The Duke dares not enter into farther particulars of the awful catastrophe he deplores, but thus speaks of his murdered King. "Such was the tragical end of a prince, on whom nature, with a lavish profusion, had bestowed all her advantages, except that of a death such as he merited. I have already observed, that his nature was so happy, and his limbs formed with such proportion, as constitutes begged the king not to go out of the Louvre that day; but he made her the same answer.' P. de L'Etoile. "The coach turned from the street St. Honoré into that part called Féronnerie, which was then very narrow, and made more so by the little shops erected against the wall of the churchyard of St. Innocent. A little embarrassment was occasioned by the meeting of two carts, one loaden with wine, the other with hay; so that the coach was obliged to stop in a corner of the street, over against the study of a certain notary, whose name was Poutrain. The footmen took a nearer way, that they might with less difficulty come up with the coach at the end of the street; so that there were only two which followed the coach, and one of these went to make way for it to go on, while the other in the mean time took that opportunity to fasten his garter.' Ibid. "Ravillac, who had followed the coach from the Louvre, perceiving that it stopped, and that there was no person near it, advanced to that side where he observed the king sat. His cloak being wrapped round his left arm served to conceal the knife, which he held in his hand; and sliding between the shops and the coach, as if he was attempting to pass by, like others, he supported one foot upon one of the spokes of the wheel, and the other upon a stone, and, drawing a knife edged on both sides, gave the king a wound a little above the heart, between the third and fourth rib. His majesty had just turned towards the duke of Epernon, and was reading a letter; or, as others say, leaning towards the marechal Lavardin, to whom he was whispering. Henry, feeling himself struck, cried out, I am wounded;' and, in the same instant, the assassin perceiving that the point of his knife had been stopped by a rib, he repeated the blow with such quickness, that not one of those who were in the coach had time to oppose nor even to perceive it. Henry, by raising his arm, gave a fairer aim for the second blow, which, according to Péréfixe and L'Etoile, went directly to his heart; and according to Rigault and the French Mercury, near the auricle of the heart; so that the blood gushing out of his mouth, and from his wound, the unhappy prince expired, breathing a deep sigh; or, as Matthieu asserts, pronouncing, with a faint and dying voice, these words, It is nothing.' The murderer aimed a third stroke at him, which the duke of Epernon received in his sleeve.' Ibid. "It is the opinion of the author of the French Mercury, that Henry IV. died at the first blow, which,' said he, entering between the fifth and sixth rib, pierced the vein within, round the auricle of the heart, and reached to the vena cava, which, being cut, that great prince was in an instant deprived of speech and life. The second stroke only razed the skin, and made no impression.' not only what is called a well-made man, but indicates strength, vigour, and activity; his complexion was animated; all the lineaments of his face had that agreeable liveliness which forms a sweet and happy physiognomy, and perfectly suited to that engaging easiness of manners which, though sometimes mixed with majesty, never lost the graceful affability and easy gaiety so natural to that great prince. With regard to the qualities of his heart and mind, I shall tell the reader nothing new, by saying that he was candid, sincere, grateful, compassionate, generous, wise, penetrating; in a word, endowed with all those great and amiable qualities which in these Memoirs we have so often had occasion of admiring in him. "He loved all his subjects as a father, and the whole state as the head of a family: and this disposition it was, that recalled him even from the midst of his pleasures, to the care of rendering his people happy, and his kingdom flourishing: hence proceeded his readiness in conceiving, and his industry in perfecting, a great number of useful regulations; many I have already specified: and I shall sum up all, by saying, that there were no conditions, employments, or professions, to which his reflections did not extend; and that with such clearness and penetration, that the changes he projected could not be overthrown by the death of their author, as it but too often happened in this monarchy. It was his desire, he said, that glory might influence his last years, and make them, at once, useful to the world, and acceptable to God: his was a mind, in which the ideas of what is great, uncommon, and beautiful, seemed to rise of themselves: hence it was, that he looked upon adversity as a mere transitory evil, and prosperity as his natural state." Thus warned, and knowing that all was over, the Duke, overwhelmed with sorrow, returned to his house, but he was soon drawn thence by the importunities of the Queen, whose grief at the sight of so dear a friend proved how sensible she was of the severity of the loss she had sustained. Even now it appears, however, that some in her household rejoiced; and from this time Conchini and his wife Leonora, who had ever been the enemies of Henry's peace, gain a complete ascendancy over the Queen, who is in the general consternation declared Regent, and of course the downfall of Sully and the perversion of his excellent system may be foreseen,-this weak Princess, though affectionately attached to her late husband, and well aware of all he owed to the Duke of Sully, being entirely governed by her insidious Florentines. The Supplement to the life of the Duke of Sully," is very interesting, and we regret that our limits forbid further extracts. This great man closed a life so full of useful exertion, and dignified tranquillity; so honourable to himself, and beneficial to his country; " at the castle of Villebon, Dec. 22d, 1641, aged 82 years." His widow erected a noble mausoleum to perpetuate his virtues, and honours; and survived him until 1659, when she died in her 97th year. ART. IX.