die! 
  Now, too—­the joy most like divine
    Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
  To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,—­
    Oh misery! must I lose that too? 
  Yet go!  On peril’s brink we meet;—­
    Those frightful rocks—­that treach’rous sea—­
  No, never come again—­tho’ sweet,
    Tho’ Heav’n, it may be death to thee!”

This passage contains 126 words, 110 of which are monosyllables, and the remainder words of only two syllables.  The sentiment embodied throughout is that of violent mental emotion; and it affords a further illustration of the correctness of MR. C. FORBES’S theory (Vol. i., p. 228.) that “the language of passion is almost invariably broken and abrupt.”

HENRY H. BREEN.

St. Lucia, W.I., Nov. 1850.

Specimen of Foreign English.—­

  “RESTORATIVE HOTEL, FINE HOK. 
  KEPT BY FRANK PROSPERI,
  FACING THE MILITARY QUARTER
  AT POMPEII.

That hotel open since a very few days, is renowned for the cleanness of the apartments and linen; for the exactness of the service, and for the eccelence of the true french cookery.  Being situated at proximity of that regeneration, it will be propitius to receive families, whatever, which will desire to reside alternatively into that town, to visit the monuments new found, and to breathe thither the salubrity of the air.

That establishment will avoid to all the travellers, visitors, of that sepult city, and to the artists, (willing draw the antiquities) a great disorder, occasioned by the tardy and expensive contour of the iron-whay.  People will find equally thither, a complete sortment of stranger wines, and of the kingdom, hot and cold baths, stables and coach houses, the whole with very moderated prices.  Now, all the applications and endeavours of the hoste, will tend always to correspond to the tastes and desires, of their customers, which will acquire without doubt, to him, in to that town, the reputation whome, he is ambitious.”

The above is a literal copy of a card in the possession of a friend of mine, who visited Pompeii, 1847.

W.L.

Epitaph.—­While engaged in some enquiries after family documents in the British Museum lately, I lighted on a little poem, which, though not connected with my immediate object, I copied, and here subjoin, hoping your readers will be as much attracted as I was by the simplicity and elegance of the lines and thoughts; and that some one of them, with leisure and opportunity, will do what I had not time to do, namely,—­decypher in the MSS. the name of the “Worthie Knight” on whom this epitaph was composed, and give any particulars which can be ascertained concerning him.

  EPITAPH ON ——­

  (Harleian MSS., 78. 25. b.  Pluto 63 E.)