In the year 1643 Milton married the daughter of Richard Powel, Esq; of Forrest-hill in Oxfordshire; who not long after obtaining leave of her husband to pay a visit to her father in the country, but, upon repeated messages to her, refusing to return, Milton seemed disposed to marry another, and in 1644 published the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce; the Judgment of Martin Bucer concerning Divorce, and the year following his Tetrachordon and Colasterion. Mr. Philips observes, and would have his readers believe, that the reason of his wife's aversion to return to him was the contrariety of their state principles. The lady being educated in loyal notions, possibly imagined, that if ever the regal power should flourish again, her being connected with a person so obnoxious to the King, would hurt her father's interest; this Mr. Philips alledges, but, with submission to his authority, I dissent from his opinion. Had she been afraid of marrying a man of Milton's principles, the reason was equally strong before as after marriage, and her father must have seen it in that light; but the true reason, or at least a more rational one, seems to be, that she had no great affection for Milton's person.

Milton was a stern man, and as he was so much devoted to study, he was perhaps too negligent in those endearments and tender intercourses of love which a wife has a right to expect. No lady ever yet was fond of a scholar, who could not join the lover with it; and he who expects to secure the affections of his wife by the force of his understanding only, will find himself miserably mistaken: indeed it is no wonder that women who are formed for tenderness, and whose highest excellence is delicacy, should pay no great reverence to a proud scholar, who considers the endearments of his wife, and the caresses of his children as pleasures unworthy of him. It is agreed by all the biographers of Milton, that he was not very tender in his disposition; he was rather boldly honourable, than delicately kind; and Mr. Dryden seems to insinuate, that he was not much subject to love. "His rhimes, says he, flow stiff from him, and that too at an age when love makes every man a rhymster, tho' not a poet. There are, methinks, in Milton's love-sonnets more of art than nature; he seems to have considered the passion philosophically, rather than felt it intimately."

In reading Milton's gallantry the breast will glow, but feel no palpitations; we admire the poetry, but do not melt with tenderness; and want of feeling in an author seldom fails to leave the reader cold; but from whatever cause his aversion proceeded, she was at last prevailed upon by her relations, who could foresee the dangers of a matrimonial quarrel, to make a submission, and she was again received with tenderness.

Mr. Philips has thus related the story.—'It was then generally thought, says he, that Milton had a design of marrying one of Dr. Davy's daughters, a very handsome and witty gentlewoman, but averse, as it is said, to this motion; however the intelligence of this caused justice Powel's family to let all engines at work to restore the married woman to the station in which they a little before had planted her. At last this device was pitched upon. There dwelt in the lane of St. Martin's Le Grand, which was hard by, a relation of our author's, one Blackborough, whom it was known he often visited, and upon this occasion the visits were more narrowly observed, and possibly there might be a combination between both parties, the friends on both sides consenting in the same action, tho' in different behalfs. One time above the rest, making his usual visits, his wife was ready in another room; on a sudden he was surprized to see one, whom he thought never to have seen more, making submission, and begging pardon on her knees before him. He might probably at first make some shew of aversion, and rejection, but partly his own generous nature, more inclinable to reconciliation than to perseverance in anger and revenge, and partly the strong intercession of friends on both sides, soon brought him to an act of oblivion and a firm league of peace for the future; and it was at length concluded that she should remain at a friend's house, till he was settled in his new house in Barbican, and all things prepared for her reception. The first fruits of her return to her husband was a brave girl, born within a year after, tho', whether by ill constitution, or want of care, she grew more and more decrepit.'

Mr. Fenton observes, that it is not to be doubted but the abovementioned interview between Milton and his wife must wonderfully affect him; and that perhaps the impressions it made on his imagination contributed much to the painting of that pathetic scene in Paradise Lost, b. 10. in which Eve addresses herself to Adam for pardon and peace, now at his feet submissive in distress.

About the year 1644 our author wrote a small piece in one sheet 4to, under this title, Education, to Mr. Samuel Hartly, reprinted at the end of his Poems on several occasions; and in the same year he published at London in 4to, his Areopagitica, or a speech of Mr. J. Milton for the liberty of unlicensed printing, to the Parliament of England.

In 1645 his Juvenile Poems were printed at London, and about this time his zeal for the republican party had so far recommended him, that a design was formed of making him adjutant-general in Sir William Waller's army; but the new modelling the army proved an obstruction to that advancement. Soon after the march of Fairfax and Cromwell with the whole army through the city, in order to suppress the insurrection which Brown and Massey were endeavouring to raise there, against the army's proceedings, he left his great house in Barbican, for a smaller in High Holborn, where he prosecuted his studies till after the King's trial and death, when he published his Tenure of Kings and Magistrates: His Observations on the Articles of peace between James Earl of Ormond for King Charles I. on the one hand, and the Irish Rebels and Papists on the other hand; and a letter sent by Ormond to colonel Jones governor of Dublin; and a representation of the Scotch Presbytery at Belfast in Ireland.

He was now admitted into the service of the Commonwealth, and was made Latin Secretary to the Council of State, who resolved neither to write nor receive letters but in the Latin tongue, which was common to all states.

'And it were to be wished,' says Dr. Newton, 'that succeeding Princes would follow their example, for in the opinion of very wise men, the universality of the French language will make way for the universality of the French Monarchy. Milton was perhaps the first instance of a blind man's possessing the place of a secretary; which no doubt was a great inconvenience to him in his business, tho' sometimes a political use might be made of it, as men's natural infirmities are often pleaded in excuse for their not doing what they have no great inclination to do. Dr. Newton relates an instance of this. When Cromwell, as we may collect from Whitlocke, for some reasons delayed artfully to sign the treaty concluded with Sweden, and the Swedish ambassador made frequent complaints of it, it was excused to him, because Milton on account of his blindness, proceeded slower in business, and had not yet put the articles of treaty into Latin. Upon which the ambassador was greatly surprized that things of such consequence should be entrusted to a blind man; for he must necessarily employ an amanuensis, and that amanuensis might divulge the articles; and said, it was very wonderful there should be only one man in England who could write Latin, and he a blind one.'

Thus we have seen Milton raised to the dignity of Latin Secretary. It is somewhat strange, that in times of general confusion, when a man of parts has the fairest opportunity to play off his abilities to advantage, that Milton did not rise sooner, nor to a greater elevation; he was employed by those in authority only as a writer, which conferred no power upon him, and kept him in a kind of obscurity, who had from nature all that was proper for the field as well as the cabinet; for we are assured that Milton was a man of confirmed courage.

In 1651 our author published his Pro Populo Anglicano Defensio, for which he was rewarded by the Commonwealth with a present of a thousand pounds, and had a considerable hand in correcting and polishing a piece written by his nephew Mr. John Philips, and printed at London 1652, under this title, Joannis Philippi Angli Responsio ad Apologiam Anonymi cujusdam Tenebrionis pro Rege & Populo Anglicano infantissimam. During the writing and publishing this book, he lodged at one Thomson's, next door to the Bull-head tavern Charing-Cross; but he soon removed to a Garden-house in Petty-France, next door to lord Scudamore's, where he remained from the year 1652 till within a few weeks of the Restoration. In this house, his first wife dying in child-bed, 1652, he married a second, Catherine, the daughter of Captain Woodcock of Hackney, who died of a consumption in three months after she had been brought to bed of a daughter. This second marriage was about two or three years after he had been wholly deprived of his sight; for by reason of his continual studies, and the head-ach[e], to which he was subject from his youth, and his perpetual tampering with physic, his eyes had been decaying for twelve years before.

In 1654 he published his Defensio Secunda; and the year following his Defensio pro Se. Being now at ease from his state adversaries, and political controversies, he had leisure again to prosecute his own studies, and private designs, particularly his History of Britain, and his new Thesaurus Linguae Latinae according to the method of Robert Stevens, the manuscript of which contained three large volumes in folio, and has been made use of by the editors of the Cambridge Dictionary, printed 4to, 1693.

In 1658 he published Sir Walter Raleigh's Cabinet Council; and in 1659 a Treatise of the Civil Power in Ecclesiastical Causes, Lond. 12mo. and Considerations touching the likeliest Means to remove Hirelings out of the Church; wherein are also Discourses of Tithes, Church-fees, Church-Revenues, and whether any Maintenance of Ministers can be settled in Law, Lond. 1659, 12mo.

Upon the dissolution of the Parliament by the army, after Richard Cromwell had been obliged to resign the Protectorship, Milton wrote a letter, in which he lays down the model of a commonwealth; not such as he judged the best, but what might be the readiest settled at that time, to prevent the restoration of kingly government and domestic disorders till a more favourable season, and better dispositions for erecting a perfect democracy. He drew up likewise another piece to the same purpose, which seems to have been addressed to general Monk; and he published in February 1659, his ready and easy way to establish a free Commonwealth. Soon after this he published his brief notes upon a late sermon, entitled, the Fear of God and the King, printed in 4to, Lond. 1660. Just before the restoration he was removed from his office of Latin secretary, and concealed himself till the act of oblivion was published; by the advice of his friends he absconded till the event of public affairs should direct him what course to take, for this purpose he retired to a friend's house in Bartholomew-Close, near West-Smithfield, till the general amnesty was declared.

The act of oblivion, says Mr. Phillips, proving as favourable to him, as could be hoped or expected, through the intercession of some that stood his friends both in Council and Parliament; particularly in the House of Commons, Mr. Andrew Marvel member for Hull, and who has prefixed a copy of verses before his Paradise Lost, acted vigorously in his behalf, and made a considerable party for him, so that together with John Goodwin of Coleman-Street, he was only so far excepted as not to bear any office in the Commonwealth; but as this is one of the most important circumstances in the life of our author, we shall give an account of it at large, from Mr. Richardson, in his life of Milton, prefixed to his Explanatory Notes, and Remarks on Paradise Lost.

