In Chapter 5 of Anne of Avonlea, it is the end of Anne’s first day teaching school and Anne and Marilla sit down for tea.

“Well, how did you get along?” Marilla wanted to know.
“Ask me that a month later and I may be able to tell you. I can’t now …I don’t know myself …I’m too near it. My thoughts feel as if they had been all stirred up until they were thick and muddy. The only thing I feel really sure of having accomplished today is that I taught Cliffie Wright that A is A. He never knew it before. Isn’t it something to have started a soul along a path that may end in Shakespeare and Paradise Lost?”

In Chapter 3 of Rilla of Ingleside, Rilla delights in the bells hanging on the Tree Lovers.  Milton’s Paradise Lost describes a beautiful Eden before Adam and Eve met their downfall.

Listen, Miss Oliver–I can hear those old bells in Rainbow Valley quite clearly. They’ve been hanging there for over ten years.”
“Their wind chime always makes me think of the aerial, celestial music Adam and Eve heard in Milton’s Eden,” responded Miss Oliver.

In Chapter 6 of Emily Climbs, Elizabeth and Laura prepare Emily’s wardrobe for going away to school in Shrewsbury.

Elizabeth and Laura held long conferences over Emily’s clothes. She must have an outfit that would cast no discredit on the Murrays, but common sense and not fashion was to give the casting vote. Emily herself had no say in the matter. Laura and Elizabeth argued “from noon to dewy eve” one day as to whether Emily might have a taffeta silk blouse–Ilse had three–and decided against it, much to Emily’s disappointment.

In Chapter 1,6 of Mistress Pat, hell breaks loose at a Silver Bush Christmas when Aunt Edith is caught in a dog fight. In the phrase, “It seemed that Pandemonium reigned at Silver Bush for the next quarter of an hour,” ‘Pandemonium’ alludes to the capital of Hell in Milton’s poem.

And then, as if it had been waiting for Judy’s words as a cue, the Jerusalem cherry showed what it could really do when it gave its mind to it. It seemed as if everything happened at once. Tillytuck, made sulkier still by Judy’s speech, opened the door and stalked furiously out into the rain. Uncle Tom’s wet, dripping Newfoundland, who had followed the Swallowfield folks over, dashed in. Just Dog simply couldn’t stand that, after being fallen on. He flew at the intruder. The two dogs rolled in a furry avalanche right against Pat who had started for the dining room door bearing a trayful of soup plates full of a delicious brew that Judy called chicken broth. Down went poor Pat in a frightful mêlée of dogs, broken plates and spilled soup. Hearing the din, every one, except Cousin Nicholas, rushed out of the dining room. Aunt Hazel’s two year old baby began to shriek piercingly. Aunt Edith took a heart attack on the spot. Judy Plum, for the first and only time in her life, lost her head but lost it to good purpose. She grabbed a huge pepper-pot from the dresser and hurled the contents full in the faces of the writhing, snarling dogs. It was effective. The Newfoundland tore loose, dashed wildly through the dining room, ruining Aunt Jessie’s new blue georgette dress as he collided with her, tore through the hall, tore upstairs, ran into a delicately papered pastel wall, tore down again, and escaped through the front door which Billy Madison had presence of mind enough to open for him. As for Just Dog, he had bolted through the cellar door, which had been left open, and struck the board shelf across the steps. Just Dog, shelf, three tin pails, two stewpans, and a dozen glass jars of Judy’s baked damson preserves all crashed down the cellar steps together!

It seemed that Pandemonium reigned at Silver Bush for the next quarter of an hour. Aunt Edith was gasping for breath and demanding a cold compress. She had to be taken upstairs by Aunt Barbara and ministered to.

“Excitement always brings on that pain in my heart,” she murmured piteously. “Judy Plum knows that.”

Paradise Lost
John Milton

(excerpt from Book I)

Nor was his name unheard or unador’d
In ancient Greece; and in AUSONIAN land
Men call’d him MULCIBER; and how he fell
From Heav’n, they fabl’d, thrown by angry JOVE
Sheer o’re the Chrystal Battlements: from Morn
To Noon he fell, from Noon to dewy Eve,
A Summers day; and with the setting Sun
Dropt from the Zenith like a falling Star,
On LEMNOS th’ AEGAEAN Ile: thus they relate,
Erring; for he with this rebellious rout
Fell long before; nor aught avail’d him now
To have built in Heav’n high Towrs;

The entire poem can be read online at Project Gutenberg