MARIGNY. the minister with such means of defence as might baffle all the efforts of his adversaries. Some pretext, however, was necessary to cover the iniquity of this proceeding; he was therefore accused of having conspired against the life of the late king; and, by an instance of unparalleled injustice, his effects were immediately confiscated, and were not restored even after his innocence had been established. The king, indeed, on his death bed felt a remorse of conscience, and did all that he could to repair this injury. In his last will he ordered all the lands and effects belonging to Ralph de Preles to be restored, whether they were in possession of the crown or of individuals. But it is not known whether his orders were executed. Many other persons were involved in the disgrace of Marigny, particularly all such as had been anywise concerned with him in the administration of the finances. These were committed to different prisons; some put to the torture, for the purpose of extorting from them something that might tend to criminate the minister; but, either from gratitude to their benefactor, or from respect for truth, they bore the pain with fortitude, and made no confession. The count of Valois was highly disappointed. Nor did he succeed better in a proclamation he issued, inviting all persons, whether rich or poor, who had any complaints to make against the superintendant of the finances, to appear in the king's court, where they might depend upon having justice done them. Not a soul appeared; not a single complaint was preferred. The prosecution, however, was carried on; and, when every thing was prepared, Marigny was conducted to the wood of Vincennes, to hear the charges exhibited against him, before an assembly at which the king presided in person, assisted by a great number of nobles and prelates. The accusations were numerous; but the most serious were these:-That he had debased the coin; burthened the people with king to make him presents to an imtaxes; artfully persuaded the late mense amount; stolen considerable use of Edmund de Goth, a relation sums, that had been destined for the of the pope; issued various orders unauthorized by the command of his sovereign; and maintained a traitormings. ous correspondence with the Fle rest founded on facts had been acts of the Such of these charges as were king, and not of the minister; the proof. Nor, indeed, did the count of were wholly unsupported by Valois attempt to bring any proof; the forms of justice, that he refused so little regard did he pay even to to hear what the party accused had ny's brothers, however, the bishop to urge in his own defence. Marigof Beauvais, and the archbishop of Sens, used all their credit with the king to obtain for him a permission, that had never been denied to the swering juridically to the various most atrocious culprits-that of ancharges that had been brought against him. The king, conscious that what he desired was just, readily complied with it. He went still farther. Enraged at finding nothing but vague assertions, unsupported by was produced against the minister proof, he expressed his determina, tion to do him justice by immediately releasing him from confinement. But he was prevented, by the interfe this laudable resolution. Charles had rence of his uncle, from executing proceeded too far to retract, and his influence over the mind of his nephew was such, that he persuaded days, when he did not doubt of being him to let the matter rest for some able to convince him more fully of his minister's guilt. witnesses, who deposed, that Alips He then proceeded to suborn some de Mons, wife to Marigny, and the lady of Canteleu, his sister, had had recourse to witchcraft in order to save him, and that they had made Valois, and some of the barons in the images of the king, the count of wax. In these days of ignorance and superstition, it was believed, that any operations performed on such images would affect the persons they represented; and in the ancient chronicle of St. Denis it is gravely asserted, that so long as these had lasted, the king, count, and barons would have daily wasted away, till they had died. Absurd as this may appear, the two ladies were seized and confined in the prison of the Louvre, and the magician, James de Lor, who had assisted them in their magic incantations, was committed to the Chatelet, with his wife, who was afterwards burned, and his servant, who expired on a gibbet. A report was presently propagated, that de Lor had hanged himself in prison; it is probable he had been privately strangled. Be that as it may, his death was received as a proof of his guilt. Lewis was young, simple, and inexperienced. The waxen images were shown to him; the self-inflicted punishment of the magician was enforced; his credulity proved stronger than his judgment; he withdrew his protection from Marigny, and consigned him to the care and disposal of his implacable foe. The count of Valois, having now attained the summit of his wishes, assembled a few barons and knights at the wood of Vincennes, ordered the accusations to be read to them, and spared no pains to convince them of their truth. Without hearing any evidence, without admitting the prisoner to speak in his defence, he was declared guilty of all the crimes laid to his charge, and, notwithstanding his rank, was sentenced to be hanged. This iniquitous sentence was executed on the thirtieth of April, 1315, at break of day (the time at which all executions were then performed), and his body was afterwards suspended on a gibbet at Montfaucon. Charles was disappointed in his expectations of applause. Nothing is more common in the minds of the people than sudden transitions from rage to