His words are

'That Milton escaped is well known, but not how. By the accounts we have, he was by the Act of Indemnity only incapacitated for any public employment. This is a notorious mistake, though Toland, the bishop of Sarum, Fenton, &c, have gone into it, confounding him with Goodwin; their cases were very different, as I found upon enquiry. Not to take a matter of this importance upon trust, I had first recourse to the Act itself. Milton is not among the excepted. If he was so conditionally pardoned, it must then be, by a particular instrument. That could not be after he had been purified entirely by the general indemnity, nor was it likely the King, who had declared from Breda, he would pardon all but whom the Parliament should judge unworthy of it, and had thus lodged the matter with them, should, before they came to a determination, bestow a private act of indulgence to one so notorious as Milton. It is true, Rapin says, several principal republicans applied for mercy, while the Act was yet depending, but quotes no authority; and upon search, no such pardon appears on record, though many are two or three years after, but then they are without restrictions; some people were willing to have a particular, as well as a general pardon; but whatever was the case of others, there was a reason besides what has been already noted, that no such favour would be shewn to Milton. The House of Commons, June 16, 1660, vote the King to be moved to call in his two books, and that of John Goodwin, written in justification of the murder of the King, in order to be burnt, and that the Attorney General do proceed against them by indictment. June 27, an Order of Council reciting that Vote of the 16th, and that the persons were not to be found, directs a Proclamation for calling in Milton's two books, which are here explained, to be that against Salmasius, and the Eikon Basilike, as also Goodwin's book; and a Proclamation was issued accordingly, and another to the same purpose the 13th of August: as for Goodwin he narrowly escaped for his life, but he was voted to be excepted out of the Act of Indemnity, amongst the twenty designed to have penalties inflicted short of death, and August 27, these books of Milton and Goodwin were burnt by the hangman. The Act of Oblivion, according to Kennet's Register, was passed the 29th. It is seen by this account, that Milton's person and Goodwin's are separated, tho' their books are blended together. As the King's intention appeared to be a pardon to all but actual regicides, as Burnet says, it is odd, he should assert in the same breath, almost all people were surprized that Goodwin and Milton escaped censure. Why should it be so strange, they being not concerned in the King's blood? that he was forgot, as Toland says, some people imagined, is very unlikely. However, it is certain, from what has been shewn from bishop Kennet, he was not. That he should be distinguished from Goodwin, with advantage, will justly appear strange; for his vast merit, as an honest man, a great scholar, and a most excellent writer, and his fame, on that account, will hardly be thought the causes, especially when it is remembered Paradise Lost was not produced, and the writings, on which his vast reputation stood, are now become criminal, and those most, which were the main pillars of his fame. Goodwin was an inconsiderable offender, compared with him; some secret cause must be recurred to in accounting for this indulgence. I have heard that secretary Morrice, and Sir Thomas Clarges were his friends, and managed matters artfully in his favour; doubtless they, or some body else did, and they very probably, as being powerful friends at that time. But still how came they to put their interest at such a stretch, in favour of a man so notoriously obnoxious? perplexed, and inquisitive as I was, I at length found the secret. It was Sir William Davenant obtained his remission, in return of his own life, procured by Milton's interest, when himself was under condemnation, Anno 1650. A life was owing to Milton (Davenant's) and it was paid nobly; Milton's for Davenant, at Davenant's intercession. The management of the affair in the house, whether by signifying the King's desire, or otherwise, was, perhaps by those gentlemen named.'

This account Mr. Richardson had from Mr. Pope, who was informed of it by Betterton, the celebrated actor, who was first brought upon the stage by Sir William Davenant, and honoured with an intimacy with him, so that no better authority need be produced to support any fact.

Milton being secured by his pardon, appeared again in public, and removed to Jewin street, where he married his third wife, Elizabeth, the daughter of Mr. Minshul of Cheshire, recommended to him by his friend Dr. Paget, to whom he was related, but he had no children by her: soon after the restoration he was offered the place of Latin secretary to the King, which, notwithstanding the importunities of his wife, he refused: we are informed, that when his wife pressed him to comply with the times, and accept the King's offer, he made answer, 'You are in the right, my dear, you, as other women, would ride in your coach; for me, my aim is to live and die an honest man.' Soon after his marriage with his third wife, he removed to a house in the Artillery Walk, leading to Bunhill-fields, where he continued till his death, except during the plague, in 1665, when he retired with his family to St. Giles's Chalfont Buckinghamshire, at which time his Paradise Lost was finished, tho' not published till 1667. Mr. Philips observes, that the subject of that poem was first designed for a tragedy, and in the fourth book of the poem, says he, there are ten verses, which, several years before the poem was begun, were shewn to me, and some others, as designed for the very beginning of the tragedy. The verses are,

O thou that with surpassing glory crown'd Look'st from thy sole dominion like the god, Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, Which brings to my remembrance, from what state I fell; how glorious once above thy sphere, 'Till pride, and worse ambition, threw me down, Warring in Heaven, 'gainst Heav'ns matchless King.

Mr. Philips further observes, that there was a very remarkable circumstance in the composure of Paradise Lost, which, says he, 'I have particular reason to remember, for whereas I had the perusal of it from the very beginning, for some years, as I went from time to time to visit him, in a parcel of ten, twenty, or thirty verses at a time, which being written by whatever hand came next, might possibly want correction, as to the orthography and pointing; having, as the summer came on, not been shewn any for a considerable while, and desiring the reason thereof, was answered, that his vein never happily flowed but from the autumnal equinox to the vernal, and that whatever he attempted at other times, was never to his satisfaction, though he courted his fancy never so much; so that in all the years he was about his poem, he may be said to have spent but half his time therein.'[3] Mr. Toland imagines that Mr. Philips must be mistaken in regard to the time, since Milton, in his Latin Elegy upon the Approach of the Spring, declares the contrary, and that his poetic talent returned with the spring. This is a point, as it is not worth contending, so it never can be settled; no poet ever yet could tell when the poetic vein would flow; and as no man can make verses, unless the inclination be present, so no man, can be certain how long it will continue, for if there is any inspiration now amongst men, it is that which the poet feels, at least the sudden starts, and flashes of fancy bear a strong resemblance to the idea we form of inspiration.

Mr. Richardson has informed us, 'that when Milton dictated, he used to sit leaning backwards obliquely in an easy chair, with his legs flung over the elbows of it; that he frequently composed lying a-bed in a morning, and that when he could not sleep, but lay awake whole nights, he tried, but not one verse could he make; at other times flowed easy his unpremeditated verse, with a certain Impetus as himself used to believe; then at what hour soever, he rung for his daughter to secure what came. I have been also told he would dictate many, perhaps 40 lines in a breath, and then reduce them to half the number.' I would not omit, says Mr. Richardson, the least circumstance; these indeed are trifles, but even such contract a sort of greatness, when related to what is great.

After the work was ready for the press, it was near being suppressed by the ignorance, or malice of the licenser, who, among other trivial objections, imagined there was treason in that noble simile, b. i. v. 594—

—As when the sun new ris'n Looks thro' the horizontal misty air, Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.

The ignorance of this licenser, in objecting to this noble simile, has indeed perpetuated his name, but it is with no advantage; he, no doubt, imagined, that Perplexes Monarchs was levelled against the reigning Prince, which is, perhaps, the highest simile in our language; how ridiculously will people talk who are blinded by prejudice, or heated by party. But to return: After Milton had finished this noble work of genius, which does honour to human nature, he disposed of it to a Bookseller for the small price of fifteen pounds; under such prejudice did he then labour, and the payment of the fifteen pounds was to depend upon the sale of two numerous impressions. This engagement with his Bookseller proves him extremely ignorant of that sort of business, for he might be well assured, that if two impressions sold, a great deal of money must be returned, and how he could dispose of it thus conditionally for fifteen pounds, appears strange; but while it proves Milton's ignorance, or inattention about his interest in this affair, it, at the same time, demonstrates the Bookseller's honesty; for he could not be ignorant what money would be got by two numerous editions. After this great work was published, however, it lay some time in obscurity, and had the Bookseller advanced the sum stipulated, he would have had reason to repent of his bargain. It was generally reported, that the late lord Somers first gave Paradise Lost a reputation; but Mr. Richardson observes, that it was known and esteemed long before there was such a man as lord Somers, as appears by a pompous edition of it printed by subscription in 1688, where, amongst the list of Subscribers, are the names of lord Dorset, Waller, Dryden, Sir Robert Howard, Duke, Creech, Flatman, Dr. Aldrich, Mr. Atterbury, Sir Roger L'Estrange, lord Somers, then only John Somers, esq; Mr. Richardson further informs us, that he was told by Sir George Hungerford, an ancient Member of Parliament, that Sir John Denham came into the House one morning with a sheet of Paradise Lost, wet from the press, in his hand, and being asked what he was reading? he answered, part of the noblest poem that ever was written in any language, or in any age; however, it is certain that the book was unknown till about two years after, when the earl of Dorset recommended it, as appears from the following story related to Mr. Richardson, by Dr. Tancred Robinson, an eminent physician in London, who was informed by Sir Fleetwood Sheppard, 'that the earl, in company with that gentleman, looking over some books in Little Britain, met with Paradise Lost; and being surprized with some passages in turning it over, bought it. The Bookseller desired his lordship to speak in its favour, since he liked it, as the impression lay on his hands as waste paper. The earl having read the poem, sent it to Mr. Dryden, who, in a short time, returned it with this answer: This man cuts us all, and the ancients too.'

