certained that she was incurably insane, to an
hospital in London, where, after continuing several years, she died.

Her case excited great curiosity for the time, and every effort was made
in Germany to ascertain her family, and give some notice of her
condition. One of the most remarkable circumstances in her insanity, was
her guarded silence on the subject of her relatives. Though she rambled
into all conceivable topics, she could not be induced to give the
slightest clue to their names. The moment any attempt at their discovery
was made, all her feelings seemed to be startled; she shrank at once,
looked distressed, and became silent. Hannah More's "Tale of Woe," was
therefore a well-meant effort to attract attention to an unhappy
creature, who was determined to give no knowledge of herself to the
world.

Lord Camelford's eccentricities are well known, but the world has given
him credit for more than he deserves. He was unluckily a duellist almost
by profession, and thus as dangerous to associate with as a mad bull.
Yet I have heard traits of a generosity on his part as lavish as his
manners are eccentric. He is, however, so well known to be alert in the
use of the pistol, and to be of fiery temper, that some curious stories
are told of the alarm inspired by his presence. One of those is now
running the round of the Clubs.

Some days ago, his lordship, walking into a coffee-house, and taking up
the evening paper, began poring over its paragraphs. A coxcomb in an
adjoining box, who had frequently called to the waiter for the paper,
walked over to Lord Camelford's box, and, seeing him lay down the paper
for the moment while he was sipping his coffee, took it up, and walked
off with it without ceremony. His lordship bore the performance without
exhibiting any sign of disturbance, but waited till he saw the intruder
engaged in its paragraphs. He then quietly walked over, and with all the
eyes of the Coffeehouse upon him, snuffed out the fellow's candles, and
walked back to his own seat. The fellow, astonished and furious,
demanded the name of the person who had served him in this contemptuous
manner. His lordship threw him his card. He took it--read "Lord
Camelford" aloud--seemed petrified for a moment, and in the next
snatched up his hat, and made but one step to the door, followed by the
laugh of the whole room.

But his lordship has, like Hamlet, method in his madness. A report was
lately spread that he had reso