A great part of antiquity contented their hopes of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls,—­a good way to continue their memories, while having the advantage of plural successions they could not but act something remarkable in such variety of beings, and, enjoying the fame of their passed selves, make accumulation of glory unto their last durations.  Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable night of nothing, were content to recede into the common being, and make one particle of the public soul of all things, which was no more than to return into their unknown and divine original again.  Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving their bodies in sweet consistencies, to attend the return of their souls.  But all was vanity, feeding the wind, and folly.  The Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or Time hath spared, avarice now consumeth.  Mummy is become merchandise.  Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.”

Milton was a contemporary of Sir Thomas Browne, and, like all great poets, was a master of resounding prose.  All that he wrote, both in verse and prose, is severely classic in its form.  His Samson Agonistes is perhaps the finest example of a play written in English after the manner of the Greek dramas.

Milton wrote The Areopagitica in defence of the liberty of publishers and printers of books.  And it stands for all time as the first and greatest argument against interference with the freedom of the press.

The Areopagitae were judges at Athens in its more flourishing time, who sat on Mars Hill and made decrees and passed sentences which were delivered in public and commanded universal respect.

I will quote one of the finest passages in this great and splendid utterance:—­

“I deny not but that it is of greatest concernment in the Church and Commonwealth to have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves as well as men; and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpest justice on them as malefactors:  for books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.  I know they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragons’ teeth; and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.

“And yet on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself; kills the Image of God as it were in the eye.  Many a man lives a burden to the earth; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit; embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

“’Tis true, no age can restore a life, whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss;