law Fleetwood, an a dtnt republican opposed
is plan in the most determ ned manner. When
le conversed with them m his usual playful
aanner on the subject, and repeated bis favor-
ie phrase that the royal title would be only a
ilurae on his hat, and that he could not but
wonder at men refusing to let children r^oice
their playthuigs, they remamed grave and

nothing but aloving father ; but ni

it had

?his matter," said Major-General Dea-
ttorough, " is far more important than you
seem willing U> admit. Those who are lu-^ng
you to take this step arc not the enemies of
Charles Stuart; and if you comply with their
wishes, you will irretrievably ruin yourself and
your Mends."

"Bothof youare too timid," replied Crom-
well, laughing. " I caniyit do a^y thing vritb

" If you assume the royal title, I shall con-
sider your cause and your femily as hopelessly
lost ; and although I shaE never do any thing
against you, I shall henceforth no longer do
any thing for you."

They parted, angry and irritated. Cromwell,
however, thought he might still overcome the
resistance of his family ; nor was he the roan
to drop ao soon a resolution which he had
once taken. Desborough, a prominent oEScer
in the army, profited by his position, and
caused hiii most distii^ished comrades 1^ sign
ajictition against the protector's assuming the
royal title. This last step dashed the cup from
Cromwell's lips ; already bo near the goal, be
was burled back from it, as he could nialntsin
himself on the throne only by the assistance of
the army. He therefore decUoed with an air
of pious ind

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

by the Parliament He remained, sa hereto-
fore, Lord Protector of England. Nevertlieloss,
tlienumbersof hia enemies and opponents were
constantly on the inetease. Innumerable con-
Bpu^aciea against his life were discorered by his
numerous spies, among whom Billy Green acted
again a prominent part.

A pamphlet, entitled "EiUing No Murder,"
WE3 mysleriously circulated in the streets of
London ; it went from hand to band ; it spread
everywhere like nildSre ; it penetrated under
yarioua addresses into all houses, now con-
cealed in a bos, now in the shape of a letter.
Women and children were engaged in circulat-
ing it. This pamphlet recommended the as-
sassination of the protector, and commenced
with an address to hia highness, Oliver Crom-
well. The unknown author wrote to him as
follows; "I intend fo procure for your high-
ness that justice which no oneaa yet has been
willing to let you have, and to show to the
pcoplobow great on injury it would inflict upon
itself and you if it should delay compljing with
my advice. To your highness belongs the
honor of dying for the people, and the thought
of the benefit which jour death -will confer on
England cannot but comfort you in your last
moments. Not until then, my lord, will you
really have a right to the titlMi which you now
arrogate to yourself; you will then really be
the liberator of your people, and deliver it from
a joke hardly less oppressive than that from
which Moses freed hia people. Then you will
really he the reformer that you now try to
seem ; for then religion will bo reestablished,
liberty will be restored, and the Parliaoient
will regain the rights for which it struggled so
manfully. All this we hope to obtain by tjie
speedy death of your highness. To bring about
thisblessing as Eoonas possible, Ihave written
this pamphlet, arid if it has the etfect which I
eipeet from it, your highness will soon be be-
yond the reach of human malice, and your
enemies will only be able to level a^inst your

memory Mows which you will i

longer

Cromwell was as Indignant as ho 'wafe dum-
founded at this pamphlet, and instructed all
his spies to strain every nerve in order to fer-
ret out its auth d ' ul t rs B'll G n
was fortun h h d rre a

woman wh g g d u> he

dangerou p mph Th p w w t-

ing m 1 m h protee wh

deemed h m mp ^

that hewdh mh Hw

resolved re h w h m d

nothing hrt d md hmpn

alty ttdei ua m H w pa

cing his m w h rap d p h
head wa d w h h w

and hisih wflhdw an d

determin

"Erin h w man h aid h ffiee
of the day.

The prisoner caroe in ; she bore calmly and
composedly the threatening glance of the pro-
tector, which caused the moat courageous men
to tremble.

" Yon have committed a capital crime," he
said, stepping close up to her.

"I know it, and am not afraid of death," .
she replied with a proud smile.

"But before dying, you will give me tho
names of your aeeomplices. Who gave you
this pamphlet ? "

" That is my secret, and no one will be able
to wrest it from Ine."

" But suppose I should pardon you on thla
condition ? "

Life and liberty have no longer any value

"Ton aro young yet," replied Cromwell,
struck by her firmness. "How comes it that
life and liberty haveno longer value for you P "

" Because sentence of death has been passed
upon my husband, who is to be executed to-

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I ^

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LUCT AM) HBK FATHEE— CEOJiTWELL'S LAST DAYS.

"And what is your husband's name ! "

" Thomas Egerton."

When the protector heard tliis Qame, the
sjmpathj and compassion which had alread;
begun to sljr his heart died awa; again. lie
remembered his seduced daughter and the
vengeance wliich he had sworn to wrealc on
her seducer.

" Thomas Egerton ! " he cried, furiously.
" Oh, I linow hill), and even though he had a
thousand lives, he should lose them all. You
are his wife, and shall die loo. Heaven is just,
and the Lord delivers into mj hands His ene-

" Tour cruelty does not frighten me. To

die at the sa

wUhmyhi

dearest wish of my heart."

" It shall be fulaied, but not in the manner
you expect. You shall be executed before
him, and in his presence."

"By adopting this course, you will in spite
of yourself confer another benefit on me ; for
I shall not then have the grief of witnessing
my husband's eseeution."

" This woman cannot be tamed," murmured
Cromwell in impotent rage, and yet involun-
tarily admiring her conduct.

The longer he conversed with her, the more
he was obliged to acknowledge her manfulness
and courage ; he felt the nearness of a kindred
spirits Her very features bore a certain re-
semblance to his own. In her whole appear-
ance there was something that struck awe and
(error into his heart, and he could not avoid
shuddering the longer he contemplated her.
He tried once more to wrrat from her a con-
fession in reference to the pamphlet, but she
remained inflexible, and his threats were un-
able ia intimidate her.

" Tour blood, then," he said, " be on your
own head. Remove her; she shall die with
her husband."

" Thank jon," replied the heroic woman,
preparing to leave the room.

"Call Henderson," ordered the protector;
" he shall take her to the Tower."

Hq. turned indifferently to Thurloe, his pri-
vate secretary, whom he instructed to pay a
few gold-piece.? to Billy Green for his servieta
as a spy. Soon afterward old Hendereon
made his appearance. Cromwell gave him in
an undertone instructions for the governor of
the Tower. The Puritan approached the
prisoner in order to take her away; on seeing
him, she uttered a cry of surprise, which did
not escape the protector. Henderson, loo,
seemed deeply moved, but he presently re-
covered his presence of mind, and his r^id
features no longer betrayed the least emotion.

" Do you know this woman ? " said the pro-
tector to his former friend.

" I do not."

" And yet she uttered a cry on seeing you.
You lie, Henderson ! But I shall find out the
truth. All but these two will withdraw."

All the others left the room, in which Crom-
well remamed with the Puritan and the

CHAPTER Vn.

mind. Profound silence, which no one dared
to break, reigned in the cabinet. Seized with
the most various feelings, the three stood face
to face. Cromwell at last approached tha
Puritan.

'■ Speak ! Who is this woman ? " he asked,
imperiously.

So saying, he gazed at the Puritan with
those piercing eyes whose demoniacal power
but few persons were able to withstand,
was unable to resist the charm,
mtrary to his original mtcntion, he eon-
tho truth.

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JOHN MILTON" AND HIS TIMES.

" Tou want lo know il," he aaid, sullenly,
and with a sinister smile. " Learn, tbcn, tliat
this woman is— jour daughter 1 "

"My daughter I" echoed Cromwell, and
buried his face in Ms lianda. When he looked
up again, the color had fled from his cheeks,
onii he trembled like an agpen-leaf.

" You lie I " ho cried out. " I know that I
have grieved jou, and now jou want to re-
venge yourself."

" I have never uttered a, he," replied the
Puritan. "I speak the truth even now,
though I intended to conceal it from jou."

"Toil intended to let me kill mj child?"
asked Cromwell, divining the fanatic's pur-
pose. "And then tou would have stood be.
fore me and called me her murderer,"

Henderson made no reply, but contented
himself with nodding his head, Lucj had
Bunk at the feet of the fether whojn she had
found BO unejpectedlj.

"Forgive mo," she said m a heart-rending
tone, "but I did not know that Oliver Crom-
well was my father."

" Tou are not to blame," he replied, deeply
moTcd; "I am the Only guilty party. Tou
are only an instrument in the hand of the
Lord, who now punishes the sins of my youth.
I forgive you."

"And my husband t"

" Yonr husband?" he asked doubt n|,ly
" I always thought him your s luce and
hated him bitterly for it.'

"He acknowledged the wrong he had per

petrated on me, and restored i
reputation. We have been mar
tar. I cannot live without 1 mi
" I will pardon him for your i
he has richly deserved death.

honor and
I at the al

fuse to auhnut i

you a condition; if you re-
I it, the esecution will take its

"You will never betray the secret of your
descent either to him or to anybody else.
Henderson nil! accompany you, and pledge
me his word never lo return."

" I will go, not because you order me to do
"0 tuthee th '<p' 't prompt m Tl
k ngd m h ai h n com

h n e, w h couc nd g to

re-rn nd Th n an m

p b be ween u d m u aa

ptedbad mGod

hh do e.Hh will

Cromwel! was long since inured to such lan-
guage. Hence, he was not ai^ry wiib the
Puritan, and allowed hitn (o depart in peace.

"To sare him, I will submit ti
however rigorous they may be."

ns Th gn "D

fa thfully kept the pledge she had given vo
h n and d d not reveal the secret of her bbth
1 11 after h s death, when she communicated it
to her h sban 1

The pamrHet which Colonel Titas had writ-
ten Wds onlv tbo foreninaer of new and dan-
"e ous conip ric es, which now broke out
B^a nst the protector in all parts of England.
Charles IL had entered Into negotiations with
the inalecontents of all parties, even with the
republicans, and intended lo make another
descent upon England. The levellers and
cavaliers, the ex-members of the Long Parlia-
ment and officers of the army, the moat in-
congruous elements, had united to overthrow

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LUCY AKD HER FATHER— CEOMWELL'S LAST CATS.

their common eaLinj EvLn in London and
under Cromwell ^ ey the conapirntors cir
nod the r boldness 30 far na 1o fii the daj
and the hour when they were to occupy the
most mportant p nt? of the c ty arrent the
lord mayor, set fire lo the Tower, and, diirmg
the general confusion, seize the protector's
person. Cromwell, however, redoubled his
vigilance and the nctivity of his spies, whom
he hired everywhere, even among the attend-
ants and confidants of Charles IL So booq as
he had obtained the necessary proofs, he acted
with his accustomed firmness and energy. On
the morning of the day when the blow was to
be stcucli, at the very moment the conspira-
tors were repairmg to the posts assigned to
them, tlicir leaders were suddenly arrested, and
all guards reenfocced. Colonel Birkstead, the
lieutenant of the Tower, marched with a strong
body of troops and five pieces of artillery
through the city, and arrested about forty of
■the conspirators, and as many apprentices.
Among the former were Sc Henry Sllngsliy,
an uncle of Lord Faleonhridge, who had mar-
ried Lady Mary Cromwell, and Dr. Hewet, a
clergyman of the Episcopal Church, highly
esteemed and revered by LadyClajpoie. Both
ladies took infinite pains to save these two
men, upon whom sentence of death had been
passed. Vainly did the favorite daughter of
Oliver Cromwell overwhelm him with supplica-
tions and tears ; on this occasion he remained
inexorable; be was intent on intimidating hi^
enemies, and, therefore, displayed the most in-
flexible rigor. Cromwell loved his daughtei
dearly, but his stern nature had no idea of the
profound grief of this noble lady. Slie '
prey to indescribable anguish, and her feeble
body began to succumh (o it.

For the time being, the protector had. at-
tained his object; terror kept hatred at bay;
but he himself and his tranquillity were the
victims of Ihis victory. Everywhere he thoughl
himself surrounded by enemies menacing hif

life henceforth he wore a hiddtn coat of mail
protect himself against the doners of as-
(Bins; whenever he left the palace, several
truaty attendants aeoompaoied him in his car-
age In Whitehall he bad several bedrooms
■ith secret doors, and he never slept for two

incessant emotion could not but undermine
even his iron constitution. Old Henderson's
curse seemed now to be fulfilled in him aad his
family. His beloved daughter, Lady Claypole,
was taken sick. He had her sent to Hampton
Court, that the country air and tranq^ulllity
might restore her health. When her suffer-
ing grew worse, he himself went to her and
nursed her with the most tender soUcitude.
His arm, which had caused the world to
tremble, was now the support of a feeble wo-
man ; and it was from her sick-room that he
governed three kingdoms.

"Poor, poor child!" he sighed, deeply
moved, when she was in pain. " To save your
life, I would sacrifice my whole power— all, all
that I possess ! "

She responded by that faint but charming
smile which was peculiar to the noble lady,
and denied with the aelf-abnegafion of an angel
the sufferings to which she was a prey.

"I am better, much better," she whispered,
in a gentle voice, -while the paleness of her
cheeks and her lustreless eyes gate the lie to
her words.

In such hours the soul of the great man
rose high above the mists of ambition and
egotism by which it wt.'j darkened, and from
the earthly smoke burtt forth the purified
flame of hiB relin oua natun

"The Lord will not forsake me, he «iil,
"He will not take Irom ma thit which la

dted position, and chosen me as His

: what I did I did through and for

By God's help I have coded the bloody

Ingland,

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JOHN HILTON AND EIS ]

protected our Protestant bretbren, and de-
fecded our holy faith. He will not drop
faitMul servant, nor disown
But His will be done, and not mine. If He
has mercy on me, I will glorify His name,
heal tbs wounds of this country, govern witb
(he most conacientioua justice, and dedicate
the whole teraainder of my life to His service,
and to the welfare of my people, I feel tbat
my task is not yet ended, and tbat I ain called
upon to achieve still greater things."

He remained for long hours on hia knees,
praying fervently for the recovery of his
daughter; but Heaven turned a deaf ear to
his appeals. Lady Claypole finally succumbed
to her sufferings, and breathed her last in his
arm?. It afforded a melancholy enjoyment to
the protector to aurronnd his daughter's coffin
with regal pomp. Her adorned remains lay in
state at Westminstep Hall, and were interred
in a special vault amid the tombs of the

After her death, the pro1«ctor was subject
to fita of the moat profound melancholy. Hia
health began to give way, and aoon he was no
longer able to leave his bed. Hia-pbyaieians
were acnaible of the perilous condition to
which his diaeasc had reduced him, but he
himself would not believe that his life waa
drawing to a *!o3e.

"Why. do you look ao sadj" he aaked the
doctor, who waa standing by hia bedside.

"How can I look gay when I am respon-
sible for the life of your highneaa ? "

"You physicians think that I shall die," n
plied Cromwell, seizing the hand of bis wifi
who was sittiog at his side ; " but I tell you
shall not die of this distemper. I am well af
sured of my recovery."

Perceiving that the physicians were woi
dering at these words, he added;
■ " Think not that I have lost my reason ;
tell you the troth. I know it from better ai
tbority than any which you can have from ]

Galen or Hippocrates. It is, tlie answer of
God Himself to our prayers ; not to mine
alone, but to those of others who have a more
intimate interest in Him than I have. You
may have skill in jour profession ; but Nature
can do more than all the physicians in tha
world, and God is far above Nature."

All the friends and adherents of the pro-
tector shared Ibis firm belief. Not only in
Whitehall, but m all the churcbca of London,
prayers foe his recovery ascended to heaven;
but even bis adversaiiea were filled with terror
and aniiety at tho thought of hia death, and
the confusion that would aucceed to it. Hith-
erto, Cromwell had made no definite deposi-
tiona as to hia successor, and hia friends, for
this reason, were greatly embarrassed — even
Thurloe, from various motives, hesitating to
ascertain the protector's wishea in this respect.
Cromwell himself, as his condition grew worse
and worse, no longer took any interest in worldly
aflyrs. His soul turned esdusivclyfo heaven;
it retired into itself, and occupied itaelf with
other (tuestions and problems than those which
engrossed the mourners surrounding his bed.
At the gates of eternity, which opened to him
now, a sudden shudder seized him. Round
his bed sat bis chaplains, who henceforth did
not leave him any more ; he alternately prayed
or conversed with them on religious subjects.
" Tell me," be asked, starting up from his
meditations, " is it possible to fall from
grace P"

t is not poasible," replied Stercy, one of
the preachers.

Then I am safe," said Cromwell ; " for I
know that I was once in grace."
He turned and commenced praying aloud :
Lord, though a miserable and wretched
reature, I am in covenant with Thee through
Thy grace, and may and will come to Thee
for Thy people. Thou bast made me a mean
iment to do them some good, and Thee
aemce. Many of them set too high a value

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GENEEAL MONK— MILTON AMD LADY ALICE.

npon me, though others would be gkd of my
deatb. Lord, however Thou disposest of me,
continue and go on to do good for tliem.
Teach those nho look too much upon Thy in-
Btruments to depend more upon Thyself, and
pardon such as desire to trample upon tlie
dust of a poor wnrm, for they are Thy people

After uttering this fervent prayer, he Bant
inUi a stupor, which lasted until evening.
Toward nightfall he became greatly eieitcd ;
he spoke in an undertone, and very ioco-
herently, and hesitated in the middle of the
■words and senleueee ;

" In truth, God is good ; He will not — G»
is good-— I should like to live for the sake of

God andHis people, but my task 13 ended.

God will be with His people."

They asked him to drink, and then to sleep

" I do not want to drink," he sold, " nor t
sleep. I think only of making haste, for

Thurloo, who did not leave his bedade, an
the members of his family, deemed it indis
pensable to remind him of the necessity of ap-
pointing a successor. He uttered
voice the name of his son Biehard.
tempest raged at night, destroying v
of property on land and sea, Morf
at last; it was the anniversary of his victoria
at Dunbar and Wovcester, but Cromwell ha
already lost consciousness.

