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Elizabeth Hall, and the proceeds of the £50 to his sister Joan, or Jone Hart, for life, with residue to her children. He further gave to the said Judith a broad silver-gilt bowl. To his sister Joan, beside the contingent bequest above-mentioned, he gave £20 and . his wearing apparel; also the house in Stratford, in which she was to reside for her natural life, under the yearly rent of twelvepence. To her three sons, William Hart, Hart, and Michael Hart, he gave £5 a-piece, to be paid within one

ear after his decease. To his grand-daughter,

lizabeth Hall, he bequeathed all his plate, the silver bowl above excepted. To the poor of Stratford he bequeathed £10; to Mr. Thomas Cole, his sword; to Thomas Russel, £5; to Francis Collins, esq. fig : 6s 8d.; to Hamlet, (Hammet) saddler, £1 : 6s : 8d. to buy a ring; and a like sum, for the same purpose, to William Reynolds, gent. Anthony Nash, gent. John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, his “fellows;” also, twenty shillings in gold to his godson, William Walker...To his daughter, Susanna Hall, he bequeathed New Place, with its appurtenances; two messuages, or tenements, with their appurtenances, situated in Henley-street; also, all his “barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds of Stratford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, or in any of them in the said county of Warwick; and also, all that messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, situated, lying, and being in the Blackfriars, London, near the Wardrobe; and all my other lands, tenements, and hereditaments o: to have and to hold all and singular the said premises, with their *]. unto the said Susanna Hall, for and during the term of her natural life; and, after her decease, to the first son of her body, lawfully issuing, and to the heirs male of her said first son, lawfully issuing ; and for default of such issue, to the second son of her body, lawfully issuing, and to the heirs male of the said second son, lawfully issuing;' and so forth, as to third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, and their heirs male: “and for default of such issue, the said premises to be and remain to my niece, Hall, and the heirs male of her body, lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to her daughter Judith, and the heirs male of her body, lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the right heirs of me the said William Shakspeare.” To the said Susanna Hall and her husband, whom he appointed executors of his will, under the direction of Francis Collins, and Thomas Russel, esqrs... he further, bequeathed all the rest of his “goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff whatsoever,” after the payment of his debts, legacies, and funeral expenses; with the exception of his “second-best bed, with the furniture,”

which constituted the only bequest he made to his wife, and that by insertion aster the will was written out. A few additional facts respecting Shakspeare's family may be acceptable. His wife survived him seven years, and was buried between his grave and the north wall of the chancel, under a stone inlaid with brass, and inscribed thus: “Heere, lyeth interred the bodye of Anne, wise of Mr. William Shakspeare, who departed this life the sixth day of August, 1623, being of the age ol sixty-seven yeares.’ It may be supposed that the poet's marriage was not productive of much domestic comfort. She did not reside with him in London; their children were born very early after their union; and wo have seen how coldly she is noticed in the will The causes which led to the striking differenc which Shakspeare makes in his testament betwee his daughters are unknown; but Susanna is, evi dently, the favourite. Judith married Thoma Quiney, a gentleman of good family, by whom sh had three children, but they died young, leaving n Poio The art of writing was not among thi ady's accomplishments, as her mark appears to deed, still extant, accompanied by the explanator |. of “Signum Judith Shakspeare.” e

He

er sister married Dr. Hall, a physician of cons

derable reputation. After her father's death. sh resided with her husband at New Place. came a widow, and was honoured, for some tim with the company of Henrietta Maria, the que, of Charles I. Her only child, Elizabeth Hals, u niece mentioned in Shakspeare's will, continued reside there when she became lady Barnard. Th lady, though twice married, left no children. S. died in 1669–70, and in her the family of our ba became extinct. Mrs. Susanna Hall died in Jul 1619, aged sixty-six; she was buried at Stratfor and the following record of her wit, piety, a humanity, was inscribed on her tomb. The lin do not now appear on the stone, but they have be preserved by Dugdale.

