Zendrini, mathematician to the Republic of Venice, invited to Lucca by the government, insisted upon the necessity of erecting flood-gates near the mouth of the Burlamacca; these gates would be closed by the flowing of the tides, or the force of the waves, when impelled by high winds, and would be opened by the fresh waters of the marshes when their level became higher than that of the sea. In 1740, the Republic gave orders for the construction of this work, which was finished in 1741. The utility of the experiment was proved in the most ample and satisfactory manner. The year after the construction of these floodgates, the dreadful maladies which had before desolated the population of Viareggio, Massaciuccoli, Queisa, and the neighbourhood of the lakes of Matrone and Perotto, had entirely disappeared. Since then the population rapidly increased, and is at this moment in a state of progression. Viareggio has become a considerable town; all suspicion of the insalubrity of its air has disappeared, and it is now the favourite summer residence of the wealthy families of Lucca, who come there to bathe and breathe the sea air. But if any doubts had still remained of the cause of this sudden amelioration, they were completely set at rest by what took place in the summers of 1768 and 1769, when Viareggio, and the parishes contiguous to the lakes of Massaciuccoli, were again visited by epidemic maladies.

From the parish registers of Viareggio for these two years it resulted that there were 170 deaths in a population of 1,130 souls, which is nearly one in fifteen per year, whilst in the following year, 1770, there were but thirty-two deaths, that is one in forty. The cause of the epidemic had been discovered and removed. During the years 1768 and 1769 the flood-gates, from being out of repair, had permitted the entrance of the sea-water. On this being remedied the following year the malady disappeared. In 1784 and 1785 a similar cause led to similar results. In 1784 the number of sick in Viareggio, as stated in the report made to government, was 1,200 in a population of 1,898 souls. This epidemic was removed, like that of 1769, by repairing the floodgates. The inhabitants of Montignoso, near the marshes of Cinquale, were reduced to such a deplorable state by the cattiva aria, that the government of Lucca thought proper to compel them to quit their habitations, and remove to another part of the country during the summers of 1808 and the following years until 1812, when the completion of a lock and flood-gates on the outlet of the Cinquale rendered this extraordinary measure no longer necessary. Since that period the air of Montignoso has become as salubrious as that of Viareggio. Similar means to destroy the insalubrity of the air were adopted at Matrone in 1819, and at Tanfalo in 1821, and the results have been invariably satisfactory.

TRANSLATION OF LATIN EPIGRAM.

Acon and Leonille each of an eye bereft,
He of his right, the lovely damsel of her left,

Since both in grace and beauty with the Gods could vie:
Yield, yield, sweet boy, to her thy sole remaining eye,
Then blind, thou wilt become the God of Love divine,
Then will thy sister as celestial Venus shine.

TASSO AND HIS SISTER.

"Devant vous est Sorrente; là, demeurait la sœur de Tasse, quand il vint en Pélerin demander à cette obscure amie, un asile contre l'injustice des Princes: ses longues douleurs avaient presque égaré sa raison; il ne lui restait plus que du génie." Corinne, vol. ii, p. 269.

She sat where, on each wind that sighed,

The citron's breath went by,

While the deep gold of eventide
Burn'd in th' Italian sky.

Her bower was one where day-light's close
Full oft sweet laughter found,

As thence the voice of childhood rose
To the high vineyards round.

But still and thoughtful, at her knee,
Her children stood that hour-

Their bursts of song, and dancing glee,
Hush'd as by words of power.

With bright, fix'd, wondering eyes, that gaz'd
Up to their mother's face,

With brows through parting ringlets rais'd,

They stood in silent grace.

While she-yet something o'er her look
Of mournfulness was spread-

Forth from a poet's magic book
The glorious numbers read:
The proud undying lay which pour'd
Its light on evil years;

His of the gifted pen and sword,*
The triumph-and the tears.

She read of fair Erminia's flight,
Which Venice once might hear
Sung on her glittering seas, at night,
By many a gondolier :

Of Him she read, who broke the charm

That wrapt the myrtle grove,

Of Godfrey's deeds-of Tancred's arm,

That slew his Paynim-love.

Young cheeks around that bright page glow'd;

Young holy hearts were stirr'd,

And the meek tears of woman flow'd

Fast o'er each burning word;

And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf,

Came sweet each pause between,

When a strange voice of sudden grief

Burst on the gentle scene.

