I was so absorbed by the beauty of the poetry, and the exquisite grace and feeling with which it was repeated, that my eyes were riveted on your sister; nor could I withdraw them, even when she ceased to speak. Thus abstracted, I was perfectly unconscious that a gentleman was standing close to the great orange-tree, so that the rays of the full moon rested on his uncovered head: his hair was parted in the centre, and fell on his shoulders at either side, and his deportment was of mingled dignity and sweetness. 'John Milton!' exclaimed Lady Claypole, rising; 'I knew not,' she continued, 'that you had been so near us.'--'The temptation was great, indeed, madam: a poet never feels that he has true fame, until lips such as yours give utterance to his lines.' He bowed low, and I thought coldly, over Lady Claypole's extended hand. She walked into the conservatory, and called on me to follow. How my heart throbbed! how I trembled! I felt in the almost divine presence of one whose genius I had worshipped with a devotion which, enthusiastic as it was, I am not even now ashamed of. I longed to fall at his feet, and implore his blessing; to kiss the hem of his garment; and thought, in my foolishness, that inspiration might be communicated by his touch. I pushed back my hair, so that I might not lose a word he uttered, or the least look he gave. 'His sight was so impaired,' he said, 'that the light of day occasioned him much pain; and of late he had been so useless to his Highness, that he feared to intrude too often into his presence.' Lady Claypole made some remark, which in truth I little heeded, for I longed again to hear the poet speak; nor did I remain ungratified. In answer to some observation, he stated, 'he was well aware that much of what he had written would not meet with the indulgence she had graciously bestowed upon his verse; for, though they both valued freedom, they widely differed as to the mode of its attainment.' To this the Lady Claypole made no reply; and presently we had issued from the conservatory, and stood for a few moments on the terrace. 'How beautiful!' said your sister, as she raised her eyes to the glorious heavens, sparkling with countless stars, whose brilliancy was showered on the now sleeping earth--'Yes, beautiful!' repeated Milton; and his voice, so musical, yet melancholy, thrilled to my inmost soul: 'Beautiful!' he said again, as if the word was pleasant in his ears; 'and yet the time is coming fast when I shall behold that beauty no more--when I shall be more humbled than the poor insects upon which I may now heedlessly tread--they creep, but see; I shall be a thing of darkness in the midst of light--irrevocably dark!--total eclipse!--without the hope of day! Your pardon, Lady; but is it not strange, that life's chiefest blessing should be enthroned in such a tender ball, when feeling is diffused all over us?'--'The Maker must be the best judge,' replied your sister.--''Tis true,' he said; 'and the