Of his public conduct as a statesman we cannot indeed speak with approval. It seems to us that all the arguments advanced in his defence carry with them also his condemnation. He sided with the parliament against the king, because, it is said, he wished to uphold the constitution of his country; and yet he defended the trial and execution of the king, which were conducted in defiance of that same constitution. He abandoned his lawful sovereign to support the fortunes of Cromwell, because he believed that Charles was a despot; and yet he clung to the cause of Cromwell when Cromwell was not only a despot but an usurper. If the constitution was to be upheld, then the execution of the king was indefensible. If a tyrant should forfeit the allegiance of his subjects, then Cromwell had no claim to be obeyed. Yet however much he erred, it must be ever borne in mind that those who took a part in the turbulent events of the great rebellion, had not the same opportunities to form a calm and impartial judgment which we now possess. Men distinguished by great vigour of mind and great public spirit, were to be found on opposite sides in the senate and in the camp. None could have told, when the breach first appeared between Charles and his parliament, that it would lead to civil war and end in the crime of regicide. It was necessary to make a choice; and the choice once made, it required more than ordinary virtue, more than ordinary courage, to recede; virtue and courage with which Milton was not endowed. Those, however, who would form a just estimate of Milton’s character must seek him far away from the din of war and the strife of parties. He had borne a conspicuous part in a memorable political struggle; his fame had been carried abroad to distant lands; and yet he retires without regret from public life, to commune with his own mind in the obscurity of an humble lodging. The world admires the magnanimity of the old Roman who, having saved his country from destruction, returned again to his plough and to the simple pleasures of his rustic home. But there is far more to admire in the closing period of Milton’s career. The hour of his prosperity had passed away; the vigour of youth was gone. Disappointed in his hopes, neglected by an age unworthy of his genius, poor, and blind, and old, his splendid mind rose superior to all these calamities, which would have crushed a less noble spirit. As if now, at length, released from the captivity of earthly bonds, he soars aloft to higher thoughts, and pours forth from an overflowing soul the lofty strains of his unrivalled poem, the glory of English literature, the wonder and delight of every succeeding age. Not often does the history of the world present to us a spectacle so sublime.