in tears, and had a key of the vestry, where he sat every day with the corpse: my brother went to see him there, and the scene so shocked him, that he could hardly bear it; he said it was so like Romeo and Juliet. He was much pleased with my brother, as he talked both Latin and French, and (to his great surprise) he told him who the lady was; which proving to be a person he knew, he could not help uncovering the face.

In short, the gentleman confessed he was the Earl of Roseburg's son, (the name is Primrose,) and his title Lord Delamere; that he was born and educated in Italy, and never was in England till two or three years ago; when he came to London, and was in company with this lady, with whom he fell passionately in love, and prevailed on to quit the kingdom, and marry him; that having bad health, he had travelled with her all over Europe; and, when she was dying, she asked for pen and paper, and wrote, "I am the wife of the Rev. Mr. G, Rector of Th-, in Essex; my maiden name was Catherine Cannon; and my last request is to be buried at Th--."

'The poor gentleman who last married her protests he never knew (till this confession on her death-bed,) that she was another man's wife; but in compliance with her desire, he had brought her over; and should have buried her at Th-, if the corpse had not been stopped, without making any stir about it.

After the nobleman had made this confession, they sent to Mr. G--, who put himself at first in a passion, and threatened to run her last husband through the body; however, he was prevailed on to be calm; for it was represented to him, that this gentleman had been at great expense and trouble to fulfil her desire. Mr. G at length consented to see him; their meeting was very moving, and they addressed each other civilly.

The stranger protested that his affection to the lady was so strong, that it was his earnest wish not only to attend her to the grave, but to be shut up with her for evermore. Nothing in romance ever came up

to the passion of this man. He had a very fine coffin made for her, with six large silver plates over it; and at last was very loth to part with her to have her buried he put himself in the most solemn mourning, and on Sunday last, in a coach, attended the corpse to Th, where Mr. G- —— met it in solemn mourning likewise.

་

The Florentine is genteel in person, seems about twenty-five years of age, and they say a sensible man; but there was never any thing like his behaviour to his "dear, dear wife!" for so he would call her to the last. Mr. Gattended him to London yesterday, and they were very civil to each other, but his lordship is inconsolable; he says he must fly England, which he can never see more. I have had this account from many hands, and can assure you of its authenticity. Kitty Cannon is, I believe, the first woman in England that has had two husbands attending her to the grave together.'

ON A WINTER'S NIGHT, AND A MAN PERISHING
IN THE SNOW.

As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce
All winter drives along the darkened air;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain
Disastered stands; sees other hills ascend,
Of unknown, joyless brow; and other scenes
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain.-Thomson.
THE wind blew loud, the snow fell fast,
The wild woods whistled in the blast,
The robin left its wonted seat,
And sought in sorrow man's retreat.
Drear, awful night was drawing nigh,
And darkest clouds o'erspread the sky,
Whilst in the distance, fierce and foul,
Impervious vapours onwards roll;
Thick, flaky snow, descending fast,
Spreads far around a boundless waste;
Dismal the fields and woods appear,
Destroyed the labours of the year;

Ou ev'ry hill, in ev'ry vale,
Is desolation wan and pale;

The oak, whose topmost branches spread
Above the forest, rears its head,
Clad all in snow of purest white,
Most fearful in the glance of night,
And drops, at times, its weight below,
Slight crackling on the frozen snow.
The weary ploughman homeward goes,
His heart worn out with weight of woes,
With spaniel, following behind,
Hiding its tail against the wind ;'
O'er lofty bill, up craggy vale,
Each moment something to bewail,
His children, wife, and blazing fire
Possess his mind, with sorrow dire;
He thinks he spies beneath the thorn
His milk white cottage, all forlorn.
Deceiv'd, alas! it's but the snow
High drifted where the breezes blow,
Still wand'ring more and more astray,
Deep pits and bogs his soul dismay,
Encircled round, with brushwood deep,
And hidden 'neath the shapeless heap.
His joyless heart is fill'd again
With heavy sorrow, grief, and pain;
Still on the flaky snows descend,
The hollow winds the Heavens rend,
Driving along, the sleet and hail,
In frightful heaps, o'er bill and dale.
Oblig'd, he yields his soul at last,
And lies him down beneath the blast,
Stung with remorse, and pangs of death,
How soon, he must resign his breath!
His body stiffens on the ground,
Drear devastation falls around,
And the keen, chilly, northern breeze
Loud-piping, whistles in the trees;
Till night comes on, then shuts the scene,
And grandeur is in all its mien.

