aliant in war, you should grow
debauched in peace, and that you should not have learnt, by so
eminent, so remarkable an example before your eyes, to fear God, and
work righteousness; for my part I shall easily grant and confess (for
I cannot deny it), whatever ill men may speak or think of you, to be
very true. And you will find in time that God's displeasure against
you will be greater than it has been against your adversaries--greater
than His grace and favour have been to yourseves, which you have had
larger experience of than any other nation under heaven.'

This controversy naturally excited greater interest abroad, where Latin
was familiarly known, than ever it did here at home. Though it cost
Milton his sight, or at all events accelerated the hour of his blindness,
he appears greatly to have enjoyed conducting a high dispute in the face
of Europe. 'I am,' so he says, 'spreading abroad amongst the cities, the
kingdoms, and nations, the restored culture of civility and freedom of
life.' We certainly managed in this affair of the execution of Charles
to get rid of that note of insularity which renders our politics
uninviting to the stranger.

Milton, despite his blindness, remained in the public service until after
the death of Cromwell; in fact, he did not formally resign until after
the Restoration. He played no part, having none to play, in the
performances that occurred between those events. He poured forth
pamphlets, but there is no reason to believe that they were read
otherwise than carelessly and by few. His ideas were his own, and never
had a chance of becoming fruitful. There seemed to him to be a ready and
an easy way to establish a free Commonwealth, but on the whole it turned
out that the easiest thing to do was to invite Charles Stuart to reascend
the throne of his ancestors, which he did, and Milton went into hiding.

It is terrible to think how risky the situation was. Milton was
undoubtedly in danger of his life, and _Paradise Lost_ was unwritten. He
was for a time under arrest. But after all he was not one of the
regicides--he was only a scribe who had defended regicide. Neither was
he a man well associated. He was a solitary, and, for the most part, an
unpopular thinker, and blind withal. He was left alone for the rest of
his days. He lived first in Jewin Street, off Aldersgate Street; and
finally in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. He had married, four year