Between three and four .in the afternoon h
heaved a deep sigh ; his friends and the mem
bers of bis family hastened to his bedside ani
found that he was dead.

Profound silenea reigned in the death-room
broke only by the soba and low lamentations
of the family, and of a few fiuthful servants.

" Cease to weep," said Sterry ; " you have
more reason to rejoice. He vfas your protec-
tor here ; he will prove a still more powerfiil
protector, noB that he is with Chri
right hand of the Father."

in a feebl
A terrifi

g dawned

CHAPTER Vm.

Impoetant events occurrel now in rapid
succession. The hide son of a great fither
ruled but a short toe over England Eichard
Oromvfell was too weak for such a burden , he
BUeeumbed to the parties which, after the
death of the mighty protector, dehvered from
the pressure of his iren hand, rfused their
heads again. The protector's gener.ils, in-
cited hy their ambition, aspired to his power.
They possessed, perhaps, bis baser, but cot his

th
mg the t

of thi, republic, the pulpit3
ppeals in favor of a mon-
archy, as they had fonnerly dona against it.
Large numbers of armed apprentices marched
noisily through the streets, and cheered vocif-
erously for Charles H. His agents now pro-
ceeded openly and fearlessly, and enlisted for
him every day new adherents.

England's fate depended on one man, and
he was the ofloer to whom we have aboady

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270

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMEa

alluded, General Monk. Hitherto he had nol
revealed his intentions ; he possessed tho art
of silence in the highest degree, and concealed
his thottghlE even from hi9 own brother. Cool-
beaded and sober, he knew how to appreciate
the state of public affairs and his own
tion ; destitute of ardor and eathu
republic was as indifferent to him a
archy, and lie conchided to esponse
from which he eipected to derive m

Cool caluulation and prudent selSshn
succeeded to ardent fanaticism. E rj
betokened the impending downfall
public. The es-rojalists exulted cp
the friends of liberty mourned in see
No one gtieved more profoundly
ton. Since his last interview lyith m
he had taken heart again and hopef
forward to the future. Owing to h gr
h w g d mp

11, h

h h

Th e

w <^ y lo P hia p

studies, and to realize the devout aspirations
of his youth for an immortality of literary
fame. In his lonely and sleepless nights he
was at work upon his " Paradise Lo^t " Frag-

:s of tills great epic hi
riends, who received t

s admiration, and urged li

t hooka w

linuehis work. Especially was Alice dehghteJ
with the passages which she had heard. He
listened willingly to her odv ce and her refined
judgment and ei client ta^te but more than
allher innate p ety excrc Bed the greatest n
fluence upon h s mniortil crcat on N less
happy was the eff ct w eh she oserted ujon
his spirits. His wife had died ; m spite of
their reconciliation, she had never been able to
oppreoiate his worth and genius. Neverthe-
less, he mourned sincerely over bis los."!, which

was the more painful to him as she left three
balf-grown daughters. His faithful friend was
to him ft devoted support, and to his children
a mother. She took care of him and did not
leave him. Owing to his constant intercourse
'th h hi ■ d m d a milder tone ; he
ea ft m un !y that gentleness

to le coble lady was

ews of others with

ra ee ormerly. He re^

re onciiiation of the

ts d in his conversa-

h fr y dwelt upon this

he said to her one
ail the Chmy>h has
ce of the state
if succeed in so do

d yet every argument supports my de
m It cannot be denied beina the main

ion of our Protestant rel gion, that we
h e ages (having no other dmne rule or
h y from without us, warrantxble to one
h as a common ground, but the Holv
Scripture, and no other within us bat the illu
minatiOB of the Holy Spirit so interpreting
that Scripture as wBrrftutable onlv to ourselve"
and to suuh ivhose consciences we eau so per
suade) eau have no other grouni in matters
of relig on but only from the 'icnptures
Hcnee it is obvious that nether tralitions
councils, nor canons of any v hible church
much le- edn-ta of any magistrate or civ I
se s on but the S i pture only can he the final
judge or role n matters of rel oion and that
only n the con i ence of every Christian t«
himself Our doctnne prefers the tenptire
before the Church and a knowle Igea none but
the Scripture aole interpreter of itself to the
consdenoe But if any man shall pretend
that the Scripture judge 3 to his conscience for
other men, he makes himself greater not only

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GENERAL MONK— MILTON AND LADY ALICE.

271

than the Church, but also than the Scripture
Ihan the consciences of other men; a pre
sumption too high for anj mortal, since eyerj
true Christian, able to give a reason of h 9
failh, has tlio word of God before him, the
promised Holj Spirit, and tlie mind of ChrLt
within liim ; a much better and safer guide of
conscLence, which, as far as ooucems himself
ho may fbj more certainly know than anj out
ward rule imposed upon him by others, who a
he inwardly neither knows nor can know
Chiefly for this cause do all true Protestants
aocoant the pope Antichrist, for that he as-
sumes to himself this infellibility Ofec both
the conBcience and the Scripture,"

"But if you deny all authority and church
discipline, yoa throw open the door to hcr^y
and infidelity," objected his orthodox friend.

"These dread words do not terrify me, al-
though I know that they have been used for
ages past as scarecrows to keep free aud lib-
eral minds from the field of truth. He who to
his best apprehension follows the Scripture,
though against any point of doctrine by the
whole Church received, is not aheretic, but he
who follows the Cliureh against his conscience
and persuasion grounded on the Scripture.
How many persecutions, imprisonments, ban-
ishments, penalties, and stripes, how much
bloodshed, have the foreeis of conscience to
answer fori Chnstianity in its original form
is of a purely spiritual nature, and founded on
unlimited hberty ; for its growth and develop-
ment, it has no need of the temporal power,
whiLh 1' raanifestly subordinate to it, and
whoije yoke it cannot tolerate. It is a deg-
radation of religion to deem such a support
neccssarv to it ; it is a perversion of its whole
essence and character, and, what is worse slill,
an insult to divine truth."

"In toy opinion, the state must have at
least the right to superintend religious mat-
ters, so as to prevent blasphemy and immo-
raKty. This is its boundea doty."

The protector becomea only oo eas ly a
tyrant In pret nding to pro e t re ;, on
cgamst 1 s enem es h w 11 ere lonf, lay h s
band^ upon the freedom of conac en e and
thouRht He that "eeks to compe an nfidel
to observe at 1 ast the outward form of rel
gion or 1 c na ent ous man to a t contrary
to h s convict on w U br ng about the same
PSult n the wo oa e and make only hypo-
tea I an see the salvat on 1 our fa th
nly n the ntire ndependenee of tl e Chur h
from the state. It is not until then that we
shall have that toleration which you, my
friend, as well as I, desire for all men."

" God grant then that the day may soon
dawn npon us, when every one shall practise
the charity and forbearance which have ani-
mated us for many years past, notwithstand-
ing oat opposite views I "

"Amen ! " said the poet. "And now let mo
recite to you the first lines of the third book
of ro J ' Paradise Lost.' "

The poet spoke, in a tremulous Toice :

trst-bon

Hall.liolyLiglitl oftpringi

Maylespieas theeirablamcdt since God is ligbt,
Ana never trot In uiiappcoachea ligbt
Divelt ffom eternity ; dwell then In tiee,
Bright effluence of bright essence incrcate.
Or beai-'st tbou rather, pnre ethereil atieam,
IfboseraimtnlnwbasbaUtell' Befure the stu,

01 Ood, aa with a mantle, dlOst Invest

The riang worlfl oJ waters dark aaA dBep,

Won from the void and formless InSalte.

Thee I revisit now with boWer wing,

Eficaped the Stygian pool, thoi^h long detained

In that ohscnie sojourn ; wbiJe in my flight

Through nttn and tlirongh lulddla darkness borne,

■WHli other notes than to the Orpbesn lyre,

I sung 0/ chaos and eternal night;

Taught by the heavenly mnw to venture doivn

Clear spring, or shady grovo, or snnnj hUl,
Bmlt with the love of sacred aoDg; butchlef
Thee, Sion, and the Sowery bnwks heneaUi,

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272

JOHN MILTON AKD HIS TIMES.

That wasb Ihy hsllowed feet, ni
Nigtlly I ylait; nor Bometfme!
Thosa other two eqmillEd with
So wets I eqnflllod wlli them 1
BllnS TbamyriB md bilnd Mie<
And Tiresias and Phlneas, ]itop
Thca feed on lioiiglit!, that voluntoiy

Presented with s ■

old:

after thon, celestinl Light.
and the mind through all her powe
re plant ejes. all mUt Hum thence
)erso, thai I may see and lell
ilble to mortol eight"

Alice listened ia profound emotion (o the
touching complaint wbich the poet uttereii in
regard to hia own blindnesa. When he was
throagh, she seized his hand and dropped a

"Is my Muse weeping ?" asked the poet.
"Yea, you are my Muse, and stand aa aueh be-
fore mj dimmed eyes. In you I find again the
divine nature of woman, which reatorea to us
our paradiae lost, Alas ! I possessed it once,
Bud forfeited It by my own fault. But Heaven

naa merciful tc

n your per-

il who opened tome the
galea of a new and more beautiful Eden. That
earthly passion has vanished, and only that
hearenly love, which is now my comfort in
gloom and adversity, has remained to me. Let
me confess to you at thia hour how fervently I
once loved you, dear Alice. Time haa purified
and transfigured my love; free from all eirlhly
deairca, 1 may openly avow to you to-day what
I formerly concealed with timid aniiety from
the world."

"And I return your avowal in the same
spirit," whispered Alice, deeply moved. "1
loved you, also, in those beautiful days. Fate
separated ua, and I beoaroe the wife of aoother

God knows how dear he became tome,
toxiealing love that attached

me to Carbury, hut the highest admiratioi
his noble and manly nature. I grappled a long
time with my remembrance of the past, and
of you, until the fulfilment of my duty afforded
me full aatisfaction and tranc[uillity. 1 learned
not only to esteem, but really to love my hus-
bandj and soon he was my moat predoua treas-
ure on earth. Foe you, however, I prtserved
in my heart the most affectionate sympatiij —
an affection whieb, like yours, has remained
free from ilUcit desires and impure thoughts,"

" And thus was vouchsafed to me a happi-
ness for which I scarcely ventured to hope.
Tou have restored to me my faith in the bet-
tec nature of woman ; in you I learned to re-
spect and revere that holy womanhood which
I once considered a mere chimera. Let me con-
fess to you that there was once in my life a
time when I really believed that woman was
made of baser stuff, and was inferior to man,"

"How I deplore your error, and how you
must have suffered in consequence ! For a
man who haa lost faith in the eialted nature
of woman cannot be happy on this earth. It
is true, the Creator has given us weakness as
our inheritance, but at th'e same time He has
planted mildness in our hearts. If Eve de-
prived manliind of paradise, through another
woman was given to us the Eedeetner and the
salvation of the world."

" In these words you have described my own

fate, I also posses:

a wife resembling

Eve. She destroyed the paradise of my wedded'

life, and I foi^ave her, aa
hia wife, that great sinner
appeared to me another w
all the weaknesses of her
this miserable world, and

Adam of old forgave
. But now there haa
Oman, who, ftee from
aei, soars high above
carries mo from earth
to heaven. Already I feel her blessed influ-
ence; already I feel that, despite my bHndness,
she fills my soul with radiant light, purifies me
by her gcntlcneaa and toleration, reconciles

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THE RESTORATION— MILTON'S CONCEALMENT.

273

mc to the world, beoomoa a pattern for me by
her piety, helps me to bear my gricvoua mis-
fortunes, and, by her sympathy and refined
judgment, encourages me in writing my epic,
which, but for her advice, would perhaps never
have been fioiBhed. Such a woman restores
to me my lost paradise, and I praise the good-
ness of the Lord, who, even though so late, baa
had mercy npon me, and revealed to mc the
true and esalted nature of woman."

The blind poet felt a gentle, chaste kiss on
hia lips ; but before he was able to return it,
his muse had disappeared.

CHAPTER IX.

I Milton was thua restored to
poetry, his heart was still ardently devoted U>
tho liberties Of hia country, which at thia junc-
ture were mora seriously threatened than ever
before Genefal Monk, who, as we have said,
was mister of the situaUon, hesitated, it is
true, to take the laat decisive step ; but all
aymptoms indicated the apeedy overthrow of
the republic With profound a£Biction Milton
saw ins fondest idcala ruthlessly swept away,
and he beheld the rapid return t* power of
a reactionary party, which, in anticipation of
its overwhelming triamph, already exulted at
the humiliation of its republican adveraaries.
As yet, however, he thoi^ht Hie cause that waa
so dear and aaered to him was not irretrievably
lost ; and as he had once spoken te Cromwell,
BO he rcaolvcd now to go to Monk and remind
him of his duty. The blind poet cauaed him-
self to be conducted to the general, whom he
found surrounded by the leading men of the
diiferent parties. All thronged about Monk
to exercise a decisive influence over his reso-
lutions. The haughty cavaliers in thdr rich
« of Bilk and velvet, and the Presby-

terian clergymen in tieir black Genevan gowns,
dinned his eara ; all sects tried to gain access
to him, and either to fathom the intentions of
the general or lo lead them iuto a speinal chan-
nel. The fickleness and want of prindple of
the multitude became more and more apparent ;
and while Milton was waiting in theauteroom,
he could not but notice that his old friends and
acquaintancca anxiously shunned him now that
he had loat his former influence, and the cur-
rent of public opmion was favorable to the
Stuarts.

At laat he was admitted. The general re-
ceived him with the coldness and inlperturbabie
equanimity which always give a ahtewd, calcu-
lating mind the advantage over a fervent en-
thusiast.

" What do you want of me ? " asked Monk,
with his characteristic bluntness.

" Solicitude for the welfare of the country
leads me to you ; the fate of England ia in
your hands. At no tune, perhaps, has so much
been intrusted to a single man as to you, gen-
eral. On your decision depends the weal or
woe of England. A whole people looks up to
you and holds you responsible for ita fate.
History, with uplifted pencil, atanda ready to
engrave your name on her tablets, either as
the benefactor or the worst enemy .of your
country."

" Come to tlie point. Who sent you to me?"

"Who sent me to you ? My love of.liberty,
general, and the voice of the Spirit. Aa the
Lord of old raised up propheta in Israel when
His people was in danger, so He calls forth
to-day also men that will fearlessly proclaim
the truth."

" The time of miracles is past," replied the
general, sneeringly.

"And jct tho events of the last fifteen years
prove the falsehood of that adage. Has not
a miracle happened under our own eyes? A
throne fell before tho mighty will of a nation,
and the anointed head of a kmg was liud on

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274

JOHN MILTOK AND HIS TIMS.

the block. A man of lowly descent became
ruler of England, and at the very moment when
he was atretehing out bis hand for the cronn,
death oveilook him. Is it not a miracle, too,
that jou yourself have reacbed a poeiUou
where you may dedde upon the fiiture of three
kingdoms ? "

" And what are your views, your wishes ?
What do you advise me to do? "

" To preserve the republic and protect it

those liberties which it has purchased nltb
rivers of predous blood."

"Pray ask the "people whether they want
freedom; and ask yourself whether the multi-

npe fo

" In my opinion, freedom is not a ^fl of
merey, which must be solicited and humbly
obtained, bnt it is the birthright of individuals
as well as nations, I will nnt deny that it may
be abusedand degenerate into anarchy; hence,
I demand wise laws and institutions to pre-
vent such abuse of freedom."

" And who is to enact these laws ? "

"An assembly of the best men, to be freely
elected by the people."

" In that case we sball have another Parlia-
ment such as that of the miserable Bareb one,"
laid MonV, shnig^g his shoulders.

" It is true, if the right of unrestrained suf-
frage were adopted, not wisdom and authority,
but turbulence and greed wonld prevail, and
would soon exalt the vilest miscreants from
our towns and villages to the rank and dignity
of senators. Should the management of the
repubHc be intrusted to persons to whom no
one would willinglj intrust the management
of his private eoneema ; and the treasury of
the state be left lo the care of those who lav-
ished their own fortunes in an infamous prod-
igality f Should they have the chargo of the
public purse, which they would soon empty
into private ones by their unprincipled pecula-
tions ? Are they fit to be the legislators of :

whole people who themselves know not what
law, what reason, what right and wrong, what
crooked and straight, what licit and illicit
mean? who think that all power consists in
outrage, all dignity in the paradeof insolence?
who neglect every other consideration for the
corrupt gratjficalion of tbeir friendships, or the
prosecution of their resentments P who dis-
perse their oyn relations and creatures through
the provinces, for the sake of levying taxes
and confiscating goods ? men, for the greater
part, the most profligate and vile, who in a
moment emeige from penury and rags to a
state of splendor and wealth ? Who could
believo that the masters and patrons of ban- '
ditti could be the proper guardians of liberty ? "
Monk was silent, and his cold features did
not betray the slightest symptom of sympathy ;
yet Iffilton continued to defend liberty in the
most enthusiaatio manner. To save the r&
public, no sacrifice seemed to him too great.
He anticipated all possible objections, and even
consented to concessions at which the mem-
bers of his party took deep umbrage, and for
which he was bitterly denounced by a, great
many. We have seen that he gave up univer-
sal suffinge ; the members of the senate {the
Parliament which he advocated) were to bo
elected for life, except some who were to lose
their seats from time to time, and in whose
placea new members wero to be elected. la
return, he demanded freedom of conscience for
all those who recognized tbeBible as the foun-
dation of their faith. He rejected emphatically
the House of Lords, pointing to the influence
of the large landed proprietors, an evil of the
English constitution by which the country is
injuriously affected even at the present time.
Thus he strove to render good service to the
republic, not as a mere enthusiast, but as a
practical statesman, even at the moment when
it was eipiring, and when its adherents were
exposed to grave dangers.
" If we return to Idngship," he esclaimed at

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THE RESTORATION— MILTON'S CONCEALMENT.

