must have been welcomed by the founders of cer erary interest to the best of Milton's previous | Magistrates." He gives the royal procpamphlets. It is, however, a strong, thoroughly lamation for the seizing and burning "by Miltonic performance, falling with hammer- the hand of the common hangman like force on the question discussed; and it tain books by John Milton and John the Commonwealth in their first hour of diffi- Goodwin, and points out that, while the "Defensio" and the "Eikonoclastes" culty (vol. iv., p. 64). are mentioned, no mention is made of the "Tenure " (vol. vi., p. 181). "Had a few passages from that book been read [in the Commons], or even only its full title, with recollection of the date of publication, the end might have been that Milton, as well as Peters, would have been flung among the totally excepted Regicides " (p. 178). The whole of Masson's narrative concerning the doings of the committees and of both Houses in the matter of the Indemnity Bill, including Prynne's malicious efforts to effect Milton's destruction, has quite a breathless interest. We can do no more than refer to it, and commend it to our readers as a narrative of a critical episode hitherto but imperfectly known in connection with Milton's personal history. Had Milton been only a regicide, he might have shared the fate of Peters - contempt and infamy whether deservedly or not. Powerful interest in his favor was made, no doubt, and the poet, fortunately for the glory of England and her literature, survived the pamphleteer. May we not call Milton the prophet of the nation at this critical hour, as he had been when prelaty was under judgment, and was to be, though fruitlessly, on the eve of the Restoration? As from the mouths of Hebrew prophets, so from Milton's, some axioms of truth or deep moral principles break forth every now and then in the midst of argument and rebuke. Among the opening words of the "Tenure," he says finely, "Indeed, none can love freedom heartily but good men;" and, near its close, he turns upon the Presbyterians and rebukes the Assembly with the words, "Let them be sorry that, being called to assemble about reforming the Church, they fell to progging and soliciting the Parliament, though they had renounced the name of priests, for a new settling of their tithes and oblations." He saw wherein the failure of the ecclesiastical bigots and "forcers of conscience" lay, and he trusted in the righteousness which, as he believed, inspired the leaders who had ventured "to depose and put to death a tyrant or wicked king." We are not now entering on the argument of the right or the policy of the deposition and execution of Charles. It concerns us only to get, if possible, a glimpse of Milton's part in it as the Courageous advocate of the most daring political act in modern history. He placed himself in the front on this occasion, and what he did now in February, 1648-9, together with what he had yet to do in his "Eikonoclastes" and his two " Defences," must be accepted as his especial work in vindicating the act in question for his own countrymen, to all Europe, for his own time, and for all after ages. With out Milton's utterances, the "good cause," to be ever associated by all lovers of libment. erty with the Commonwealth of England, Parliament and the army resulted almost might not have been fully and honorably as a matter of necessity in a military recognized as it ever has been; and the tyranny which ultimately broke down, and daring act of January, 1648-9, might the Parliamentary element along with it, have been regarded only as the Royalists as soon as the controlling power of the regarded it as the final deed of a wicked, great Protector ceased with his death though great, rebellion. Mr. Masson, in we all know. In fact, there was no pohis sixth volume, gives some very interest-litical power able to withstand the reac ing information about Milton's escape tion which set in under Richard Cromfrom being classed among the regicides The fourth and fifth volumes of Masson cover the history from the death of Charles I. to the restoration of Charles II., and include Milton's principal public writings the "Eikonoclastes" and the two "Defences," with particulars of his employments in the service of the State. The subject of the "Eikon Basilike" has recently been ably discussed in this review, and we shall therefore not refer to it here. Nor will space permit us to go into any of the details of the "Commonwealth." We have seen Milton preparing to take his part in the reforms of the Church and the State, and ultimately becoming the voice of England in her relig"ious freedom and her republican governThat the conflict between the Mod in consequence of the committees having The authorship of the "Eikon Basilike." overlooked "The Tenure of Kings andern Review, July, 1880. By W. Blake Odgers, LL.D. well's feeble protectorate; and the army, although filled with patriotic and Godfearing soldiers such as no other State ever had the power to enlist in its service, had no choice but to hand over the country to the restored monarch and the enthusiastic royalists who were to keep down the honor of England and all her liberties until the revival of the good cause in the Revolution of 1688. of his life. If tried in temper, he was not tried in spirit by the cares and annoyances inseparable from his condition. He enjoyed the tender care of his wife, Elizabeth Minshall, and he delighted in the honor and reverence