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topher Milton; and it is singular enough, that Elizabeth says, the occasion of the poet's speaking the above words, was, that his wife had procured something for dinner 'which he very well liked,' when all his biographers agree, that he had no choice in his food.

If these stories, therefore, were meant to refer to the same time, they are contradictory; and, if they allude to different times, we shall show, that they are improbable. One would think, from reading these depositions, that Milton did nothing but eat dinner, and remind his wife of his will. Now, even if the will had been reduced to writing, and regularly attested, we cannot think, that he would be eternally ringing it in the ears of his wife. It is not a subject, to which other men delight to recur; more especially, when, like Milton, they are in their mirthful moods. But, when we reflect, that this pretended will was only delivered orally to his brother, and that he lived and 'was merry,' more than three months, after making the declaration, we are not prepared to believe, that he should continue thus to quote and repeat it, without taking any measures to render its provisions more certain. It seems, however, that this was not the only topic, upon which it was his pleasure to dwell. We are to believe, that he descended to be familiar with waiting-maids; and to talk over with them the most delicate circumstances of his private affairs. Thus, he not only lets Elizabeth Fisher into the history of justice Powell's promise of a thousand pounds;* but favours her with the stories, that were told to him, by a former servant, of the undutiful tricks, which his daughters had played.f The nature of these tricks are not calculated to help the improbability. There is nothing absolutely incredible in the tale, that his daughters advised his servants to

* Todd, vol. i. 182.

† Id. ibid. p. 183.

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cheat him in the marketings; but who will believe, that, when the second was told of his expected new marriage, she answered, it is 'no news to hear of his wedding, but if she could hear of his death, that was something.* So it might possibly be, that they made way with some of his books; but who can swallow the story, that 'they would have sold the rest to the dunghill-men?" We believe, it is the first time, that ever this class of the community were suspected of being anxious for a library. Maria Fisher had heard nothing against the daughters; and our readers will know how far to credit Elizabeth, when we tell them, in addition to what has already been said, that she was, at the time of her deposition, the servant of Milton's widow, and was produced as a witness on her side of the cause.f Did Milton tell his private griefs to nobody but waiting-maids? Were there not some among his friends, who, if such things had ever fallen from his lips, would have been the more likely to be entrusted with them, and better fitted to establish their authenticity?

We suppose, indeed, that the story here told was not framed without as much basis as is always sufficient for such fabrications. The daughters Milton 'had by his first wife,' says Phillips, he made serviceable to him in that very particular in which he most wanted their service, and supplied his want of eyesight by their eyes and tongues. For though he had daily about him some one or other to read to him, some persons of man's estate, who, of their own accord, greedily catched at the opportunity of being his readers, that they might as well reap the benefit of what they read to him, as oblige him by the benefit of their reading, others of younger years sent by their parents to the same end; yet, excusing only the eldest daughter by reason of her bodily infirmity, and difficult utterance of speech (which, to say the truth, I doubt was the principal cause of excusing her) the other two were condemn'd to the performance of reading, and exactly pronouncing of all the languages of whatever book he should at one time or other think fit to peruse; viz. the Hebrew, (and I think the Syriac,) the Greek, the Latin, the Italian, Spanish, and French. All which sort of books to be confined to read, without understanding one word, must needs be a trial of patience almost beyond endurance; yet it was endured by both for a long time. Yet the irksomeness of this employment could not be always concealed, but broke out more into expressions of uneasiness; so that, at length they were all, even the eldest also, sent out to learn some curious and ingenious sorts of manufacture, that are proper for women to learn, particularly embroideries in gold and silver.*

* Todd, vol. i. p. 183.

+ Id. ibid. p. 182.