275

the end of the conversation, '
(aa undoubtedJj we shall, w
find the old encroachments cc
and little upon our oonacien

id soon repent
1 wc begin to
ng on hy httle

of 01

hereafter the like n

J be vouchsafed

our eaune, [f by our un-
e make these fruitless ;
mceesions from His di-

gr^teful backsliding
flj-ing now Vt regal
vine condescensions, and gracious answers (o
our once iniportaning prayers against the tyr-
anny which we then groaned under ; making
Tahi and viler than dirt the blood of so many
thousand faithful and valiant EngUshmen, who
left US in this liberty, bought with their lives."

The general turned a deaf ear to these elo-
quent appeals ; ha was unable to discern the
requirements and stru^es of the future, and
his sober mind did not rise above the questions
with whieli he had to deal at the present mo-
ment, Milton's words made no impression
upon him, and he dismissed the blind poet
without revealmg his intentions to hun,

A few days afterward tlie general and the
Parliament declared for Charles 11 The peo-
ple received this intelligence approvingly, nay,
.with manifestations of exultation. Tired of
civil war, of military rule, and of the arrogance
of the generals, they looked upon tie restora-
tion of the Stuarts as their only salvation, and as
the safest road to the reestablishment of law,
order, and tranquillity. The change wbieh
public opinion had undei^ce became strik-
ingly manifest at Oliarles II. 's solemn entrance
into London. The most jubilant acclamations
greeted him on all Mdes; tlie streets were
strewed with flowers, and all the houses fes.

necessarily proceed from kmg and bishop
united inseparably in one interest), we may be
forced, perhaps, to fight over again all that we
have fought, and spend over again aD that we
have spent, but are never like to attain thus
far as wc are now advanced to the recovery

tively decorated. Charles rode by the side of
his gloomy brother, the Duke of York. He
kindly greeted the same populace which a few
years before had hailed his father's ■
and Iiad wished t1
upon him Th n
laughed wi h
among wh m th
dered him m n cc h coarse

jeeta and h h nd m p ra Thus

Charles p d h p ded by

a brillian d n nn n ab m Itltude,

a be inflicted

mpao n d friends,
B km h m ren-

quartcra

adherent n w fl ked L m m
and rallied around him; and many of his former
adversaries deserted their party and passed
over to him. Now commenced that disgusting
spectacle which is never wanting to a restora-
tion. Many partisans of the republic, many
Puritana dropped their masks, which tlicy had
worn only while they were benefited by so do-
ing, and joined the court. The very noisiest
democrats suddenly became the most enthn-
siastic adherents of the king, and persecuted
their former friends and associates. Not only
fellows like Billy Green, but men that had
filled the most distinguished positions, gave
the most unmistakable proofs of their venality
and want of principle. Edmund Waller, the
poet, who had celebrated Cromwell's death in
one of Ms most vigorous and impressive poems,
presented a congratulatory address to Charles ,
II. The royal offering was con^dered inferior
to the panegyric on Cromwell, and the Mng
himself told him of the disparity.

"Poets, sire," replied the witty, self-pos-
sessed, and unprincipled Waller, "succeed
better In fiction than in truth."

Charles smiled, and from tbat hour forward
Waller was admitted to the circle of those dis-
solute courtiers who, by their vices and im-
morality, have gained a lasting though most
unenviable name in the annals of English his-
tory. In a short time St. James's palace was

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276

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

lUi a reodeOTOus of indescribable
33 and corrupdoii. Here were cde-
bral«d the orgies to which none but the
intimite friLndB of Ite king were admitted.
Trivolous women, Such as the adventurous
meee o( Cardinal Mazarin, Barbara Villiers
(Mrs. Falmer), afterward Duchess of Cleveland,
and the accomplished but frail actress Nell
Gwjnn, plajed the most prominent pacts on
these occasions; the most notorious reprobates
vied with them. Here leigned a tone and
manners that defied the dictat£s of decorum
and decency ; obscene witticisms were levelled
at the most sacred things, and the more vi-
dous a man was, themorebe woa courted as a
boon cumpanion. At that time appeared first
tbose frivolous rouh wlio boasted of their
vices, and lauded meanness and infamy as
priuseworthy qualities. The very literature
of that lime was demoralized, and pandered to
the basest lust. The most vicious plays were
performed on the stage, and more lascivious
utterances fell from the lips of the actresses
tlian fram those of the actors. This immoder-
ate thirst for amoaements and dissipation did
not exclude the most vindictive spirit of por-

tionists knew no bounds. The king himself was
not very bloodthirsty, but his eouctlers urged
him to commit s, number of actions entirely at
variance nili his originally careless and inliif-
ferent nature. Sentence of death was passed
upon the judges of his father, and they were
executed amid the most excruciating tortures.
Tho very grave did not shield the deceased re-
publicans from the cavaliers, whose revenge
extended beyond the bounds of death. The
remains of Cromwell and Irelflu, and even tlie
coipse of the noble and magnanimous Lady
Clajpole, were torn from their coffins and
hai^d on the gallows. Death, imprisonment,
or exile, menaced all the partisans of the com-
monwealth. Millon bad occupied so prom-
inent a posldoD among them, that be could

hope to escape from the vindietiveness of
the royalista. His friends were afraid lest
setJtence of death should be passed upon him,
and advised him Co conceal himself until the
had blown over. To mislead the
persecutors, they even circulated the rumor
that he was dead. "While he fouod a quiet
and safe asylum at Lady Carbury's bouse, a
attended by a small number of moum-
is carried from his Own dwelhng to the
cemetery. This stratagem saved bim, at least,
for the time be'ng

"I would said the poet, during this sham
funeral, I were rpally dead and buned !
Life has no longer any v ilue fur me "unce I
have to lament the subversion of libertv, and
this fcarfi 1 d(.moralizatiOD prevaihng every
where."

" Why so gloomy ? " replied Alice, who was
seated at his side. "Resurrection succeeds to
death. To-day they inter only Milton the
politician, while Milton the poet celebrates his
resurrecliOD. You possess the greatest con-
solation in your poetical genius, which raises
you above all earthly troubles. You should
never have bid fareweU to your Muse, never
have plunged into the whirlpool of party-life ;
you would suffer less at this juncture."

"No, no! I followed only the dictates of
my own oODECience, and never shall I regret
having courageously raised my voice in favor
thought. The
stand aloof from the world

freedom of
e poet must

nlit

he muit n

eai to the ilaims wbn.h lile and hio country
mate upon him. He is, at the same time, a
bard and a propbtt, a seer and an exhocter,
enlisted in the servii-e of tritL Life and
art must (.ummmgle in him, and only if he
serves humanity, takef part in its struggles,
fcarkssly entirs upon tht lolulion of great
pubhi. questions and undauntedly professes
h a principles and eonvictions, does be deserve
the name of a poet."

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AKHEST AND PAEDON OF MILTON.

277

CHAPTER X.

Milton, therefore, nas believed to be dead ;

but in his soul a? AJico had predicted to him,

ra ed ee rrc poetry. In

a "Paradise

ra with datk-

wi Only from

m nn him of the

, Thia act
ed him pro-
dJ Hi to gi e way under

xa m nful m d his volun-

tary loneliness produced a moat injurious effect
on hia eonatitution. Gradually reaaanred in
regard to his persona! aecurity, he left hia
asylum after nightfall and wandered through
the atreets of the city. Whenever he took
such walka a shadow was noticed doggii^ his
Btepa and seemingly watching hia movements.
He paid no atlenliou to it, for life had lost all
value la his eyes. He had long desired to see
his daughters, and, contrary to Alice's advice,

hew

t to his

dren, who lived there under the care of hia
sisters. After spending a ahort time in their
midst, ho left the houae again, to return to his
safe asylum. On stepping out of the door, he
was surrounded by armed men headed by
Billy Green, who had been lurking for him.

"You are my priaonerl" cried Cromwell's
Bjrmer spy, who was now in the service of the
government

The news of Milton's arrest spread like
wildGre, and hia friends were in great trepida-
tion on hia account. Alice hastened to the
palace to intercede in behalf of the unfortu-
nate poet. She vainlj demanded admittance
to the king ; Charles II. was at dinner with
hia favorites, and had strictly forbidden hia

servants to disturb him. In vain the aoble
lady mentioned her devotion to the Stuarts
and the great sacrifices she had made to their
cauae; the chamberlain was ordered not to
admit her. Charles IL was utterly forgetful
of the faithful services which his adherents
had rendered to him, and they had otlen
enough cause to charge him with ingratitude.
Alice, however, was firmly determined not to
leave the palace until she bad aeen the kii^
himself and prevailed upon him to pardon
Milton. While ahe was waitiog in the ante-
room, the poet Davenant came in on his way
to the apartments of the king, with whom he
was on the most intimate terms. Without
knowing him, Alice hastened to meet him.
On seiang her, Davenant involuntarily stood
stiU.

"Pardon me if I detain

you, and ask

you to

render me an

important S

rvicG.'

"Ask of

me all tha

you

like,

escept

money."

"Imuitae

e the king, and you

must

procure

me an audience."

" I am afraid that that is altogether impos-
sible ; for, when his majesty is at the dinner-
tahlc with a full goblet before him, he doea
not allow himself to be disturbed, even though
an angel should come from paradise to see
him. Let me advise you to come back aome
other time."

" My bu^ness brooks no delay. I am here
to obtEun the pardon of a noble, magnanimous
man, who is, moreover, so unfortunate as to
be blind."

"I hope you do not refer to my friend Mil-
ton?" he asked eagerly. "If that is the case,
I will myaelf speak to the king, and I pledge
you my word I will get him pardoned ! "

" Are you a ftiend of Milton ? "

" Of course I am, although wo hear no more
resemblance to one another than the eagle
doea t^i the merry bullfinch. He is a repub-
lican, and I am a royalist; be is an enthu-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

siast for ideaia, and I am oae for reality;
he drinks water, and I drink wine; he loves
.the Muses, and I love pretty girls whereTOr I
maj meet Ihcm. This, however, shall not
prevent my doing for him what he has done
forme. He once saved me a very unpleasant
seneation at ihB time that old Satan Cromwell
waa Bfill alive. His highness was intent on
hanging me, and I am indebted for my life
to the intercession of mj friend Miltoo."
" Oh, make haste, then, and save him ! "
" Of course I shall ; and in case his majesty
should refuse to grant me this litlJe favor, I
awear to you, madam, that I shall commit
suicide, and hang myself in despair, although
I am esceedingly ticklish. But the king will
not allow me to do so. I know him too well ;
he oaonot refuse any thing to those who know
bow to take him, and lei^t of alt to a friend
hke me, who helps Mm to kill his time. Wait
for me here, madam, until I return, and I will
be a scoundrel if onr friend Millon is not set
at liberty thia very night."

So saying, the fiivoloue Davenant hastened
into 'the adjoining room, from which the
laughter and shoula of a merry cai'ousal pene.
trated to Alice. The king sat in the midst of
hia boon companions at a table loaded with
dishes and decanlers. The beautiful Nell
Gwjnn filled hia glass, while the overbearing
Buckingham told one of hia fimny stories, and,
to the dcl^ht of his august patron, imitated,
in the most ludictoua manner, the pedantic
bearing and peculiarities of Lord Clarendon,
the worthy president of the Council of Stafe.
" Splendid i splendid 1 " cried Charlca.
" That is Clarendon to the life ; only his big
wig is wanting."

"Tour majesty," said Buckingham, in the
tone of Mb assumed rile, "Providence has im-
posed on you the sublime task of making your
people happy and eontonted. For Uiis purpose
you must, above all things, honor the Epis-
copal Church, and lead a virtuous and devout

life. You must set a glorious example to
your subjects, and be a pattern of morality."

" I suppose that is what I nm," said the
king, lai^Mng, and imprinting a glowing kiss
on Nell Gwyna's crimson lips.

"Besides, it is incumbent on your majesty,
by wise economy and a prudent administra-
tion, to bring order into the unsettled finances
of the kingdom. I d m m If 1 in d
bound to warn yo th di so

and extravagant m

who is wallowing th ma an

Grammont, the F hm m

"And, above al th Du B m

interposed Walle m

of honesty and tu
wench in the str an fr m m
man in the three kingdoms is aafei'a pattern
of voluptuousness, a colossus of lewdness, the
most vicious man in England."

"Better and better," laughed Charles, who
liked nothing better than such coarse jests.
" Long live the incorrigible Buckingham I "

" Long live the incorrigible Buckingham ! "
cried the whole chorus.

While the nobleman who had been cheered
in so pecnliar a manner returned thanks, in
ludicrous words, levelling the shafts of his
saUre evea at the kmg, Daveiiant entered the

3aid Charles ti
;o long ? "

there have

"With some wench, I bet," said the Earl
of Rochester, a well-known profligate.

"I do not like to hunt in your lordship's
park," rephcd the poet, who was as witty as
he waa impudent. " Some harm might befall
me there in the end."

"Then you have been at your mother's
tavern, and tried to get sober after last night's
carousal."

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AERE8T AND PARDON OF MILTON.

" You are not very happy in your guesses
to-day. It would be advisable lor jou to
send your wit to a cobbler and hsTe it mended.
It lacta point."

" Then it fares no better ttan your nose."
" Mequiescai in peme," said tlie king, laugh-
ing. " Davenant, I nant you U> teE me where
you base been so long."

" In your majesty's anteroom, where I had
an inlerview with a lady,"

" A lady who has had an interview with you.
is always auspicious to roe."

" Sec her yourself and yon will judge other-
wise. She is waiting in the anteroom, and in-
Bista on being admitted to your m^esty."

" Is she joang and handsome ? " asked the
king, eagerly.

"She no longer possesses the charms of
first youth, but in return she is gifted with
that beauty which is imperishable, because it
indicates a noble heart and a lofty mind."

"Davenant has gone mad," sneered Buck-
ingham. "He must be confined in a lunatic
asylum. In the interest of public security I
move that he be sent thither."

"Hush I hush! "said Charles II. "Davc-
nant'fi intellectual beauty be^ns to eseite my
interest. And what does the Platomc lady
want of meP"

" She wants your majesty to pardon a
oner, and I join my prayers to hers."

"She wishes doubtless to intercede in behalf
of some accursed Roundhead," said Bucking-
ham. " It is wrong in Buch supplieante to
trouble his majesty during the most important
hours of his life. The whole crowd should be
hung at the same time, so that they may not
disturb his m^esty any longer."

"Buckingham is right," said the lazy king.
" I do not want to be dialnrbed, nor do I want
to hear any thing about the lady and her pro-
t$ffl. Ton are a tedious fellow, Davenant."

" Very well," replied Davenant ; " I will go,
then, anci inform the lady that my gracious

naster has no memory for faithful services, nor
^rs for devoted friends."

"Well, I see tliat nothing rcmama forme
jut to listen fo jou. Tell me, therefore, what
t is all about, but bo brief You see that
mr tune is eiceedingly hmited. Who is ihe
jrisoner in whose behalf you intercede so
itrongly?"
" Milton, the poet."

On hearing this name, the guests burst inia
oud murraurs. The swarthy face of the king
colored with indignation ; he seemed to have
awakened from his indolence.

"And you really ask mc to pardon that

man ? " he said, sternly. " Do you not know

that he reviled my father oven in his grave? "

" He was a republican, and acted according

Besides, he saved my life at the time I re-
turned to England in compliance with your
august mother's request. I am still in bis
debt, and your majesty pledged me your royal
word to pay all my debts on your return."

"Tou are a rogue," snid Charles, laughing
at the witty pun. "But how does it come that
STilton has not been arrested until now ? "

" His friends said he was dead, and caused
an empty coffin to be buried in his stead in
order to protect him from punishment."

" A very good joke," said the king, whose
good-humor had been fnlly restored by what
Davenant had told bim. " Justice has nothing
to do with the dead, and punishment ceases
with the grave."

"Tour majesty, then, will pardon Milton?"

"Well, I believe I wiU."

" And to aave your majesty all further trou-
ble, I have di'awn up these lines ; all you have
to do, aire, is to sign them."

With a qnick stroke of the pen Charles or-
dered the immediate release of the prisoner,
for which Davenant thanked him very warmly.

"But what about your lady?" asked the
king, when Davenant was about to withdraw

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

ia order to conroy tlie glad tidings to A
"Tou liave not even told me hec name. ]
sore she ia bs bad a republican aa jour fr
Milton, eince she takes so livel; an interts
his fat*."

"Tour m^'esty ia ntterly mistalten.
lady was the most loyal adherent of your
lamented father, for whom her hushand gave
up his life fihe herself fought like a bemine
for the good ca he and id conseiinen c 1 at
the largest part of her estati.3 There H qo
more 1 yal woman m all England thin Lady
Alice Carbury the daughter of the Earl of
Bridgewitpr Lord Prcndent ofWa!e«

" In that case it la my duty to see ber. Peo-
ple in general reproach me with neglecting my
old friends ; but since my accession, God knows
I have found so many old friends of my femily
that I could not satisfy thar claims even
though my treasury contained all the liches of
the two Indies."

" So iar as I know. Lady Alice Carbury is
one of those friends who ask for nothing but
an affiible word and a kindly smile from your
m^esty. It will not cost you any thing, sire,
to vouchsafe these to them."

"Well, wc must display some gallantry
toward ladies," said the king. "Iwillseeher
and pay my respects to her. Tell her that I
shall await her in my cabinet to inform her in
person that Milton's pardon has hecn granted.
This room would not be a suitable place to
give her an audience."

Davenant hastened to inform Alice of the
king's will. Her loyal heart was filled with
the utmost joy by this intelligence; she ad-
hered to the royal cause with a rare fidelity
bordering almost on fanaUcism.

"All Is well," whispered Davenant to her,
" but his m^esty ia desirous of seeing you in
person."

" God bless him for it ! " she prayed, with
fervent gratitude.

Charles II. came to meet her. She woold

have bowed her knee before hun, bat he pre-
vented her doing so; he could not, however,
prevent the kiss which she hnprinted on his
hand. The king, although he was not hand-
some, was able to display the most seductive
amiability whenever he wished to do so. Full
of disdain of human nature, although few
monarchs ever received so many proofe of de.
Totion at the hands of hia subjects, he was
yet naturally kind-hearted, and manifested on
many occasions estreme afi'ability and conde-
scension. His frivolity was the source of his
faults and virtues, if a certain indolent kmd-
heartedness and a sympathetic though super-
ficial cheerfulness deserve to bear this name.
Susceptible of every new impression, Alice's
unfeigned devotion, and still more the intel-
lectual beauty which she had preserved in
spite of her mature years, won his heart.

