Among the other deaths of the year 1773, the following are noteworthy. At Vienna, of a broken heart, from the miseries of his country, the brave Prince Poniatowski, brother to the King of Poland, and a general in the Austrian service, in which he had been greatly distinguished during the last war. The partition of Poland was then only a year old, and the echoes of the assertions of the lying Czar, Emperor, and King, that they never intended to lay a finger on that ancient kingdom, had hardly died out of the hearing of the astounded world. England is always trusting the words of Czars and their Khiva protestations, always learning and never coming to the knowledge of the truth. A name less known than Poniatowski may be cited for the singularity attached to it. ‘Hale Hartson, Esq., the author of the “Countess of Salisbury” and other ingenious pieces--a young gentleman of fine parts, and who, though very young, had made the tour of Europe three times.’ An indication of what a fashionable quarter Soho, with its neighbourhood, was in 1773, is furnished by the following announcement: ‘Suddenly, at her house in Lisle Street, Leicester Fields, Lady Sophia Thomas, sister of the late Earl of Albemarle, and aunt of the present.’ Foreign ambassadors then dwelt in Lisle Street. Even dukes had their houses in the same district; and baronets lived and died in Red Lion Square and in Cornhill. Among those baronets an eccentric individual turned up now and then. In the obituary is the name of Sir Robert Price, of whom it is added that ‘he left his fortune to seven old bachelors in indigent circumstances.’ The death of one individual is very curtly recorded; all the virtues under heaven would have been assigned to her, had she not belonged to a vanquished party. In that case she would have been a high and mighty princess; as it was, we only read, ‘Lately, Lady Annabella Stuart, a relation of the late royal family, aged ninety-one years, at St.-Omer.’ A few of us are better acquainted with the poet, John Cunningham, whose decease is thus quaintly chronicled: ‘At Newcastle, the ingenious Mr. John Cunningham. A man little known, but that will be always much admired for his plaintive, tender, and natural pastoral poetry.’ Some of the departed personages seem to have held strange appointments. Thus we find Alexander, Earl of Galloway, described as ‘one of the lords of police;’ and Willes, Bishop of Bath and Wells, who died in Hill Street when Mrs. Montague and her blue stockings were in their greatest brilliancy, is described as ‘joint Decypherer (with his son, Edward Willes, Esq.) to the king.’ We believe that the duty of decypherer consisted in reading letters that were opened, on suspicion, in their passage through the post-office. Occasionally a little page of family history is opened to us in a few words, as, for instance, in the account of Sir Robert Ladbroke, a rich City knight, whose name is attached to streets, roads, groves, and terraces in Notting Hill.