Critics have differed as to the source from which our [author] drew the first hint of writing Paradise Lost; Peck conjectures that it was from a celebrated Spanish Romance called Guzman, and Dr. Zachary Pearce, now bishop of Bangor, has alledged, that he took the first hint of it from an Italian Tragedy, called Il Paradiso Perso, still extant, and printed many years before he entered on his design. Mr. Lauder in his Essay on Milton's Use and Imitation of the Moderns, has insinuated that Milton's first hint of Paradise Lost, was taken from a Tragedy of the celebrated Grotius, called Adamus Exul, and that Milton has not thought it beneath him to transplant some of that author's beauties into his noble work, as well as some other flowers culled from the gardens of inferior genius's; but by an elegance of art, and force of nature, peculiar to him, he has drawn the admiration of the world upon passages, which in their original authors, stood neglected and undistinguished. If at any time he has adopted a sentiment of a cotemporary poet, it deserves another name than plagiary; for, as Garth expresses it, in the case of Dryden, who was charged with plagiary, that, like ladies of quality who borrow beggars children, it is only to cloath them the better, and we know no higher compliment could have been paid to these moderns, than that of Milton's doing them the honour to peruse them, for, like a Prince's accepting a present from a subject, the glory is reflected on him who offers the gift, not on the Monarch who accepts it. But as Mr. Lauder's book has lately made so great a noise in the world, we must beg leave to be a little more particular.

Had Mr. Lauder pursued his plan of disclosing Milton's resources, and tracing his steps through the vast tracts of erudition that our author travelled, with candour and dispassionateness, the design would have been noble and useful; he then would have produced authors into light who were before unknown; have recommended sacred poetry, and it would have been extreamly pleasing to have followed Milton over all his classic ground, and seen where the noblest genius of the world thought proper to pluck a flower, and by what art he was able to rear upon the foundation of nature so magnificent, so astonishing a fabric: but in place of that, Mr. Lauder suffers himself to be overcome by his passion, and instead of tracing him as a man of taste, and extensive reading, he hunts him like a malefactor, and seems to be determined on his execution.

Mr. Lauder could never separate the idea of the author of Paradise Lost, and the enemy of King Charles. Lauder has great reading, but greater ill nature; and Mr. Douglas has shewn how much his evidence is invalidated by some interpolations which Lauder has since owned. It is pity so much classical knowledge should have been thus prostituted by Lauder, which might have been of service to his country; but party-zeal seldom knows any bounds. The ingenious Moses Brown, speaking of this man's furious attack upon Milton, has the following pretty stanza.

The Owl will hoot that cannot sing, Spite will displume the muse's wing, Tho' Phoebus self applaud her; Still Homer bleeds in Zoilus' page A Virgil 'scaped not the Maevius' rage, And Milton has his Lauder.[4]

But if Lauder is hot and furious, his passion soon subsides. Upon hearing that the grand-daughter of Milton was living, in an obscure situation in Shoreditch, he readily embraced the opportunity, in his postscript, of recommending her to the public favour; upon which, some gentlemen affected with the singularity of the circumstance, and ashamed that our country should suffer the grand-daughter of one from whom it derives its most lasting and brightest honour, to languish neglected, procured Milton's Comus to be performed for her benefit at Drury Lane, on the 5th of April, 1750: upon which, Mr. Garrick spoke a Prologue written by a gentleman, who zealously promoted the benefit, and who, at this time, holds the highest rank in literature.

This prologue will not, we are persuaded, be unacceptable to our readers.

A PROLOGUE spoken by Mr. GARRICK, Thursday, April 5, 1750. at the Representation of COMUS, for the Benefit of Mrs. ELIZABETH FOSTER, MILTON's Grand-daughter, and only surviving descendant.

Ye patriot crouds, who burn for England's fame, Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhimes, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times; Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Attend this prelude of perpetual praise! Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage With close malevolence, or public rage; Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. This night, distinguish'd by your smile, shall tell, That never Briton can in vain excel; The slighted arts futurity shall trust, And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays Fill the loud voice of universal praise, And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, Yields to renown the centuries to come. With ardent haste, each candidate of fame Ambitious catches at his tow'ring name: He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow: Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below; While crowds aloft the laureat dust behold, Or trace his form on circulating gold. Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay, And want hung threat'ning o'er her slow decay. What tho' she shine with no Miltonian fire, No fav'ring muse her morning dreams inspire; Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, Her youth laborious, and her blameless age: Hers the mild merits of domestic life, The patient suff'rer, and the faithful wife. Thus grac'd with humble virtue's native charms Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms, Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell, While tutelary nations guard her cell. Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wife, ye brave! 'Tis yours to crown desert—beyond the grave!

In the year 1670 our author published at London in 4to. his History of Britain, that part, especially, now called England, from the first traditional Beginning, continued to the Norman Conquest, collected out of the ancientest and best authors thereof. It is reprinted in the first volume of Dr. Kennet's compleat History of England. Mr. Toland in his Life of Milton, page 43, observes, that we have not this history as it came out of his hands, for the licensers, those sworn officers to destroy learning, liberty, and good sense, expunged several passages of it, wherein he exposed the superstition, pride, and cunning of the Popish monks in the Saxon times, but applied by the sagacious licensers to Charles IId's bishops. In 1681 a considerable passage which had been suppressed in the publication of this history, was printed at London in 4to under this title. Mr. John Milton's character of the Long Parliament and Assembly of Divines in 1651, omitted in his other works, and never before printed. It is reported, and from the foregoing character it appears probable, that Mr. Milton had lent most of his personal estate upon the public faith, which when he somewhat earnestly pressed to have restored, after a long, and chargeable attendance, met with very sharp rebbukes; upon which, at last despairing of any success in this affair, he was forced to return from them poor and friendless, having spent all his money, and wearied all those who espoused his cause, and he had not, probably, mended his circumstances in those days, but by performing such service for them, as afterwards he did, for which scarce any thing would appear too great. In 1671 he published at London in 8vo. Paradise Regained, a Poem in four Books, to which is added Sampson Agonistes: there is not a stronger proof of human weakness, than Milton's preferring this Poem of Paradise Regained, to Paradise Lost, and it is a natural and just observation, that the Messiah in Paradise Regained, with all his meekness, unaffected dignity, and clear reasoning, makes not so great a figure, as when in the Paradise Lost he appears cloathed in the Terrors of Almighty vengeance, wielding the thunder of Heaven, and riding along the sky in the chariot of power, drawn, as Milton greatly expresses it, 'with Four Cherubic Shapes; when he comes drest in awful Majesty, and hurls the apostate spirits headlong into the fiery gulph of bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire, who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.'

Dr. Newton has dissented from the general opinion of mankind, concerning Paradise Regained: 'Certainly, says he, it is very worthy of the author, and contrary to what Mr. Toland relates, Milton may be seen in Paradise Regained as well as Paradise Lost; if it is inferior in poetry, I know not whether it is inferior in sentiment; if it is less descriptive, it is more argumentative; if it does not sometimes rise so high, neither doth it ever sink below; and it has not met with the approbation it deserves, only because it has not been more read and considered. His subject indeed is confined, and he has a narrow foundation to build upon, but he has raised as noble a superstructure, as such little room, and such scanty materials would allow. The great beauty of it is the contrast between the two characters of the tempter and Our Saviour, the artful sophistry, and specious insinuations of the one, refuted by the strong sense, and manly eloquence of the other.' The first thought of Paradise Regained was owing to Elwood the Quaker, as he himself relates the occasion, in the History of his own Life. When Milton had lent him the manuscript of Paradise Lost at St. Giles's Chalfont, and he returned it, Milton asked him how he liked it, and what he thought of it? 'which I modestly and freely told him (says Elwood) and after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, thou hast said much of Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to say of a Paradise Found? He made me no answer, but sat some time in a muse, then broke off that discourse, and fell upon another subject.' When Elwood afterwards waited upon him in London, Milton shewed him his Paradise Regained, and in a pleasant tone said to him, 'this is owing to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of.'