“Witty above her sexe, but that's not all,
Wise to salvation, was good mistress Hall.
Something of Shakspeare was in that, but thia
Wholly of him with who in she's now in busse.
Then, passenger, hast ne'er a teare,
foop with hor, that went with all,
That wept, yet set herselfe to chere
Them up with comforts cordiall?
Her love shall live, her mercy spre
When thou hast ne'er a teare to shed.”

We have thus, as briefly as the importance such a memoir would permit, gone over the mea, biographical remains of the noblest dramatic the world has ever produced. Without attempt to draw the character of this matchless writer. have, occasionally, in the course of our narrati endeavoured to Inark the feeling of respect : admiration by which we are influenced while c templating the mighty performances of a mi which, with little assistance from education, s passed all the efforts of ancient or modern gen

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Within seven years of Shakspeare's death, a (who is rector of the church,) spending a few days

monument, executed with no mean skill, by an unknown artist, was erected to his memory in the church at Stratford-upon-Avon. It is constructed partly of marble and partly of stone, and consists of a half-length bust of the deceased, with a cushion before him, placed under an ornamental canopy, between two columns of the Corinthian order, supPorting an entablature. Attached to the latter, are the Shakspeare arms and crest, sculptured in bold relief. Beneath the bust are the following lines: “Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, Terrategit, populus marret, olympus habet.”

"Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast? Read, W. canst, whom envious death hath plac’d Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom §: nature dy'd; whose name doth deck the tomb armore than cost; since all that he hath writ aves living art but page to serve his wit. “obiit Ano. Dni. 1616, attatis 53, die 23 Ap.”

The following particulars from Dr. Drake's work, * connected with this monument, are curious: "Notwithstanding the anathema pronounced by the ord on any disturbers of his bones, the church"Idens were so negligent, a few years ago, as to *fer the sexton, in digging the adjoining grave of • Davenport, to break a large cavity into the omb of Shakspeare! Mr. told the writer, that he was excited by curiosity to push his head and shoulders through the cavity, that he saw the emains of the bard, and that he could easily have *ght aray his skull, but was deterred y the ** which the poet invoked on any one who disturbed his remains. It is well known to the rality of his admirers, that the monument of *akspeare, at his native town of Stratford-onAvon, stood, till within a year or two, with his y resting on a cushion, and a pen in his right d. A young man, a friend of Dr. Davenport,

with him, visited the spot, and, in a feeling of sacrilegious folly, snatched the pen from his hand, and broke it to pieces; and a common quill is now substituted. Dr. D. nearly sainted. It is a matter of much astonishment and regret, that such liberties have been allowed to be taken with this only true relique of the bard of Albion. Some years ago, that indefatigable mountebank, Mr. Malone, caused this monument to be painted white all over; thereby effacing the differenicolours of the dress, &c., it had been ornamented with for above one hundred and sixty years, and might have been a copy of the apparel of Shakspeare.”

In 1740, a monument was erected to the memory of Shakspeare, at the public expense, in Westminster Abbey, ample funds having accrued from the performance of Julius Caesar, Åli. 28, 1738, at Drury-lane Theatre. The trustees were the earl of Burlington, Dr. Richard Mead, Mr. Alexander Pope, and Mr. Charles Fleetwood. The monument was designed by Kent, and executed by Scheemakers. Shakspeare is represented in the dress of his time, in white marble, at full length, leaning a little on his right arm, which is supported by a pedestal. At the bottom hangs a scroll, inscribed with the following lines altered from The Tempest:

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It is a singular fact, that of the various Portraits of Shakspeare, there is not one which can be relied on as genuine. The print prefixed to the first folio, 1623, engraved by Droeshout, is an indifferent specimen of art, and notwithstanding the encomium of Ben Jonson, cannot be accepted as a likeness. The bust at Stratford-on-Avon, is alluded to by Digges, in his verses prefixed to the first folio; but no more reliance can be placed on his judgment, than on that of Jonson, and it is quite certain that they cannot both be correct. As, however, it is generally admitted to have been executed within a few years of the poet's death, and possesses conlo. expression, it has had o advocates. The Chandos portrait, in the collection of the marquis of Buckingham, at Stowe, presents a edigree of professors up to Betterton, the actor; ut beyond that, the evidence, which should establish its authenticity, is at least doubtful. No picture has been more frequently copied. Malone firmly believed it to be genuine; but Steevens, who was desirous of establishing the claims of a newly discovered candidate, treated it with unreserved ridicule, nicknaming it The Davenantico-Bettertono-Barryan-Keckian-Nicolsian-Chandosian Canvas. It has been asserted too, by its opponents, that no original painting of Shakspeare existing, sir Thomas Clarges caused this portrait to be painted from a young man who resembled him. A portrait of Zucchero, in the possession of Cosway, the painter, having on the back the words “Guglielm: Shakspeare,” and supposed to be a likeness of the bard, has had a temporary popularity; but as it has been ascertained that Zucchero quitted England when Shakspeare was a youth, and before he had commenced his dramatic career, its claims must be rejected. The Felton portrait, advocated by Steevens, evidently from mere whim and caprice, is perhaps the most suspicious of any. It first made its apearance by being announced for sale in the cata|. of the European Museum, in King-street, St. James's-square, 1792, wherein it was described as “A curious portrait of Shakspeare, painted in 1597.” Mr. fo. gave five guineas for it, and wishing to be acquainted with its history, wrote to the conductor of the Museum, who gave an indefinite account of its being purchased out of an old house, known by the sign of the Boar in Eastcheap, the resort of Shakspeare and his friends. Two years after, this gentleman was more communicative to Steevens, than he had been to the purchaser, and added to his former account, “that it was found between four and five years ago, at a bro

whose name must be concealed.” How it escaped the fire of London, in 1666, when the whole of Eastcheap was consumed, was not explained; but Steevens got over this difficulty by supposing that it was removed before the fire. It is hardly cre: dible that a man of Steevens's penetration shoul have believed this portrait genuine, accompani as it was by so many suspicious circumstances but Boswels, in the advertisement to his edition ol Malone's Shakspeare, 1821, does not hesitate t say, that “ there are not indeed wanting thos who suspect that Mr. Steevens was better ac, quainted with the history of its manufacture, and that there was a deeper meaning in his words, when he tells us, he was instrumental in procuring it, thal he would have wished to be generally understood." It is almost needless to add, that this portrait ha now few, if any proselytes. The portrait by Marshall, prefixed to Shak speare's Poems, in 1640, is a reduced copy (wit one or two slight variations,) of that which accom panies the first folio. It has all the stiffness the rude sculpture of the period, and has some re semblance to the bust at Stratford-on-Avon. The portrait, which we have adopted, is from o by Cornelius Jansen, 1610; it has been st ected on the authority of Mr. Boaden, the authe of the Life of Kemble, and to whom the world | indebted for much valuable dramatic informatio He states it to be his conviction, that it is a g nuine picture of the poet, and, fully to relied on. Steevens ho in Walpole's Ao dotes of Painting, the words “Jansen's fir works in England are dated about 1618, (whic by the by, is an error,) assumes that ti artist did not visit this country till that perio two years after the poet's death, and consequentl that if it was intended for a resemblance of Sha speare, it could not have been painted in his lit time. Malone confutes this argument by statin that he himself possessed a portrait painted Jansen, dated 1611; and as it posseses all t character we look for in a portrait of the gre bard, and there is undoubted proof that to painter was employed by the earl of Southamptg Shakspeare's friend and companion, Mr. Boad very fairly concludes it to be extremely probab that it was painted for that nobleman. There are, besides the above, many miscel neous portraits, of slighter pretensions, to en into the merits of which would exceed our limi but the reader, who is desirous of fully gratify his curiosity on this head, is referred to Mr. B den's Inquiry into the Authenticity of the Portr of Shakspeare, where he will find the sub

ker's shop in the Minories, by a man of fashion,

Cbronological QBrber of

treated at length with much ability and clearne

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on THE AUTHortity or MAlon E, chALMERs, AND DRAKE.