"How does so devoted an adherent of the
royal cause," he asked, in the course of the
audience, " come to intercede in behalf of one
of the most inflesible and dangerous republi-
cans? Milton has injured our cause more
than a le^on of our other enemies, and yet
you speak in his behalf."

fecause I esteem his character, and above
ail Ma genius, which I beheve to be eijual to
that of the greatest poets of ancient or
modem times."

" Very well. He shaL lire, then, and enter
r service. We are fond of poets, and Dav-
int is aware that we know how to rewaid

" I doubt if ifilton will accept so generous
offer, though I grateiuUy appreciate the
spirit which has dictated it."

And why should your proUg^ re1\ise to
3 a position at our court ? Believe me,
Lady Carbury, all men are venai, as soon as
know the price at which they will p

In her loyalty, Alice did not venture to
combat an asaertion which the king made

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SECOND MARRIAGE.

ftie rule ol Lis lits, ind which restid L'!piLmllT
on hie esperieiiLe daring tbc &nt month of
the restoration a time when apostacr and
sbanielesa venahty were feariully prerolent.
When the audienee, during whii,h Charles's
respect for the nohle lady had couttantlj in-
creased, was drawing to a close, be alluded of
his own accord to the sacnGce9 which she had
made for the rojal cause.

" Your noble husband died for us," he said,
Itindly. " You yourself have lost most of
your estates bj confiscation. It ia meet, there-
fore, that so fer as I am able, I should indem-
nify you foe the losses which you have sus-
tained. Golden Grove Castie and its domains,
which were confiscated during the coromon-
wealth, rightfully belong to you. I restore
them lo you and to your sous. They shall
always he the property of your family,"

"That is too much," faltered out Alice, in
surprise. " I came to implore your mci'ey, not
for myself, but in behalf of another."

"But it does not behoove the king," said
Charles, in a di<^ified manner, which he saw
fit to assume but very rarely, " to enrich him-
self with the property of widows and orphans.
Go, Lady Carbury, and tell your repubUeau
friend that we princes are fiot so bad as he
and his political fnends paint ua."

After this act of justice and magnanimity,
the king returned to the banquet, where, in-
toxicated with wine and with the kisses of Ids
mistresses, he soon forgot the lady who had
Btirred the better feelings of his heart.

CHAPTER SI.

Alice, oveijoyed, and accompanied by Dan-
enant, hastened to Milton'a prison to announce
to bim that theking had pardoned him. They

foun 1 him in the company of his eldest daugh-
ter tnna, who had received permission lo
VIS t her fithet from time to time. He was
just dictating to her a portion of his " Para-
dise Lost." Carried away by his enthusiasm,
he did not notice the entrance of his friends,
who, profoundly moved by the sublime spec-
tacle, did not venture to disturb him. In
prison, and eiposed to the terrors of au igno-
minious death, he yielded fearlessly to the in-
spirations of his lofty imagmation. He had
just arrived at the doseripljon of the parents
of mankind, whom he portrayed as follows :

It, with na

rclad.

naked mM

Mty,

aeem

a lords 0/ mi;

dworlliy

d;f

r in their loots divin

glon

one Mallet Shone ;

ulh, wisdo

de severe and pure.

vcrcbntin

flliBliteeaom placed:

lusocetrue

anthorlty

lomen: though both

coulemplatlon

id valor ftnmed.

He for God onlj, slie for Sod tn him.
Hla fair large front and o^e anblime declared
Absolute rale ; and hyaclntliiDe locHs
Eouud from hEs parted tbrelock manly hnng
Clnsterteg, bat not beDealk kie shonldeistiroad;

igel, for they thought no ili:
:and they paaeed, the lorelleet

recommend cool Zephyr, and mado ease
re cosy, -wholesome tblrst and appetite
re grateM, to their Bnpper fruits tbey 1611,
;tarine fmtts, which the compliant bonghs

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIME8.

Yielded ihem

JB thpy SB'

The emory pulp thej ohew, and In tht rind,
SUU aa they thirsted, ecoop tha brimming stream :
Fflr gentle pnrpoae, nor endearing smiles
Vanled, nor f onthlUl dalliance, as beseems
Fair couple, linted In happy nuptial league.
Alone OS thej. About them frisking played
All beasts of Iho earth, siai:e wild, and of aU ohsBo

Spoitli^ Uie Hon ramped, and In his paw
Dandled the Hd ; bears, ti^rs, ounces, parfls,
Gambollod bolbre thorn ; fhrs nnwieldy elephant.
To make them mirth, nsed all his might, and

wreathed
His litho prohoscia ; close the serpent sly.
Insinuating, wove with Gordlan twine
His braided twin, and of Ms fetal guile
Gave proof unheeded ; otbers on the grass
Oonched, and now filled with pasture, gazing sat,
Or betlward ruminating; for the son,

hs heaten the ata™ Ihat nsher evening rose."

It was not till JKlton paused, tliat Alice and
DaveDant made inonn tjjdr arrival to the
blind poet

" Tou see," said Davenant, " how soon mj
predictlona have been vorified. To-day I re-
tom the Tlsit which jou paid nie in prison,
and am happj to inform jou that jon have
been pardoned."

"Tou owe your life and liberty to this ex-
cellent gentleman," added Alice. " The king,
whom may God save ! was exceedingly gracious
toward me, and toward you too."

" And it depends only on yourself," added
Davenant, "to resnme your former office as
secretary to the Council of State. Hia majesty
seemed greatly inchned to reappoint jou to
that office. If 1 were in your place, I should

" Never ! " replied Milton, with solemn ear-
nestness ; " never will I take such a step, and
prove recreant to my principles. I will eat
the dry crust of poverty rather than repudiate

" Bah I one must not be bo very scrupulous.
Look about you : I could name a great many
repubhcans who have now become ardent
royalists. Believe me, my old friend, it does

not pay to sacrifice one's happiness for a mere
cbimera. The first of all laws is self-preser-
vation."

"I should thmk It was self respect, ' replied
Milton, and then turned the Lonvination into
a differtnt channel, Ahoe helping him kmdly
to do =0

M Iton preferred hi? honorable poverty to
the royal offer and did not shrmk from the
Bacnfioes which he voluntarily iinpoBed up m
huuhelf Henceforth he lived in retirement m
the environs of London, ottupied exLlusively
with the completion of hia great epic His
three diughtera shared his leljrement only
with the greatest reluctance. They had in-
herited the character and predilections of their
deceased mother, and requited his tenderness
witi coldness and ingratitude. Oifly hia
youngest daughter Deborah was an esception,
and treated her father more affectionately than
her nndutifnl and unkmd sislers The htier
complamed bitterly of the tyranny of Hilton,
who taught them to reid and pronountL
Latin, Greek, and eien Hebrew and caused
them to read to him daily for several Lonsec
utive hours. He wna now totally blind, ' dark,
dark, irrecoverably dark," and needed more
than ever a support which he did not meet with
at the hands of his undulifiil daughters. With
the assistance of the servant-girl they de-
frauded the blind helpless man by selling be-
hind hia back the most valuable books of his
library, and eikirted from him for household
expenaes a great deal of money which they
spent for dresses and amusements. In this
manner they indemnified themselves for the
emmi which they felt in hia company.

His good ange! also left him. Alice wai
obliged to retnm to her estates, where her
presence was indispensable. She deemed her-
self in duty hound to preserve from decay the
inheritance of her only son, who had grown
up in the mean time, and to rebuild the castle
She defected as long as pos-

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SECOND MARRIAGE.

sible bee departure, by which her friend was
to be deprived of his last support. At last
she infotmeii him, profoundly moved, of bcr
resolntioD.

"I must look afier my neglected estates,
and try to preserve to my boh the inheritance
of his anceatota. One idea only, that I must
leave you here, grieves me profoundly. You
have more than ever need of female care and
solieitade, and your daughters fail to do their
duty toward you."

" I am deslincd to drink the bitter oup of
adversity to its very dicga," replied Milton,
heaving a deep sigh. " My daughters resetn*
hie the unnatural children of King Lear. Oh,
how truthfully did the great Shakespeare de-
pict in his immortal tragedy the grief and de-
spair of their poor old father ! May God pre-
serve me from madness ! "

"I came to make you toJay a proposition,
which, coming from my lips, may surprise
you. I have stru^led with myself a long
time, and tried to find another espedient, but
have been nnable to do so. Tou must marry

" And yiH( advise me to do so ? " he asked,
reproachfully.

" I know best the ceasona which will tender
it diflicult for jou to make up yout mind to
take this step ; but nevertheless you yourself
cannot fail to perceive how necessary it is."

" And what girl would bestow her hand on
a blind old man, the father of three daughters,
who is not even rich enough to compensate
bee for the sacrifice she would make to

"I know such a girl, the daughter of an
excellent man, who has lived for some time
paat In my ne%hborhood, and sbares my yen-
eration for you. She herself has
me her lore for you, and is willing to bi
yours notwithstanding your blmdness.
my handa you shall receive the wife who
tuna no more ardent wish than to sc

jour life and become to you a stay and staff
in your old age. If you consent to take her —
and I am convinced that you will not turn a
deaf ear to the voice of reason — yon ahall
have this very day an interview with your in-
tended at my own house."

" It is your wish, and I will comply with it,
although my heart cannot love another

"Let ua forget the past, which if

ble fi

"We n

I the rE

quirementa of life. I ahall bid you farewell
with less sorrow if I leave yoa under the tender
care of this excellent creature."

Milton appreciated the saorifice which Alice
made to him nnmurmuringly. Fate had sun-
dered them forever, and vouchsafed to them
only a apiritual and intellectual union. At
Alice's houae he got acquainted with the ami-
able girl she had destined for him. With
womanly devotion and self-abn^ation, the
noble creature had resolved to sweeten the
last days of the blind poet ; free from all self-
ishness, she sacrificed to him her youth and
a bright future. Alice was her friend, and, in
her daily intercourse with her, she had inspired
the young girl with love and veneration for
Milton. She herself encouraged her to per-

" Can there be any thing more beautiful for
a woman," she said, "than to accompany a
man of genius on the thorny pathway of his
life, to protect him from the cares of stern
reality, and to belong to him 1 Were I not a
mother, and had I not other duties to fulfil, I
should have joyfully remained with him. But
as it is, I mnst leave him, and ho needs a help-
mate. You, my daughter, are the only woman
to whom I should not grudge hia friendship
and his affeotioua."

" And I pledge you my word that I will be'
to hhn a faithful companion and as^atanL"

It was an affecting scene when Alice intro-
duced to the blind poet the young woman who

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS 1

" I accept jour i
weeping girl. " A
that I have notliirLi
love, Tthich beloDg

1 to sbare the erening of Ma life. All three
profoundly movai

icrifice," said Milton ti
IS 1 I hare become so
to offer jou, not cvoi
to anothef woman."
" I know it, she replied ; and yet I am proud
of the name of your wife, for I revere in
the most sublime goniug, the greatest ;
My only apprehension ig, lest, with my feeble
abiUtiea, I should not fulfil your especlationa.
Never till now have I been so painfully aUve
to my own wortblessnesa."

" It is not knowledge, but love, that makes
us rich," said Alice, putting the girl's hand
intfl that of the poet. "God bleas you !" she
added, with tears in her eyes. " I shall be
with jou, even though you do not see me."

TVIth a mournful embrace, and shedding
bitter tears, she bade farewell to ttie beloved
of her youth; however, she left him more
calmly as she had given him a faitWlil wife,
though her heart bled and grieved m secret.

CHAPTER XII.

Milton's wife kept her word, and became a
stay and staff to her blind husband. Peace
returned to his house, aldiough his nnaatural
daughters persisted in their heartless conduct
toward their old father. New daT^ra and
persecutiong, bowever, threatened Mm from
without ; for hia enemies were again intent on
mvolving him in serioua trouble. The atten-
tion of the king's brother, James, Duke of
York, who afterward ascended the throne, and,
oiving to hiB tjranny, was deprived of hia
crown, was called to Milton. He dinned
Charles's ears with entreaties, until the king
allowed huo to go and see the blind poet. At-
tended by Sir Kenelm Digby, witli whom he

was on terms of spec 1 nt micy 1 repaired
to Milto s house Theyf undhm n an open
bower, whe e he spt t most of h time; he

letter tj> a d tint friend H iden in the
ahnibberv they 1 otened to tl e words of the
blind poet Notw tholandng the twofold
burden of age an 1 advers tv h s feit rea had
not by a V means los the noble nlelleotual
espresaion for wh eh thej were distrnguished.
His gray ha r fe 1 a long rmgle a upon his
fihouldera from h s h gh forehead be^med the
m^esty of his m nd and ro nd h a finely-
chiselled hpa plavel a melancholy mile, the
only symptom of his suffpring' whith he bore
with manly resign ition. His costume was
simple, but neat; hia tlender unbowed form
naswrapped mf rt blegraycoat. Thua

he was d n th m U garden where he

used to p m t f h time during the
fine Bca n. Th ml sun illumined his

venerabl f d m 1 to surround hia

head w h hi Th breeze whispered
gently in the foliage surrounding the bower.
Some late flowers bloomed in gay colors, while
yellow leaves flitted from time to time to the
ground. In the lop of the linden a bird sang
the melancholy notes with whicli he took leave
of the parting season. The whole was a pic-
ture of peace, Mended with a spirit of gentle
melancholy. The poet, who was reclinii^ in
hia eaay-chair, involuntarily inspired the visit-
ors, despite the hostile intention with which
they had come, with a feeling of respect and
admiration.

" I had formed a diflferent idea of this enemy
of religion and of out cause," said the gloomy
Dulie of York to bis companion.

"And yet," whispered Sir Kenelm Digby,
" no man in England has more fatally injured
our sacred cause. You know his writings,
which breathe the most intense hatred of
Catholicism and of the Holy Father in Rome."

James, who had turned Catholic in France,

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MILTON AND THE DUKE OP YORK.

285

and become oup of the roost fanaiical ad-
herenis of hia Cliarcli, nas irritated again bj,
tho insidious lemacL of hi\ Keuelm Digbj.
Tlie milder mood which hid inToliintanij
seii:eii him at ttie si^bt ot Milton, g ive place
to his vindictivenesa and spint ot peroecution.

" It would be a downright outrage if Buch a
heretic and repuhlioan should not suffer any
punishment nhatcver. But, in the first place,
I will speak with him, and enjoy the misfor-
tunes which have ao jually befallen him."

"He deserves his fate the more as he re-
jected in Eome the moat brilhant offera made
to him on the part of our holy Church. I my-
self toolt lie greatest pains, and left no meana
untiied, to prevail upon him to accept them.
Already I thought I had won him over to our
aide, when he escaped me, and reivardcd my
efforts hy deriding and reviling me. Oh, I
cannot tell jon how intensely I hate that man,
who has always frustrated my most important
plans 1"

" Depend on it, I shall revei^ myself and
you on him. The time is no longer distant
when I ahall openly proclaim ray convictions,
and annihilate our enemies,"

" You really intend, then, to avow your
adoption of the Catholic religion in the face
of the whole world ? "

" I have already too long deferred this. You
yourself sod our Koinaa friends advised me to
proceed very eautiouslr ; but (ho mom
when I may put off the irksome mask is
hand. The throne has been so firmly n
iablished that aothisg is able to shake it.
brother, loo, is secretly attached to
Church. However, he cannot yet openly adopt
our laitb ; and, besides, his mind is too frivo-
lous to fathom and appreciate the sublime
task imposed upon, our house. I for one am
firmly resolved to subvert Protestantism in
England for all thne to come. I swear that I
will do so as soon as I have ascended the
throne ! The task of mj life will be accom-

plished then. The mnooent hlood of my
father, who died for his faith, will no longer
cry to Heaven, and my vengeanoe will be ftiUj
satiated."

" We will commence avenging your father's
death upon this fanatic Come, I will speak
to him, hut he shall not learn immediately who
I am."

So saying, the duke and his companion
approached the poet, who heard them, and
rose from hia easy-chair.

" Who is there f " he asked,

" A good friend," said Sir Kenclm Digby,
with fagned cordiality, "I have long in-
tended to afford myself the pleasure of visiting
you in your retireraeot,"

"I bid you welcome, Sir Eenelm ; hut you
have brought a companion with you S "

" You cannot wonder that an admirer of
your genius has accompamed me in order to
pay his respects to you."

"SirKenelm tells you the truth," added the
duke, with a sinister smile. "Already long
ago I wished to get acquainted with the cele-
brated poet and republican, who has sworn
everlasting hatred to kings."

" Not to kings, but only to tynuila and on-
just princes,"

" Moreover, you are the Btandard-bearer of
Protestantisnij and the sworn foe of the Ro-
man Church."

There was in the tone of these words a bit^
temess which could not but attract Milton''
attentjon the more eo as the sfL^ker hiid
come with Sr Kenelm D gbv whose attach
mcnt to Rome was generally known HeuLt
Milton avo ded at first makmj, an; leply to
the remark, Soon, however, the dulie no
longer contented himself with these covert at
tacks ; both he and Sir Kenelm put off their
hypocritical maska more and more,

" You have attained your object now," said
Digby, sneeridgly ; " your high-flying dreams
and expeetations have been fiilfillcd in a moat

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

remarkable manner. What laa becoioe of
jou and jour republie ? Thj very chililren
laugh it to seorn. Admit now that jon acted
the fool. In truth, when I think of the time
we spent together in Rome, and compare the
present to it, I am almost inchned to take
compassion on jou. At that time the world
lay admiringly at jour feet; beauty, wealth,
and power offered themselves to yon. All yon
needed to do was to stretch out your hands
for them. Why did you not follow mj
advice ? With the eye of a seer I divined
events as they have eome to pass. Instead of
your so-called liberty, the throne stands firmer
than ever; and in a few years, as is lo be
foreseen with absolute certainty, all England
will return to the faith of its fathers."