In the year 1672 he published his Artis Logicae plenior Institutio ad Rami methodum concinnata, London, in 8vo. and in 1673, a Discourse intitled, Of True Religion, Heresy, Schism, Toleration, and what best Means may be used against the Growth of Popery, London, in 4to. He published likewise the same year, Poems, &c. on several Occasions, both English and Latin, composed at several times, with a small Tractate of Education to Mr. Hartlib, London, 8vo. In 1674 he published his Epistolarum familiarium, lib. i. & Prolusiones quaedam Oratoriae in Collegio Christi habitae, London, in 8vo and in the same year in 4to. a Declaration of the Letters Patent of the King of Poland, John III. elected on the 22d of May, Anno Dom. 1674, now faithfully translated from the Latin copy. Mr. Wood tells us[5], that Milton was thought to be the author of a piece called the Grand Case of Conscience, concerning the Engagement Stated and Resolved; or a Strict Survey of the Solemn League and Covenant in reference to the present Engagement; but others are of opinion that the stile and manner of writing do not in the least favour that supposition. His State Letters were printed at London 1676 in 12mo. and translated into English, and printed 1694, as his Brief History of Muscovy, and of their less known Countries, lying Eastward of Russia, as far as Cathay, was in 1682 in 8vo. His Historical, Poetical, and Miscellaneous Works were printed in three volumes in folio 1698 at London, though Amsterdam is mentioned in the title page with the life of the author, by Mr. Toland; but the most compleat and elegant edition of his prose works was printed in two volumes in folio at London 1738, by the rev. Mr. Birch, now secretary to the Royal Society, with an Appendix concerning two Dissertations, the first concerning the Author of the [Greek: EIKON BASILIKE], the Portraiture of his sacred Majesty in his solitude and sufferings; and the prayer of Pamela subjoined to several editions of that book; the second concerning the Commission said to be given by King Charles I. in 1641, to the Irish Papists, for taking up arms against the Protestants in Ireland. In this edition the several pieces are disposed according to the order in which they were printed, with the edition of a Latin Tract, omitted by Mr. Toland, concerning the Reasons of the War with Spain in 1655, and several pages in the History of Great Britain, expanged by the licensers of the press, and not to be met with in any former impressions. It perhaps is not my province to make any remarks upon the two grand disputations, that have subsisted between the friends and enemies of Charles I. about the author of the Basilike, and the Commission granted to the Irish Papists; as to the last, the reader, if he pleases, may consult at the Life of Lord Broghill, in which he will find the mystery of iniquity disclosed, and Charles entirely freed from the least appearance of being concerned in granting so execrable a commission; the forgery is there fully related, and there is all the evidence the nature of the thing will admit of, that the King's memory has been injured by so base an imputation. As to the first, it is somewhat difficult to determine, whether his Majesty was or was not the author of these pious Meditations; Mr. Birch has summed up the evidence on both sides; we shall not take upon us to determine on which it preponderates; it will be proper here to observe, the chief evidence against the King in this contention, is, Dr. Gauden, bishop of Exeter, who claimed that book as his, and who, in his letters to the earl of Clarendon, values himself upon it, and becomes troublesomely sollicitous for preferment on that account; he likewise told the two princes that the Basilike was not written by their father, but by him; now one thing is clear, that Gauden was altogether without parts; his Life of Hooker, which is the only genuine and indisputed work of his, shews him a man of no extent of thinking; his stile is loose, and negligently florid, which is diametrically opposite to that of these Meditations. Another circumstance much invalidates his evidence, and diminishes his reputation for honesty. After he had, for a considerable time, professed himself a Protestant, and been in possession of an English bishopric, and discovered an ardent desire of rising in the church, notwithstanding this, he declared himself at his death a Papist; and upon the evidence of such a man, none can determine a point in disputation; for he who durst thus violate his conscience, by the basest hypocrisy, will surely make no great scruple to traduce the memory of his sovereign.

In a work of Milton's called Icon Oclastes, or the Image broken, he takes occasion to charge the king with borrowing a prayer from Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, and placing it in his Meditations without acknowledging the favour. Soon after the sentence of the Regicides had been put in execution these Meditations were published, and as Anthony by shewing the body of murdered Caesar, excited the compassion of multitudes, and raised their indignation against the enemies of that illustrious Roman; so these Meditations had much the same effect in England. The Presbyterians loudly exclaimed against the murder of the King; they asserted, that his person was sacred, and spilling his blood upon a scaffold was a stain upon the English annals, which the latest time could not obliterate. These tragical complaints gaining ground, and the fury which was lately exercised against his Majesty, subsiding into a tenderness for his memory, heightened by the consideration of his piety, which these Meditations served to revive, it was thought proper, in order to appease the minds of the people, that an answer should be wrote to them.

In this task Milton engaged, and prosecuted it with vigour; but the most enthusiastic admirer of that poet, upon reading it will not fail to discover a spirit of bitterness, an air of peevishness and resentment to run through the whole. Milton has been charged with interpolating the prayer of Pamela into the King's Meditations, by the assistance of Bradshaw, who laid his commands upon the printer so to do, to blast the reputation of the King's book. Dr. Newton is of opinion that this fact is not well supported, for it is related chiefly upon the authority of Henry Hills the printer, who had frequently affirmed it to Dr. Gill, and Dr. Bernard, his physicians, as they themselves have testified; but tho' Hills was Cromwell's printer, yet afterwards he turned Papist in the reign of King James II. in order to be that King's Printer; and it was at that time he used to relate this story; so that little credit is due to his testimony. It is almost impossible to believe Milton capable of such disingenuous meanness, to serve so bad a purpose, and there is as little reason for fixing it upon him, as he had to traduce the King for profaning the duty of prayer, with the polluted trash of romances; for in the best books of devotion, there are not many finer prayers, and the King might as lawfully borrow and apply it to his own purpose, as the apostle might make quotations from Heathen poems and plays; and it became Milton, the least of all men, to bring such an accusation against the King, as he was himself particularly fond of reading romances, and has made use of them in some of the best and latest of his writings.

There have been various conjectures concerning the cause that produced in Milton so great an aversion to Charles I. One is, that when Milton stood candidate for a professorship at Cambridge with his much esteemed friend Mr. King, their interest and qualifications were equal, upon which his Majesty was required by his nomination to fix the professor; his answer was, let the best-natured man have it; to which they who heard him, immediately replied; 'then we are certain it cannot be Milton's, who was ever remarkable for a stern ungovernable man.'—Whether this conjecture is absolutely true, we cannot determine; but as it is not without probability, it has a right to be believed, till a more satisfactory one can be given.

In whatever light Milton may be placed as a statesman, yet as a poet he stands in one point of view without a rival; the sublimity of his conceptions, the elevation of his stile, the fertility of his imagination, and the conduct of his design in Paradise Lost is inimitable, and cannot be enough admired.

Milton's character as a poet was never better pourtray'd than in the epigram under his picture written by Mr. Dryden.

Three poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd; The next in majesty; in both the last: The force of nature could no further go, To make a third, she join'd the former two.—

This great man died at his house at Bunhill, Nov. 15, 1674, and was interred near the body of his father, in the chancel of the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate. By his first wife he had four children, a son and three daughters. The daughters survived their father. Anne married a master-builder, and died in child-bed of her first child, which died with her; Mary lived single; Deborah left her father when she was young, and went over to Ireland with a lady, and came to England again during the troubles of Ireland under King James II. She married Mr. Abraham Clark, a weaver in Spittal-fields, and died Aug. 24, 1727, in the 76th year of age. She had ten children, viz. seven sons, and three daughters, but none of them had any children except one of her sons named Caleb, and the youngest daughter, whose name is Elizabeth. Caleb went over to Fort St. George in the East-Indies, where he married and had two sons, Abraham and Isaac; of these Abraham the elder came to England with governor Harrison, but returned again upon advice of his father's death, and whether he or his brother be now living is uncertain. Elizabeth, the youngest child of Deborah, married Mr. Thomas Foster, a weaver, and lives now in Hog-lane, Shoreditch, for whom Comus, as we have already observed, was performed at Drury-Lane, and produced her a great benefit. She has had seven children, three sons and four daughters, who are all now dead. This Mrs. Foster is a plain decent looking Woman. Mr. John Ward, fellow of the Royal Society, and professor of rhetoric in Gresham-College, London, saw the above Mrs. Clark, Milton's daughter at the house of one of her relations not long before her death, when she informed me, says that gentleman, 'That she and her sisters used to read to their father in eight languages, which by practice they were capable of doing with great readiness, and accuracy, tho' they understood no language but English, and their father used often to say in their hearing, one tongue was enough for a woman. None of them were ever sent to school, but all taught at home by a mistress kept for that purpose. Isaiah, Homer, and Ovid's Metamorphoses were books which they were often called to read to their father; and at my desire she repeated a great number of verses from the beginning of both these poets with great readiness. I knew who she was upon the first sight of her, by the similitude of her countenance with her father's picture. And upon my telling her so, she informed me, that Mr. Addison told her the same thing, on her going to wait on him; for he, upon hearing she was living sent for her, and desired if she had any papers of her father's, she would bring them with her, as an evidence of her being Milton's daughter; but immediately on her being introduced to him, he said, Madam, you need no other voucher; your face is a sufficient testimonial whose daughter you are; and he then made her a handsome present of a purse of guineas, with a promise of procuring for her an annual provision for life; but he dying soon after, she lost the benefit of his generous design. She appeared to be a woman of good sense, and genteel behaviour, and to bear the inconveniencies of a low fortune with decency and prudence.'

Her late Majesty Queen Caroline sent her fifty pounds, and she received presents of money from several gentlemen not long before her death. Milton had a brother, Mr. Christopher Milton who was knighted and made one of the barons of the Exchequer in King James II's reign, but he does not appear to have been a man of any abilities, at least if he had any, they are lost to posterity in the lustre of his brother's.

There is now alive a grand-daughter of this Christopher Milton, who is married to one Mr. John Lookup, advocate at Edinburgh, remarkable for his knowledge of the Hebrew tongue. The lady, whom I have often seen, is extremely corpulent, has in her youth been very handsome, and is not destitute of a poetical genius. She has writ several copies of verses, published in the Edinburgh Magazines; and her face bears some resemblance to the picture of Milton.

Mr. Wood, and after him Mr. Fenton, has given us the following description of Milton's person.

"He was of a moderate size, well-proportioned, and of a ruddy complexion, light brown hair, and had handsome features, yet his eyes were none of the quickest. When he was a student in Cambridge, he was so fair and clear, that many called him the Lady of Christ's-College. His deportment was affable, and his gait erect and manly, bespeaking courage and undauntedness; while he had his sight he wore a sword, and was well skilled in using it. He had a delicate tuneable voice, an excellent ear, could p[l]ay on the organ, and bear a part in vocal and instrumental music."[6]

The great learning and genius of Milton, have scarcely raised him more admirers, than the part he acted upon the political stage, has procured him enemies. He was in his inclination a thorough Republican, and in this he thought like a Greek or Roman, as he was very conversant with their writings. And one day Sir Robert Howard, who was a friend of Milton's, and a well wisher to the liberty of his country, asked him, how he came to side with the Republicans? Milton answered, among other things, 'Because theirs was the most frugal government; for the trappings of a Monarchy might set up an ordinary Commonwealth.' But then his attachment to Cromwell must be condemned, as being neither consistent with his republican principles, nor with his love of liberty. It may be reasonably presumed, that he was far from entirely approving of Cromwell's proceeding; but considered him as the only person who could rescue the nation from the tyranny of the Presbyterians, who he saw, were about to erect a worse dominion of their own upon the ruins of prelatical episcopacy; for if experience may be allowed to teach us, the Presbyterian government carries in it more of ecclesiastical authority, and approaches more to the thunder of the Vatican, than any other government under the sun. Milton was an enemy to spiritual slavery, he thought the chains thrown upon the mind were the least tolerable; and in order to shake the pillars of mental usurpation, he closed with Cromwell and the independants, as he expected under them greater liberty of conscience. In matters of religion too, Milton has likewise given great offence, but infidels have no reason to glory. No such man was ever amongst them. He was persuaded of the truth of the christian religion; he studied and admired the holy scriptures, and in all his writings he plainly discovers a religious turn of mind.