compassion. Highly irritable, their resentment is easily roused but destroy its object, it instantly subsides, and they are the first to accuse themselves of injustice. This was precisely the case with regard to Marigny. They had been dazzled by his splendour, and had been eager to promote his downfall; when that was effected, they were moved by his misfortunes, and began to inquire into the justice of his condemnation. What to resentment had seemed clear, to compassion appeared mys terious. The irregularity of the proceedings now struck them in a forcible point of view, and they loudly condemned those measures, which before they had as loudly commended. The count of Valois himself, on his death-bed, acknowledged the injustice of his own conduct, and the innocence of Marigny, whose family was, at a subsequent period, reinstated in all the honours and possessions of which he had been unjustly deprived. For the Literary Magazine. ANECDOTES OF MILTON AND HIS FAMILY. A MAN'S will, though a matter executed after his death, generally throws no small light upon his life. Milton's will is a great literary curiosity, and will be much prized by the biographer, as it serves to elucidate many circumstances of Milton's life, manners, and habits. This will is nuncupative, and is as follows. Memorandum, that John Milton, late of the parish of S. Giles Cripplegate in the countie of Middlesex gentleman, deceased, at severall times before his death, and in particular, on or about the twentieth day of July, in the year of our Lord God 1674, being of perfect mind and memorie, declared his will and intent as to the disposall of his estate after his death, in these words following, 94 ANECDOTES OF MILTON AND HIS FAMILY. or like effect: "The portion due to me from Mr. Powell, my former wife's father, I leave to the unkind children I had by her, having received no parte of it: but my mean ing is, they shall have no other benefit of my estate than the said portion, and what I have besides done for them; they having been very undutifull to me. All the residue of my estate I leave to [the] disposall of Elizabeth my loving wife." Which words, or to the same effect, were spoken in presence of Christopher Milton. X [Mark of] ELIZABETH FISHER. Nov. 23, 1674. Christopher Milton was John Milton's younger brother; a strong royalist, and a professed papist. After the civil war, he made his composition through his brother's interest. Being a practitioner in the law, he lived to be an ancient bencher of the Inner Temple: was made a judge of the common pleas, and knighted by king James the second; but, on account of his age and infirmities, he was at length dismissed from business, and retired to Ipswich, where he resided all the latter part of his life. Owing to the want of the forms which the civil law requires, the judge pronounced this nuncupative will invalid, and decreed administration of the intestate's effects to the widow. Milton's biographers say, that he sold his library before his death, and left his family fifteen hundred pounds, which his widow Elizabeth seized, and only gave one hundred pounds to each of his three daughters. Of this widow, Philips relates, rather harshly, that she persecuted his children in his life time, and cheated them at his death. Milton had children, who survived him, only by his first wife. Of three daughters, Anne, the first, deformed in stature, but with a handsome face, married a master-builder, and died of her first childbirth, with the infant. Mary, the second, died single. Deborah, the third, and the greatest favourite of the three, went over to Ireland as companion to a lady in her father's lifetime; and afterwards married Abraham Clarke, a weaver in Spital-fields, and died, aged seventy-six, in August, 1727. This is the daughter that used to read to her father; and was well known to Richardson, and professor Ward: a woman of a very cultivated understanding, and not inelegant of manners. She was generously patronised by Addison, and by queen Caroline, who sent her a present of fifty guineas. She had seven sons and three daughters, of whom only Celeb and Elizabeth are remembered. Celeb migrated to fort Saint George, where perhaps he died. Elizabeth, the youngest daughter, married Thomas Forster, a weaver in Spital-fields, and had seven children, who all died. She is said to have been a plain sensible woman; and kept a petty grocer's or chandler's shop, first at lower Holloway, and afterwards in Cocklane, near Shoreditch church. In April, 1750, Comus was acted for her benefit: doctor Johnson, who wrote the prologue, says, "she had so little acquaintance with diversion or gaiety, that she did not know what was intended when a benefit was offered her." The profits of the performance were only one hundred and thirty pounds; though doctor Newton contributed largely, and twenty pounds were given by Jacob Tonson, the bookseller. On this trifling augmentation to their small stock, she and her husband removed to Islington, where they both soon died. These seems to have been the grounds, upon which Milton's nuncupative will was pronounced invalid. First, there was wanting what the civil law terms a rogatio testium, or a solemn bidding of the persons present, to take notice that the words he was going to deliver were to be his will. The civil law requires this form, to make men's verbal declarations operate as wills; otherwise, they are presumed to be words of common calling or loose conversation. And the statute of the twenty-ninth of Charles II has adopted the rule, as may be seen in the 19th clause of that statute, usually called the statute of frauds, which passed in the year 1676, two years after Milton's death. Secondly, the words here attested