-Pithy, Pleasant, and Profitable Workes of Maister Skelton, Poet Laureate to Henry VIII. Britannicarum Literarum lumen et decus. London, 1736. Erasmi Epist. ad Hen. VIII. There are many cogent reasons for not pursuing the order of time in these our notices of the authors of ages gone by. One, among others, is,--that such an arrangement would lose us many a good critique; for we should only be able to accept the offers of those who had chosen a subject suited in time as well as in subject. For our readers must not imagine that we are some particular few who devote ourselves to the studies necessary for establishing and adorning a work of this kind, and who might just as well commence at the beginning as well as any where else, and thus pioneer our way through all the rubbish of antiquity, and arrive at the remarkable and the interesting by regular approaches. This mode has been recommended to us by more than one kind anonymous friend, but such individuals have however mistaken the nature of our constitution. They who will cast an eye over our contents, and give but a peep into the various styles of writing, and different modes of thinking, in our volumes, will readily perceive that we are not a body organized in the most regular fashion; and that we by no means proceed on any settled and determinate plan. A great number of our articles have been written by those who had a decided partiality for the author they were reviewing, whose beauties had long been intimately known to them, and had often, perhaps, afforded a consolation and a resource. While this cir cumstance may give somewhat of an eulogical character to our work, it assures a vivid feeling and relish for the subject, and very frequently a spirit in the expression, and delight in the analysis of it, which we may, with boldness, contrast to the lifelessness which the necessity of proceeding in a regular chronological series would have necessarily produced. In our literary and friendly intercourse, it is no uncommon occurrence to meet with lovers of old English books: amongst these, we almost invariably find each has some two or three favourites. The temptation of spreading the fame of a dear but antiquated and, perhaps, obscure friend; of dwelling upon his character; retracing the source of the pleasure he has felt in his society; and dragging into light those hidden and secret virtues, only known to himself; is generally too much for him who has a real attachment; and he, at length, yields to gracing our pages with as accurate a portrait as his art and zeal will permit him to take. In this kind we may instance the papers on the Memoirs of a Cavalier, by Defoe; and the Arcadia of Sir Philip Sidney; which never could have been written without a sincere and ardent love of the subject, which a wading and plodding up to them in regular succession must have damped or destroyed. Besides, we have long tasks in the performance of our duty, which cannot fail to be attended with some portion of weariness and disgust; so that, unless we were privileged to light now and then upon a flower, though not in the beaten path, we should be inclined to throw up our labours at once. We may add, that an attention to chronological order would have filled our earlier numbers with such authors as we are at present about to review; an argument which may be more forcibly felt at the end than at the beginning of this article we well know that such an arrangement would have conferred as little pleasure upon our readers as profit upon ourselves. While, however, Skelton is not exactly of our choice, he is yet a curious, able, and remarkable writer, and one who was styled, in his turn, by as great a scholar as ever lived, the light and ornament of Britain. And as he doubtless produced a considerable effect upon English poetry and the English language, he is well worthy of a notice here. Very little is known of the life of John Skelton, and that little to be got from the Athena Oxonienses. He passed through Oxford with a high reputation, and became rector of Dysse, in Norfolk, when he fell under the displeasure of Nykke, bishop of Norwich. Not only because he was esteemed more fit for the stage than the pew or pulpit," but because he indulged too freely in his writings, in censures on the Monks and Dominicans; and, moreover, had the hardihood to reflect, in no very mild terms, on the manners and life of Cardinal Wolsey. For which last offence he was so closely pursued by the cardinal's officers, that he was obliged to take sanctuary at Westminster, where he was kindly entertained by John Islip, the abbot, and continued there till the time of his death. Anthony Wood adds, that "Erasmus, in an epistle to King Henry VIII., stiles this poet Britannicarum Literarum Lumen et Decus, and of the like opinion were many of his time. Yet the generality said, that his witty discourses were biting; his laughter opprobrious and scornful; and his jokes commonly sharp and reflecting." Skelton's reputation was undoubtedly high among his cotemporaries; and we cannot give a better evidence of it, nor, at the same time, introduce Skelton better to the notice of our readers, than by the praises of his friend Thomas Churchyard, who is, at the same time, recommending the early English poets in general. Fine verses trimly wrought, In sentence plaine and short, A higher verse, a statelyer style, Our English verse and rhyme, The grace whereof doth touch the Gods, And reach the cloudes sometime! Thro' earth and waters deepe The pen by skill doth passe, The vertue and the vice Of every wight alive: The hony-combe that bee doth make Is not so sweet in hive, As are the golden leaves That drop from poets' head, Which do surmount our common talke As far as gold doth lead. The flour is sifted cleane, The bran is cast aside, And so good corne is known from chaffe, Piers Ploughman was full plaine, |