When he wrote the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, he appears to have been a Calvinist; but afterwards he entertained a more favourable opinion of Arminius. Some have thought that he was an Arian, but there are more express passages in his works to overthrow this opinion, than any there are to confirm it. For in the conclusion of his Treatise on Reformation, he thus solemnly invokes the Trinity:

'Thou therefore that sittest in light and glory unapproachable, parent of angels and of men! next thee I implore omnipotent king, redeemer of that lost remnant, whose nature thou didst assume, ineffable and everlasting love! and thee the third subsistence of the divine infinitude, illuminating spirit, the joy and solace of created things! one tri-personal god-head.'

In the latter part of his life he was not a professed member of any particular sect of christians; he frequented no public worship, nor used any religious rite in his family; he was an enemy to all kinds of forms, and thought that all christians had in some things corrupted the simplicity and purity of the gospel. He believed that inward religion was the best, and that public communion had more of shew in it, than any tendency to promote genuine piety and unaffected goodness.

The circumstances of our author were never very mean, nor very affluent; he lived above want, and was content with competency. His father supported him during his travels. When he was appointed Latin secretary, his sallary amounted to 200 l. per ann. and tho' he was of the victorious party, yet he was far from sharing the spoils of his country. On the contrary, as we learn from his Second Defence, he sustained great losses during the civil war, and was not at all favoured in the imposition of taxes, but sometimes paid beyond his due proportion; and upon a turn of affairs, he was not only deprived of his place, but also lost 2000 l. which he had for security, put into the Excise office.

In the fire of London, his house in Bread-street was burnt, before which accident foreigners have gone out of devotion, says Wood, to see the house and chamber where he was born. Some time before he died, he sold the greatest part of his library, as his heirs were not qualified to make a proper use of it, and as he thought he could dispose of it to greater advantage, than they could after his death. He died (says Dr. Newton) by one means or other worth 1500 l. besides his houshold goods, which was no incompetent subsistence for him, who was as great a philosopher as a poet.

Milton seems not to have been very happy in his marriages. His first wife offended him by her elopement; the second, whose love, sweetness, and delicacy he celebrates, lived not a twelvemonth with him; and his third was said to be a woman of a most violent spirit, and a severe step-mother to his children.

'She died, says Dr. Newton, very old, about twenty years ago, at Nantwich in Cheshire, and from the accounts of those who had seen her, I have learned that she confirmed several things related before; and particularly that her husband used to compose his poetry chiefly in the winter, and on his waking on a morning would make her write down sometimes twenty or thirty verses: Being asked whether he did not often read Homer and Virgil, she understood it as an imputation upon him for stealing from these authors, and answered with eagerness, that he stole from no body but the muse that inspired him; and being asked by a lady present who the muse was, she answered, it was God's grace and holy spirit, that visited him nightly. She was likewise asked, whom he approved most of our English poets, and answered, Spenser, Shakespear, and Cowley; and being asked what he thought of Dryden, she said Dryden used sometimes to visit him, but he thought him no poet, but a good rhimist.'

The reader will be pleased to observe, that this censure of Milton's was before Dryden had made any great appearance in poetry, or composed those immortal works of genius, which have raised eternal monuments to him, and carried his name to every country where poetry and taste are known. Some have thought that Dryden's genius was even superior to Milton's: That the latter chiefly shines in but one kind of poetry; his thoughts are sublime, and his language noble; but in what kind of writing has not Dryden been distinguished? He is in every thing excellent, says Congreve, and he has attempted nothing in which he has not so succeeded as to be entitled to the first reputation from it.

It is not to be supposed, that Milton was governed by so mean a principle as envy, in his thus censuring Dryden. It is more natural to imagine, that as he was himself no friend to rhime, and finding Dryden in his early age peculiarly happy in the faculty of rhiming, without having thrown out any thoughts, which were in themselves distinguishedly great, Milton might, without the imputation of ill nature, characterise Dryden, as we have already seen.

These are the most material incidents in the life of this great man, who if he had less honour during the latter part of his life than he deserved, it was owing to the unfavourable circumstances under which he laboured. It is always unpleasing to a good man to find that they who have been distinguished for their parts, have not been equally so for their moral qualities; and in this case we may venture to assert, that Milton was good as well as great; and that if he was mistaken in his political principles, he was honestly mistaken, for he never deviated from his first resolution; no temptations could excite him to temporise, or to barter his honour for advantage; nor did he ever once presume to partake of the spoils of his ruined country. Such qualities as these are great in themselves, and whoever possesses them, has an unexceptionable claim to rank with the good.

We might have entered more minutely into the merit of Milton's poems, particularly the great work of Paradise Lost; but we should reckon it arrogant as well as superfluous in us, to criticise on a work whose beauties have been displayed by the hand of Mr. Addison. That critic has illustrated the most remarkable passages in Paradise Lost; such as are distinguished by their sublimity; and elevation; such whose excellence is propriety; others raised by the nobleness of the language; and those that are remarkable for energy and strong reasoning.

A later critic, the ingenious author of the Rambler, has animadverted upon Milton's versification with great judgment; and has discovered in some measure that happy art, by which Milton has conducted so great a design, with such astonishing success.

From these two writers may be drawn all the necessary assistances for reading the Paradise Lost with taste and discernment; and as their works are in almost in every body's hands, it would be needless to give any abstract of them here.

Footnotes: 1. Philips's Life of Milton, p. 4. Preface prefixed to the English Translation of his Letters of State. 2. Birch's Critical Account of Milton's Life and Writings. 3. Life of Milton, p. 40. 4. Gentleman's Magazine. 5. Fasti Oxon. col. 275. 6. Fasti Oxon. p. 266. Ed. 1721.

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Mrs. KATHERINE PHILIPS,

The celebrated Orinda, was daughter of John Fowles of Bucklersbury, a merchant in London. She was born in the parish of St. Mary Wool Church, 1631. Mr. Aubrey tells us, (in a MS. of his in Mr. Ashmole's study, No. 18. Vol. 23.) that she had the early part of her education from her cousin Mrs. Blacker. At eight years old she was removed to a school at Hackney, and soon made great improvements under the care of Mrs. Salmon; so great that whoever reads the account that Mr. Aubrey gives of her at that time of her life, will consider her succeeding progress to be no more than what might be naturally expected from such indications of genius. He tells us, 'that she was very apt to learn, and made verses when she was at school; that she devoted herself to religious duties when she was very young; that she would then pray by herself an hour together; that she had read the bible through before she was full five years old; that she could say, by heart, many chapters and passages of scripture; was a frequent hearer of sermons, which she would bring away entire in her memory.'

The above is extracted from Mr. Ballard's account of the Ladies of Great Britain, who have been celebrated for their writings; and serves to shew the early piety of this amiable lady, who lived to be distinguished for her ripened understanding.—She became afterwards a perfect mistress of the French tongue, and learned the Italian under the tuition of her ingenious and worthy friend Sir Charles Cotterel. She was instructed in the Presbyterian principles, which it appears by her writings, she deserted, as soon as her reason was strong enough to exert itself in the examination of religious points. She warmly embraced the royal interest, and upon many occasions was a strenuous advocate for the authority of the established church.

She was married to James Philips of the Priory of Cardigan, Esq; about the year 1647. By this gentleman she had one son, who died in his infancy, and one daughter, married to a gentleman of Pembrokeshire. She proved an excellent wife, not only in the conjugal duties, and tender offices of love, but was highly serviceable to her husband in affairs, in which few wives are thought capable of being useful; for his fortune being much encumbered, she exerted her interest with Sir Charles Cotterel, and other persons of distinction, who admired her understanding (for she had few graces of person) in her husband's favour, who soon extricated him from the difficulties under which he laboured. It no where appears that the husband of Mrs. Philips was a man of any abilities, and if he met with respect in the world, it was probably reflected from his wife. This lady had too much piety and good sense to suffer her superior understanding to make her insolent; on the other hand, she always speaks of her husband with the utmost respect, under the name of Antenor. In a letter to Sir Charles Cotterel, after having mentioned her husband in the most respectful terms, and of his willingness to forward her journey to London, in order to settle his perplexed affairs, she adds

"And I hope God will enable me to answer his expectations, by making me an instrument of doing some handsome service, which is the only ambition I have in the world, and which I would purchase with the hazard of my life. I am extreamly obliged to my lady Cork for remembering me with so much indulgence; for her great desire to be troubled with my company; but above all for her readiness to assist my endeavours for Antenor, which is the most generous kindness can be done me."