by the three witnesses are not words delivered at the same time; but one witness speaks to one declaration made at one time, and another to another declaration made at another time. And although the declarations are of similar import, this circumstance will not satisfy the demands of the law, which requires, that the three witnesses who are to support a nuncupative will must speak to the identical words uttered at one and the same time. There is yet another requisite in nuncupative wills, which is not found here; namely, that the words be delivered in the last sickness of a party whereas the words here attested appear to have been delivered when the party was in a tolerable state of health, at least under no immediate danger of death. On these principles sir Leoline Jenkins acted in the rejection of Milton's will, though the three witnesses apparently told the truth in what they deposed. For the Literary Magazine. ON MILTON'S LYCIDAS AND SMALLER POEMS. EDWARD KING, the subject of this monody, was the son of sir John King, knight, secretary for Ireland, under queen Elizabeth, James the first, and Charles the first. He was sailing from Chester to Ireland on a visit to his friends and relations in that country; these were his brother sir Robert King, and his sisters, Anne and Margaret, Edward King, bishop of Elphin, by whom he was baptized, and William Chappel, then dean of Cashel, and provost of Dublin college, who had been his tutor at Christ's college, Cambridge, and was afterwards bishop of Cork and Ross, and in this pastoral is probably the same person that is styled old DAMOETAS; when, in calm weather, not far from the English coast, the ship, a very crazy vessel, a fatal and perfidious bark, struck on a rock, and suddenly sunk to the bottom with all that were on board, not one escaping, August 10, 1637. King was now only twentyfive years old. He was, perhaps, a native of Ireland. At Cambridge he was distinguished for his piety, and proficiency in polite literature. He has no inelegant copy of Latin iambics prefixed to a Latin comedy called Senile Odium, acted at Queen's college, Cambridge, by the youth of that society, and written by P. Hausted, Cantab. 1633, 12mo. From which I select these lines, as containing a judicious satire on the false taste, and the customary mechanical or unnatural expedients of the drama that then subsisted. By contemplation is here meant that stretch of thought by which the mind ascends "To the first good, first perfect, and first fair;" and is therefore very properly said to soar on golden wing, guiding the fiery wheeled throne; that is, to take a high and glorious flight, carrying bright ideas of deity along with it. But the whole imagery alludes to the cherubic forms that conveyed the fiery-wheeled car in Ezekiel, x. 2. seq. See also Milton himself, Par. Lost vi. 750. So that nothing can be greater or juster than this idea of divine contemplation. Contempla tion of a more sedate turn, and intent only on human things, is more fitly described, as by Spenser, under the figure of an old man; time and experience qualifying men best for this office. Spenser might then be right in his imagery; and yet Milton might be right in his, without being supposed to ramble after some nciful Italian. The Ode on The Passion has these lines: Conceits were now confined not to words only. There is extant a volume of elegies, in which the paper is black, and the letters white; that is, in all the title-pages. Every intermediate leaf is also black. Milton's sonnets are not without their merit: yet, if we except two or three, there is neither the grace nor exactness of Milton's hand in them. This sort of composition in our language is difficult to the best rhymist, and Milton was a very bad one. Besides his genius rises above, and, as we may say, overflows, the banks of this narrow confined poem, pontem indignatus Araxes. When it is considered, how frequently the life of Milton has been written, and how numerous the annotations have been, on different parts of his works, it seems strange, that his Greek verses, which, indeed, are but few, should have passed almost wholly without notice till lately. They have neither been mentioned, as proofs of learning, by his admirers, nor exposed to the ordeal of criticism, by his enemies. Both parties seem to have shrunk from the subject. Dr. Burney, son of the musical doctor, was the first who undertook the task of commenting on Milton's Greek poetry, and this he has performed with unparalleled skill and erudition. Those who have long and justly entertained a high idea of Milton's Greek erudition, on perusing Dr. Burney's remarks, will probably feel disappointed, and may ascribe to spleen and temerity what merits a milder title. To Milton's claim of extensive, and, indeed, wonderful learning, who shall refuse their suffrage? It requires not commendation, and may defy censure. If Dr. Johnson, however, observes of some Latin verse of Milton, that it is not secure against a stern grammarian, what would he have said, if he had bestowed his time in examining his Greek poetry, with the same exactness of taste, and with equal accuracy of criticism? If Milton had lived in the present age he would have written Greek much more correctly. His native powers of mind, and his studious researches, would have been assisted by the learned labours of Bentley, Hemsterhus, Valckenaer, Toup, and Ruhnken, under whose auspices Greek criticism has flourished, in the eighteenth century, with a degree of vigour wholly unknown in any period since the revival of letters. For the Literary Magazine. REASON IN POETRY. THE truth of both facts and history results from the apprehension or investigation of particulars, in |