The ensuing enumeration of Shakspeare's dramas, with the dates assigned by the most generally received authorities, is given merely as a matter of curiosity; for the learned commentators are so much at variance in their chronology, that it deserves little or no attention. Indeed, when we reflect that the first edition of our author did not appear till several years after his death, and was then

jectural. A cloud rests over Shakspeare's c as an author, which is not now likely t , dispersed ; those who were most familiar wit . operations of his extraordinary genius, see m have been hardly aware “that he was not day, but for all time;" they paid their shilling ; applauded his productions on the stage, per but they had little taste or inclination to do to

published by the players, who, it can scarcely be justice in the closet, Shakspeare himself ap 3. supposed, would pay any regard to the order of to have been remarkably careless of his own

time in their arrangement of the dramas, it must be obvious, that with a yery few exceptions, the dates given to those compositions are purely con

he produced his great works without effort bequeathed them to his country, unconsci, u their merit, and reckless of their fate.

Malone. Chalmers. Drake.
Pericles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . not acknowledged . . 1590
First Part of King Henry VI. . . . . . . 1589 . . 1589 . . 1592
Second . ditto . . . . . . . . . . . 1590 . . 1590 . . 1592
Third. ditto . . . . . - - - - 1591 . . 1595 . 1592
A Midsummer Night's Dream . . . . . . 1592 . , 1598 . . 1593
Comedy of Errors . . . . . . . . . . . 1593 . 1591 . . 1591
Taming of the Shrew . . . . . . . . . . 1594 . . 1598 . . 1594
Love's Labour's Lost . . . . . . . . . 1594 1592. . . 1591
Two Gentlemen of Verona . . . . . . . 1595 . 1595 . 1595
Romeo and Juliet . . . . . . . . . . 1595 . 1592 . 1593
Hamlet . . . . . . . . . - - 1596: . . 1597 . . 1597
King John . . . . . . . . . - . 1596 . . 1598 . . 1598
King Richard II. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1597 . . 1595 . . 1596
King Richard III. . . . . . . . . . . 1597 . 1595 . . 1595
First Part of King Henry IV. . . . . . . 1597 . 1596 . . 1596
Second . . . ditto . . . . . . . . . . 1598 . 1597 . 1596
Merchant of Venice . . . . . . . . . . . 1598 . . 1597 . . 1597
All's well that Ends well . . . . . . . . 1598 . . 1599 . . 1598
King Henry V. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1599 . . 1597 . . 1598
Much Ado about Nothing . . . . . . . . 1600 . 1599 . . 1599
As You Like It . . . . . . . . . . . 1600 . 1599 . . 1600
Merry Wives of Windsor . . . . . . . . 1601 . . 1596 . . 1601
King Henry VIII. . . . . . . . . . . . 1601 . . 1613 . . 1602
Troilus and Cressida . . . . . . . . - 1602 . . 1600 . . 1601
Measure for Measure . . . . . . . . . . 1603 . . 1604 . . 1603
The Winter's Tale . . . . . . . . . . . 1604 . . 1601 . . 1610
King Lear . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1605 . . 1605 . 1604
Cymbeline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1605 . 1606 . . 1605
Macbeth . . . . . - - - - - - . . 1606 . . 1606 . . 1606
Julius Caesar . . . - . . . . . . . 1607 . . 1607 . . 1607
Antony and Cleopatra . . - - . . . . 1608 . . 1608 . . 1608
Timon of Athens . . . . - - . . . . 1609 . . 1601 . . 1602
Coriolanus . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1610 . . 1609 . . 1609
Othello . . . . . . - - - - . . 1611 . . 1614 . . 1612
The Tempest - - - - - - - . . 1612 . . 1613 . . 1611
Twelfth Night. . . . . . . 1614 . 1608 . 1613

Titus Andronicus not acknowledged by these critics, nor indeed by any author of credit, but

originally published about 1589.

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TEMPEST.