Can it be, that Milton should thus impose upon his daughters, a task which no human patience could endure, and then charge them with filial ingratitude for at length breaking into expressions of uneasiness? And, after seeing their preparation for future life thus totally neglected, and themselves at length put out to trades beneath their birth and station, must we be told by Mr. Godwin, that 'we are not to suppose he was neglectful of their best interests?" The first married a carpenter; the second died single; and the third became the wife of a poor weaver, in Spitalfields. We are not among those, who are ready to sacrifice the good name of all others to the reputation of Milton; and, if we have contributed to rescue from infamy the characters of three daughters, who seem to have suffered quite as much sin as they committed, we shall think ourselves sufficiently excused for the prolixity of this examination.

* Ph. ap. Godw. 381.

† Godw. Phh. p. 127.

Wart. note at the end of the will, and obs. on Milton's portraits.

The wife, whose conduct has occasioned this digression, was Elizabeth Minshull, of a genteel family, in Cheshire. Milton is said to have married her at the recommendation of his friend Dr. Paget; whose advice he solicited, and who doubtless thought his own kinswoman* would be a fit wife for any body. Milton lived in Germyn-street at the time of this marriage; but he removed, soon after, to a house in the Artillery-walk, leading to Bunhill-fields ; which, says Phillips, 'was his last stage in this world.' From his small house in High-Holborn, where we left him, previous to his appointment of Latin secretary, he removed to one Thompson's, next door to the Bull-head tavern, at Charing Cross; which seems to have been a lodging taken,' says his nephew, 'till his designed apartment in Scotland yard' could be prepared for his reception.t For some reason or other, however, he quit his 'apartment' in Scotland yard, for a garden-house in Petty-France, in Westminster, opening into St. James Park; where he remained from 1652 till within a few weeks of the restoration. When he emerged from Bartholomew-close, he took a house in Holborn, near Red Lion Fields; whence he removed, as has been just stated, first to Jewin-street, and then to the Artillery-walk.

As he was now free of public employment, he devoted his whole time to three undertakings, which had been resumed, at every interval of leisure, for the last twenty years of his life;-a History of his own country, a Latin Dictionary, and an Epiс Роет. We agree with Dr. Johnson, that, 'to collect a dictionary, seems a work, of all others, least practicable in a state of blindness, because it depends upon perpetual and minute inspection and collation;' and that, 'to compile a history from various authors, when they can only be consulted by other eyes, is not easy, nor possible, but with more skilful and attentive help than can be commonly obtained.' Milton, however, was not without examples. We should suppose, that a lawyer, above all men, ought to have eyes; yet the house of Caius Drusus was always filled with clients; who, says Cicero, when they could not see their own way in their affairs, were willing to avail themselves of a blind guide. Cnius Aufidius discharged the office of prætor, delivered speeches in the senate, and wrote a Grecian history, after he had lost his sight. 'Videbat in litteris,' says Cicero. Blind Diodatus, the stoic, resided many years at Cicero's house; and, what is scarcely credible, not only devoted himself to philosophy with more eagerness than ever, played upon the Pythagorian fiddle, and read books day and night,-but, what seems to be absolutely impracticable without eyes, superintended a school of geometry, and would direct his pupils, by words, whence, whither, and how to draw their lines.*

* Ph. ap. Godw. p. 380.

†Id, ibid. p. 374.

But, whatever might have been Milton's difficulties in compiling a dictionary or a history, it cannot be pretended, that the loss of sight was a serious impediment to the composition of an epic poem. Homer, we are told, was blind. But, when we say this, to use once more the language of Cicero, we look at his picture, and not at his poetry. What region, asks the delighted philosopher, her, what coast, what corner of Greece, what species of form, what battle, what parade, what contest of oars, what motion of man or of beast, has he not so painted, that, though he may not have seen it himself, he forces his readers to see it ? When Milton commenced Paradise Lost,-how he first conceived the idea,and what was the original celebrity of the poem,are three questions, which his biographers still strive to illustrate, and continue to discuss.

* Tusc. Quæst. I. v. § 38, et seq.

+ Id. ibid.

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