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On Miss Rhoda Delavel, eldest daughter of Sir John

Hussey Delavel, Bart. who died August 7, 1770.
Hail! happy maid! to life restor'd,

And everlasting bliss !
Henceforth be thou our guardian saint,

And guide us still to this.
May all thy virtue stand confin'd,
· Thy love to God and man;
Thy virgin grace, thy lowly mind,

The ev'ry art, and pain ;
Thy pious, prudent care to fill,

Thy sphere of life assign'd;
Thy just contempt of vulgar joys,
Thy sense and taste refin'd!

W. H.

Ode.- To Signora Cuzzoni.
Little Syren of the stage,
Charmer of an idle age ;
Empty warbler, breathing lyre,
Wanton gale of fond desire ;
Bane of every manly art,
Sweet enfeebler of the heart:
0, too pleasing in thy strain,
Hence, to southern climes again. I
Tuneful mischief, vocal spell,
To this island bid farewell;
Leave us as we ought to be,
Leave the Britons rough and free.

The Parson's Answer to a Lady, who sent him her

Compliments on the Ten of Hearts. Your compliments, Lady, I pray you forbear, Old English service is much more sincere ; You sent me ten hearts, the tythe's only mine, So give me one heart and burn t'other nine.

The Lady's Reply.
The Parson but asks a free heart of each ten,
What say my young Bucks to those sanctify'd men ;
They'll preach to us Ladies, as able divines,
That tything is trifling, and mow t'other nine.

London, August 13.—The following very singular and truly admirable instance of humanity and generosity deserves to be universally known. During the late war in Germany, the present Earl Cornwallis, then Lord Viscount Brome, being only an ensign, though Aid-de-Camp to Prince Ferdinand; his father, the late Earl Cornwallis, bought him a Lieutenant Colonel's commission in General Napier's regiment, upon condition of allowing the last Lieutenant Colonel 300l. a year, who is very old, and has a very large family. A few weeks ago his Lordship being sent for to town from Scotland, where the regiment was quartered, to be a lord of the bed-chamber, which he declined accepting, his Lordship last Wednesday morning resigned his commission, and solicited his Majesty to give his post to the Major of the regiment, who has been many years in the service, is very old, and has a large family: and his Lordship farther requested of his Majesty to permit the other officers of the regiment to rise according to their seniority; all which being granted, his Lordship declared, that out of his own fortune he would continue to allow the 3001. year to the former Lieutenant Colonel.

To the Printer of the London Evening Post.

Sir, In a late excursion, whilst at St. Edmund's Bury, I picked up at church, (a good place you will say for news) the following anecdote. Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIJ. was first married to Lewis XII. of France, and after his death came over to England, where (as a neighbouring Clergymen has ventured to engrave on her tomb) she was married to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. She was first buried in the abbey of St. Edmund's Bury, as it seems by the tomb, in 1533; but after the dissolution of monasteries, her remains were removed and deposited under the altar of St. Mary's church in that place. A few years since, when the church was under a repair, one of the workmen digging to level the ground under the altar, found a body without a coffin, so wrapped in lead, that it was first thought a living image, till by washing off the dust, an inscription was 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.

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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',

Reluctant Edward takes his way
He goes, and soon a gayer scene,

On festive Gallia's mirthful shore, Drives from his thoughts his sural 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 ber gentle bosom knew,

Of injur'd love, the wounds to heal, Her beart 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.

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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.

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