BOOK THE FIFTH.

LITERARY BIOGRAPHY, ANECDOTE, AND CRITICISM

IN LETTERS.

L-ACCOUNT OF HIS LOSS OF SIGHT.

John Milton to Leonard Philara, the Athenian.

I HAVE been always devotedly attached to the literature of Greece, and particularly to that of your Athens; and have never ceased to cherish the persuasion that that city would one day make me ample recompense for the warmth of my regard. The ancient genius of your renowned country has favored the completion of my prophecy in presenting me with your friendship and esteem. Though I was known to you only by my writings, and we were removed to such a distance from each

* Milton's eyesight began to fail when he was about thirty years of age, but the process of obscuration was so gradual that total blindness did not supervene for nine years. The affection was gutta serena, and left his eyes clear, and with no external disfigurement.

"My mind," says Coleridge, in his Biographia Literaria (3d vol. of Works, p. 168), "is not capable of forming a more august conception than arises from the contemplation of this great man in his latter days; poor, sick, old, blind, slandered, persecuted,—

"Darkness before, and danger's voice behind,'

in an age in which he was as little understood by the party for whom, as by that against whom, he had contended; and among men before whom he

John Milton to Leonard Philara, the Athenian—Account of his loss of Sight.

other, you most courteously addressed me by letter; and when you unexpectedly came to London and saw me who could no longer see, my affliction, which causes none to regard me with greater admiration, and perhaps many even with feelings of contempt, excited your tenderest sympathy and concern. You would not suffer me to abandon the hope of recovering my sight, and informed me you had an intimate friend at Paris-Dr. Thevenot, who was particularly celebrated in disorders of the eyes, whom you would consult about mine, if I would enable you to lay before him the causes and symptoms of the complaint. I will do what you desire, lest I seem to reject that aid which,. perhaps, may be offered me by Heaven. It is now, I think, about ten years since I perceived my vision to grow weak and dull, and, at the same time, I was troubled with pain in my kidneys and bowels, accompanied with flatulency. In the morning, if I began to read, as was my custom, my eyes instantly ached intensely, but were refreshed after a little corporeal exercise. The candle which I looked at seemed as it were encircled with a rainbow. Not long after, the sight in the left part of the left eye (which I lost some years before the other) became quite obscured, and prevented me from discerning any object on that side. The sight in my other eye has now been gradually and sensibly vanishing away for about three years; some months before it had entirely perished, though I stood motionless, every

strode so far as to dwarf himself by the distance; yet still listening to the music of his own thoughts, or, if additionally cheered, yet cheered only by the prophetic faith of two or three solitary individuals, he did nevertheless

Argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bore up, and steered
Right onward.”—H.

John Milton to Leonard Philara, the Athenian-Account of his loss of Sight.

thing I looked at seemed in motion to and fro. A stiff, cloudy vapor seemed to have settled on my forehead and temples, which usually occasions a sort of somnolent pressure upon my eyes, and particularly from dinner till the evening. So that I often recollect what is said of the poet Phineas in the Argonautics:

"A stupor deep his cloudy temples bound,

And when he walked he seemed as whirling round,

Or in a feeble trance he speechless lay."

I ought not to omit that while I had my sight, as soon as I lay down on my bed and turned on either side, a flood of light used to gush from my closed eyelids. Then, as my sight became daily more impaired, the colors became more faint, and were emitted with a certain inward crackling sound; but at present, every species of illumination being as it were extinguished, there is diffused around me nothing but darkness, or darkness mingled and streaked with an ashy brown. Yet the darkness in which I am perpetually immersed seems always, both night and day, to approach nearer to white than black; and when the eye is rolling in its socket, it admits a little particle of light, as through a chink. And, though your physician may kindle a small ray of hope, yet I make up my mind to the malady as quite incurable; and I often reflect, that as the wise man admonishes, days of darkness are destined to each of us, the darkness which I experience, less oppressive than that of the tomb, is, owing to the singular goodness of the Deity, passed amid the pursuits of literature, and the cheering salutations of friendship. But if, as is written, man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth from the mouth of God, why may not any one acquiesce in the privation of his

Alexander Pope to the Earl of Burlington-Journey to Oxford with Lintot.

sight, when God has so amply furnished his mind and his conscience with eyes? While He so tenderly provides for me, while He so graciously leads me by the hand, and conducts me on the way, I will, since it is His pleasure, rather rejoice than repine at being blind. And, my dear Philara, whatever may be the event, I bid you adieu with no less courage and composure than if I had the eyes of a lynx.

II.-JOURNEY TO OXFORD WITH LINTOT.

Alexander Pope to the Earl of Burlington.

MY LORD: If your mare could speak, she would give an account of what extraordinary company she had on the road; which, since she cannot do, I will.

It was the enterprising Mr. Lintot, the redoubtable rival of Mr. Tonson, who, mounted on a stone-horse (no disagreeable companion to your Lordship's mare), overtook me in Windsor Forest. He said he heard I designed for Oxford, the seat of the muses, and would, as my bookseller, by all means accompany me thither.

I asked him where he got his horse? He answered he got it of his publisher. "For that rogue, my printer," said he, "disappointed me; I hoped to put him in good humor by a treat at the tavern, of a brown fricassee of rabbits, which cost two shillings, with two quarts of wine, besides my conversation. I thought myself cocksure of his horse, which he readily promised me, but said that Mr. Tonson had just such another design of going to Cambridge, expecting there the copy of a new kind of Horace from Dr. and if Mr. Tonson went, he was pre