The criticism of the note quoted by G. D. is sound: "Hardman was no poet, but he could describe graphically what he saw and did." The poem seems to have been the result of a sudden thought. In the dedication he says it was not begun till May 18, and "A Letter to the Right Hon. George Canning," appended to it, is dated June 4. In the letter he says, that if he "can get into the printing-house again without loss," he will answer Mr. Canning effectually on the Catholic question. He also hopes "to get before the public every week," and "to show that all gentlemen professing the law are the most abused, and at the same time more honest than any other class in this kingdom." Had the last-mentioned hope been fulfilled, I think I should have heard of it. I have not met with any other work bearing Captain Hardman's name; and probably his printer's bill (he was his own publisher) put an end to his literary career. I subjoin two specimens of the poem which, though not relating to the subject of G. D.'s Query, may be interesting if you have room for them, as such poetry is not published every day. An exhortation to good conduct ends thus: 'Therefore let us prepare, the call may be very soon; Then we shall not despair, if the call be made before noon: But if our sins weigh us down, what misery and woe! Ah! devils all slily squinting, and to them we must go. Their eyes are flames of fire, their tongues are frightful darts, Their looks a venomous ire, ready to pierce our feeble hearts, Their cloven feet of enmity, their taily stings so long, Their poisonous hearts of calomel, daily forming vicious songs."--P. 12. The other describes his own narrow escape, and the death of an artilleryman: "A ball from their infantry went through my jacket, Took the skin off my side, and made me racket. My sword-belt turned it, otherwise through it must have gone. The stroke was very severe, compare it to a sharp gore. Captain Fitzroy said, 'Harding is severely wounded; A ball has gone through his side: here it comes, rounded!' 'Stop,' said I, 'a minute; I shall be ready for another shot, I have now gotten my breath again, I will make them rot.' I then said to a gunner who was alleviating a gun, 'Which of those columns do you mean to make run?' 'That,' said he, pointing with his finger to a very large mass. A ball came that instant and turned him into brass. It cut him in two; he then turned as yellow as that metal. He was a strange sight to see, and appeared quite brittle."--P. 16. H. B. C. U. U. C. * * * * * DATES OF BIRTHS AND DEATHS OF THE PRETENDERS. (Vol. viii., p. 565.)