themselves from the pursuits of fortune; they have torn themselves away from all they loved in life, patiently suffering these self-denials, to escape from interruptions and impediments to their studies.  Martyrs of literature and art, they behold in their solitude the halo of immortality over their studious heads—­that fame which is “a life beyond life.”  VAN HELMONT, in his library and his laboratory, preferred their busy solitude to the honours and the invitations of Rodolphus II., there writing down what he daily experienced during thirty years; nor would the enthusiast yield up to the emperor one of those golden and visionary days!  MILTON would not desist from proceeding with one of his works, although warned by the physician of the certain loss of his sight.  He declared he preferred his duty to his eyes, and doubtless his fame to his comfort.  ANTHONY WOOD, to preserve the lives of others, voluntarily resigned his own to cloistered studies; nor did the literary passion desert him in his last moments, when with his dying hands the hermit of literature still grasped his beloved papers, and his last mortal thoughts dwelt on his “Athenae Oxonienses.”  MORERI, the founder of our great biographical collections, conceived the design with such enthusiasm, and found such seduction in the labour, that he willingly withdrew from the popular celebrity he had acquired as a preacher, and the preferment which a minister of state, in whose house he resided, would have opened to his views.[A] After the first edition of his “Historical Dictionary,” he had nothing so much at heart as its improvement.  His unyielding application was converting labour into death; but collecting his last renovated vigour, with his dying hands he gave the volume to the world, though he did not live to witness even its publication.  All objects in life appeared mean to him, compared with that exalted delight of addressing, to the literary men of his age, the history of their brothers.  Such are the men, as BACON says of himself, who are “the servants of posterity,”—­

  Who scorn delights, and live laborious days!

[Footnote A:  Louis Moreri was born in Provence in 1643, and died in 1680, at the early age of 37, while engaged on a second edition of his great work.  The minister alluded to in the text was M. de Pomponne, Secretary of State to Louis XIV. until the year 1679.—­ED.]

The same enthusiasm inspires the pupils of art consumed by their own ardour.  The young and classical sculptor who raised the statue of Charles II., placed in the centre of the Royal Exchange, was, in the midst of his work, advised by his medical friends to desist; for the energy of his labour, with the strong excitement of his feelings, already had made fatal inroads in his constitution:  but he was willing, he said, to die at the foot of his statue.  The statue was raised, and the young sculptor, with the shining eye and hectic flush of consumption, beheld it there—­returned