TheRE are many conjectures as to the sources whence Shakspeare derived his fable of this drama; but he was certainly indebted for many parts to the printed details of #. wreck of sir George Somers, in the Bermudas, 1609, previously to which that island was commonly regarded as an enchanted cluster of rocks, inhabited by devils and witches; so that the author's audience were fully prepared to credit the existence of such beings as Sycorax

and Caliban.
Several contemporary narratives, of the above
event were published, and much might have been
gleaned from popular conversation. In 1610, Sil-
wester Jourdan, an eye-witness, published A dis-
covery of the Bermudas, otherwise called Isle of
Diress: by sir Thomas Gates, sir, George So-
mers, and captayne Newport, with divers others;
from which we learn, that the Bermudas had never
been colonised, being considered as under the in-
fluence of enchantment; though an addition to
Jourdan's book gravely states, that they are not
*chanted; that Sommers's ship had been split be-
tween two rocks; that o: his stay on the island,
several conspiracies had taken place; and that a
teamonster, in shape like a man, had been seen, who
was so called after the monstrous tempests that often
happened at Bermuda. Stowe, in his Annals,
speaking of the same shipwreck says, “Sir George
Somers sitting at his stearne, seeing the ship
perate of reliefe, looking every minute when
the ship would sinke, hee espied laud, which, ac-
ording to his and captaine Newport's opinion,

they judged it should be the dreadful coast of the

Bermodes, which islands were of all nations said and supposed to be inchanted and inhabited with witches and devills, which grow by reason of accustomed monstrous thunder, storm and tempest, neere unto those islands; also for that the whole coast is so wondrous dangerous of rockes, that few can approach them, but with unspeakable hazard of shipwreck.” All this might possibly have suggested to Shakspeare's teeming mind, the groundwork of his astonishing drama; but such slight materials cannot in the least affect its claim to originality.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

The plot of this play is taken from the story of Felismena in the second book of the Diana, a Spanish pastoral romance, by George of Montemayor, translated into English by Thomas Wilson. n the romance, Felix prevails on Felismena's attendant to convey a letter to her mistress, who affects indignation, and rebukes her for presumption; but the servant readily penetrating her real sentiments, drops, as if by accident, the rejected billet in her presence. A contest follows between pride and curiosity; the latter, of course, triumphs ; and Felix finds that his love is returned by Félismena. But their happiness is short; the lover's father determines he shall travel, and weary of his absence, the lady follows Felix disguised as a page. She arrives at §: court to which he had repaired, and at night, hears a serenade, to a lady, which proves to be given by Felix. She doesno betray herself; but secure in her disguise, e. his service, and is the bearer of letteo !'. of

and messages to her rival. Celia, the "e" "**

Felix, becomes enamoured of his page, and dies of

rief when her passion is unrequited. Felix leaves #. residence in despair, the faithful Felismena attends him, and is happy enough to save his life: a reconciliation ensues, and they are united. Many of these incidents are copied with circumstantial minuteness; some are altered, and others altogether omitted in Shakspeare's drama. He has also made several highly judicious additions. Valentine is a new character; Launce and his dog are entirely our author's ; and, on the whole, it is surprising, that from so meagre a sketch as the romance afforded, he should be able to find materials for a play, inferior certainly to many of his own, but to few others.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

The story of this comedy is founded on a tale in Il Pecorone di Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, which no doubt reached the dramatist in a translation, probably printed in a collection of novels, bearing the whimsical title of The Fortunate, the Deceived, and the Unfortunate Lovers.

A student of Bologna asks his tutor for lessons in the science of love, and forming an attachment to a beautiful woman, reports to the pedagogue from time to time the success of his suit. These disclosures awaken the master's suspicions that no other than his own wise is the object of seduction, and he resolves to ascertain the fact. He acts accordingly, but is foiled by a heap of wet linen effectually concealing the gallant from observation. The young man, unconscious that the intrigue is with his master's wife, relates his escape, and the consolation he expects that very night in another interview. As before, he is watched by his tutor, and is scarcely allowed to enter the lady's house, when a loud knocking proclaims the o of her husband; she admits him, and conceals her favourite by throwing the door completely back. As the master rushes in, the pupil escapes, and the wife, knowing that all is secure, . her husband in her arms, screams violently, calls in her neighbours to witness his extravagance, and affects to believe him mad ; while he cuts and stabs the linen, and talks wildly of a man concealed in his house. Search proves this false; and, in the end, he is laughed at for his folly.

