Elis, was formed into a Duchy, and fell to the lot of one of the victorious nobles, who transmitted the title and dukedom to his descendants, until the male line failed, and the heiress of Clarence married into the Hainault family.  By this union, Phillippa, the consort of Edward III. became the representative of the Dukes of Clarence; and on this account was Prince Lionel invested with the title, which has since remained in our Royal Family.  It is certainly singular that a wretched village in Greece should have bestowed its name upon the British monarch.”  According to the above account, Clarentia, I should suppose, is a corruption of Clarentza, and, perhaps, took its name in honour of the son of the warlike Edward; but, as to a “wretched village in Greece,” bestowing its name upon the British monarch, the writer must be aware, according to his own account, that in ancient times Clarentza was no more a poor village, than Clare is what it was, when the wassail bowl cheered the baronial hall of its now mouldering castle.

W.G.C.

* * * * *

YES, WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.

(For the Mirror.)

  “The grave is the ordeal of true affection.”

Washington Irving.

  Yes, we shall meet again,
    When this world’s strife is over;
  And where comes not care or pain,
    A brighter land discover.

  I will not think, in lasting night,
    Earth’s love and friendship dies;—­
  It lives again, serenely bright,
    In worlds beyond the skies.

  I will not think the grave hath power
    To dim this heart’s undying love;—­
  Oh! may I still, in death’s dark hour,
    Its lasting fondness prove.

  Immortal sure some feelings are;—­
    Oh! not of earth the pure devotion,
  Which lives in one fond earthly care,
    And that—­pure Friendship’s soft emotion.

  For brightest this wild world appears
    When far each selfish care is driven;
  Soft Pity! dry not yet thy tears—­
    They make dark earth resemble heaven.

  For other’s weal, for other’s woe,
    Let me have smiles and tears to give;
  And all my busy care bestow,
    In some fond trusting heart to live.

  And let a voice be murmuring near,
    When other sounds are faint and low. 
  And whisper softly in my ear. 
    When Death’s chill dews are on my ear—­

  “Yes, we shall meet again,
    When this world’s strife is over;
  And, where comes not care or pain,
    A better land discover.”

Kirton Lindsey.

ANNE R.

* * * * *

WHO WAS KATERFELTO?

(To the Editor.)

Perhaps some of your curious readers would oblige me with a little information concerning the personage mentioned in these lines of Cowper:—­