As this lady was born with a genius for poetry, so she began early in life to improve it, and composed many poems on various occasions for her amusement, in her recess at Cardigan, and retirement elsewhere. These being dispersed among her friends and acquaintance, were by an unknown hand collected together, and published in 8vo. 1663, without her knowledge or consent. This accident is said to have proved so oppressive to our poetess, as to throw her into a fit of illness, and she pours out her complaints in a letter to Sir Charles Cotterel, in which she laments, in the most affecting manner, the misfortune and the injuries which had been done to her by this surreptitious edition of her Poems.

That Mrs. Philips might be displeased that her Poems were published without her consent, is extremely probable, as by these means they might appear without many graces, and ornaments which they otherwise would have possessed; but that it threw her into a fit of illness, no body who reads the human heart can believe. Surreptitious editions are a sort of compliment to the merit of an author; and we are not to suppose Mrs. Philips so much a saint, as to be stript of all vanity, or that natural delight, which arises from the good opinion of others, however aukwardly it may be discovered; and we may venture to affirm, that Mrs. Philips's illness proceeded from some other cause, than what is here assigned.

The reputation of her abilities procured her the esteem of many persons of distinction and fashion, and upon her going into Ireland with the viscountess of Duncannon, to transact her husband's affairs there, her great merit soon made her known to those illustrious peers, Ormond, Orrery, and Roscommon, and many other persons of the first fashion, who shewed her singular marks of their esteem. While Mrs. Philips remained in that kingdom, at the pressing importunity of the abovementioned noblemen, but particularly lord Roscommon, she translated, from the French of Corneille, the tragedy of Pompey, which was brought upon the Irish stage somewhat against her inclination; however it was several times acted in the new theatre there, with very great applause in the years 1663 and 1664, in which last year it was made public. It was afterwards acted with equal applause at the Duke of York's theatre, 1678. This play is dedicated to the Countess of Cork. Lord Roscommon wrote the Prologue, wherein he thus compliments the ladies and the translator.

But you bright nymphs, give Caesar leave to woo, The greatest wonder of the world, but you; And hear a muse, who has that hero taught To speak as gen'rously, as e'er he fought; Whose eloquence from such a theme deters All tongues but English, and all pens but hers. By the just fates your sex is doubly blest, You conquer'd Caesar, and you praise him best.

She also translated from the French of Corneille, a Tragedy called Horace; Sir John Denham added a fifth Act to this Play, which was acted at Court by Persons of Quality. The Duke of Monmouth spoke the Prologue, in which are these lines.

So soft that to our shame we understand They could not fall but from a lady's hand. Thus while a woman Horace did translate, Horace did rise above the name of fate.

While Mrs. Philips was in Ireland, she was happy in carrying on her former intimacy with the famous Jeremy Taylor, the bishop of Down and Connor, who had some time before done her much honour by writing, and publishing a Discourse on the Nature, Offices, and Measures of Friendship, with Rules for conducting it, in a letter addressed to her. It is probable that this prelate's acquaintance with so accomplished a lady as Mrs. Philips, might be one reason of his entertaining so high an opinion of the fair sex in general; it is certain he was a great admirer of them, by which the good sense, as well as piety, of that great man is demonstrated; for whoever has studied life, examined the various motives of human actions, compared characters, and, in a word, scrutinized the heart, will find that more real virtue, more genuine and unaffected goodness exist amongst the female sex, than the other, and were their minds cultivated with equal care, and did they move in the bustle of life, they would not fall short of the men in the acute excellences; but the softness of their natures exempts them from action, and the blushes of beauty are not to be effaced by the rough storms of adversity: that man is happy who enjoys in the conjugal state, the endearments of love and innocence, and if his wife is less acquainted with the world than he, she makes a large amends, by the artless blandishments of a delicate affection.

We are persuaded our fair readers will not be displeased if we insert a paragraph from the discourse already mentioned by this worthy churchman; it appearing to be so sincere a tribute to their merit. 'But by the way, madam, you may see how I differ from the majority of those cynics, who would not admit your sex into the community of a noble friendship. I believe some wives have been the best friends in the world; and few stories can outdo the nobleness and piety of that lady, that sucked the poisonous purulent matter from the wounds of the brave Prince in the holy land, when an assassin had pierced him with a venomed arrow: and if it be told that women cannot retain council, and therefore can be no brave friends, I can best confute them by the story of Porcia, who being fearful of the weakness of her sex, stabbed herself in the thigh to try how she could bear pain; and finding herself constant enough to that sufferance, gently chid her Brutus for not trusting her, since now she perceived, that no torment could wrest that secret from her, which she hoped might be entrusted to her. If there were no more things to be said for your satisfaction, I could have made it disputable, which have been more illustrious in their friendship, men or women. I cannot say that women are capable of all those excellencies by which men can oblige the world, and therefore a female friend, in some cases, is not so good a counsellor as a wise man, and cannot so well defend my honour, nor dispose of relief and assistances, if she be under the power of another; but a woman can love as passionately, and converse as pleasantly, and retain a secret as faithfully, and be useful in her proper ministries, and she can die for her friend, as well as the bravest Roman knight; a man is the best friend in trouble, but a woman may be equal to him in the days of joy: a woman can as well increase our comforts, but cannot so well lessen our sorrows, and therefore we do not carry women with us when we go to fight; but in peaceful cities and times, women are the beauties of society, and the prettinesses of friendship, and when we consider that few persons in the world have all those excellences by which friendship can be useful, and illustrious, we may as well allow women as men to be friends; since they have all that can be necessary and essential to friendships, and those cannot have all by which friendships can be accidentally improved.'

Thus far this learned prelate, whose testimony in favour of women is the more considerable, as he cannot be supposed to have been influenced by any particular passion, at least for Mrs. Philips, who was ordinary in her person and was besides a married lady. In the year 1663 Mrs. Philips quitted Ireland, and went to Cardigan, where she spent the remaining part of that, and the beginning of the next year, in a sort of melancholy retirement; as appears by her letters, occasioned, perhaps, by the bad success of her husband's affairs. Going to London, in order to relieve her oppressed spirits with the conversation of her friends there, she was seized by the smallpox, and died of it (in Fleet street,) to the great grief of her acquaintance, in the 32d year of her age, and was buried June 22, 1664, in the church of St. Bennet Sherehog[1], under a large monumental stone, where several of her ancestors were before buried. Mr. Aubrey in his manuscript abovementioned, observes, that her person was of a middle stature, pretty fat, and ruddy complexioned.

Soon after her death, her Poems and Translations were collected and published in a volume in folio, to which was added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey and Horace, Tragedies; with several other Translations out of French, London 1667, with her picture, a good busto, before them, standing on a pedestal, on which is inscribed Orinda; it was printed again at London 1678. In a collection of Letters published by Mr. Thomas Brown, in 1697, are printed four Letters from Mrs. Philips to the Honourable Berenice. Many years after her death, were published a volume of excellent Letters from Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel with the ensuing title, Letters from Orinda to Polliarchus, 8vo. London 1705. Major Pack, in his Essay on Study, inserted in his Miscellanies, gives the following character of these Letters; 'The best Letters I have met with in our English tongue, are those of the celebrated Mrs. Philips to Sir Charles Cotterel; as they are directed all to the same person, so they run all in the same strain, and seem to have been employed in the service of a refined and generous friendship. In a word, they are such as a woman of spirit and virtue, should write to a courtier of honour, and true gallantry.' The memory of this ingenious lady has been honoured with many encomiums. Mr. Thomas Rowe in his epistle to Daphne, pays the following tribute to her fame.

At last ('twas long indeed!) Orinda came, To ages yet to come an ever glorious name; To virtuous themes, her well tun'd lyre she strung; Of virtuous themes in easy numbers sung. Horace and Pompey in her line appear, } With all the worth that Rome did once revere: } Much to Corneille they owe, and much to her. } Her thoughts, her numbers, and her fire the same, She soar'd as high, and equal'd all his fame. Tho' France adores the bard, nor envies Greece The costly buskins of her Sophocles. More we expected, but untimely death, Soon stopt her rising glories with her breath.

More testimonies might be produced in favour of Mrs. Philips, but as her works are generally known, and are an indelible testimony of her merit, we reckon it superfluous. Besides the poetical abilities of the amiable Orinda, she is said to have been of a generous, charitable disposition, and a friend to all in distress.

As few ladies ever lived more happy in her friends than our poetess, so those friends have done justice to her memory, and celebrated her, when dead, for those virtues they admired, when living. Mr. Dryden more than once mentions her with honour, and Mr Cowley has written an excellent Ode upon her death. As this Ode will better shew the high opinion once entertained of Mrs. Philips, than any thing we can say, after giving a specimen of her poetry, we shall conclude with this performance of Cowley's, which breathes friendship in every line, and speaks an honest mind: so true is the observation of Pope, upon the supposition that Cowley's works are falling into oblivion,

Lost is his epic, nay, pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart.

Mrs. Philips's poetry has not harmony of versification, or amorous tenderness to recommend it, but it has a force of thinking, which few poets of the other sex can exceed, and if it is without graces, it has yet a great deal of strength. As she has been celebrated for her friendship, we shall present the reader with an Ode upon that subject, addressed to her dearest Lucasia.

I.

Come my Lucasia, since we see That miracles men's faith do move By wonder, and by prodigy; To the dull angry world lets prove There's a religion in our love.

II.

For tho' we were designed t'agree, That fate no liberty destroys, But our election is as free As angels, who with greedy choice Are yet determined to their joys.

III.

Our hearts are doubled by the loss, Here mixture is addition grown; We both diffuse, and both engross: And we whose minds are so much one, Never, yet ever are alone.

IV.

We court our own captivity, Than thrones more great and innocent: 'Twere banishment to be set free, Since we wear fetters whose intent Not bondage is, but ornament.

V.

Divided joys are tedious found, And griefs united easier grow: We are ourselves, but by rebound, And all our titles shuffled so, Both princes, and both subjects too.