of many admiring friends. He labored ever "as under his great Taskmaster's eye," and devoted himself to his unceasing studies, or waited for the seasons of the influx of poetical inspiration, ever "content though blind." every side, yet not distressed, persecuted but not forsaken, cast down but not destroyed," Milton found the work to do for which he had "covenanted with the knowing reader," and which he had ever regarded as his "portion in this life." He was always strong and vigorous, inspired with a divine fulness of life. Even his blindness, if properly regarded, cannot make him an object of pity. He could During the reaction to which we have not but feel the loss of sight and deplore alluded, Milton lost no opportunity of it; but his complaints of that loss, for the attempting to recall his countrymen to most part expressed in the dramatic or the principles they were so soon to aban- poetic form, are not the wailings of misdon. In 1651, in his "First Defence," ery, but the expression of his sense of he had, as Professor Masson finely says, the glory of sight, sometimes mingled addressed the Continental nations "as with abounding gratitude for the "inner from the battlements of the British light" which was bestowed upon him in Island;" and in 1654 and 1655 his "Sec- such large measure. His outward cirond Defence" and his "Self-Defence" cumstances were adequate to the purposes rang in the ears of all the learned men of Europe. In 1659 and 1660 a few English pamphlets, ecclesiastical and political, were the last of his utterances on behalf of his countrymen. If the animosity of Prynne had been as powerful as it was malicious during the debates on the Indemnity Bill, Milton's biography would have ended with a grim paragraph of hanging and quartering" at Charing Cross or Tyburn. The imagination shudders at the thought. But even if Milton's We have no intention of describing the greater glory had never been manifested, great poems which make the name of his name would not have altogether per- Milton immortal. The reformer and the ished. He had friends amongst the lovers liberator appear in them also. It is the of learning and poetry of all parties. spirit of liberty that has made "Paradise The exquisite tenderness of the elegist Lost," "Paradise Regained," and "Samof King and Diodati would not have been son Agonistes " dear to the English heart; forgotten, though the glory of the epic though their popularity has been subject poet had been quenched in blood. The to variations. Hallam remarked in his author of "The Nymph's Complaint for "Literary History" "that the discovery her Fawn," and the "Drop of Dew" of Milton's Arianism in this rigid genwould have mourned the loss of his eration has already impaired the sale of friend in verses only less sweet than Mil- Paradise Lost."" Shelley, in his "Deton's own, instead of having the privilege | fence of Poetry," urged such claims for a few years later of addressing "the poet the moral superiority of Milton's Satan blind yet bold on the subject of "Para- over God himself, as are more shocking dise Lost." Perhaps Marvell did more to ordinary readers than the discovery of than any other man to rescue his friend Arianism." The variations of popular from the fate of the regicides. There is acceptance are, however, but temporary. every reason to believe that he and other The time has come when the charge of "lovers of the Muses," as well as some Arianism against Milton ceases to carry men high in favor with the new govern- the weight attributed to it by Hallam. ment, interposed successfully to open the Arianism and Socinianism are phases of way for Milton's return to the great ob- Christian opinion, unlikely to be revived ject and work of his life. How gratefully in any of their historical forms, though may all English-speaking peoples welcome the first, as a general term, may be emhis deliverance and his ascension to the ployed to represent a phase of transition realms of song! from orthodoxy to free Christianity. And this leads us to bring this essay to a close with a few words about Milton's final theological position. At the age of fifty-two, with fourteen years of life yet before him, tried by experience, purified by trial, "troubled on We have seen how his opinions widened with his sympathies in favor of the Independents and Sectaries. In 1673 he put forth his tract "Of true religion, heresy, schism, toleration," etc. In it he says of Socinians and Arminians that they may have some errors, but are no heretics. And again: "The Arian and Socinian are charged to dispute against the Trinity; they affirm to believe the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost according to the Scripture and the Apostolic creed: as for terms of Trinity, etc., they reject them as scholastic notions not to be found in Scripture." These passages may prepare us for the theology of "Paradise Lost" and the "Treatise on Christian Doctrine." It is, however, of the latter only that we have left ourselves room to speak, and this very briefly; or we should have been glad to transfer to these pages some portions of Professor Masson's analysis of the work as well as some part of the entertaining story of the fate of the manuscript. The "Treatise on Christian Doctrine" is a very important and very curious book. Had it been published while Milton was alive or shortly after his death, it would certainly have become notorious, and would probably have exerted very considerable