Such is the novel of which Shakspeare embodied the principal features; but it will be at once perceived that the felicitous delineation of character in which it abounds is all his own. Rowe has preserved a tradition that queen Elizabeth, much delighted with Falstaff in Henry the Fourth, desired the bard to write another play, and exhibit the fat knight in love, which was done in the Merry Wives of Windsor. The first draught of this excellent comedy was written in a fortnight, but was afterwards re-touched and amplified. Ben Jonson's Kitely seems to be the original of Ford, which it certainly preceded in point of time.

TWELFTH NIGHT.

The thirty-sixth novel of the second part of Bandello's Tales bears a general resemblance to the lot of this play; but its much nearer aslinity to the }. of Apolonius and Silla, in a collection entitled Rich, his Farewell to Militarie Profession, 1583, seems to prove that it was derived from the latter source. Duke Apolonius was wrecked at Cyprus on his return to Constantinople from a crusade. . He is succoured by Pontus the governor, whose daughter, Silla, becomes enamoured of his guest, who anxious to return home, is insensible to the merits of Silla, and departs in ignorance of her attachment. This inflames her love; and trusting herself to a faithful servant, she leaves her father's court in pursuit of Apolonius. She is wrecked,

Pedro her servant is drowned, and she escapes land on the captain's chest, which contains tre sure and rich apparel. Disguising herself as man, she assumes the name of her brother, Silvic arrives at Constantinople, and proceeds to h lover's palace, to whom she offers herself, and is r ceived as a page. She obtains her master's co sidence, and is employed by him to carry love t kens and letters to Julina, a widow beloved, bl fruitlessly, by Apolonius. The lady, though col to her lover, falls in love with the supposed pag The flight of Silla is attributed to the villanies Pedro, and her brother vows to pursue them an punish her betrayer. He, at length, reaches Col stantinople, where he encounters Julina, who accos him as the page of Apolonius, so strong is the r semblance between the brother and sister. Silvio curiosity is roused by being so familiarly a dressed, and judging that she is as wealthy beautiful, he meets her advances, and becomes en moured of her. But reflecting afterwards on t singularity of the adventure, and that he has doubt been mistaken for another, he resolv to quit the city and resume his search after Sill When the duke again prefers his suit, Julina tel him that she loves his page, and Apolonius, mu enraged, casts the supposed criminal into priso Julina, anxious for the vindication of her fam claims Silvio for her husband. Apolonius, compa sionating her whom he had long tenderly loved, a disgusted at the supposed duplicity of his pag vows to put Silvio to death, unless he makes f §.". to Julina. No longer able to dissembl Silla asks to speak in private with her accuse to whom she reveals her sex, and relates her stor Apolonius, informed of these particulars, reco nizes the daughter of his benefactor, and stru with admiration at such disinterested love, ma ries her. These events reach the ears of the r Silvio, who hastens back to Constantinople, a his marriage with Julina concludes the novel.

Here we evidently find the skeleton at least Shakspeare's truly beautiful play, in which, ho ever, there are many judicious variations from t original; and it will at once be obvious, that Agu cheek, Toby Belch, and Malvolio, who, althou they contribute little to the progress of the pl form the most prominent features of the comed are wholly the creations of our poet's fertile ima nation.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The RE are three sources from which the plot this play might have been taken: Whetston Heptameron, 1582, 4to, his Promos and Cassand 1578, 4to, and a novel of Cinthio Geraldi's ; yet is not improbable, that the general outline of t story is founded in fact, as it is told with sor yariations by many writers, Take the followi instances: Lipsius relates, that Charles the Bo duke of Burgundy, caused one of his nobles to put to death for transgressing in the manner th Angelo would have done; but he is first compell to marry the lady. This event was made the su ject of a French tragedy. Olivier le Dain, for 1 wickedness surnamed the Devil, originally t barber and afterwards the favourite of Louis X is said, in the Memoirs of Philip de Comines, have committed a similar offence, for which suffered death. Belleforest has a tale, in which is related, that a captain who had seduced the wi of one of his soldiers, under a promise to save t husband's life, exhibited him presently afterward through the window of his apartment, suspend on a gibbet; and that his commander, the marqu de Brissac, compelling him to marry the wido' adjudges him to death. The striking resemblan of part of this story to what Hume relates of col nel Kirke, will present itself to every reader.

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