VI.

Our hearts are mutual victims laid, While they (such power in friendship lies) Are altars, priests, and offerings made: And each heart which thus kindly dies, Grows deathless by the sacrifice.

On the DEATH of Mrs. PHILIPS.

I.

Cruel disease! ah, could it not suffice, Thy old and constant spite to exercise Against the gentlest and the fairest sex, Which still thy depredations most do vex? Where still thy malice, most of all (Thy malice or thy lust) does on the fairest fall, And in them most assault the fairest place, The throne of empress beauty, ev'n the face. There was enough of that here to assuage, (One would have thought) either thy lust or rage; Was't not enough, when thou, profane disease, Didst on this glorious temple seize: Was't not enough, like a wild zealot, there, All the rich outward ornaments to tear, Deface the innocent pride of beauteous images? Was't not enough thus rudely to defile, But thou must quite destroy the goodly pile? And thy unbounded sacrilege commit On th'inward holiest holy of her wit? Cruel disease! there thou mistook'st thy power; No mine of death can that devour, On her embalmed name it will abide An everlasting pyramide, As high as heav'n the top, as earth, the basis wide.

II.

All ages past record, all countries now, In various kinds such equal beauties show, That ev'n judge Paris would not know On whom the golden apple to bestow, Though goddesses to his sentence did submit, Women and lovers would appeal from it: Nor durst he say, of all the female race, This is the sovereign face. And some (tho' these be of a kind that's rare, That's much, oh! much less frequent than the fair) So equally renown'd for virtue are, That is the mother of the gods might pose, When the best woman for her guide she chose. But if Apollo should design A woman Laureat to make, Without dispute he would Orinda take, Though Sappho and the famous nine Stood by, and did repine. To be a Princess or a Queen Is great; but 'tis a greatness always seen; The world did never but two women know, Who, one by fraud, th'other by wit did rise To the two tops of spiritual dignities, One female pope of old, one female poet now.

III.

Of female poets, who had names of old, Nothing is shown, but only told, And all we hear of them perhaps may be Male-flatt'ry only, and male-poetry. Few minutes did their beauties light'ning waste, The thunder of their voice did longer last, But that too soon was past. The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit, In her own lasting characters are writ, And they will long my praise of them survive, Though long perhaps too that may live, The trade of glory manag'd by the pen Though great it be, and every where is found. Does bring in but small profit to us men; 'Tis by the number of the sharers drown'd. Orinda on the female coasts of fame, Ingrosses all the goods of a poetic name. She does no partner with her see, Does all the business there alone, which we Are forc'd to carry on by a whole company.

IV.

But wit's like a luxuriant vine; Unless to virtue's prop it join, Firm and erect towards Heav'n bound; Tho' it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd, It lyes deform'd, and rotting on the ground. Now shame and blushes on us all, Who our own sex superior call! Orinda does our boasting sex out do, Not in wit only, but in virtue too. She does above our best examples rise, In hate of vice, and scorn of vanities. Never did spirit of the manly make, And dipp'd all o'er in learning's sacred lake, A temper more invulnerable take. No violent passion could an entrance find, Into the tender goodness of her mind; Through walls of stone those furious bullets may Force their impetuous way, When her soft breast they hit, damped and dead they lay.

V.

The fame of friendship which so long had told Of three or four illustrious names of old, 'Till hoarse and weary with the tale she grew, Rejoices now t'have got a new, A new, and more surprizing story, Of fair Leucasia's and Orinda's glory. As when a prudent man does once perceive That in some foreign country he must live, The language and the manners he does strive To understand and practise here, That he may come no stranger there; So well Orinda did her self prepare, In this much different clime for her remove, To the glad world of poetry and love.

Footnote: 1. Ballard's Memoirs.

* * * * *



MARGARET, Duchess of NEWCASTLE,

The second wife of William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, was born at St. John's near Colchester in Essex, about the latter end of the reign of King James I. and was the youngest daughter of Sir Charles Lucas, a gentleman of great spirit and fortune, who died when she was very young. The duchess herself in a book intitled Nature's Pictures, drawn by Fancy's pencil to the life, has celebrated both the exquisite beauty of her person, and the rare endowments of her mind. This lady's mother was remarkably assiduous in the education of her children, and bestowed upon this, all the instructions necessary for forming the minds of young ladies, and introducing them into life with advantage. She found her trouble in cultivating this daughter's mind not in vain, for she discovered early an inclination to learning, and spent so much of her time in study and writing, that some of her Biographers have lamented her not being acquainted with the learned languages, which would have extended her knowledge, corrected the exuberances of genius, and have been of infinite service to her, in her numerous compositions.

In the year 1643 she obtained leave of her mother to go to Oxford, where the court then resided, and was made one of the Maids of Honour to Henrietta Maria, the Royal Consort of King Charles I. and when the Queen was forced to leave the arms of her Husband, and fly into France, by the violence of the prevailing power, this lady attended her there. At Paris she met with the marquis of Newcastle, whose loyalty had likewise produced his exile; who, admiring her person and genius, married her in the year 1645. The marquis had before heard of this lady, for he was a patron and friend of her gallant brother, lord Lucas, who commanded under him in the civil wars. He took occasion one day to ask his lordship what he could do for him, as he had his interest much at heart? to which he answered, that he was not sollicitous about his own affairs, for he knew the worst could be but suffering either death, or exile in the Royal cause, but his chief sollicitude was for his sister, on whom he could bestow no fortune, and whose beauty exposed her to danger: he represented her amiable qualities, and raised the marquis's curiosity to see her, and from that circumstance arose the marquis's affection to this lady. From Paris they went to Rotterdam, where they resided six months: from thence they returned to Antwerp, where they settled, and continued during the time of their exile, as it was the most quiet place, and where they could in the greatest peace enjoy their ruined fortune. She proved a most agreeable companion to the marquis, during the gloomy period of exile, and enlivened their recess, both by her writing and conversation, as appears by the many compliments and addresses he made her on that occasion.

The lady undertook a voyage into England, in order to obtain some of the marquis's rents, to supply their pressing necessities, and pay the debts they had been there obliged to contract; and accordingly went with her brother to Goldsmith's Hall, where, it seems, the committee of sequestration sat, but could not obtain the smallest sum out of the marquis's vast inheritance, which, amounted to 20,000 l. per annum; and had it not been for the generosity and tenderness of Sir Charles Cavendish (who greatly reduced his own fortune, to support his brother in distress) they must have been exposed to extreme poverty.

Having raised a considerable sum, by the generosity of her own, and the marquis's, relations, she returned to Antwerp, where she continued with her lord, till the restoration of Charles II, upon which, the marquis, after six years banishment, made immediate preparation for his return to his native country, leaving his lady behind him to dispatch his affairs there, who, having conducted them to his lordship's satisfaction, she soon followed her consort into England. Being now restored to the sunshine of prosperity, she dedicated her time to writing poems, philosophical discourses, orations and plays. She was of a generous turn of mind, and kept a great many young ladies about her person, who occasionally wrote what she dictated. Some of them slept in a room, contiguous to that in which her Grace lay, and were ready, at the call of her bell, to rise any hour of the night, to write down her conceptions, lest they should escape her memory.

The young ladies, no doubt, often dreaded her Grace's conceptions, which were frequent, but all of the poetical or philosophical kind, for though she was very beautiful, she died without issue: she is said to have been very reserved and peevish, perhaps owing to the circumstance just mentioned, of having never been honoured with the name of mother.

Mr. Jacob says, that she was the most voluminous writer of all the female poets; that she had a great deal of wit, and a more than ordinary propensity to dramatic poetry; and Mr. Langbaine tells us, that all the language and plots of her plays were her own, which, says he, is a commendation preferable to fame built on other people's foundation, and will very well atone for some faults in her numerous productions. As the Duchess is said to be negligent, in regard to chronology in her historical writings, so others have been equally remiss, in this respect, with regard to her Grace, for, among the many authors who have taken notice of her, not one has mentioned the year in which she died, and even her monumental inscription, where one might reasonably expect it, is silent, both in respect to her age, and the time of her death. But Mr. Fulman, in the 15th volume of his MS. collections in the Corpus Christi College Archives, observes, that she died in London Anno 1673, and was buried at Westminster, January 7, 1673-4, where an elegant monument is erected to her memory, of which, take the following account given by Dr. Crul in the Antiquities of that Church. 'Against the skreen of the chapel of St. Michael, is a most noble spacious tomb of white marble, adorned with two pillars of black marble, with entablatures of the Corinthian order, embellished with arms, and most curious trophy works; on the pedestal lye two images, in full proportion, of white marble in a cumbent posture, in their robes, representing William Cavendish, duke of Newcastle, and Margaret his duchess, his second and last wife, being the daughter of Sir Charles, and the sister of lord Lucas of Colchester; who as she had deservedly acquired the reputation of a lady of uncommon wit, learning, and liberality; so the duke her husband had rendered himself famous for his loyalty, and constant fidelity to the royal family, during the civil wars in this kingdom and in Scotland. The duke having caused this stately monument to be erected here to the memory of his lady, died soon after in the year 1676, aged 84, and was interred here.'

The Epitaph for the Duchess.

"Here lies the loyal Duke of Newcastle and his Duchess, his second wife, by whom he had no issue. Her name was Margaret Lucas, youngest sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester, a noble family, for all the brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous. This Duchess was a wise, witty, and learned Lady, which her many books do well testify: She was a most virtuous, and loving, and careful wife, and was with her Lord all the time of his banishment and miseries; and when they came home never parted with him in his solitary retirements."