influence on the course of English theological thought through the last two centuries as well as on the traditional reputation of Milton himself. As it is, though it has been fifty years before the world, it seems to have found few real readers (vol. vi., p. 817). The treatise is based wholly upon Scripture, and its tone, like its introductory greeting "to all everywhere on earth professing the Christian Faith," is apostolical. No doubt Milton regarded the work as a message to the Churches, setting forth, but not imposing on others, his final views of the Christian religion. We cannot help speculating about the effect the treatise might have had on the English Presbyterian and Arian communities-whether it might not have hastened and protracted the period of the prevalence of Arian doctrine in their Churches. But the speculation is idle. The work that might have founded a sect is awakened from its sleep of a hundred and fifty years in the State Paper Office, to be translated by a bishop and regarded as a curiosity of literature! The progress of human thought with the march of time depends as much upon the living as the dead, and what Milton's epistle was fated not to do was yet done by the influence of his mind in other ways. In brief, the treatise shows that Milton's views of the nature of Christ were expressly and emphatically those of high Arianism; and that he held opinions about adult baptism which ally him with the General Baptists, and ideas of an inner light approaching to those of the Friends. But he held the lawfulness of war, freedom of divorce, and the lawfulness of polygamy. Moreover, he was a strong anti-Sabbatarian. He regarded with favor the gaieties and ornaments of life, and the innocent refinements and elegancies of conversation. And yet, to close these remarks with the closing words of Professor Masson's noble biography: "It would be a mistake to say of Milton, on any of these accounts, that he did not belong to the great Puritan body of his countrymen. Only an unscholarly misconception of Puritanism, a total ignorance of the actual facts of its history, will ever seek, now or henceforward, to rob English Puritanism of Milton, or Milton of his title to be remembered as the genius of Puritan England" (vol. vi., p. 840). HERBERT NEW. fashions, even then on the wane; beauti | though they should decide not to take the ful clothes, which those who have not child first sent home to them. already seen never will see; and peaked and pointed habitations, so strange and so picturesque, that nothing but a sojourn in them can make one believe them to be as convenient as those of ugly make. Estelle should see again the applegathering, the great melons, and the purple grapes drawn into market with homely pomp; the brown-faced girls gossiping beside their beautiful roofed wells, dressed in garments such as no lady in the finest drawing-room puts on at present; creatures like countrified queens, stepping after their solitary cows, each one with the spindle in her hand. He would take her to Contances, and then on to Avranches, and there he would unfold to her a certain plan. She fretted much over the doubt, which at present no investigation availed to solve. Time had not befriended her: the more she thought, the more uncertain she became. Yet he hoped that time might bring them enlightenment in the end. He would take her to Avranches, where lived his only sister, the widow of a general officer, who, from motives of economy, had settled there, and did not often come to England. In his opinion she was one of the most sensible women to be met with anywhere - just the kind of creature to be trusted with a secret - a little too full of theories, perhaps, almost oppressively intelligent, active in mind and body, but a very fast friend, and fond of his wife. He felt that, if the two boys could be parted from Estelle for three or four years, and be under the charge of his sister, it would be more easy, at the end of that time, to decide which of them had really the best claim to be brought up with his name and with all the prospects of a son. It was quite probable that, in the course of three or four years, such a likeness might appear in one of the boys to some member of his family as would all but set the matter at rest. Nothing could be done if they remained in London, brought up among his own friends, and known by name and person to every servant about him. But if he left them at Avranches with his sister, among French servants, who knew nothing about them-each known by his pet name, and not addressed by any surname and if they themselves knew nothing about their parentage, there could be no injustice to either in the choice the parents might eventually make, even He was desirous, for his own sake as well as for theirs, that they should hear of no doubt; that would be cruelty to the one not chosen, causing him almost inevitable discontent and envy, while the one chosen might himself become the victim of doubt, and never be able to enjoy the love of his parents, or any other of his advantages in peace. "We must be their earthly providence," he said to his wife, when he had unfolded this plan to her; "we must absolutely and irrevocably decide for them. must try fully to make up our minds, and then, whichever we eventually take, we must treat altogether as a son.' "And the other, Donald?" "The other? I think one's best chance of peace in any doubtful matter is not to do the least we can, but the most; we