þed. She knows nothing of her aunt Philips or A. gar's descendents, but believes that they are all extinét: as is likewise Sir Christopher Milton's family, the last of which were two maiden sisters, Mrs. Mary and Mrs. Katharine Milton, who lived and died at Highgate: And she herself is the only survivor of Milton's own family ; unless there be fome in the EastIndies, which she very much questions, for she used to hear from them sometimes, but has heard nothing now for several years: fo that in all probability Milton's whole family would be extinct with her *, and

he

* Mrs. Folter died at Illington, May 9. 1754, in the 66th year of her age ;

and by her death all Milton's family became extinct. She had lived many years in a low way, and was at last depressed with poverty and the informities of old age. It does not appear, that any of her grandfather's admirers took any notice of her till 1750; wher, on the sth of April that year, Comus, wrote by Milton, was represented at Drury-Lane theatre, with a new prologue spoken by Mr. Garrick, for her benefit, which produced her above 130 l.

The prologue was printed both at London and Ediaburgh for her benefit, and is as follows:

Ye patriot crouds, who burn for England's fame,
¥e nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name,
Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by Aatt'ring rhymes,
Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times;
Immortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise !
Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close Malevolence, or public Kage;
Let Study, worn with Virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, distinguish'd by your smile, Mall cell,
That never BRITON can in vain.excel;
The slighted arts futurity shall trust,
And rising ages halten to be just.

At length our mighty Bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise ;
And bafiled Spite, with hopeless Anguish dumb,
Vields to Renown the centuries to come.
Wich ardent hatte, each candidate of fame
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring name :
Ele secs, and pitying fees, vain Wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he scoru'd below,
.*? hile crouts aloit the laureat bust bcholl
Or trace bis form on circulaiing gold;

Unknojn,

le can live only in his writings : And, fuch is the caprice of fortune, this grand-daughter of a man, who will be an everlasting glory to the nation, has now for fooie years with her husband kept a little chandler's or grocer's shop, for their fubfiftence, lately at t'ie Lower Halloway in the road between High-gate and London, and at present in Cock lane, not far from Shore-ditch church. Another thing let me mention, that is equally to the honour of the present age. Though Milton received not above 10 l. at two dife ferent payments for the copy of Paradise Lost, yet Mr. Hoyle, author of the Treatise on the Game of Whilt, after having disposed of all the first iinpretlion, sold the copy to the bookseller, as I have been informed, for 200 guineas.

To this Life from Dr. Newton, we shall subjoin an account of the manner in which Milton lost his fight, 'which he fo pathetićally laments in the beginning of book iii. of Paradise Lost, taken from his own letter to Leonard Philaras, envoy from the Duke of Parma to the French King, dated, Westminster, Sept. 28. 1654.

.“ I think ’tis about ten years, more or less, “ fince I began to perceive, that my eye-light grew “ weak and dim, and at the same time my spleen and " bowels to be oppressed and troubled with flatus ;

and in the morning, when I began to read, accorda

ing to my custom, my eyes grew painful immedia. “ ately, and to refuse reading, but were refreshed af.

Unknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay,
And Want hung threat'ning o'er her slow decay,
What though the shine with no MILTONIAN firem
No fav'ring Mufe her morning-dreams inspire ?
Yet fofter claims the inelting heart engage;
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age :
Her's the mild merits of domestic life;
The patient suff'rer, and the faithful wife.
Thus grac'd with humble Virtue's native charms,
Her Grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms,
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.
Yours is the charge, ye Fair, ye Wise, ye Brave!
"Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave !

D 2

itt ter

“ ter a moderate exercise of the body. A certain Iris

began to surround the light of the candle, if I look“ ed at it; soon after which, on the left part of the " left eye, (for that was fome years sooner clouded) " a milt arose, which hid every thing on that fide; " and looking forward, if I shut my right eye, ob“ jects appeared smaller. My other eye also, for these " last three years, failing by degrees, some months « before all fight was abolished, things which I look" ed upon seemed to swim to the right and left. « Certain inveterate vapours seem to possess my fore " head and temples, which, after meat especially, s quite to evening generally urge and deprefs

, my eyes with a fleepy heaviness. Nor would I omit, " that, whilst there was as yet some remainder of « fight, I no sooner lay down in my bed, and turnto ed on my side, but a copious light dazzled out of

my shut eyes : and, as my fight diminished, every

day colours gradually more obfcure Aashed out us with vehemence; but now, that the lucid is in a “ manner wholly extinct, a direct blackness, or else

spotted, and as it were woven with ash colour, is ** used to pour itself in. Nevertheless, the constant ss and settled darkness that is before me, as well by " night as by day, seems nearer to the whitith than " the blackish; and the eye, rolling itself a little, • seems to admit I know not what little fmallness of

light, as through a chink.”