"And you can really bope to bow my cour-
age ? " asked Milton. " It is true, I am poor,
unfortonate. and weighed down by adversity ;
but I do not despair for all tliat. Out of tlie
shipwreck of ray life I have saved my most
precious treasure, tho consciousness of having
remained true to myself, and of never having
denied my convictions. I know full well that
man is not infallible, but the Lord forgives
errors arising from thirst for troth. God will
be a mild judge to mc. Kovr I am sitting
here like Job, whom Heaven had given into
the hands of the tempter. Mj^houses have
sunt into ruin, my gardens are devastated,
my children have forsaken me; my enemies
are triumphant, my very friends deride mc ;
but, like him, I am Sim in my faith. There-
foi-e, the all-mei^ciful Father will not focaake
mc, J>at sustain me in my sore distress."

" Bat I believe you have not yet experienoed
the full extent of the sufferings which, you
Lave brought ujKin your head," remarked the
duke, exasperated at the firmness which Mil-
ton still displayed amidst his misfortunes.

"What mote can befall me?" asked the
blind poei " Since I have become blind, I am
no longer afraid of any tiling. The greatest

loss which I hare sustained is that of my eye-
sight. To be blind, oh! that is worse than
imprisonment, poverty, or the infirmities of
age; for a blind man is at the same time a
prisoner, buried in everlasthig night, poorer
than the most wret<;hed beggar, and more de-
crepit than the feeblest old man. The lowest
animal is better off, the worm creeps in the
dust, but it sees, while I live in darkness.
darkness I darkness I And I know that the
golden sun is now shining in the heavens.
This terrible gloom deprives me of all hope
and joy. And why is the noblest of boons in-
tiuated to an organ so delicate and weak as
the eve ? "

In this touching manner the poet lamented
over his fate. Even Sic Kenelin Digby was
profoundly moved ; but the Duke of York had
no compassion on him. With his innate cruelly
he gloated over the sufferings of the unfortu-
nati' man, which he tried to sharpen by hia

" And do you not see yet," he asked, sneec-
ingly, "that jour blindness isonljUie just pen-
alty of your misdeeds ? "

" I am not sensible of any guilt," replied
Milton, with the calmness of aclearoonsdence.

" You forget entif ely your sins against the
late king, whom yon reviled even in his grave.
Do you confess yom^ guilt ? "

" I do not, for I acted only in accordance
with mj convictions."

"You do not know with whom jou are
speaking," whispered Sir Kenclm to the poet.
"Beware! your imprudent ntlerances might
still endanger your life."

"I am afrdd of no man," replied Milton,

" Not even of me ? " asked the duke.

" Sot even of you, even though you were
the king himself."

" I am not the king," replied James, frown-
ing, " but Ms brother, the Duke of York. I
repeat it to you, that Heaven is just. He has

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MILTON AJTD THE DUKE OF YORK.

287

deprivetl you of your eyesight, because you, an
incorrigible republican, icaulted my late la-
mented fatber even after his assassination.
You deserve your fate ; tho vengeance of
Heaven Baa overtaken you."

Milton was cot fiighl^ncd by tMs unexpected
visil, nor did he humble himself before the
moat powerful of his enemies. Wilii a calm
Emile he rose from hia chair, and saluted the
duke by bowing slightly to him.

" If jouc royal highness," he replied, " is of
opinion that our misfortunea are CTidencea of
the wrath of God, and that they befall us only
in consequence of our crimes, how do you ex-
pire the death of your father f "

The duke turned palo with rage ; muttering
a terrible threat between his clinched teeth,
he left the inflesihle republican, a prey to the
most violent a^tation.

"By the bloody head of my father i" he
exclaimed, on leaving the house, "this Mind
monster shall find out that a worse fate than
the losa of his eye^ht is in atore for him."

Flushed with excitement and vindlctiveneas,
he went to the king- his brother. Charles IL
was promenading in his park with his boon
companions, and engaged in his favorite pas-
time of feedinj; the ducks in the pond of St.
James's. While the birds were snapping
greedily at the crumbs which he threw to them,
he made all sorts of witty remarks aa to thi^r
haste and the manner in which oue duck tried
to deprive aaother of the morsels destined for

" They are my parasites," said the ting,
who was m escellent humor. " Look, Bucking-
ham, how they are fighting for a few crumbs !
If this goes on for any length of tune, mj
pockets will soon be empty, and I shall not
have a morsel left. These parasites ivill utterly
impoverish mc. Do j'ou not think so
Rochester? How loud they scream ! I
pose they are relating how well they have
served me. ! bet that old drake is an excel-

lent cavalier, who believes himself justly en-
titled to my gratitude ; and that waddhng duck
:v is ui^ntly retiuesting me to promote
and reward her young ones, All my favors
been distributed for to^lay, and I am

to longer do any thing for ti

sorry that I ci

e couriers joined in these playful sallies,
and delighted the king by -applying to the
ducka tho names of well-known office-seekers.
Meauwhile the Duke of York bad approached.
On perceiving Ms brother, Charles said to him

1 kind tone : " Come, James, we are giving
audience in Hie open air, and conferring
orders and offices on our faithful sabjects in
the pond."

" Will you do me a favor ? " said the duke.

" Well, I do not care if you get a onimb too,
though you are in want of nothing, because you
have alwaya been more economical than I."

" I do not ask for money, but for the punish-
ment of an offender,"

" Always the same old strain," said the king,
more gravely; "always the same old cry for
revenge. Do you know, James, that your vin-
dictiveneas begins to be tedious ? I think we
have done enough, and you may be satisfied."

"There lives as yet one of the moat infa-
mous advcrsariea of our lamented father — a
man who, in my eyes, is more criminal than the
rogieidea. Sire, it ia your fault that old Milton
has not yet been hanged."

" Then you have been at hia houae ? " asked
Charles, throwing the rest of his crumbs with
acar^ess air into the pond.

" 1 have had an interview with him."

" And in what condition did you find him ? "

" Bowed down by age, and, it seemed also,
very poor."

" And he is blind, too, is he not ? "

" He is totally blind."

"Go, go, James," replied the Idng; "yoa
are a downright fool to believe that the gal-
lows would be a punishment for each a man.

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Whv, it wouia at once put an end to his suf-
ferings, and confer upon him a great blessing.
If he ia old, poor, and blind, hi
punished, and wo maj spare hie life."

In spite of his brother'a remonstram
Charles adhered foe once to his resolution
to take anyfiicther steps against Millon, I
in return, the bloodthirsty James wrested from
him an order for tha execution of the younger
Vane, although the king had solemnly
ised to the latter that no harm should befall
him. Indemnified by thia victim, the duke left
St. James's Park, and gloated over the agony
to which the king's perfidy would subject the

CHAPTER XIII.

Hebcefokth Millon was safe from farther
pereecutions, and he had ample leisure to com-
plete hia immo tal p H d ted it alter-
nately to his h ng Ellwood,
who had been ee mm d h m, and who
now lived at h se EHw d as a Quaker,
and by hia mod d h rential hom-
age which he p d h bimd poet, he won
Milton'a friendship and esteem. Perhaps Sfil-
ton secretly entertdned the desire of making
him his son-in-law ; but hia youngest daughter
Deborah, his only child that Lad never treated
him in an undntiful and disrespectfiiJ manner,
and whom he had destined to his young friend,
leil her parental home and eloped to Ireland,
where she married. This event, however, did
■ not dissolve the intimate relations between the
master and hia pupil; and when the plague
which had broken out in London made sad
havoc among the inhabitants of the capital,
Ellwood rented for Mliton a small cottage at
Chalfont, in Bucks, where the poet, m the
healthy country air, and protected from all dis-

turbing infiuences, completed his "Paradise

The young Quaker was in ao ecstasy of de-
light when Milton permitted him to read the
manuscript. On returning it to him, he ex-
thanks.
said. With the frankness
it, " thou hast created a work
all thy other wri&igs. Thou
hell and ascended to heaven,
and forcest the reader's aoul to follow thee
with transports or horror wherever thou mayst
lead it Through thee we become acquainted
with the terrible majesty of Satan, who, in
spite of hia wickedness, still eshibits traces of
his divine origin. We see the prince of hell
a prey Iw the moat violent grief and lookii^
up to heaven with intense lon^g; only his
still unbroken pride sustains Mm and fans the
flames devouring his bosom. Guided by thy
hand, we walk in an ecstasy of defight through
Paradise, and rejoice in the innocence of Adam
and Eve, in their pure love, in then' devout
prayers, and in the sweet charms of the sce-
nery surrounding them. We tremblingly see
the evil one, in the shape of a seductive ser-
pent, approach the credulous Eve and tempt
her to eat of the forbidden fruit. We take
compassion on the fallen woman, and, although
she has delivered mankind lo sin and death,
we forgive her, aa did Adam, touched by her
prayers and supplications. We follow Adam
and Eve as they are driven out of Paradise,
and listen with solemn a
and prophecies of the m
reveals the fate of his i
finally promises them, in
that Ho will send them a
the human race from the bondage of shi."

"I am glad," replied Milton, lo the entliu-
siastic youth, " that my poem has pleased yoa
so well, and that you have so clearly pene-
trated ita spirit and object My only merit is
firm conGdenee that, in the Btru^le be-

of God, "who

until he

of the Lord,

deliver

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PUBLICATION OF "PARADISE LOST"— MILTON AND DRTDBN.

289

tween the good and evil powers, truth and
liberty must triumph over all the wiles and
Bciaofhell"

"For this reason I do not consider thy
work complete. Thou hast given ua only the
promise, hut not the faiaiment; thoa hast
Eiown us 'Paradise Lost,' but not 'Paradise

Milton made no repljto the honest Quaker;
he Bat for a time absorbed ia his reieetions,
and in tiia soul dawned the plan of a new epic,
the subject of which was to he -Uie salvation
of mankind.

No sooner had the plague ceased, raging in
the metropolis, than the poet returned thitbet
to find a puhlisher for Bis work. He applied
to Samuel Simmons, a well-known bookseller,
to wham he offered the manuscript. After
reading the poera, Simmons returned it to the

" The poem is not so bad," said the book-
Beller, "but it ia not suitable to the times. A
few years ago I should have gladly given you
ten times as much for it as I can offer you
now. The times are changed, and taste is
changed with them. The public no longer
cares for religions books; nobody buys tbem
nowadays. There is no demand for grave
and learned treatises. Ah, if you had written
a saOre or a witty farce, I might pay yon a
round price for it. I want such works as
Butler's 'Hudtbras,' of which thousands of
copies have been sold, and which every one
wants to read, I admit that it is a low and
scurrilous book ; but we pulflishers have to
bumor the wishes of the public."

" Then only scurrilous booka and farces
meet with purchasers nowadays f "

"That Is the difficulty, and I cannot help
it. But in order that you may see how willing
I am to help talented men, I will take your
poem on hberal terms. It is true, I know
beforehand that it will not Sell, but I will do
(he best I can."

" Tell mc what you will give me for it. I
do not hke to haggle about the piice, although
I greatly need the money."

"Well, I will give you five pounds," said
the penurious bookseller. " That is a hand-
some sum, and I will pay it to you imme-
diately. Ate you satisfied with it ? "

"Nothing remiuns for me but to accept
your offer."

" And you will rec^ve the hke sum aa soon
as a new ei^don ia issued. You shall see
that I am cot niggardly, and treat autiiora in

A melancholy smile played over the poet's
lips when he delivered his immortal work, the
frmt of years of toil and re9eetion, to tie ava-
ricious publisher for this ridiculous sum. Sim-
mons immediately drew up a contract, which
Millon, who stood in need of the money, signed
with a deep sigh.

Wheu the book was, issued from the press,
the predictions of Mr. Simmons seemed to be
fully verified. The pubhc appeared insensible
to the merits of the divine poem then entering
on its course of immoriality. Taste was
changed indeed. Literature, wtdch always re-
flects the time and its sentiments, languished
in the midst of the general decay and corrup-
Uon which had seized the whole English na-
tion. The greatest licentiousness and most
shameless im.morality reigned at that period
in the productions of the poets, and on the
stage, which had beconje the scene of all vic[;s
and extravagances. Obscene wit levelled its
shails at all that was sacred and venerable.
Innocence and truth were mercilessly derided,
and lewdness was of itself considered a slgu
of talent. Only the books of authors who
pursued tliis course, and penned the most dis
graceful things, were bought, and eagerly de
voured. Hardly any notice was laken of iTil-
ton's sublime epic, which was kept out of
sight by the rankhng weeds of contemporary
literature. The publisher was dissalihfied

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JOHN HILTON AND HIS TIMES.

with the small sales, and dinned the poet's
ears with his eomplaicla.

" Tes, jea," said Mf. Simmons, " such are
the results of the desire of writers to immor-
talize themseWes, and of their contempt of
the present. What do I care for immortality,
when the present does not care about
Wliat does tbe future concern us ? Posterity
will not pay me a penny for all your poetical

second edition of the work a short and spirited
esplanation of his reasons for departing from
tbe ' troulilesome bon.dage of rbyming.' We
do not know whether or not the idea of the
bookseller had the wished-for results ; but
■Tdll'Pardi L 'm 'hin 1

" Ton must not grow impadcnt," said Mil-
kin, to comfort tbe dissalisGed bookseller.

"Besides, the purchasers complidn of the
blank verse of 'Paradise Lost' This is, in-
deed, a very serious fault of the work. Such
innovations should not be countenanced. We
should always adhere to that which is wel
established and used by CTccybody else.)'

" Tliflt is what I have done, for both Homej
and Vir^l wrote their poems in blank verse.'

"What do I caro foi Ilomer and Vii^l !
They did not know any better, but culture
hag advanced since thtn, and la tbe public
dots not want any but rhjwei poems, tbe
poets sbonlii comply with its dcmind" "

"But I am suie you do not want m
change tho whole poem ? "

"Of course I do not, for in that eve
would have to be printed anew; but s
thing should surely be done. — Hold on
know what you must do. You must wr
preface to your work, and escuse in it, tc
best of your ahiiity, your having written
'Pamdisc Lost' in hlank verse, and not m

" I think there in neither rhyme nor r«
in your suggestion," said Milton, sari
eally.

" Then you refuse to comply with it ? Very
well, Mr ; than nothing remains for me but to
write such a preface myself."

" I cannot object to that," said tlic poet,
shrilling his shoulders.

MlllOQ relenled, however, and added to the

anoes what book he was reading, he ei

the most enthusiastic admiration for it

" It is," he said, " the best poem ev

1 friend the

The Earl of Dorset, an influential c
happened one day to enter with i
t ook otore of Milton a puhl sher He inquired
for the litest produi,tions of 1 terature, and
caused them to be shown to h m Among
them W11 M Iton h Paradise LoRt ' The
earl took i p the book and reid the t tie.

A work by John Milton I he eiclaimed
eagerly. " Is that the same Milton who was
foreign secretary to the Council of State dur-
ing the time of the commonwealth ? "

"The same," replied the bookseller; "I
bought tbe manuscript from compassion for
the poor blind man ; but it was a bad bargain
for me. If the public does not soon com-
mence buying tbe book, I shall lose beavily by
the transaction."

While Simmons was giving vent to his com-
plaints, the earl had seated himself and begun
to read the book. The book-stores at that
time were also reading-rooms, and no one pur-
chased a book without having thoraughly ex-
amined its contents. Already, after reading
the first pages, the earl perceived the rare
merits of the poem.

"Magnificent! magnificent !" he eiclaimed
rapturously. " This is a perfect gem."

" Good heavens 1 " sighed the bookseller.
"For two weeks pa?t, I believe, I have not

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ENGLAND UNDER CHARLES n.— HENDERSON'S INSURRECnON.

291

sold a, single cop;. Shall I fiend a copy li
your lordsbip'3 house?"

"Imlltok nig"

The earl I ft n is d gh d iv 1

every page h a» H mm n
disooyery to D d ^ V ^^ ^

the c

considered th g poe ua m

whose imperfections, it la true, he did not keep
himself entirely free, although he pursued a
more proisewocfhy coucae than most of the
contemporary authors. Like Milton, John
Dryden had been an ardent adherent of the re-
public during the time of the commonwealth,
and had sung hymns in honor of Cromwell.
When monarchy was restored, he went over
with the tuneful throng to welcome in Charlea
II md some time afterward he was appomted
poet-liureite During the coign of Jamc II
be embraced the Koraan Catholic £uth In
diiect contrs'iC with Milton, ho d stmgmhhed
h mself by his want of prmciple , ncrerlheles',
he had remained enough of ^ poet to lullv
apprcciute tl e vast imporlanto and the e«
tr^ordmirv beauties of ' Paradi'Je Lfst
After reading the book, he was aoked by the
Earl of Dorset what he thought of it.

" This man," he said, in a tone of admira-
tion, not entirely devoid of envy, " eclipses us
all, and the ancienla also."

Afterward bo soujjbt an opportunity to get
acquainted with Milfon, of whom he be^ed
pecmission to dramatize " Paradise Lost."
He also offered his protection at court to the
blind poet, whose pecuniary circumstances
were then by no means biiDiant.

" I-am obliged fo you," said Milton. " The
court is not a proper sphere for me. In my
opinion, a poet must be free above all things,

nthe

service of a prince. I value my independent
poverty much higher than all the splendor
which I might purchase at the expense of my

" Ton should at least devote your a
to the drama," advised Dryden, kindly ; " the

ta^, holds out to you far better prospects

han the Ijook-trade."

f the stage is to fulfil its esalted task,"
ed Milton, " and be a school of life, it
n ds freedom before every thing else. At
p nt the theatre only serves to amuse aris-
tocratic rakes and the low rabble, who djgest
there comfortably, and desire to be diverted
by the obscene jests of the actors.. Rather
than stoop to write such things, I would starve
to death. The drama, that noblest blossom
of art, is affected by the general corruption
and decay ; and no poet, however talented he
may be, can restore it to its purity unless a
change should take place in our whole moral
and political atmosphere. The p d ap
culating in the trunk produ s n f u s

onlv a healthy people and a mo al a n
possess a true and great dr mo

On receiving this reply Dryl n ot h
leave, somewhat irritated and off n] d Wh n
he compl.uned of Milton to L nan be la
ter burst into laughter.

