About twenty years subsequently, a citizen of Ephesus, and his friend from Athens, were walking upon the shore of the sea, a few miles from the former city. There were a number of young Ephesians exercising themselves in athletic sports upon the sands, at whom they looked for a while, and then passed on. After a few steps they stopped to examine something over which the sea was breaking near the shore. A few human bones blackened and mouldering met their gaze. “Near this spot,” said the Ephesian, “we burnt Erostratus.” “Who was he?” replied the Athenian, “I do not remember to have ever heard of him.” The Ephesian made no reply but hurried his friend on board a small fishing boat, and put to sea. It was long before the Athenian could obtain an explanation of this singular conduct from his agitated friend. The Ephesian at length reminded him of the edict, and avowed that the forbidden name had escaped his lip, and been overheard by the youths who were near them. A vessel bound to Greece picked them up. The Ephesian settled in Attica, never daring to return to his native country. The greater portion of the incidents recorded above were communicated by him to his friend, and the tale, corroborated by others, became well known throughout Greece; but at Ephesus, no one for centuries dared to utter the forbidden name of Erostratus. BELLES OF WILLIAMSBURG. [We have rather accidentally met with these two poems, _The Belles of Williamsburg_, and the _Sequel to the Belles of Williamsburg_, both written and circulated in that place in 1777. These pieces are believed to have been either composed by two different gentlemen, or to have been the joint production of both. As we cannot, however, assign to each his due share, we do not think ourselves at liberty to mention their names—which (although the authors in question are now no more,) are still distinguished names in Virginia.] THE BELLES OF WILLIAMSBURG. Wilt thou, advent'rous pen, describe The gay, delightful, silken tribe, That maddens all our city; Nor dread, lest while you foolish claim A near approach to beauty's flame, Icarus' fate may hit ye. With singed pinions tumbling down, The scorn and laughter of the town, Thou'lt rue thy daring flight; While every miss with cool contempt, Affronted by the bold attempt, Will, tittering, view thy plight. Ye girls, to you devoted ever, The object still of our endeavor Is somehow to amuse you; And if instead of higher praise, You only laugh at these rude lays, We'll willingly excuse you. Advance then each illustrious maid, In order bright to our parade, With beauty's ensigns gay; And first, two nymphs who rural plains Forsook, disdaining rustic swains, And here exert their sway.