The following TRANSLATION and SONNET are taken

from Toland's and Birch's accounts of Milton's Life.

The Verses to CHRISTINA Queen of Sweden, vol.

ii. p. ult. translated.

B
Right martial Maid, Queen of the frozen zone,

The northern pole supports thy shining throne;
Behold what furrows Age and Steel can plow;
The helmet's weight oppress’d this wrinkled brow.

Thro'

Thro' Fate's untrodden paths I move, my hands
Still act my free-born people's bold commands:
Yet this itern flade to you submits his frowns,
Nor are these looks always severe to crowns.

TOLAND's Life of Milton.

A SONNET, upon occasion of the Plague in London,

said to be written by Milton, and to have beenlately found on a glass-window at Chalfont, where he resided during the continuance of that dreadful

calamity, FAIR mirror of foul times! whose fragile sheen

Shall, as it blazeth, break; while Providence: (Ay watching o'er lais saints with eye unseen,) Spreads the red rod of angry peftilence,

To sweep the wicked and their counsels hencer: Yea all to break the pride of luftful kings,

Who Heaven's lore rejea for brutish fenfe ;
As erst he scourg'd Jeflides' fin of yore

For the fair Hittite, when on seraph's wings
He sent hiin war, or plague, or famine fore *.

Birch's Life of Miltoni. * If this fonnet was really wrote by Milton, he has blundered in representing the pellilence as a judgment upon David for his adul--tery with Bathsheba, whereas iš was on account of his numbering:

the people.

JOANNIS MILTONI.

Q

UI legis Amisfim Paradisum, grandia magni

Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis? Ros cunctas, & cunétarum primordia rerum,

Et fata, & fines continet iste liber.
Intima pandantur magni penetralia mundi,

Scribitur & toto quicquid in orbe latet :
Terræque, tractufquc maris, cælumque profundum,

Sulphureumque Erebi, flammivomumque fpecus :
Quæque colunt terras, pontumque, & tartara cæca,

Quæque colunt fummi lucida regna poli :
Et quodcunque ullis conclufum eft finibus usquam

Et fine fine Chaos, & sine fine Deus :
Et fine fine magis, si qnid magis eft fine fine,

In Christo erga homines conciliatus amor.
Hiee qui fperaret quis crederet efle futura?

Et tamen hæc hodie terra Britanna legit.
O quantos in bella duces! quæ protulit arma, !

Quæ canit, & quanta prælia dira tuba !
Caleltes acies! atque in certamine cæhım !

Et quæ cæleftes pugna deceret agros! Quantus in æthcreis tollit fe Lucifer armis !

Atque ipso graditur vix Micbaele minor!
Quantis, & quam funestis concurritur iris,

Dum ferus hic Itellas protegit, ille rapit!
Dum vulsos montes ceu tela reciproca torquent,

Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt:
Stat dubius cui le parti concedat Olympus,

Et metuit pugnæ non superesse suæ.
At firoul in cælis Meslize insignia fulgent,

Et cursus animos, armaque digoa Deo,
Horrendumque rotæ strident, & læva rotarum

Erunpunt torvis fulgura luminibus,
Et flammæ vibrant, & vera tonitrua rauco

Admiltis flammis infonuere polo :
Excidit altonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis,

Et caffis dextris irrita tela cadunt ;
Al pænis fugiunt, & con foret Orcus asylum,

Tafernis certant condere le tenebris.
Cedite Romani icriptorcs, cedite Graii,

Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus. Hæc quicunque leget tantum ceciniffe putabit Maviidem ranas, Virgilinm culices.

SANUEL BARROW, M. D.

On