The following is a catalogue of her works, in which we have taken pains to be as accurate as possible, in order to do justice to the poetical character of this lady.

1. The World's Olio.

2. Nature's Picture drawn by Fancy's Pencil to the Life.

In this volume there are several feigned stories of natural descriptions, as comical, tragical, and tragi-comical, poetical, romancical, philosophical, and historical, both in prose and verse, some all verse, some all prose, some mixt; partly prose, and partly verse; also some morals, and some dialogues, Lond. 1656. folio.

3. Orations of different sorts, on different occasions, Lond. 1662.

4. Philosophical and Physical Opinions, 1633, folio.

5. Observations on Experimental Philosophy; to which is added, the Description of a New World. Mr. James Bristow began to translate some of these Philosophical Discourses into Latin.

6. Philosophical Letters; or modest Reflections on some Opinions in Natural Philosophy, maintained by several famous and learned authors of this age, expressed by way of letters, Lond. 1664, fol.

7. Poems and Fancies, Lond. 1664, folio.

8. Sociable Letters, 1664, folio.

9. The Life of the Duke of Newcastle her husband, which was translated into Latin, and is thought to be the best performance of this lady.

10. Observations of the Duke's, with Remarks of her own,

In the Library of the late Mr. Thomas Richardson was the Duchess of Newcastle's poems, 2 Vol. fol. MS. and in the library of the late bishop Willis was another MS. of her poems in folio.

Her Dramatic Works are,

1. Apocryphal Ladies, a Comedy; it is not divided into acts.

2. Bell in Campo, a Tragedy, in two parts.

3. Blazing World, a Comedy.

4. Bridals, a Comedy.

5. Comical Hash, a Comedy.

6. Convent of Pleasure, a Comedy.

7. Female Academy, a Comedy.

8. Lady Contemplation, a Comedy, in two parts.

9. Love's Adventure, in two parts, a Comedy.

10. Matrimonial Troubles, in two parts; the second being a Tragedy, or as the authoress stiles it, a Tragi-comedy.

11. Nature's three Daughters, Beauty, Love, and Wit, a Comedy, in two parts.

12. Presence, a Comedy.

13. Public Wooing, a Comedy, in which the Duke wrote several of the suitors speeches.

14. Religious, a Tragi-Comedy.

15. Several Wits, a Comedy.

16. Sociable Companions, or the Female Wits, a Comedy.

17. Unnatural Tragedy. Act II. Scene III. the Duchess inveighs against Mr. Camden's Britannia.

18. Wit's Cabal, a Comedy, in two parts.

19. Youth's Glory, and Death's Banquet, a Tragedy in two parts.

Mr. Langbaine has preserved part of the general prologue to her plays, which we shall insert as a specimen of her versification:

But noble readers, do not think my plays Are such as have been writ in former days; As Johnson, Shakespear, Beaumont, Fletcher writ, Mine want their learning, reading, language, wit. The Latin phrases, I could never tell, But Johnson could, which made him write so well. Greek, Latin poets, I could never read, Nor their historians, but our English Speed: I could not steal their wit, nor plots out-take; All my plays plots, my own poor brain did make. From Plutarch's story, I ne'er took a plot, Nor from romances, nor from Don Quixote.

* * * * *



WILLIAM CAVENDISH,

Baron Ogle, viscount Mansfield, earl, marquis, and duke of Newcastle, justly reckoned one of the most finished gentlemen, as well as the most distinguished patriot, general, and statesman of his age. He was son of Sir Charles Cavendish, youngest son of Sir William Cavendish, and younger brother of the first earl of Devonshire, by Katherine daughter of Cuthbert lord Ogle[1].

He was born in the year 1592, and discovered in his infancy a promptness of genius, and a love of literature. His father took care to have him instructed by the best masters in every science. He no sooner appeared at the court of King James I. than the reputation of his abilities drew the attention of that monarch upon him, who made him a knight of the Bath 1610, at the creation of Henry Prince of Wales[2].

In 1617 his father died, who left him a great estate; and having interest at court, he was by letters patent, dated Nov. 3, 1620, raised to the dignity of a peer of the realm, by the stile and title of baron Ogle, and viscount Mansfield; and having no less credit with King Charles I. than he had with his father, in the third year of the reign of that prince, he was advanced to the higher title of earl of Newcastle upon Tyne, and at the same time he was created baron Cavendish of Balsovor. Our author's attendance upon court, tho' it procured him honour, yet introduced him very early into difficulties; and it appears by Strafford's letters, that he did not stand well with the favourite duke of Buckingham, who was jealous of his growing interest, and was too penetrating not to discover, that the quickness of his lordship's parts would soon suggest some methods of rising, independent of the favourite, and perhaps shaking his influence. "But these difficulties, says Clarendon, (for he was deeply plunged in debt) tho' they put him on the thoughts of retirement, never in the least prevented him from demonstrating his loyalty when the King's cause demanded it."

Notwithstanding the earl's interest was not high with the ministers, yet he found means so to gain and to preserve the affection of his Majesty, that in the year 1638, when it was thought necessary to take the Prince of Wales out of the hands of a woman, his Majesty appointed the earl his governor, and by entrusting to his tuition the heir apparent of his kingdoms, demonstrated the highest confidence in his abilities and honour[3].

In the spring of the year 1639, the troubles of Scotland breaking out, induced the King to assemble an army in the North, soon after which he went to put himself at the head of it, and in his way was splendidly entertained by the earl at his seat at Welbeck, as he had been some years before when he went into Scotland to be crowned, which in itself, tho' a trivial circumstance, yet such was the magnificence of this noble peer, that both these entertainments found a place in general histories, and are computed by the duchess of Newcastle, who wrote the life of her lord, to have amounted to upwards of ten thousand pounds. He invited all the neighbouring gentry to pay their compliments to his Majesty, and partake of the feast, and Ben Johnson was employed in fitting such scenes and speeches as he could best devise; and Clarendon after mentioning the sumptuousness of those entertainments, observes, that they had a tendency to corrupt the people, and inspire a wantonness, which never fails to prove detrimental to morals.

As such an expedition as the King's against the Scots required immense sums, and the King's treasury being very empty, his lordship contributed ten thousand pounds, and raised a troop of horse, consisting of about 200 knights and gentlemen, who served at their own charge, and was honoured with the title of the Prince's troop[4].

Tho' these instances of loyalty advanced him in the esteem of the King, yet they rather heightened than diminished the resentment of the ministers, of which the earl of Holland having given a stronger instance, than his lordship's patience could bear, he took notice of it in such a way, as contributed equally to sink his rival's reputation, and raise his own; and as there is something curious in the particular manner in which the earl of Holland's character suffered in this quarrel, we shall upon the authority of the duchess of Newcastle present it to the reader.

The troop which the earl of Newcastle raised was stiled the Prince's, but his lordship commanded it as captain. When the army drew near Berwick, he sent Sir William Carnaby to the earl of Holland, then general of the horse, to know where his troop should march; his answer was, next after the troops of the general officers. The earl of Newcastle sent again to represent, that having the honour to march with the Prince's colours, he thought it not fit to march under any of the officers of the field; upon which the general of the horse repeated his orders, and the earl of Newcastle ordered the Prince's colours to be taken off the staff, and marched without any. When the service was over, his lordship sent Mr. Francis Palmer, with a challenge to the earl of Holland, who consented to a place, and hour of meeting; but when the earl of Newcastle came thither, he found not his antagonist, but his second. The business had been disclosed to the King, by whose authority (says Clarendon) the matter was composed; but before that time, the earl of Holland was never suspected to want courage; and indeed he was rather a cunning, penetrating, than a brave honest man, and was remarkably selfish in his temper.

The earl of Newcastle however found himself hard pressed by the ministerial faction, and being unwilling to give his Majesty any trouble about himself, he was generous enough to resign his place as governor to the Prince, and the marquis of Hertford was appointed in his room.

His lordship having no more business at court, and being unwilling to expose himself further to the machinations of his enemies, thought proper to retire to the country, where he remained quiet till he received his Majesty's orders to revisit Hull: Tho' this order came at twelve o'clock at night, yet such was his unshaken loyalty and affection, that he went directly, and tho' forty miles distant, he entered the place with only three or four servants early the next morning. He offered to his Majesty, says Clarendon, to have secured for him that important fortress, and all the magazines that were in it; but instead of receiving such a command, he had instructions sent him to obey the orders of the Parliament, who suspecting his principles not to be favourable to the schemes of opposition then engaged in, called him to attend the service of the house; and some disaffected members formed a design to have attacked him, but his character being unexceptionable, their scheme proved abortive, and he had leave to retire again into the country. This he willingly did, as he saw the affairs of state hastening to confusion and his country ready to be steeped in blood, and sacrificed to the fury of party. But when the opposition rose high, and it would have been cowardice to have remained unactive, he embraced the royal cause, accepted a commission for raising men, to take care of the town of Newcastle, and the four adjoining counties, in which he was so expeditious and successful, that his Majesty constituted him general of all the forces raised North of Trent; and likewise general and commander in chief of such as might be raised in the counties of Lincoln, Nottingham, Chester, Leicester, Rutland, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, with power to confer the honour of knighthood, coin money, print, and set forth such declarations as should seem to him expedient: of all which extensive powers, tho freely conferred, and without reserve, his lordship made a very sparing use; but with respect to the more material point of raising men, his lordship prosecuted it with such diligence, that in three months he had an army of eight thousand horse, foot, and dragoons, with which he marched directly into Yorkshire; and his forces having defeated the enemy at Pierce Bridge, his lordship advanced to York, where Sir Thomas Glenham, the governor, presented him with the keys, and the earl of Cumberland and many of the nobility resorted thither to compliment, and assist his lordship[5].