would have been accused of cannibalism had his path lain towards the Caribee Islands.  A fulsome dedication to Salmasius tended to fix the suspicion of authorship upon Alexander Morus, a Frenchman of Scotch extraction, Professor of Sacred History at Amsterdam, and pastor of the Walloon Church, then an inmate of Salmasius’s house, who actually had written the dedication and corrected the proof.  The real author, however, was Peter Du Moulin, ex-rector of Wheldrake, in Yorkshire.  The dedicatory ink was hardly dry ere Morus was involved in a desperate quarrel with Salmasius through the latter’s imperious wife, who accused Morus of having been over-attentive to her English waiting-maid, whose patronymic is lost to history under the Latinized form of Bontia.  Failing to make Morus marry the damsel, she sought to deprive him of his ecclesiastical and professorial dignities.  The correspondence of Heinsius and Vossius shows what intense amusement the affair occasioned to such among the scholars of the period as were unkindly affected towards Salmasius.  Morus was ultimately acquitted, but his position in Holland had become uncomfortable, and he was glad to accept an invitation from the congregation at Charenton, celebrated for its lunatics.  Understanding, meanwhile, that Milton was preparing a reply, and being naturally unwilling to brave invective in the cause of a book which he had not written, and of a patron who had cast him off, he protested his innocence of the authorship, and sought to ward off the coming storm by every means short of disclosing the writer.  Milton, however, esteeming his Latin of much more importance than Morus’s character, and justly considering with Voltaire, “que cet Habacuc etait capable de tout,” persisted in exhibiting himself as the blind Cyclop dealing blows amiss.  His reply appeared in May, 1654, and a rejoinder by Morus produced a final retort in August, 1655.  Both are full of personalities, including a spirited description of the scratching of Morus’s face by the injured Bontia.  These may sink into oblivion, while we may be grateful for the occasion which led Milton to express himself with such fortitude and dignity on his affliction and its alleviations:—­“Let the calumniators of God’s judgments cease to revile me, and to forge their superstitious dreams about me.  Let them be assured that I neither regret my lot nor am ashamed of it, that I remain unmoved and fixed in my opinion, that I neither believe nor feel myself an object of God’s anger, but actually experience and acknowledge His fatherly mercy and kindness to me in all matters of greatest moment—­especially in that I am able, through His consolation and His strengthening of my spirit, to acquiesce in His divine will, thinking oftener of what He has bestowed upon me than of what He has withheld:  finally, that I would not exchange the consciousness of what I have done with that of any deed of theirs, however righteous, or part with my always pleasant and tranquil recollection of the same.”  He adds that his friends cherish him, study his wants, favour him with their society more assiduously even than before, and that the Commonwealth treats him with as much honour as if, according to the customs of the Athenians of old, it had decreed him public support for his life in the Prytaneum.