Milton was a good master, but a severe one.  The boys were kept long hours at their lessons, and we are told that in a year’s time they could read a Latin author at sight, and within three years they went through the best Latin and Greek poets.  But “as he was severe on one hand, so he was most familiar and free in his conversation to those to whom most sour in his way of education.”  He himself showed the example of “hard study and spare diet,"** for besides teaching the boys he worked and wrote steadily, study being ever the “grand affair of his life."** Only now and again he went to see “young sparks” of his acquaintance, “and now and then to keep a gawdy-day."** It is scarce to be imagined that a gawdy-day in which John Milton took part could have been very riotous.

Aubrey. *Philips.

Then after Milton had been leading this severe quiet life for about four years, a strange thing happened.  One day he set off on a journey.  He told no one why he went.  Every one thought it was but a pleasure jaunt.  He was away about a month, then “home he returns a married man that went out a bachelor."* We can imagine how surprised the little boys would be to find that their grave teacher of thirty-four had brought home a wife, a wife, too, who was little more than a girl a few years older than themselves.  And as it was a surprise to them it is still a surprise to all who read and write about Milton’s life to this day.  With the new wife came several of her friends, and so the quiet house was made gay with feasting and merriment for a few days; for strange to say, Milton, the stern Puritan, had married a Royalist lady, the daughter of a cavalier.  After these few merry days the gay friends left, and the young bride remained behind with her grave and learned husband, in her new quiet home.  But to poor little Mary Milton, used to a great house and much merry coming and going, the life she now led seemed dull beyond bearing.  She was not clever; indeed, she was rather stupid, so after having led a “philosophical life” for about a month, she begged to be allowed to go back to her mother.

Philips.

Milton let he go on the understanding that she should return to him in a month or two.  But the time appointed came and went without any sign of a returning wife.  Milton wrote to her and got no answer.  Several times he wrote, and still no answer.  Then he sent a messenger.  But the messenger returned without an answer, or at least without a pleasing one.  He had indeed been “dismissed with some sort of contempt.”

It would seem the cavalier family regretted having given a daughter in marriage to the Puritan poet.  The poet, on his side, now resolved to cast out forever from his heart and home his truant wife.  He set himself harder than before to the task of writing and teaching.  He hid his aching heart and hurt pride as best he might beneath a calm and stern bearing.  But life had changed for him.  Up to this time all had gone as he wished.  Ever since, when a boy of twelve, he had sat till midnight over his books with a patient waiting-maid beside him, those around had smoothed his path in life for him.  His will had been law until a girl of seventeen defied him.