must give them both the same advantages in all respects, and so care for, and advance, and provide for, and love the other, -so completely adopt him, that if we should ever have the misfortune to find that, after all, we have made a mistake, we may still feel that there was but one thing more we could have given him, and that was our name. Then, even in that case, the choice having once been made, you would keep to it?" "What do you think, my star?" "It would be a cruel thing on the one we had taken for our own to dispossess him." "Yes; but if we allowed things to stand, the loss and pain would all be our own; they would be nothing to the other. Some wrongs are done in spite of a great longing after the right, and such I hold to be irrevocable." "I see no promise of rest in any plan. Perhaps my best chance will be to leave it altogether to you. You often talk of casting our cares upon God. I have tried, but it does not seem to relieve me of the burden. I can-I often do cast them upon you, only I hope "What, Estelle?" "I hope your sister will not say, as your mother did when our little Irene died, that it was one of those troubles which was ordained to work for my good." "She was only quoting Scripture." "When she used to come and pray with me, and read with me, I felt at last able to submit; and I found, as she had said, that submission could take the worst sting of that anguish out of my heart. But no one must talk so to me now. I have not "Is it, my wife?" sive communications that passed between other eyes. This defect makes many people more intellectual than they otherwise would be, and less intelligent, throwing them more on thought and less on observation. But in her case it was only a question of wearing or not wearing her spectacles. When she had them on, "all the world was remarks were frequently more sensible in themselves than suitable to the occasion. "Your sister may say it is a rebuke to me for having loved this present life, and my husband, and my children too much, or she may say it is a warning to me that these blessings can-oh, how easily!-print to her; " when they were off, her be withdrawn. I will try to bear it as a discipline, as a punishment; let her teach me, if she can, to submit; but I cannot bear to hear about blessings in disguise. My own little son, he was the pride of my heart; and now, when I hold him in my arms, and see the other playing at my feet, I wonder which has the best right to me. I know that nothing can make up to me for the doubt. I shall never be so happy any more!" Politics, church parties, family affairs, the newest books, the last scientific theories-nothing came amiss to her, every scrap of information was welcome. Mrs. Johnstone looked on rather listlessly, and soon it was evident that her husband could not make an opening for the matter that was in their thoughts. He was letting himself be amused and interested while waiting for a more convenient So she thought; but she was utterly "But what was I to do?" he answered. "I could not suddenly dash into her sentence with a 'by-the-bye,' as she does herself. By-the-bye, Charlotte, we don't know whether one of our children is, in fact,.ours or not!"" 6 "That would at least astonish her into silence for a time." gun. The baby was taken out after breakfast, by her nurse, into the apple orchard. She did not aggravate herself with anger against the nurse. She knew she was to part with both the boys for years, while a doubtful experiment was tried. Yet she let herself be refreshed by the sweet weather, the rural signs of peace The next morning just the same diffiand homely abundance; and when she culty! They were in the midst of a disdrove up to the quaint abode her sister-cussion before they knew that it had bein-law had made a home of, she could be amused with its oddness; the tiled floors, numerous clocks, clumsy furniture, thick crockery; the charming kitchen, full of bright pots and pans, so much lighter and more roomy than the drawing-room; the laundry in the roof; its orchard that stood it instead of a flower garden, almost every tree hoary with lichen, and feathery with mistletoe; its little fish-pond and fountain, with a pipe like a quilf, and its wooden arbors, with all their great creaking weathercocks. "You have no servants who speak English, have you, Charlotte?" asked Mr. Johnstone, thinking to open the matter. "No," she answered; "and I prefer the French as servants, on the whole, to the English. But I like that young Irish woman, Estelle, that you have brought with your baby. There is something sweet about her that one does not meet with here. Do you know, I have long And there was one little child, a girl, in | noticed that, of all modern people, the the house a small, dimpled thing, about | six months younger than the two boys. Mrs. Irish suffer least, and the French most, from the misery of envy?" "Do you think so?" said her brother, only half listening. That first evening passed off, and both husband and wife shrank from entering on the subject of their thoughts. แ Yes, and hence the Irish chivalry O'Grady, Charlotte by Christian name, towards the women of the quality,' and was full of talk and interest about all the total absence of any such feeling in a manner of things. She had the disadvan- Frenchman. He, frugal and accumulatage of being very short-sighted, and so tive, thinks, I am down because you are missed the flashing messages, and expres-up.' The poor Frenchman would rather |