Mist’s weekly journal of Saturday, March 6th, 1725, contains an artful paragraph most likely emanating from a despairing author whose play had not succeeded:— “Mrs. Graspall, who has been our customer two years, desires us to inform the masters of Drury Lane playhouse, that if they please to play the comedy, called _A Wife to be Let_, within ten days, they will oblige her and a great many of the quality to whom she has communicated her design.” We find by subsequent numbers that Mrs. Graspall’s request was not complied with. There is an anecdote of historical interest in the St. James’s Evening Post of Sept. 17th, 1734. It relates to the Chevalier St. George, afterwards the rash but chivalric “Pretender” to the British throne. It appears that when the Spaniards made the Conquest of Italy, and were sailing for Sicily, the Chevalier was on board one of their ships with the young King of Naples, the latter, doubtless, a prisoner;— “When the fleet set sail,” says the ‘special correspondent,’ “a blast of wind blew the young Chevalier St. George’s hat off his head into the sea. Immediately there were several officious enough to endeavour to take it up; but the young Chevalier called out, _Let it alone, let it alone; I will go and get another in England_. Whereupon the young King of Naples threw his hat into the sea, and said, _and I will go along with you_. But they may happen to go bare-headed a long time; if they get no hats till they come amongst you: for we are well assured that they will find none in England that will fit their heads.” The designs of young Charles Edward must have been deeply rooted to have been entertained so early—for he was then only fourteen years old—and so long before they were fulfilled. At the end of his ’45 adventures, he did indeed go bare-headed for months without a hat or a roof to cover him. The Daily Post of Thursday, August 17th, 1738, must be a priceless treasure in the eye of the collector for two remarkable paragraphs with which it is enriched. On one of them was founded the most pathetic and popular of Scott’s novels—The Heart of Mid-Lothian. The story of the girl “of a fine soul,” even as told by the paragraphist is touching. The communication is dated “Edinburgh, August 20th, 1738.” “Isabel Walker, under sentence of death at Dumfries for child-murder, has actually got a remission. This unhappy creature was destitute of friends, and had none to apply for her but an only sister, a girl of a fine soul, that overlooked the improbability of success, helpless and alone went to London to address the Great, and solicit so well (_sic_) that she got for her, first, a reprieve, and now a remission. Such another instance of onerous friendship can scarce be shown; it well deserved the attention of the greatest who could not but admire the virtue, and on that account engage in her cause.”