true-at the end of three days, when all the family except herself had forgotten the story, our pretty soubrette, half bursting with the long retention, took the opportunity of lacing on my new half-boots to reveal the prophecy. "She was to see within the week, and this was Saturday, the young man, the real young man, whom she was to marry." Why, Harriet, you know poor Joel." "Joel, indeed! the gipsy said that the young man, the real young man, was to ride up to the house drest in a dark great coat (and Joel never wore a great coat in his life— all the world knew that he wore smock-frocks and jackets), and mounted on a white horse-and where should Joel get a white horse ?” "Had this real young man made his appearance yet?" "No; there had not been a white horse past the place since Tuesday: so it must certainly be to-day."

A good look-out did Harriet keep for white horses during this fateful Saturday, and plenty did she see. It was the market-day at B., and team after team came by with one, two, and three white horses; cart after cart, and gig after gig, each with a white steed; Colonel M.'s 'carriage, with its prancing pair-but still no horseman. At length one appeared; but he had a great coat whiter than the animal he rode; another, but he was old farmer Lewington, a married man; a third, but he was little Lord L., a school-boy, on his Arabian poney. Besides, they all passed the house; and as the day wore on, Harriet began, alternately, to profess her old infidelity on the score of fortune-telling, and to let out certain apprehensions that, if the gipsy did really possess the power of foreseeing events, and no such horseman arrived, she might possibly be unlucky enough to die an old maid-a case for which, although the proper destiny of a coquette, our village beauty seemed to entertain a very decided aversion.

At last, just at dusk, just as Harriet, making believe to close our casement shutters, was taking her last peep up the road, something white appeared in the distance coming leisurely down the hill. Was it really a horse? Was it not rather Titus Strong's cow driving home to milking? A minute or two dissipated that fear: it certainly was a horse, and as certainly it had a dark rider. Very slowly he descended the hill, pausing most provokingly at the end of the village, as if about to turn up the Vicarage-lane. He came on, however, and after another short stop at the Rose, rode full up to our little gate, and catching Harriet's hand as she was opening the wicket, displayed to the halfpleased, half-angry damsel the smiling triumphant face of her own Joel Brent, equipped in a new great coat, and mounted on his master's newly-purchased market nag. Oh, Joel! Joel! The gipsy! the gipsy! M.

SONG.

Some say 'tis hard to gain the heart
Of woman, tho' we seek it;

Some say 'tis harder to impart
Sufficient warmth to keep it.
Yet when possession gives a chill,
And love begins to waver,
Some say retreat requires a skill,
Much harder a manœuvre.

M. M. New Series.-VOL. I. No. 1.

Ꭰ

B. T. ·

MIASMA OF THE MARSHES CONTIGUOUS TO THE MEDITERRANEAN.* A MARSHY strand extends along the Mediterranean, between the rivers Serchio and Frigido, in the territory of Massa de Carrara, and appears to be formed by the sands deposited by the Serchio and the Arno in the gulf which formerly reached to the foot of the Ligurean Appenines; for the bottom of the marshes is formed of the same sand as that of the coast, which increases yearly in breadth, by an alluvion of four or five fathoms. This district comprizes three lakes, viz. Massaciuccoli, Della Torre et di Motrone, and de Petrotto, each of which has a natural or artificial communication with the sea, into which they discharge their superfluous waters. But as their level is lower than that of the sea at high water, they were overflowed by the spring tides, or whenever the libecciata (north-west wind) blew strongly. The mixture of salt and fresh water in the lakes, slowly and seldom renewed during summer, became corrupted, and infected the air. The effects of the cattiva aria are at present too well known to render it necessary to go into any detail upon the miserable state to which the inhabitants in the neighbourhood of these lakes were reduced. Suffice it to say, that they were continually subject to diseases of the liver and spleen; and that the population was composed of languishing children, and sickly men and women, though in the prime of life. Old age was unknown amongst them. Such was the state of things before the year 1741, when a partial attempt was made to purify the air. One of the principal causes of the insalubrity of the air in similar situations as that described above was known to the ancients, for Vitruvius, in his "Architecture," book 1st, chap. iv., says that no town should be built near a marsh, the level of which was not above that of the sea.. For in the case where it was not so, the salt-water, driven by the tide or high winds, had no means of flowing off afterwards. Silvius, Donat, Pringle, Boerhave, Monsignor Lancisi, and others, have more or less clearly intimated that it is principally from those marshes in which there is a mixture of fresh and sea-water, and in which this mixture remains for a long time exposed to the summer sun, that arise the most deleterious miasmata. This opinion had, however, hitherto been supported by no direct proof; for to ascertain with certainty that the insalubrity of the air in the neighbourhood of marshes where a mixture of fresh and salt water existed was caused by this mixture, it was necessary to permit and hinder, successively, the communication between the fresh and sea water, and thereby become assured that their separation was followed by a purification of the air, and that their re-meeting was as certainly accompanied by mephitic and pestilential exhalations. This experiment has been tried in our days, with the most complete and almost unhopedfor success. The following are the details:-In 1714, Gemignano Rondelli, the engineer of Bologna, offered to attempt separating the water of the sea from those of the lakes. In 1730, the celebrated Eustache Manfredi made a similar proposal. In 1736, Bernardino

* Substance of a Memoir upon the causes of the insalubrity of the air in the neighbourhood of marshes in communication with the sea. Read at the Royal Academy of Sciences, at Paris, by Mr. Gaetano Giorgini, Member of the Academy of Lucca.

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.

TASSÓ 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!

F. H.

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. PARR,'

Between the Years 1818 and 1825.

*

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.

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. The 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.