My filenil," said the merry poet, yoa
must not wonder at this reply. JClton is like
an oak, which is bent neither by the violent
storm nor by the gentle zephjr. On seeing
him, I always feel as if I behold one of the
old prophets, predicting the doom of Jerusa-
lem or Babylon 1 Allow him this harmless
pleasure, and como with me and drink a glass
of malmsey. At all events, we cannot change
the world."

CHAPTEE XW.

Milton thus hved in an age of general cor-
ruption, one of tlie few men of that period
who remained faithful to their convictions, and

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JOHN MILTON AMD H 8 TfflES

whose natnes were nnaullied iij vcnalUj and
apostaay. The court had become the centre
of the most disgraceful licentiouaness. Amuse-
ment succeeded to amuaement — now a plaj,
represented in the most lavish and estraTagant
mann and n w a ball, resplendent with
flowe b hts and f 1 beauties, ot a tea-
party sIjU t th t t me a race and espcn-
sive e t ta nm at. Spl ndid masquerades, at
which h lad es app d in the moat trans-
parent nd 1 ons costumes, altficnatei
with I 11 i on ts, which Saint-Evre-

mond ud h Du he. I Mazarin had brought
over f m F n an 1 ndcrcd fashionable in
England. Charles occupied himself with feed-
ing his dogs and ducks, or was present at
cock-fights and bear-baitings, while the blood-
thirsty Duke of York never failed to be pres-
ent at the eiecutiona, feasting hia eyes on the
agony of the PuritjmB and republicans who
were put b> death. To this laxity of morals
correapondefl the evident decline of the na-
donal character; akepticism and indifference
took the place of the fanaticism and enthusi-
aam which only a short time since had reigned
in England. A vain, flippant literature, to
which not wit, bat depth of principle and con-
viction, was wanting, supplanted the maniy,
bold poetry and courageous prose of the past.
Instead of the intrepid spirit of investigatii
with which England had formerly ventured
enter upon the solution of the most imports
questions, only frivolous subjects were treated
of, and French patterns were copied in a
ner alike scrrile and superficial. The great
and eternal principles, for which, during the
Eevolution, tlie most eminent men had catered
the lists, seemed to be forever forgotten
relmquishcd ; freedom of thought, of i
science, and of speech, reform of parliai
tacy elections, and improvement of puhlii

posed on their friends and advocates,
press groaned under new fettcra, and bribery

diet

hd edts nm TlhKh

it had already shed rivers of blood to avenge
the eiecutjon of Charles I, The enthusiastic
Harrison, and the younger Vane, one of the
moat eminent men of his time, suffered death
for their contictions. Milton wept over the
premature end of his friend, to whom he was
chiefly indebted for his appointment to the
secretaryship, and for whose talenla and fer-
vent zeal he entertained the highest respect.
Profound grief gnawed at the poet's heart, and
his soul revolted at this high-handed act of in-
justice and tyranny. He himself was poor,
infirm, and blind ; forsaken by nearly every-
body, and deeply afflicted by the ingratitude
of bis own children. Weary of life, he tot-
tered through the streets of London, holding
the hand of a boy who waa employed to guide
his steps. A crowd was gathered at the cor-
nsr. There stood a man with a livid face and
wan, hollow cheeks. Covered with rags, he
held in his hand a broom, which he brandished
in the idr. It waa the vi^onary Harrington,
the author of that Utopian work "OceaiiB."
Baniahed to B desert island witliout-a lawful
trial, he had gone mad. The sufferings en-
dured in his captivity impaired his intellectual
faculties, and he sank into incurable insanity.
"WhatI" cried the maniac, brandishir^
his broom in the air. "WhatI you will not
Tanish, devouring thoughts? There they are
coming again, chirping and humming like little
birds and bees. How they sing and whistle,
buzz and croak I Begone I Lft me alone with
your horrible cries 1 I have fed you on my
life-blood, and you have feasted on it until I
became a mere skeleton ; and you are not yet
satisfied I Ah! air! The vapor stifles me.
It smells of corpses ; my thoughls are the
worms creeping out of my petrified brain. A

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ENGLAND WIDER CHARLES II.— HENDERSON'S INSURRECTION. 293

plague upon the Termic deTouring an hoflest
man while he 19 etill aXWel Oh, ivoulil I had
never thonghl, never thought ! "

Such were the waila and ravinga of the
madman, who, with his broom, Incessiintt;
sought to dispel his thoughts, which Eeeraed
to lilm to be flying abont him in, the shape of
lltde birds and insects. A large crowd sur-
rounded him, and brutaliy derided the poor
man, whom his sieter accompanied, and vaioly
aougiit to draw from the spot. Milton ap-
proached her in profound emodon, as he bad
formerly been intimately acquainted with Har-

"Poor friend," he said to the maniac, in
n tremulous voice, " do you not know me ? "

On bearing Milton's voice, Harrington gave
a start ; Ks eyes beamed strangely, and his
reason seemed to return for a moment.

" You ? " asked the maniac " Why should
I not know you S You are also dead and a
corpse. Every thing is dead — the republic,
liberty, the protector, and the king! The
grave Bivallows us all; ne then moulder, and
new thoughts arise from our putrefying re-
mains. There ihey are ! Do you not see them?
As yet they are as small as gnats; but thcj
are constantly growing larger and larger, until
they become eagles, and soar to the sun. Ah,
how unfortunate we two are for having thought
too much ! Thinking brings misfortune upon
us, and may drive a sensible man to the verge
of insanity. Beware— beware ! "

Profoundly moved by this heart-rending
spectacle, Milton went away; and at a distance
he still heard the cries of the maniac, " Why
did we think, think ? "

Not less deplorable was the fate which befell
Milton's most faithful friend. Major Overton.
Although he kept perfectly quiet when mon-
ardiy was restored, yet the mere reputation
of his love of liberty sufficed to make him sus-
pected. He was likewise imprisoned without
a trial, and kept in a dungeon for long, long

anil cruelties could
not but drive the republicans to despair ; but
their courage was gone, and they lacked, abore
aU things, a sagacious and prudent leader.
Isolated insurrections, which brake out from
time to time, were speedily suppressed.

Alter Cromwell's death, old Henderson had
returned to England, In vain did his former
foster-daughter Lucy, and ber husband, who
were now living again at Ludlow Castle, offer
him an asylum ; he preferred to wait with his
political friends for the rise of the fifth mon-
archy and the New Jeiusalem. But when
monarchy was restored, and the Puritans and
other dissenterB were persecuted with eitreme
rigor, Henderson joined a band of similar
fanatics who intfinded to establish the king-
dom of Gud sword in hand. Although thev
were only siity strong, these madmen under-
took to overthrow the king and carry their
hair-brained plans into eiecutlon ; tbey thought
themselves invincible.

" It is not numbers," said the Puritan, at
a meeting of the fanatics, " but our faith, that
will enable us to achieve a brilliant victory.
The Saviour Himself will be our leader, and
render onr arms strong and our bodies mvul-
nerable. Therefore, never fear the odds of our
enemies. Even though their number were
legion, we should v inqu ^h them ; for the
Lord is with us Ho beckons and they are
annihilated; He commands and they disappear
like chaff before the wni Who can with-
stand D is people ormjuro thi elect ' Onward!
The sword of the Lord and of Gideon ! "

Such was the battle-cry with which the
fanatics rushed, sword in hand, into the street ;
every one fled before the infuriated men.
Among the fugitives was Billy Green, who
hurriedly tried to escape. Henderson had rec-
ognized the hateM spy, and pursued him at
a, furious rate.

"Stand and surrender, son of Belial !" he
shouted to him.

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294

JOHN" MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

Seized with indesenbable terrur, the Tillain
rushed toward the nearest house, nhere he
thought he would find an asylum. Already
ho had reached the door, and knocked louillj
for admittance, when the Puritan's smcwy
hand seized him by the neck.

"The judgment of the Lord,'' cried Hert-
deraon, savagely, "shall overtake all emners !
Confesa your alna, Tillain, for your soul is as
black as that of the evil one."

"Mereyl" gasped Billy, while the fanatic's
hanii clutched hia throat so violently that hia
small, cunning eyes protruded from their
sockets. " I am innocent, and never wronged
yon in my life."

"Ton are innocent? Then SataninheUia
a saint I Have you not always served vice and
infamy ? Have you not been the boon cum-
panion of the most black-hearted scoundrels?
Tou see, I am not ignorant of your character.
Ton have deserved death a hundred times be
cause you have always been an impudmt.
Heaven-defying reprobate. Did you not strut
about in heathenish costumes, an abommation
in the eyes of the just? Did you not serve
the tyrant who, on account of his sins, lost his
head on the block?"

"I perceived the error of my ways, and if
Mr. Fym were still alive, he would bear wit-
ness to the zeal with which I afterward served
the cause of the republicans."

" Miserable hypocrite I For the sake of
filthy lucre, you were in(;ent, under the mask
of a aalnt, a wolf in sheep's, clothing, only on
promoting joiir own interesla. Did you not
turn your back on us as soon as yoang Stuart
returned to England ? Tou were his pointer,
and helped him to pursue the noble game of

the pious Puritans. On your hi
of the martyrs, which cries l« 1

is the blood

"Mereyl " groaned the unfortunate spy. " I
will make amends for all the wrongs that I
have perpetrated ; I will do all that you de-

mand. If you will let me go, I will commum-
cale an important secret to you. The Duke
of Tork has embraced the Catholic faith, and
a French priest privately reads mass to King
Charles IL I know a great many other things,
and will tell you all if you will let me go."

In his anguish, Billy Green had clasped the
Puritan's knees, and lay writhing at his feet,
while Henderson was brandishing bis sword
over his head.

"Down with the traitor!" shouted the in-
furiated fanatic, and hia flashing sword cleft
the spy's skull. Billy Green died without ut-
tering a groan, while Henderson coolly tamed
from him.

" The Lord has judged him," he said, push-
ing aside the corpse, whose glazed eyea stored

At the head of his men, he marched trium-
phantly from street to street, proclaiming the
kingdom of Jesus, the invisible leader of this
pious and devout insurrection. The authori-
ties attempted to disperse the insurgents by
main force, but the assailants were driven back
by the irresistible valor of the fenatics, who
defended themselves with the most heroic in-
trepidity. Many a member of thd militia waa
killed or wounded liy them, until the whole
force that had been sent to disperse them,
seized with a panic, took to flight, although
its numerical strength was perhaps ten times
superior to that of (he insurgents.

No sooner had the militia fled, than ohi
Henderson intoned a triumphant hymn. Baring
his gray head, and brandishing his blood-stained
sword, ho sang esultingly:

" Great is the Lord, and they who trust in
Him will be invmoiblc. The enemies ap-
proached in countless strength, like locusts de-
scending on a harvesc-field; and yet we did
not succumb, for He is our shield. Westruck
them, and they sank to tha ground ; with the
keen edges of our swords we mowed them
down hke slutible. The Lord be praised, the

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ENGLAND UNDER CHAKLES n.— HENDERSON'S INSURRECTION.

God of Israel, who does not suffer Hia people
to periBh ID distress. Sing to Him, and gire
praise to His glory ! "

Singing a psalm, as tbej had done at Dun-
bar and Worcester on rashiog upon thetnemy,
tte enlliusiaatie Piiiitans marched through all
London without meeting with any serions re-
sistance, BO great was the cowardice of their
adversaries, ind their own confidence in divine
assistance. They firralv bLlieved in thi, tr
umph of then cause, anil expected every mo-
ment the appearanco of the S^uou^, whom
they proclaimed KLng of the world It was
not until the folloivmg mrrning, vihen the
danger grew more ind motL. alaiming, that the
royal guards were ^ent agamgt the fanatiti,
who had retired m good order and taken po=i
tion in a remote part of the city. From thence
thej made several sallies into the old city of
London, which was nowise prepared for their
Ik Th J p il ed th t 1 ttl con-

iii and h Ithy m h b 1 eved

th t th 1 b I 1 1 m t tl mm B
hd tu d 11 ft timdh

tihesdth h din their

F lly as 1
h mmed m th f

d f

gula

t th n

f lly th ed bj th 11 y f h Idiers,
and t k^t 1. f w f th ta w 1 fL In
vain quarter was offered to them if they would
surrender voluntarily. In their fanatical faith
in divine assistance, they r^ ected all the offers
of their adversaries.

" Stand firm," cried old Henderson ; " the
Lord cannot and will not forsake Wis people.
Follow mc, and pobody shall hurt a hair of
jouc beads."

The small band, headed by the Puritan,
rushed unbesitalingly upon the troops. The
soldiers at first fell back in dismay ; but on
perceiving the small number of thdr assail-

mts, they advanced again and attacked the
ntrcpid enthusiasts on all sides.

"In the Saviour's name," shouted Hcnder-
lon tohia men, "do not budge an inch 1 This
s our last trial, and he who shall pass through
t will enter heaven and the new Jerusalem."

A bullet pierced his breast and struck him
iuwn. Already darkness veiled his eyi^a.

"Do you see?" murmured the mortally
woundei Puritan ' The diy >s our= The
gated are anl)cked, heaven opens to us and
tht Saviour dcSLCnls from it Lefcuns of
itvrs, and angels surround Him
thiy lift me up and tarry me to heavLU Al
idj I am fioatipg m the r midiit Ha give
i my iword ' There stinds the evd one
3 archfiend of mankmd I I will — '
He did cot conclude. In his last stru^le
he stiE convulsively grasped the hilt of his
sword as if to redeem the world at a blow.
And thus the fanatic departed this life. Most
of his men were killed ; only a few surrendered,
and were iguominloiisly eieeuted on the scaf-
fold.

Hot far from Henderson lay Billy Green's
mutilated corpse ; the stem, con^stent Puritan,
and the unprincipled, fickle apostate; both
productions of the same stormj commotion
which carries virtue as well aa vice to a colos-
sal devclopmenli far overstepping the ordinary
bounds of human nature.

Such was the last flicker, the last desperate
attempt of a party which, at first persecuted
and oppressed, had gradually risen to almost
absolute power, which it was to- wield only for
a very short time. The Puritans did not
venture upon another rising, and Icll the field
to others, who afterward entered the list for
liberty, and, during the reign of James II.,
achieved the final vieiofy over despotism.

Milton shared the principles and aspirations
of these political and religious fanatics only so
long as they themselves groaned under the
grindmg joko of their oppressors, and met

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JOHN MILTON AND I

their persecutors with valor and manly cour-
age. Hie common-senae and innnle poetical
spirit preserved him from their violent escesses.
After conquering their adveraarica, the Puri-
tans were as intolerant and prone to perse-
cution a3 the royalists, although they distin-
guished themselves most advantageously from
the latter by iheir morality and fervent piety.
Nevertheless, the maintenance of their suprem-
acy would hive done more harm than good to

England, masmuch
minded point of vii
eonverting the state .

), from their narrow-
they were intent on

} a house of prayer, and
1 into a, pious conventicle. A ceao-
the inevitable consequence of this
;amst which the people could not but
le interest of individual liberty.

CHAPTER XV.

S QT7EE0CA1J

At the royal court had arrived a guest who
carried to the highest pitch the Hcentiouscesa
and immorality already prevailing there. This
was the beautiful and accomplished but frail
Henrietta of Orleans, the sister of Charles II.,
and sisler-m-law of Louis XTV., and doted
upon hy both. She was one of the amiable
ladies of that period, who combined with the
utmost frivolity a. polished mind and an es-
traordinary spirit of intrigue. They were the
diplomatists in petticoats, the forerunners of
those arrogant mistresses who, toward the end
of the seventeenth and the beginning of the
eighteenth centuries, exercised at almost all
courts a decisive lofluence over the polidca]
afeira of the tune. These ladies coupled love
with politics, coquetry with diplomacy ; from a
tender iele-d-tele they went to a cabmet meeting,
and tied and untied with their delicate nhito
hands the threads of political intrigues; re-

clining carelessly on their swelling divans,
they contracted alliances and waged wars ; by
a smile, by a glance, they often decided the
moat important Questions. Their whole life
was a nel>-work of intrigues, in which now the
heart, and now the interests of the state, played
the most prominent part,

Henrietta was exceedingly skilled in this in-
tricate game, and Lonis XIV. was perfectly
justified in intrusting ber with a confidential
mission to England. Under the mask of a
mere visit to ber native country, she was to
enter upon the most important negoyationa,
whose object was nothing short of a total
change in the foreign poHcy of the country.
England, which had hitherto stood at the head
of the Protestant states, and had but recently
concluded an alliance with Sweden and the
Dutch Republic for the protection of the Eef-
ormatiou, and as a measure of safety against
the thirst of France for conquest, was to dis-
solve this " triple alliance," which the nation
had hailed with the utmost enthusiasm, declare
war against the Dutch Republic, and assist
Louis XIV. in his plans for destroying the
equilibrium of Europe. Both the triumph of
Catholicism and the supremacy of absolution,
whose most prominent representative, and, as
it were, incarnation, was the King of France,
was to be achieved by this arrangement. The
fate of the world was at slake, and every thing
depended upon the decision at which Charles
XL should arrive. Circumstances greatly fa-
cilitated Henrietta's task. The king had re-
warded the faithful services of his pedantic
but honorable minister. Clarendon, by Igno-
mmiously depriving him of his office, and send-
im into eiile. The men to ivhom the
government was now intrusted were a set of
frivolous and unreliable profligates. Clifford,
Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauder-
ivere the unprincipled servants whom the
king called into the cabinet and appointed to
ost responsible offices. From the initial

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HLLE. I

; QUEROUAILLE— ALLIANCE WITH LOUIS XIV.

letters of their natoea the people mude the
word " cabal," which is sHll used to stigmatize
a system of falsehood, cascality, and infamy.
Surrounded and influenced by such men,
Charles lost the last trace of shame and scru-
pulousness. Engrossed only with his pleas-
ures, be left Ihe whole gOTemmentinthe hands

