failure; with a failure the more painful, that it could never anticipate or explain it. Possibly he was absorbed in an austere self-conscious excellence; it may never have occurred to him that a lady might prefer the trivial detail of daily happiness. Milton’s own view of the matter he has explained to us in his book on divorce; and it is a very odd one. His complaint was that his wife would not talk. What he wished in marriage was an ‘intimate and speaking help;’ he encountered a ‘mute and spiritless mate.’ One of his principal incitements to the ‘pious necessity of divorcing,’ was an unusual deficiency in household conversation. A certain loquacity in their wives has been the complaint of various eminent men; but his domestic affliction was a different one. The ‘ready and reviving associate,’ whom he had hoped to have found, appeared to be a ‘co-inhabiting mischief,’ who was sullen, and perhaps seemed bored and tired. And at times he is disposed to cast the blame of his misfortune on the uninstructive nature of youthful virtue. The ‘soberest and best-governed men,’ he says, are least practised in such affairs, are not very well aware that ‘the bashful muteness’ of a young lady ‘may oft-times hide the unliveliness and natural sloth which is really unfit for conversation;’ and are rather in too great haste to light the nuptial torch: whereas those ‘who have lived most loosely, by reason of their bold accustoming, prove most successful in their matches; because their wild affections, unsettling at will, have been as so many divorces to teach them experience.’ And he rather wishes to infer that the virtuous man should, in case of mischance, have his resource of divorce likewise.