The mother turn'd-a way-worn man
In pilgrim-garb stood nigh,

Of stately mien, yet wild and wan,
Of proud, yet restless eye:

But drops, that would not stay for pride,
From that dark eye gush'd free,

As, pressing his pale brow, he cried
Forgotten, ev'n by thee!"

-

It is hardly necessary to recall the well-known Italian saying, that "Tasso, with his sword and pen, was superior to all men.”

Am I so chang'd?—and yet, we two,
Oft hand in hand have play'd;
This brow hath been all bath'd in dew,

From wreaths which thou hast made!
We have knelt down, and said one prayer,
And sang one vesper-strain ;

My thoughts are dim with clouds of care-
Tell me those words again!

"Life hath been heavy on my head;

I come, a stricken deer,

Bearing the heart, 'midst crowds that bled,
To bleed in stillness here!"

She gaz'd-till thoughts that long had slept
Shook all her thrilling frame,-

She fell upon his neck, and wept,

And breath'd her Brother's name.

Her Brother's name! - and who was He,
The weary one, th' unknown,

That came, the bitter world to flee,

A stranger to his own?

He was the Bard of gifts divine

To sway the hearts of men

He of the song for Salem's shrine,

He of the sword and pen!

WHILE the memory of this wonderful man is yet fresh in the minds of his friends and the public, no efforts will of course be spared to snatch from oblivion every relic connected with his name: and we have not so much to dread from the want of abundance of materials, as of discrimination in the choice of those fittest to be selected.

A life of Dr. Parr is now in contemplation by Dr. John Johnson of Birmingham, a gentleman equally calculated by ability and talent, and his long habits of intimacy and friendship with the deceased, to execute such a task. There is but one other person who, from devotedness of attachment and parity of pursuits, might have been selected in preference: but he is gone before him; and all that remains for the surviving admirers of departed genius is, each to bring together those scattered recollections, which, like rays collected in one focus, may, when concentrated, throw some light upon a character, in which the scholar, the philanthropist, and the humourist were equally blended.

The

• Every lover of learning, and all who possess sufficient moral taste, must feel unusual pleasure in being made acquainted with the domestic habits and manners, and the common tone of thought and conversation of those whom Providence has gifted with intellectual faculties above their fellows. It is therefore gratifying to assure our readers, that these recollections are derived from an authentic source. leading points are supported in "A Sketch of the Character of the late Doctor Parr," printed for private distribution, and written by Miss Emily Calcraft, the writer of a short life of Lord Erskine, of which Dr. Parr spoke in terms of the highest approbation; and which, as well as the former tract, are specimens of a pure and forcible style of English composition, not unworthy of the pens of the celebrated characters of which they treat.-EDIT.

Living in the secluded village of Hatton, near Leamington, but in the immediate neighbourhood of a well-frequented watering-place, it was not by the idlers who dined in his company one day at an ordinary, or who lounged over to Hatton, in order (in the modern silly phrase) "to see a lion," that Dr. Parr was to be known or appreciated. The great characteristic of Dr. Parr's conversation was originality, united to an utter contempt of what might be the prevailing fashion of the day. Habits of intercourse were necessary to distinguish his serious from his jocose style: and in the presence of indifferent persons he would sometimes support an opinion or an argument " to make them stare," which they would be very idly employed in setting down as his real dispassionate sentiments.

It was in a visit to Leamington, during the summer of the year 1818, that the author had the pleasure of being introduced to Dr. Parr-an introduction which was followed by the advantage of his friendship and society, whenever circumstances permitted it, up to the moment of his lamented death. He was, at the time of first seeing him, in his seventy-second year, with none of his activity or intellectual vivacity impaired. In a recent publication he has been gratuitously presented with a lack-lustre eye." This must have been for the hackneyed pleasure of quoting Shakspeare, for never was there anything so unlike "lack-lustre as the eyes of Dr. Parr. They possessed uncommon fire and expression for his time of life: and were of that fine grey (more brilliant than blue, brown, or black,) that so often forms the index to the features of uncommon genius. He held his head a little on one side, in the Johnsonian manner; his features were rather agreeable than otherwise; his wig not quite so large as has been described, but still sufficient, with his grey bushy eye-brows, to give a remarkable character to his face; his figure was middle-sized, not much inclining to corpulence, and his clerical dress (which has been so often compared to and mistaken for that of a bishop), was such as he had a right to, as a prebend of St. Paul's.

