I have now before me an interesting little volume containing "Elegiac Verses" and other poetical effusions, composed by, and in the autograph of, Anne Ellys, wife and widow of a Bishop of St. David's. Most of the pieces are dated, the earliest in January, 1761, the latest February 15, 1763. The MS. is in small 4to. and contains fifteen pieces, eleven of which relate to the death of her husband (which occurred, so far as I can gather from the dates, on January 17th, 1761), and breathe a spirit of deep affection and of fervent piety. So far as I am aware, the poems have never been published; permit me to send you one of the pieces, as it may be deemed worthy of a place in the museum of inedited poetry already collected in your pages, and which I hope to see greatly increased. "THOUGHTS ON A GARDEN. "The mind of man, like a luxuriant field, Will various products, in abundance, yield. If cultur'd well by skilful gardener's hand, What beauteous prospects overspread the land. What various flowers to the sight appear, To deck each season of the rolling year. Their od'rous scents the opening buds disclose, } From the blew [sic] violet to the blushing rose, } And each in its successive order blows. } Each different fragrance yields a fresh delight, And various colours charm the ravish'd sight. Unnumber'd fruits as well as flowers arise, To please the taste, and to delight the eyes. The blooming peach tempts the beholder's hand, And curling vines in beauteous order stand; Their purple clusters to the sight disclose, While ruddy apples with vermillion glows [sic]. Fancy and order makes the whole complete, Not costly elegance, yet exactly neat. Delightful scene, produce of care and pains, Late wild and dreary were these beauteous plains. And should they now again neglected be, } How soon, alas, would the beholder see, } Instead of order, wild deformity. } Let this, my soul, incline thee to reflect, The fatal consequence of sad neglect. Thy mind like this sweet spot thou may'st improve, And make it worthy of its Maker's love. Observe thyself with nicest care, thy pain And present labour will be future gain. Let no ill weeds arise lest they destroy, The seeds of virtue which alone yield joy. Manure thy soul with every lovely grace, No more let sin thy heaven-born soul deface. Nor idle or inactive, let it be; By this example warn'd, observe and see How from the least neglect great dangers rise. Watch lest the nipping frost of sin surprise, Or gusts of passion with impetuous sway, Bear down thy good resolves, or then delay. As scorching suns destroy the new set tree, And burn the tender plant in infancy; So jealous of thy own improvements be,