Henrietta was famiUar with her brother's
weaknesses, and, to profit by them, she had
brought with her a female ally. This was
Mile, dc Querouaille, one of the most beauti-
ful ladies of France. No sooner had the king
beheld ber, than he fell in love with her. His
sister had foreseen this, and given beforehand
the necessary instructions to the beautiful

At St. James's palace a most brilliant festi-
val was given in honor of the guests. The
apartments and halls were resplendent with
fairy -like magnificence. Costly hangings,
splendid Gobelins, covered the walls with
their artistic embroideries ; on the wamseoted
ceilings hung large lustres, shedding a flood
of light over the goigemis scene. The tables
were loaded down with liands and liquors,
which weie served up in sdver and golden
vessels. Immediately afler the banquet, com-
menced the bail, which the king opened with
the beautiful Mile, de yuetouaille. They
were followed by the extravagant and ceckicss
Buckingham with the charming Henrietta of
Orleans, and the other dancers. The gloomy
fanatics and rude warriors were supplanted by
licentious oBd supercilious courtiers, who imi-
tated the example of their sovereign. They
turned in the mazes of the dance until they
sank exhausted upon thdr chairs. The gen-
ttemeD lavished on the ladies the most gallant
compliments, which, like their whole costume,
they borrowed from France. Here and there
some old cavalier, who had fought under
Prince Rupert or the Duke of Ncwcastie, wore
his own gray hair, and the anuent uniform to

which ho had become partial ; but the younger
generation covered their heads with the enor-
mous wigs purchased in Paris, which was
then, as now, the leader of fashion. The coats
were adorned with costly embroidery, and the
elegant hanger which the gentlemen wore
threatened entirely to supplant the heavy
broadsword. Gay-colored ribbons floated down
from the shoulders, and the large number of
rosettes fastened to the attire of the geutle-
men imparted to them an eSbmmate appeap-

The ladies at the court of Charles II. wore
light, transparent dresses ; thej unhesitatingly
displayed the charms which their mothers had
carefoliy veiled, and took pains, if possible, to
outstrip their French patterns. English gayety
combined with French coquetry into a strange
mixture, which, liiie champague and porter
mised together, gave rise to a doubly heavy
intoxication, and degenerated into the most
licentious frivolity. To the ball ouoceeded a
mask, specially written for the occasion by
Dryden, who gradually eclipsed the already
supeiaunuated Davennnt, and, with Waller,
shared the spedal favor of the king and his
courtiers. On the stage appeared nearlj all
the gods of Olympus, represented by ladies
and gentlemen of the court, who celebrated
the arrival of the Duchess of Orleans with the
most fulsome flatteries. Already, for sevi
days previous to the performance, all the
tresses were in the highest state of eidtcmeni
in regard to the interesting question which ol
them would be selected to play the part ol
Venns. This was a matter of the highe
portance for the ladies of the court, as the se-
lection would be equivalent to a pubUo decbra-
Uou which of them was generally considered
the most beautiful All the mistresses of tha
king believed themselves justly entitied to the
role, and letl no means untried to attain their
object. Prayers and threats, blandishments
and lears, were resorted to, and none of 12iem

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

were willing lo renounce their claims, but
rather determined to carrj inatlfirB to estremi-
ties. Charles was greatly pnzaled, and tbe
affair engrossed him ajid Ms cahinet far more
than the Diost important polilical questions.
Finallj, aflec innumerahle consnltationB and
secret conferences, it icae resolved io bestow
upon Mile, de Querouaille the rdU of the
g dd f 1 "te, whereby she was, as it were,
d to he position of the king's fayorile
m The whole court had watthed these

mp n d iberations with the utmost sus-
p and was now filled with the most in-
y, assembled in front of the stage.
The curtain rose. A number of infeiior
genii announced the approach of the Olympian
gods, at last appeared the procession, amid
the brilUant notes of a solemn march. At
the head of the procession strode Ashley, a
member of Uie " cabal," repreeenting Jupiter,
wearing a golden crown on his head, and hold-
ing a sceptre iu his hand. At his side ap-
peared Lady Arlington as Juno, seated in a
chariot of gold drawn by peacocks. Then fol-
lowed the other gods and goddesses, who were
greeted with more or less applaase by the
audience, and gave rise to all sorta of witty
remarks and exclamations.

" Good faith," said a courtier, rather loudly,
"thcro comes Grammont as Apollo, with his
thin legs, which look precisely like walldng-
stieks. A man must bo very bold to walk on

"And yet," whispered another, "he has
padded them with more than twenty pounds
of wool. What do you think of Lady Clifton
as Diana F "

"As she has no Action, she has placed
antlers on her husband's head. But hush I
if I am not mistaken, Venus and the Graces
are about to step upon the stage."

"Mile, de Querouaille I By Jove, she is
beautiful I "

" Ton need not hope for any thing io that

direction. That game is reserved to h
jesty, and no loyal subject is allowed t(
and kill game in the royal park "

L k mall rpe t 11 bl k g! t

I'd dth h f h 1 d wh 1

two dark eyes were bum ng The most pre

cious pearls and d am nd fiashhig arouni

her charming head we e o p nt the wa

1e drop I g t h godd wh h d J

fmhfmfth Abl t

mmtl rrddh Idfrm

harm A h

d 1h

gnficet a. blLdW"lmt,aa
V I hmp d il th m A b tifiil b
Am mp dh dh Idh fm

time to time a gilded arrow, which she sent
from her small bow into the midst of the
audience.

Great was the admiration excited by this
goddess of love ; especially were the king and
the other genllemeu in ecstasies at her loveli-
ness and grace, while the ladies gave vent to
thdr envy by all sorts of malicious remarks.
Mile, de Querouaille was about to recite the
lines which she was to utter as Venus, when
suddenly there emei^ed from behind the
scenes a similar chariot, likewise drawn by
doves. From it descended another goddess
of love, wearing the same costume, and who
was no other than Bjrbara Tilliers, the king's
former mistress. The slighted mistress could
not bear the idea that a strangei should be
preferred to her; therefore, at the risk of
incurring the king's anger, she had chosen
the same mask, and apptircd so untipcctcdly
to dispute with hei tbe palm of beauty Both

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MLU:. DE QUEROUAILLE— ALLIANOE WITH LOUIS XIV.

the spectators and actors were not a. little
Burpriaed at this spectacle. All fixed tb«ir
ejea on Charica, who, spceetileas witli aston-
ishment, seemed at first to be at a loss
nhether to laugh or bo angry at this improTl-

Duiing thla piquant scene, the two fair ri-
vals looked da^cri at each other Mile,
de Querouaille, however, did not lose her sdf-
pos=essioa, and commenced reeitmg the imes
m broken English No sooner, however, bad
she concluded, than Barbara ^ dliera recited
a few verses perfectly adapted to the situa-
t on Thus & miKt charming contLht of love
and grflLL. took place between them in the
presence of the whole court wh ch followed
with undiog iistd mtLre^t the' developments
of the strin^e scene At last the L ng rose
and put an end to the mask wh th had been
InterrupteJ by Baibiri'J appeaiTJU-i Be
took the bands of the two ladies, and whis-
pered into the eir of each a word sonndmg
half like an entreit\, ind half hke la order.
The rivals then approached and embraced
each other before the audience, which turst
into loud applaa'e Peace teemed momen-
tanly restored , but m the htarta of the two
jealousy fanned as before its devonnng flimes.

It was not untd late in the evening that
the king succeeded in getting rid of the irk-
some Barbara, and JQ holding an andiaturbed
tSle-d-tele with Mile, de Querouaille. Henri-
etta of Orleans had instructed her bofocehand
as to the course she was to pursue in regard
to the king. Every favor which sho should
grant lo Charles was to be sold at an exorbi-
tant rate. In a remote cabinet the king lay
at the feet of the goddess of love. A discreet
lamp shed its rosy lustre over her charming
form. The distant notes of seductive, volup-
tuous music penetrated faintly into the room.

" I will give my crown," said Charles, " for
you and your love,"

"I do not ask for It," replied the French

lady ; " moreover, it no longer belongs to you,
but to your consort,"

" Do not remind me of the sacrifice wbieb
I was obliged to make to drcumstances.
We poor princes are entitled to your com-
passion."

" Poor king 1 " jested the lady.

"I cannot offer you any thing save mj

" Wbieh I should ha^^ to share witli a
hundred other women — among them with
Barbara Villiers, Nell Gwjnn, and so forth."

" Ton are cruel. But I swear to be faith-
ful to you."

"Do not commit peijnry, I have been
warned of your oaths. The king, I have
been teld, is constant only in inconstancy."

" Put me to the test, and ask of me what-
ever you please," cried Charles, whose desires
were still more inflamed hy ber reaistauce.

" I am a good Catholic, and, therefore, soli-
citous for the salvation of my soul. A heretic
never can be my locer. My Cburcii would not
forgive such a sin."

"For your sake, then, I will embrace the
Catholic faith."

" That is quite acceptable," she replied,
with charming coquetry. " At least I should
do something for my Church, and would be
less guilty. TeU. me, arc you in earnest about
your promise ? "

" As sure as my name is Charles, and as I
am Eing of Great Britain. Like jour Ilenry
IV., I say, ' Such a woman is worth a mass.' "

"lie said, 'Paris is worth amass,' "

" I would give Paris and London for a kiss
from your rosy lips."

"You will not attain your object so very
fast, I am not only a good Catholic, but also
a good Frenchwoman. So long as you side
with the heretical Swedes and Dutch, and op-
pose France, you shall not touch the tip of my
little finger."

So saying, she withdrew ber delicate white

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JOHN MILTON iND I

hand from that of the king, and pouted so
charmiugt; that Charles entirely lost bis pres-
ence of mind, End wonld have consented to all
that she asked of him.

" I envy yonr king, not for his glory, but
for the fair subject who so wanulj advocates
bis cause; but jou do not know what joa ask
of me. I am to dissolve the triple aVUanee
that ia to sav, defy the public opinion of all
England, which, in (Consideration of this nlli
nnco with the Protestant powers, overlooks all
my other weaknesses and faults. Do not look
at me so wonderii^ly with your large blue
eyes, to itliioh I cannot refuse any thing ; but
it would be no joke for me if all parties should
rise against me, and stun my ears with their
cries. It would be a dangerous, very danger-
ous step; for, to tell you the truth, the people
submit to a great many things SO long as I do
not act contrary to their Protestant oonTic-

horse, prancing and perhaps throwing off his
rider, if he should not sit well in the saddle."

"I always thought you a good horseman,
and able i/t manage yonr charger.''

" What trill Parliament say ? " aaked Charles
thonghtfullv for, nolwith=tandmg his frivolity,
be possessed sufficient understanding to see
his position m its true light Only his pas
sions blinded him and to them he mostly
sacrificed his bttter conviction

Parhament I smiled Mile, de Querouaillc,
playing with her fan, and gently waving it;
"you will chase it awayif.it should incom-
mode yon, just as I chase away the fly buzzing
around me at this moment."

" That is not so easy as you seem to ima-
gine. Parliament ia not a fly, but a wasp
whicii knows how to Sting."

"Then you will kill the wasp. Bo what the
King of France did with his Parliament, He
silenced its members, riding-whip in hand,"

"But there ia a vast difference between
England and France. Our govemnlent ia only

a limited one, and hitherto no king has suc-
ceeded in governing without a Parliament."

"Then you must be the first to do so. I
have been authorized to promise you the aa-
sistance of his m^eaty King Louis, who will
furnish you all the meana yon need for imitat-
ing his eiample

So aaii ng the beautifu! woman drew from
her bosom a treaty fully drawn up, and con-
taining all tht points which ahe had men-
t oned With a oeductive smile, the ambassa-
dress handed the enamoured king the paper
which she wished him to sign. Charles road
it, and seemed to hesitate. In spite of hia
rcLkleaaness, he shrank from a plan aiming at
mithing less than the restoration of England
fo the Cithofe faith and the abolition of
Parhament It is true ho was perfectly in-
ddFerent m religious matters, and looked upon
the repeal of the constitution only as a re-
moval of an irksome restraint but at the
bame time he wi^ fully ahvi to the dangers in
whidi aubh a step might invclvo 1 im. Too
indolent U) make up hia mind on so important
a subject, he possessed not sufficient courage
and energy either to accept or to r^ect the
offer. MUe. de Querouaille watched with
anKious suspense the features of ber lover.
On perceiving that be hesitated, ahe seiied his
bands, and with caresses and blandishments
pressed into it the pen with which he was to
sign the treaty.

"You do not know what you ask of me."

"A proof of your love. It is only on this
condition that I can belong to you."

The lovely woman bent over his shoulders
as if to read the contents of the important
document. Her fragrant breath intoxicated
him ; her silky ringlets touched his cheeks,
and her electric contact fanned the fire burn-
ing in his heart to a devouring flame. Her
eyea gazed so longingly and beaeeehingly into
his own, that he was scarcely able to with-
stand her. He himself did not know exactly

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"SAMSON AGONISTES."

301

how it happened, but her hand moved tlie pen
which he jet held in his hand, and nith her
assistance he mechanioaUj affised hia royal
signature to the treaty. By a stroke of the
pen the fate of England had been dedded,
and he had become a vassal of Louis XIV.,
from vrhom he henceforth received an annual
stipend, which he used in gratifying his expen-
sive passions. The tender embrace and Ihe
burning kisses of the female diplomaiiel stifleil
the rising misgivings of the king.

At such a price Charles bought the love
of Mile, de Querouaille, whom he afterward
created Duchess of Portsmouth.

CHAPTER XVI.

Hfncefi'EWard England sank deeper and
deeper from the lofty position which she had
hitherto occupied. At home, the reactionary
patty put off its hypocritical mask and no long
er disginsed its despotic Intentions; abroal,
the government, owing to its humiliating de
pendcnce on France, forfeited what little re
spert it had enjoyed up to this time. The
"cahal" continued in power, while Charles
gratified his licentiousness the more eagerly,
as Louis SIY. fiimished him with the neces-
sary funds. As a matter of course, geneial
discontent prevailed among the people, and
despite the demoralization reigning throughout
the country, there stirred ia the nation a grow
ing sense of its humiliating condition, which
was intensified by the consciousness of having
forfeited ita honor, and by gloomy forebodings
of dangers menacing the secority of England.
It [s true, Charles did not possess sufGeient
energy to take a decisive step toward carrying
out tJic treaty which he had concluded wilh
France. He contented Mmself with making

promises when he was reminded of his

engagement, or nith underhand half-measures

against the British constitution, which he

dared not openly attack. An eient, not verj

important in itself, characttrizes mo=t stnL

ingly the course he pursued towird Paihi

ment, and betrayed his real intentioni The

rliament contemplated imposing a tax upon

ora. The court party opposed this roeas-

', objecting that the actors were servants

the king, and were kept for his m^esty's

pleasure. On thig occasion 1 hi p t d

member of the House of C m 4 d

whether they referred to th

tresses. This was evident! 11 t

Charles U. The king was f ua t this
suit, and resolved to revt j, h m If m
manner entirely unworthy of h alt d fBce
Some officers of the lifegu rda t k p
themselves the task of chaatlaing the offender.
They assailed him in a most cowardly manner,
and, notwithstanding his determined resist-
ance, mutilated him by slitting his nose. The
Parliament was highly indignant at this cow-
ardlv outrage and, supported by the violent
esjoperat on of the whole country, demanded
due satLsfiction for it.

The people, however, were aroused to still
greater escilement. by their apprehensions re-
garding the restoration of the Catholic faith.
The king was not unjustly suspected of lean-
nf, t w rd the Koman Chu ch Th D ke of
York h 3 b other had alrealy publ c y ad
m tted th t he had embraced C thohcism
'■r Kenalm D^jby who had meanvhJe del
during a jo ney to Fran e had not un^u ce s
fully worked, both m secret and openly, for
the faith of his executed father. Protestantism
was seriously menaced, and religious liberty
had to fear the worst at the hands of the
gloomy and higoted James.

The mournful posture to which England was
reduced made upon no one a deeper impres-

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMES.

sion than upon Miltnn. His liomcatic t
rions added to Lis grief at the distrpsa o
country. He had witnessed the greatness of
hii nation, which was now eo deeply humili-
ated. Liberty, for wMch he bad once entered
tha lists, was gone, destroyed, and reviled.
His political friends had expiated their honest
~ 'Id or in prison. Per-
i triumphant. More-
over, he had grown old and blind, and his own
daughters had deserted him. Profound dejec-
tion had seized him, and he longed to die.
Poesy alone had remained faithful to him ; but
it DO longer appeared to him as a divine com-
forter, but in a mourning-garh, and with tears
in the estincl eyes. He eshaled his grief in a
drama which he published a short time previ-
ous to his death, under the title of " Samson
Agoiiistea." This was an outburst of his deep
anguish.

In the peiBOn of the blind hero of the
IsraeUlia he lamented his own misfortunes.
Milton himself was the blind Samson, derided
by the Philistines and idolaters, betrayed by a
perfidious woman, deserted bj nil, and despair-
ing of the mighty God of hia fathers. Like
this Biblical hero, he had fought and etnig-
gled, and now he was prostrate, chained, and
crashed.

While depiotinf! his sufferings in this drama,
he was cheered from time to lime by a visit
of his faithful friend Marvell. This honest
man was one of the few who had remained

all the offers of Charles, who recognized his
worth, and sought to win him over to his side.
With this friend Milton shared the remainder
of bis fortune; with him he recalled the event-
ful past, and he communicated (o him his new
poem, which was to appear in dramatic form.
"Dryden," said the poet, "asked me to
write a drama, and I have done so; but I am
afraid it has little prospect of being performed

"And what subject have you chosen, my
venerable friend ? "

" Mind Samson is my hero,"

"Blind Samson," repeated Marvell, mourn-
fully.

" Blind like mvsclf, deserted like myself,
but full of hope in the EteroaL Thus he sits
under the gate of Gaza, while the Philistines
are feasting and celebrating orgies in honor
of their contemptible idols. Listen to his

To the body's woanda a

And!