The manner of Dr. Parr was at that time frank, cordial, and somewhat boisterous. Sickness and sorrow afterwards subdued it to the mildest tone. An invitation to Hatton afforded an opportunity of enjoying the rich treat of his conversation in his social hours; and as every thing must be interesting connected with the scene which his talents and virtues so long adorned, we will prefix a short description of the locale, before we arrive at the presiding genius of the place.

Hatton Parsonage, which rises modestly by the road-side, only separated from it by a very small garden in front, consists, besides the sleeping-rooms and offices, of three rooms on the ground floor, the library, a little smoking-room, and the drawing-room, every article of the furniture of which is now endeared by the remembrance of him who made it the centre of social pleasure, enlivening it by his wisdom and his wit. To the right of the fire-place was a massive fauteuil, the gift of one of his scholars, adorned with tapestry, and as inaccessible as the books to anybody but the Doctor. Over his head were prints, framed, and hung in a sort of order, called "the scholar's compartment." In the centre was Porson; beneath him, Twining the critic. To the right of Porson, Thomas Warton and Dr. Johnson; to the left, Gilbert Wakefield and Oliver Goldsmith. Alluding to Dr. Johnson's epitaph on Goldsmith, the Doctor observed, smiling,

there was "a little mistake in the Latin of that." Then turning to the portrait of Twining, "that was a clever fellow," he said, "a good scholar, but a sad ugly dog. It is not necessary for a man to be handsome, but I should be sorry to be as ugly as Twining!" Over the chimney hung a painting of Dr. Parr, in his red doctor's hood, and on his right and left Horner, Esq. M.P., and Sir Samuel Romilly. Beside this painting, a good bust and engraving of Dr. Parr ornamented the sitting-room. Two views of Harrow (a place so intimately connected with his earlier classical recollections), two views of Salisbury, and a fine design from an antique Neapolitan vase, formed nearly all the decoration of this kind that the room exhibited. A footstool covered with cats in tent-stitch, the needle-work done by one of the daughters of the late Duchess of Gordon, formed an appropriate companion to the worked elbow-chair, and was carefully prized by the Doctor. The library, which was also the eating-room, was a spacious apartment, lined with books, not splendidly bound, but, as Moore delightfully said, "looking like books that could be made free with." In this, however, he would have been woefully mistaken. The roses of Azor were not more jealously guarded than the Doctor's books. No one durst touch them under pain of death, unless the master offered them: and, as a convincing reason for this prohibition, the Doctor, mentioned, when he formerly permitted his guests the unbounded use of his library, curious passages, and even engravings, had been cut out of his favourite books! a species of unprincipled depredation to which nothing but the conscience of an amateur could ever be reconciled. He would lend books himself, however. I once saw a singular one, which a young lady was reading at his recommendation-the life of George Psalmanzar. Not only the library, but the landing-place of the first floor, and the passages leading to the sleeping-rooms, were tapissés de livres. The quantity thus accumulated was sometimes mentioned as one of the reasons for the Doctor's unwillingness to quit Hatton, although a village of few resources, from the difficulty he would have found in safely removing all his books. At dinner the Doctor talked a great deal of Homer, and the unabated "rapture with which he read him," and supported (but I think sportively) Bryant's hypothesis, that the Iliad was not the work of Homer, but that of several poets first collected by him; but the novelty of a first introduction,* and the variety of new objects, prevented the author from giving such undivided attention to the Doctor's conversation as in subsequent opportunities: so that we shall here put down, without farther particularizing dates, such remarks and opinions, given at different times, as may be truly termed his "table-talk."

In the opinion of Dr. Parr, the five best writers of English style were: Gray, the poet; Uvedale Price, author of a Treatise upon Landscape Gardening; Dr. Shipley, Bishop of St. Asaph; Dugald Stewart, and Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Next to these, but at a long interval, he placed John Horne Tooke!

Of Gray he seemed to think it scarcely possible to speak with suffi

The author doubted whether a more distinct allusion would be consistent with delicacy towards the unobtrusive merit that never in any way courted public admiration, but it would be unpardonable here to omit to mention, that the second Mrs. Parr, who at that time did the honours of his house, was in person, manners, and conduct every thing calculated to do honour to her husband's choice, and gild the evening of his days.