famous example was not attempted and so prosperously finished without divine inspiration, there may be reason to think that the celebration and defence of the same with such applauses was also by the same aid and impulse,—­an opinion I would much rather see entertained by all than have any other happiness of genius, judgment, or diligence, attributed to myself.  Only this:—­Just as that Roman Consul, laying down his magistracy, swore in public that the Commonwealth and that City were safe by his sole exertion, so I, now placing my last hand on this work, would dare assert, calling God and men to witness, that I have demonstrated in this book, and brought publicly forward out of the highest authors of divine and human wisdom, those very things by which I am confident that the English People have been sufficiently defended in this cause for their everlasting fame with posterity, and confident also that the generality of mankind, formerly deceived by foul ignorance of their own rights and a false semblance of Religion, have been, unless in as far as they may prefer and deserve slavery, sufficiently emancipated.  And, as the universal Roman People, itself sworn in that public assembly, approved with one voice and consent that Consul’s so great and so special oath, so I have for some time understood that not only all the best of my own countrymen, but all the best also of foreign men, sanction and approve this persuasion of mine by no silent vote over the whole world.  Which highest fruit of my labours proposed for myself in this life I both gratefully enjoy and at the same time make it my chief thought how I may be best able to assure not only my own country, for which I have already done my utmost, but also the men of all nations whatever, and especially all of the Christian name, that the accomplishment of yet greater things, if I have the power—­and I shall have the power, if God be gracious,—­is meanwhile for their sakes my desire and meditation.”

Perhaps one begins to be a little tired of this high-strained exultation for ever and ever on the subject of his success in the Salmasian controversy.  The recurrence at this point, however, is not uninstructive.  At the beginning of Richard’s Protectorate, we can see Milton’s defences of the English Republic were still regarded as the unparalleled literary achievements of the age, and Milton’s European celebrity on account of them had not waned in the least.  It was something for the blind man, seated by himself in his small home in Westminster, and sending his thoughts out over the world from which for six years now he had been so helplessly shut in, to know this fact, and to be able to imagine the continued recollection of him as still alive among the myriads moving in that vast darkness.  This fruit of his past labours, he says, he would “gratefully enjoy,” but with no vulgar satisfaction.  He would not confess it even to be with any lingering in him now of the last infirmity of a noble mind.  In his fiftieth