Berce accidents,
entrails, jointe, and llmliE.

With ann
Though void of corp™
Mj griefs not cnly paJi
As fl lingering disease,
But finding no redress.

Lcsble

Eantle, and fesf er,

To blact mortlflcflaoD. '

Tlioiights,nijtoniienlora, armed with d

Mangle mj apprelanslTe tenderost parts
Eiaspcrste, exnlMrate, and raise
Hire lof airjias

Or nil

al liquor can sssnage,
or breath of vernal oirtrom snowy Alf
lleep halh foraook and given me o'er
roDcalli'aliennDiblnEOiiinm as my on
Phence Mntings, swoonings of despair,

of Heaven's dese

id elioic

T wag His m
His deiHnea (rom the womb,
Promiaed by heavenly me&sBge
Undar Eia apcoial eye

st the unci
■w hitli 01

WSom I by His sppolntmcnt had provoked,
left me all helpless, with tie Irreparable loss
or sight, reserved alive to bo repeated
Tbe subject of tbclr ernelty or scorn.
Nor am I In the list ot ttem that hope r
Hopeless are nil my evils, aU remediless.
This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard,
Ko long petition : speedy death,
Tha close of all my miseries, and the balm.' "

"Poor SamsoQ 1" cried Marvell, seizing th

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poet'a hand in profound
no other cousolation left to theo ? We must
submit, and bear with patience that which
cannot be helped."

"I possess such patience, and, nbove all
things, confidence in the goTernment of Di-
vine Pro'idencp. Nevertheless, I am in pain,
and no one will blame mj Samson for crying
out under hia heavy burden, and prajing God
to end his life."

" But win jou nctt continue ? " begged Mar-
veil ; " that is, if the recitation does not eK-
hanst or escite jou too much."

" Samson's complaints are replied to bj the
chorus of his Isroelile friends, which I ar-
ranged in Bccordance with the rules of the
Greek tragedy ;
> Many ore the BsyJDgs of tho wi

SAMSON AGONTSTBS."

"Is there Bui throwesi

Esltilling patiomi

inrolkd.
leBtfortitBdc;

's thiil life,

studied argument, ar

tenlont of grief and KnsLous tlionght:

But witli the afflicted In Us psnge Uieir Eound

Little preiails, or miller seems a tune

Horsb, and of dissonant mood troai Us complslDt ;

TJnleas he feel wilhia

Some fioQice ef oanaolatloD (mm above,

Secrst tetreshtngs, tlat repair bis sliciigtli,

And l^lnUng aplriU npliald.

dad of our Atliers, what Is mao,

Tbal Thou toward him with hand so virions,

: Thj pi

Heads wilhout name, no more remembered.
Bat suoh as Thou last solemnly elected,
TTItb gifla and grates eminently adorned.
To some great work, Thy glory.

Yet toward these, Ihus dignifled, Thon olt.

Amidst Oieir height of noon,

Changest Thy conntenance, and Thy hand, with no

Of highest feyors past

From Tbco on them, or them lo Thee of Eerviee

Kor only dost degrade Ihem, or remit

To life obeFored, which were a fair dlamis^n ,

IS ror the trespass or
them to the hostile a
and pro^e, their ca
1 fowls a prey, or elBi
nnjnst tribnn

londemnatioi

under change

itude.' "

Here Mlton paused, profoondly moved by
his own words. He thought of the fate of
his unfortunate frieuda. In his mind he saw
the scaffold on which the noble Vane had
bled, the dongeon in whieli his friend Overton
was still groaning — all the banished and per-
secuted men, his political friends. Ho remem-
bered with great bitterness the fickleness of
the foolish people, who were lo day kneeling
ag'un before the idols they hid once upset
who denied and dended the principles to
which they had adhered only yootLrday with
the ardor of finahtism, and who heaped the
most poignant contumely and mortiEtatton on
their former favontes and Inends A tor
of indignation and just anger tremhled m the
eyes of the poet when ho eontinued :
" If these thej- 'scape, perhaps in poverty

TV ilh siek

neasiin

dise

aae Thon bowes

them

d deformed.

Id age;

Though B

tdisor

ufforing

Thepmils

just, J

fee both

to evU end.

Theimag,

^Tw

Btte

ee Thy glorion
^Ih and mighty

Wh^tdolbegf

How

hast Thon dealt already?

labors,

jist, te peacoflil en

While Milton was reciting these lines, which
hmented his own fate in the per on of Sam
son, the cold nmd moved the leafless iree=,
and accompanied the mournful words with
its melancholy tones The summer wis at
an end, the fields had been mown, Ihc flow
ers were withered, the joyous notes of the
birds had died away 4 profound f,Ioomy Bi
lence reigned all around The parting n\9
of the pale sun illutninated the gny head

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304

JOHN MILTON AND HIS TIMEa

and wan face of the poet. He had grown
old and feeble ; blind and sick he sat there, a
bcokon, crushed hero like his Samson ; but in
his heart there liyed jet the courageous spirit
of poclry, the unexhausted -yigor of tlie soul.
Without aji effort he recited hia poem to the
end. In silrring lines he depicted Bit the con-
clusion the vengeance which blind SamBOn
wreaked upon hia enemies, tlie terrible
strength with which the hero shook the pil-
iara of the house in which hia adversaiies
were feasting, and the fall of the roof, nnder
which he Bimultaneoualy hnried tliem and
himself. He raised hia voice on reciting the
triumphant chorus of the Israelites :
" ' But ho. tlnragi blinfl of afght,

Despised, ana fhoogb oxtln^lsLed quite,

"With inward eyes ilLuminated,

Of tsrae tillBtic tovrl ; but as an eagle

His cloudless til under bolted on theii beads.

Bo Virtue, given for lost.

AH ie beet, tbiragli wo oft doubt

What tbe nusearchable dispose

Of Higtost Wisdom brings aboul,

And ever lest fOrnid In tbe cluae. '

on Bo seems lo bide bis Ikce,

But imespoctidlr rcturos.

And to Hia felUiM elanipion bath in plact

Bore witness gioriously ; whenee Gais mo

And al! that band Ihem to resist

Els uncontrollable inteoi

Of In

wlUine

en tbla g

Like one of those prophets of the Old Tes-
tament, the poet poured out in aivful words
his grief, hia wrath, and hia hopes. Hia form
seemed tp grow ; he had riaen and drawn him-

self up to hia full height, an intellectual Sam
son, abating once more the edifice of despotr
ism, ready to die, and even in death dinging
to the faith of hia whole life.

CHAPTER XVn.

Tma waa the laat flicker of his Burpasaing
genius before its utter eitlnclion. Long-
continued sufierlnga of the body and soul con-
ilned Milton at last to hia bed ; he felt thiit
his life was drawing to a close. His wifs
nursed him with the greatest devotion ; bis
brother, who did not share his political views,
also hastened to him. The brothers met after
a, prolonged separation, and forgot their po-
litical differencea, at leaat during the firat few
moments. Milton held out his emaciated hand
to his faithful brother.

"Dear Christopher," he said, in a feeble
voice, "I see that you still love me. How
glad I am to see yon after so many years ;
how glad I am that you have come I Too
will help me to set my house in order."

"I will gladlj do BO," replied his brother,
deeply moved.

"My fortune is bat small, for poets gather
no riches. I am sorry that I can leave so
little to my wife. I ahould hare liked to free
her from care ; she deserves it by the tender
solicitude with which she has nursed me, and
by the love and patience with which she has
always treated her poor blind husband ; but
I did not know how to amasa lai^e sums of

"I understand you have many claims outr
standing."

"My deblorfl are even poorer than I;
most of them are poUHeal friends of mine,
who lost their fortunes at the reEtocatioa

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MILTON'S DEATH.

,t is not in consonance with m; wialiefl that
jon sliould collect tiicao cinima."

"And youi- children, jour daughters?"
asked Ghrisiopher, as delicately as pos^hle.

"I Lave no children," said Millon, monrn-
fuUv "Thejhive forniken me I am lonely
and dcaerted

At these words the dooi opened iitiseleasly

1 wlo

e the ti

aurpas&m^ beautv tntuei the r

feature? It was Al ce with 1 ev son She
had completed the education of the youth at
her country acat far from the pern cioua in
fluence o! the court No sooner had sht
heard thit her friend had been taken don
geiouol? sicl than 6he hastened to him but
ahe had not thought that 1 la end waa so
close at hand The teira of h = heart-broken
wjfi, told her that such was tbt ca e A!
though she had cntcrtd as no Irsslv a'J poo
siblt, the keen ears of the bl nd poet had
heird htr arnial

Who 13 there ' he aaked c gerb

' A fiiend — Ahoe rephed the matron
hardly able to repre=a her teara

A gentle amile kindled Milton's face; a
touching gleam of joy flushed hia pale cheeks.
! cried, profoundly moved,

"spirit of my

outh, genius of the poet! 1

knew that you

?ould come, and that I should

meet you once b

ore before bidding farewell to

this world."

"And I am

ot alone; I bring with me a

son, who has co

me lt> recave your blessing."

" Approach,"

said the dying poet to the

He touched

nhb hia hands the noble li»-

eamenta of the

youthful face, which seemed

to pleaae him.

He nodded with an air of

great satisfaetio

"God refused

a son to me," sighed Mil-

ion. "I have

children to perpetuate my

" Tou have immortal sons and daughters ;
your works, ' Comus,' ' Paradise Lost,' ' Para-
dise Eegained,' ' Samson Agonistes,' and all
those magnificent creations of your genius."

" Oh, they are not suffideut. I would will-
iigly |,iVH all my works for a ion, a child
of fle^h and blood to whom I might bequeath
mv name my ipir t and my senhmtnts."

Take my Will am lien and bequeath
your love to h m

The vounj, man, who shared his mother's
attathment to 1 er lluslnous fnend, bent hia
held befjre the dying poet and asked his

I Bhall not leave th a world, then i-ul
Mdton without leaving i son in it boi
I kss jou Go 1 hlesa tl e youth of England
tinm whom aloQp I e^prtt the Salvation of
)ur poor country I I depari iv Ih tl e hope
that the seeds which we have aeatteiil mil
not utt rly penah X later general on will
hai-ve=t th fru la It wtj not vouLlisafet. to
us to set foot m the hnd of promise Lik-
M )'!es we were all jwed only to aee the prom-
ise! liherty fiom afar The Iiraelites had to
winder through the wiHemLos for forty years
before leachmg lie sacred sol of Canaan.
Tht Lord wdl not allow us to peosh either.
The spirit whi^h He otirred iu ua cannot die.
We mavtonpire the prestnttmeto a wi!-
derneos m *hich we ait wandering ahout
without know Dg the nght path The people
are still dancing around the golden calf, and
t irning their backs upon the tr God, who
veils Himself majestitallv in his clouded
heavens but the nation will su elv acknowl-
edge its fault 1 jrsake the f ilie f,ods and turn
again toward the Aimighty."

Tlie sufferer paused, exhausted by the ef-
fort ; language failed him, but hia soul, which
was already be^nning to free itself from its
earthly shell, took a loftier prophetic flight ;
it soared unfettered above, time and space.
Mtee a long pause, he added :

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JOHN MILTON AND HIS TUB

" The struggle is not yet over, tlie struggle
between heaven and bell, between the good
and evil powers. There Btanos the fallen an-
gel, with his infernal host ; lie is preparing
anew for war with truth. Here Comus is grin-
ning at me — Comua, llie god of lust and world-
linosa. The Philistines ace roaming every-
where, and boasting of their victory over the
God-sent Iiero. All is m vain, all their efforts
are fruitless. I know and feel tiat bell will
not triumph. Already I saw tlie Messiah
oommg, before whom falsehood Tanishes. The
Uoly Ghost descends upon the nations, the
Holy Ghost of tnowledgc, humanity, and tol-
eration. Tlio guardian angel of virtue and in-
nocence eipcla the lustful Comus, who must
give up his prey. Tliere will be better times
and other soldiers of truth, who will triumph
in the end. Arm, ye chosen ones ; never tire,
never give up the contest I Victory will not
always flee from you or from tho just cause.
As for you," he added, turning to Alice's son,
" I enlist you now for the new army which is
to Hght out the old contest. Be faithful to
the lehgion of your fafliers, to your convic-
tions, and to truth. God blesa you I "

A profound, revecentiil silence reigned dur-
ing these words of the dying poet. The fine-
looking youth, overcome by his feelings, knelt

dowi

it the bedside tc

igof

the illustiions

sufferer. He was profoundly

impressed with

the grave importance of the

moment which

nas to eierdse a decisive in-

flufnee over hi

whole hfe. Milton held out

his hands to hi

faithful wife, and the beloved

of bis youth, who were standing like angels at

bis bedside.

"Do B

"It

true, my life has abounded in sufferings,
have stood at the grave of that liberty which
I helped to establish. My convictions have
been derided, my opinions reviled, my writings
burned by the public executioner. Mj friends
have been persecuted, imprisoned, and exe-

. I have had to deplore the hiss of my
eyesight, and become, a poor, miserable, blind
Ln. Fate has taken much from me, but it
s also given me much. It was vouchsafed
me to live in a great period, and take part
the greatest event of the century. Ifought
and labored faithfully during the great strug-
gle. The first minds of roy time joined hands
ne, and the spiritual bond of friendship
steem united me with the noble and emi-
men of all countries. Princes and na-
tions listened to my words, which became
deeds, and inspired thousands with love of lib-
■ty and truth. But all this is nothing com-
pared with the love ivhieh two of the noblest
^n bestowed upon me— you, my dear wife,
and you, Alice, my Muse, my genius. I thank
you and God for it at this last hour. Qod

Tho tears of the two women moistened hia
hands. Gradually he became nearly uncon-
scious, and the marked change in his features
indicated the impending estinction of the dy-
ing fiame. His cold hands still grasped those
of Alice and bis wife. During the brief and
almost painless agony, his physical hlindness
disappeared for a moment; he seemed to see
all.the bystanders in the most wonderful illu-
mination ; they appeared to him free from
earthly admixture, as heavenly forms in the
light of transfiguration. The phantoms which
seemed to crowd around his death-bed became
more and more numerous ; the friends of his
youth, the men who had toiled and suffered
with him, the women who had loved and re-
vered his surpassing genius, passed as a glo-
rious procession before hia eyes ere he closed
them forevermore. A serene, blissful smile
illuminated his countenance. When Alice
bent over him, his sublime spirit had already
fled.

She imprinted a kiss, her last love-offering,
on the pale, noble forehead of the poet, and
then sank weeping into the arms of his wife.

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MILTON'S DEATH.

307

A lai^e number of mourners accompanied
Milton's remains » St. Giles's Church, near
Cripplegate, where he was boried close to the

It was not vouchsafed to hira to nitcess tbe
victocj of the liUeral a on I Jam a II.,
and the triumph of his p n pie wh h took
place a few joacs afte h death Al ce'a
son took a, leading pa t n th sub luent
straggle, and sided mo g llj w th the

party which celjelied a"^ n t th tj auny of a
bigoted and cruel king. Ilis mother lived in
quiet retirement, and always cherished and
honored the memory of her illustrioua friend.
She still enjoyed the happiness and satiafac-
tion of witnessing the rapid growth of his re-

Uke most eminent men, Milton did not re-
o^ve the full meed of his fame until after his
death; but it is not altogether juat tliat it
sh Id t h fly h P d Lo t
Hp wkb lamhthtmpf

th f ;

f h

h th

th 1 Th m d th des

adm rat d tt t , h y t t Im t

every great question of humanity, and all the
political and aocial problems whose solution
has heen attempted by the moat eminent men
up to the present time. In these nritings we
find Milton to he the most indefatigable cham-
pion of liberty, and the great precursor of
EouEseaii and the French Revolution, ffe
stands on the doctrines of the new era, an in-
telleetual ^ant, adorned with the radiant
crown of the poet, whose splendor eclipsed
for a time the merits of the publicist. The
poet never forgot that he was a man and citi-
zen. He did not live in egotistical aeeluaiou
from the world, but took part in its struggles,
its aspirations, and sufferings. He sacrificed
all to hia convictions, and ahrank from no dan-
gers when atruggling for the ideas which he
advocated. He rested firmly and immovably

on his faith in Christianity. Prom religion,
from the eternal truths of the Bible, he de-
rived the necessary strength. He looked upon
his task as a sublime, divine mission; hence,
the stern, moral earnestness, the lofty energy,
and the inspired zeal which did not forsake
him even when he advocated principles and
defended views which belonged to a narrow-
minded, and, in many ceapecla, a bigoted age.
He knew how to preserve a certain dignity in
hia controversies, in which the war on both
aides was carried on with a degree of virulent
abuse and personality which, though common
m the age of the disputants, is calculated to
strike a modern reader nitb astonishment.
But we cannot hut esteem him even in his er-
rors, because they ariae ^om hia ardent thirst
for truth. He was the aivorn foe of restraint,
whether in education or in domestic life, in
the Btate or Church. In his eyes every man
born free, and, to fulfil his task before
i and man in a becoming manner, should
J y the whole estent of his freedom. He
tl efore demanded that all the natural rights
f man should be scrupulously respected ; he
d ocated the separation of the Church from
the state, free investigation of the Irutha of
the Bible, liberty of speech, of the press, of
education, and of matrimonial relations. In
hia pro wo k« Ml on has t ■aced as t w r
the outl nes of a new koo 1 system The e
are few of the que-t ons a^ tat ng the p b c
mind even at the pre cnt t me to wh oh 1 e
did not g e his attent on Tl p de verance
of Greece the reform of pari amen arv elec
tions the mprovement of i.uhhti mst uc on
and of the 1 ws re„ulat ng d vor e — m a urt
all the hopes ai d n iJies of our tune^ were
fores n anJ dwelt upon ty hia prophet i,
mind L Le a prophet of the Loci he "jiw
info the n ost remote f ture, and his gemua,
transcend i\ e umatances surrounding
him, outst pped not only hia times, but in
many respects even our own.

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