heart and vigour of imagination. To give it this peculiar effect, we must remember, that the lot of Milton had a marvellous coincidence with that of his hero, in three remarkable points; first (but we should regard this as the most inconsiderable article of resemblance) he had been tormented by a beautiful but disaffectionate and disobedient wife; secondly, he had been the great champion of his country, and as such the idol of public admiration; lastly, he had fallen from that height of unrivalled glory, and had experienced the most humiliating reverse of fortune :

His foes' derision, captive, poor, and blind.

In delineating the greater part of Samson's sensations under calamity, he had only to describe his own. No dramatist can have ever conformed so literally as Milton to the Horatian precept.

Si vis me flere, dolendum est

Primum ipsi tibi.

VOL I.

And if, in reading the Sams nistes, we observe how many passa pressed with the most energetic se exhibit to our fancy the sufferings sentiments of the poet, as well as his hero, we may derive from this e nary composition a kind of patheti that no drama can afford; we may the felicity of genius, that contrive manner, to relieve a heart overb with anguish and indignation, and half concealed yet hallowed tribu memories of dear though dishonore whom the state of the times allowe afflicted poet more openly to deplo

The concluding verses of the chorus (which I have already cite appear to me particularly affecting persuasion that Milton, in compos addressed the two last immediatel ven, as a prayer for himself:

In fine,

Just or unjust alike seem miserable,
For oft alike both come to evil end.

So deal not with this once thy glorious champion,
The image of thy strength, and mighty minister.
What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already?
Behold him in his state calamitous, and turn
His labours, for thou can'st, to peaceful end.

If the conjecture of this application be just, we may add, that never was the prevalence of a righteous prayer more happily conspicuous; and let me here remark, that however various the opinions of men may be concerning the merits or demerits of Milton's political character, the integrity of his heart appears to have secured to him the favor of Providence: since it pleased the Giver of all good not only to turn his labours to a peaceful end, but to irradiate his declining life with the most abundant portion of those pure and sublime mental powers, for which he had constantly and fervently prayed, as the choicest bounty of Heaven.

3

At this period, his kind friend and physician, who had proved so serviceable to him in the recommendation of an attentive, and affectionate wife, introduced to his notice a

young reader of Latin, in that singular character, Thomas Ellwood, the quaker, who has written a minute history of his own life; a book, which suggests the reflection, how strangely a writer may sometimes mistake his way in his endeavours to engage posterity. Had the honest quaker bequeathed to the world as circumstantial an account of his great literary friend, as he has done of himself, his book would have engrossed no common share of public regard: we are indebted to him, however, for his incidental -mention of the great poet; and as there is a pleasing air of simplicity and truth in his narrative, I shall gratify the reader by inserting it with very little abridgment:

"John Milton, a gentleman of great note for learning throughout the learned world, having filled a public station in former times, lived now a private life in London; and having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to read to him, which usually was the son of some gentlemon of his acquaintance, whom in kindness he took to improve in his learning.

By the mediation of my friend, Isaac Penington, with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as a servant to him, which at that time he needed not, nor to be in the house with him, but only to have the liberty of coming to his house at certain hours, when I would, and to read to him what books he should appoint me, which was all the favor I desired."

Ellwood was at this time an ingenious but undisciplined young man, about threeand-twenty-his father, a justice of Oxfordshire, had taken him, very unseasonably from school, with a view to lessen his own expences, and this his younger son, after wasting some years at home, attached himself, with great fervency, to the sect of quakers. His religious ardour involved him in a long and painful quarrel with his father, and in many singualar adventures-he united with his pious zeal a lively regard for literature; and being grieved to find that his interrupted education had permitted him to acquire but a slender portion of classical