impassioned text of a great poet (for mysterious is the life that connects
all modes of passion with rhythmus), let us suppose the casual reader to
have had enough. And now at closing for the sake of change, let us treat
him to a harlequin trick upon another theme. Did the reader ever happen to
see a sheriff's officer arresting an honest gentleman, who was doing no
manner of harm to gentle or simple, and immediately afterwards a second
sheriff's officer arresting the first--by which means that second officer
merits for himself a place in history; for at the same moment he liberates
a deserving creature (since an arrested officer cannot possibly bag his
prisoner), and he also avenges the insult put upon that worthy man?
Perhaps the reader did _not_ ever see such a sight; and, growing personal,
he asks _me_, in return, if _I_ ever saw it. To say the truth, I never
_did_; except once, in a too-flattering dream; and though I applauded so
loudly as even to waken myself, and shouted '_encore_,' yet all went for
nothing; and I am still waiting for that splendid exemplification of
retributive justice. But why? Why should it be a spectacle so uncommon?
For surely those official arresters of men must want arresting at times as
well as better people. At least, however, _en attendant_ one may luxuriate
in the vision of such a thing; and the reader shall now see such a vision
rehearsed. He shall see Mr. Landor arresting Milton--Milton, of all men!--
for a flaw in his Roman erudition; and then he shall see me instantly
stepping up, tapping Mr. Landor on the shoulder, and saying, 'Officer,
you're wanted;' whilst to Milton I say, touching my hat, 'Now, sir, be
off; run for your life, whilst I hold his man in custody, lest he should
fasten on you again.'

What Milton had said, speaking of the '_watchful_ cherubim,' was--

'Four faces each
Had, _like a double Janus_;'