ch doubt, since I have never met with a man of greater fortitude and
stronger nerve. I am rather disposed to think that the depressed state of
his finances, severing the only hold he had on his dissolute associates,
and the attention paid too often to wealth, though accompanied by vice,
having disappeared, he found himself pennyless and despised; he was
without religious consolation; his health declined, his spirits were
broken; he was, and felt himself, alone in the world, without friends and
without commiseration, and in a moment of desperation he put a period to
his reckless existence.

Your correspondent, _Enort_, has certainly viewed the sunny side of his
character; and that too I am disposed to think, with a burning glass. I
have passed many hours in his society, pleased with his wit and
epigrammatic sallies, but strive in vain to call to my recollection "the
spontaneous flow of his Latin, his quotations from the ancient and modern
poets, and his masterly and eloquent developement of every subject that
his acute intellect chose to dilate upon." His conversation was ever
_egotistical_ in the extreme: the bold assertion that his _Lacon_ was the
most clever work in the English language, was ever on his lips, and I
regret to add, obscenity and irreligion too often supplied the place of
wit or rational converse.

_Palace Row, New Road_.

W.W.

* * * * *

KING KENULPH'S DAUGHTER.

This is little better than a versified _fact_. The outline may be found in
Sir Robert Atkyns' _History of Gloucestershire_, p. 435.

King Kenulph he died, as kings have died,
The will of the Lord be done;
And he left to the care of his daughter fair,
Queen Quendred, an infant son.
The daughter gazed at her brother king,
Her eye had an evil mote;
And then she played with his yellow hair,
And patted his infant throat;
And then she muster'd a bloody mind,
And whisper'd a favour'd slut,
While patting the infant monarch's throat,
It would not be much to cut.
The favour'd gipsey noted the hint,
And she thought it not amiss,
She hied to the infant's governor,
And gave him a loving kiss.
The kiss of woman's a wond'rous juice,
That poisoneth pious minds,
It worketh more than the wrath of hell,
And the eye of justice blinds.
So they cut the infant monarch's throat,
They buried him in the wood,
The Mistress Quendred liv'd as a queen,