unquestionably not discouraged:  their castrations of books reprinted appear to have been very artful; for in reprinting Gage’s “Survey of the West Indies,” which originally consisted of twenty-two chapters, in 1648 and 1657, with a dedication to Sir Thomas Fairfax,—­in 1677, after expunging the passages in honour of Fairfax, the dedication is dexterously turned into a preface; and the twenty-second chapter being obnoxious for containing particulars of the artifices of “the papalins,” as Milton calls the Papists, in converting the author, was entirely chopped away by the licenser’s hatchet.  The castrated chapter, as usual, was preserved afterwards separately.  Literary despotism at least is short-sighted in its views, for the expedients it employs are certain of overturning themselves.

On this subject we must not omit noticing one of the noblest and most eloquent prose compositions of Milton; “the Areopagitica; a Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing.”  It is a work of love and inspiration, and breathing the most enlarged spirit of literature; separating, at an awful distance from the multitude, that character “who was born to study and to love learning for itself, not for lucre, or any other end, but, perhaps, for that lasting fame and perpetuity of praise, which God and good men have consented shall be the reward of those whose published labours advance the good of mankind.”

One part of this unparalleled effusion turns on “the quality which ought to be in every licenser.”  It will suit our new licensers of public opinion, a laborious corps well known, who constitute themselves without an act of Star-chamber.  I shall pick out but a few sentences, that I may add some little facts, casually preserved, of the ineptitude of such an officer.

“He who is made judge to sit upon the birth or death of books, whether they may be wafted into this world or not, had need to be a man above the common measure, both studious, learned, and judicious; there may be else no mean mistakes in his censure.  If he be of such worth as behoves him, there cannot be a more tedious and unpleasing journey-work, a greater loss of time levied upon his head, than to be made the perpetual reader of unchosen books and pamphlets.  There is no book acceptable, unless at certain seasons; but to be enjoyned the reading of that at all times, whereof three pages would not down at any time, is an imposition which I cannot believe how he that values time and his own studies, or is but of a sensible nostril, should be able to endure.—­What advantage is it to be a man over it is to be a boy at school, if we have only ’scaped the ferula to come under the fescue of an Imprimatur?—­if serious and elaborate writings, as if they were no more than the theme of a grammar lad under his pedagogue, must not be uttered without the cursory eyes of a temporising licenser?  When a man writes to the world, he summons up all his reason and deliberation to assist him; he searches, meditates,