Elland.

JOHANNES S.

EXTRACTS FROM THE COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF

A LITERARY LOUNGER.-NO. III.

ORIGIN OF FORKS.

THE use of forks at table did not prevail in England till the reign of James I. as we learn from a remarkable. passage in Coryat. The reader will laugh at the solemn manner in which this important discovery or innovation is related.

'Here I will mention a thing that might have been spoken of before in discourse of the first Italian towne. I observed a custom in all those Italian cities and townes through the which I passed, that is not used in any other country that I saw in my travels, neither do I thinke that any other nation of Christendome doth use it, but only Italy. The Italian and also most strangers that are commonant in Italy, doe always at their meals use a little forke when they eat their meate; for while with their knife, which they hold in one hand, they cut the meate out of the dish, they fasten the forke, which they hold in the other hand, upon the same dish, so that whatsoever he be that sitting in the company of any others at meale should unadvisedly touch the dish of meate with his fingers from which all the table doe cut, he will give occasion of offence unto the company as having transgressed the lawes of good manners, in so much that for his error he shall be at least brow-beaten, if not reprehended in wordes. This form of feeding, I understand, is generally used in all parts of Italy, their forkes for the most part being made of yronn, steele, and some of silver, but those are used only by gentlemen. The reason of this their curiosity is, because the Italian cannot by any means indure to have his dish touched with fingers, seeing all mens fingers are not alike cleane. Hereupon I myself thought good to imitate the Italian fashion by this forked cutting of meate, not only while I was in Italy, but also in Germany, and often times in England since I came home being once quipped for that frequently using

my forke, by a certain learned gentleman, a familiar friend of mine, Mr. Lawrence Whitaker; who in his merry humour doubted not to call me at table Furcifer,' only for using a forke at feeding, but for no other cause.'

KNIVES.

It is difficult to ascertain the date of the introduction of every kind of cutting or pointed instruments; but when the utility and convenience of these domestic implements were once experienced, there can be no doubt that the practice of using them quickly became very general, and that manufactories of knives and other edge tools were consequently soon established in various parts of the kingdom.

Table knives were first made in London in the year 1563, by one Thomas Matthews, of Fleet Bridge. They were probably not in use in the time of Chaucer.

PAPER.

Paper made of cotton was in use in 1100; that of linen rags in 1319; the manufacture of it introduced into England, at Dartford, in Kent, in 1588; scarce any but brown paper made in England, till 1690.

AN EASTERN ANECDO1E.

Nouchirevan, King of Persia, was remarkable for the impetuosity of his temper. One day he condemned a page to death for having accidentally spilled a little sauce over him, during his attendance at table. The page, perceiving no hope of pardon, contrived to pour the whole contents of the plate upon his inexorable master. Nouchiveran, much more astonished than irritated, demanded the reason of this new provocation. 'Prince,' said the page, 'I am anxious that my death should not injure your renown. You are deemed by all nations to be the most equitable of sovereigns; but you would lose that glorious title if posterity were to know that you condemned one of your slaves to die, for a fault so trifling as that which he first committed.' This answer made such an impression on Nouchirevan, that, ashamed of this passionate sally, he instantly forgave the slave, and endeavoured, by his future bounty, to atone for his intended cruelty and injustice.