discovered on the breast, which elucidated the whole affair, and proved it to be the remains of the identical Lady Mary, who was a Queen in France, and afterwards married to a subject of England.

CURIOSUS.

Edward and Emma.-A Tale. Written at B

Sussex, 1769.

Young Emma was the loveliest maid

Indulgent nature ever blest;

Her mind was fairer than her form,
And tender was her virgin breast.

Bright were her eyes as that sweet star
Which bids the lark his matins sing;
Like early blossoms were her cheeks,
The first faint blush of infant spring.

But love too soon that bloom destroy'd,
And made those early blossoms pale,
And wither'd, by a fatal blight.

This fair, mild lily of the vale.

For oft, with many a moving sigh,

An ardent look, and melting tear,

Had Edward vow'd eternal love,

And Emma thought those vows sincere.

Whole days in plaintive notes he sung

His Emma's charms, nor sung in vain;

For fondly as he Emma lov'd,

. So fondly Emma lov'd again.

But, ah! a parent bids them part,
How hard for lovers to obey!
By love withheld, by duty press'd,
Reluctant Edward takes his way

He goes, and soon a gayer scene,
On festive Gallia's mirthful shore,
Drives from his thoughts his rural maid
And Emma is belov'd no more.

Not so the mournful maiden felt,
In secret to despair a prey,
Still drooping o'er her ruin'd love,
She slowly pin'd in grief away.

No pride her gentle bosom knew,

Of injur'd love, the wounds to heal,
Her heart was all sincere and soft,
And keenly such a heart must feel.

Her faithless Edward's long neglect,
And broken vows she ne'er wou'd tell,
But smiling saw the hour approach,

In which she bid the world farewell.

Around her grave the village maids,
Their cypress garlands weeping bring,
And offer to her virgin shade,

The earliest trophies of the spring.

Now tir'd with vain and guilty joys,
Young Edward seeks his native shore,

And to his lovely Emma flies,

His lovely Emma is no more.

Distracted at the horrid tale,

He sought the spot where Emma lay, And flung him on her new made grave, And wet with tears the mouldering clay.

Her generous love, her beauteous form,
Each decent grace and winning art,
Return'd with all their former force,

And with them came her bleeding heart.

That bleeding heart which broke for him,
He wept for now, but wept in vain,
And every pang that heart had felt,
Came doubly sharp to his again.

Long o'er her grave he drooping hung;
Then with a sullen step, and slow,
He wander'd to yon craggy clift,

That frowns on dashing waves below.

Thrice on his injur'd Emma's name
The frantic lover call'd in vain,
Then headlong from the rock he fell;
He fell, and never rose again.

Oft when the fisher spreads his net
Near faithless Edward's watery grave,

He thinks he sees the guilty shade,

Flit shrieking o'er the azure wave.

Ye parents know, from this sad tale,

How vain your sordid cares may prove, How little age can judge for youth,

How little riches weigh with love.

And you, ye swains, while through your veins The tide of youth impetuous flows,

Ah! ne'er deceive believing maids,

Or offer up unmeaning vows.

Let not the soft, persuasive tongue,
For artless beauty lay the snare,
Remember Edward's dreadful fate,
And fear that dreadful share.

And lastly you, ye British maids,

From love's fell poison guard your bloom,
Ah! think on Emma's hapless death,

And shed a tear upon her tomb.

ELOISA.

Lately arrived from Jamaica, and to be Sold.A Negro girl born quite white; she is fairer than most Europeans, though both her parents were of the deepest black, her features resembling those of all Negroes, and the wool upon her head as white as any wool; she is about five years old, of a brisk disposition, and a surprising genius; she is allowed to be the greatest phenomenon of nature ever known. Any person desirous of being a purchaser may hear of the particulars by applying to Mr. George Brownless, merchant, at Mr. Jonathan Ewer's, merchant, Hatton Garden. None will be admitted to see her but those that intend really to purchase: and, to prevent unnecessary application, her price will be four hundred guineas.

To the Printer of the London Evening Post.As you must, till a little before the 28th inst. have some vacant corner in your paper, I shall esteem it a very great favour if you will oblige me, who am a very old acquaintance. By inserting the inclosed receipt, you will perhaps be the instrument of filling the bellies of numberless poor starving creatures, as many a worthy Bri

ton, by inspecting it, may be induced to try the experiment, when he recollects (for recollection and consideration would produce a world of good, and render half mankind unaccountable for a shamefully long catalogue of sins of omission) that for one shilling he can satisfy six starving fellow-creatures. I will inform you how I came by it, and then give it you, and all good Christians. Six and forty years I have been rector of this parish. The Esquire, who is the owner of it, permitted me to live on the footing of a brother with him. On the first day of December, during most of that number of years, it was our custom to dine on this dish only. It is true, that to make amends for the homeliness of the repast, we indulged in a bottle of claret, instead of port, and smoaked one pipe extraordinary: however, from that day till March, were all the poor who chose it, twice a week in this manner relieved. The expence I have often heard the worthy being declare, was not more than the cost of great quantities of beef and beer amounts to, with which many ostentatious people celebrate their Christmas. My good friend is gone before me; great work which he had to do was compleated, and inconceivable peace and endless happiness are his reward. He bequeathed ten pounds a year to continue the custom ten years after his decease; nor has the example, I have he happiness to assure you, been altogether without effect in the narrow circle of this neighbourhood. Several good people are continually practising it; and a

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