with great admiration of Warburton's immense stores of erudition, and Johnson's wonderful powers of mind; but Fox was the man whom Parr idolized. In his " Philopatris Varvicensis" he has evinced his attachment in some of the happiest efforts of his learning.

Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, and Pope, were Parr's favourite poets of the old school. Of modern poetry he read scarcely any, except Byron and Campbell. "Childe Harold" he considered by far the noblest poem of the author; and I have heard him quote, with high praise, passages from the "Pleasures of Hope."

He was fond of Johnson's " Imitations of Juvenal." The lines in the third satire,-

"Tanti tibi non sit opaci,

Omnis arena Tagi, quodque in mare volvitur aurum

Ut somuo careas.'

Parr was fond of quoting, with Johnson's amplification of the senti

ment:

“But thou, should tempting villany present

All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,
Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor sell for gold, what gold will never buy,
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay."

The only productions of Ovid I went through with Parr, were parts of the Metamorphoses. He considered the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses, contending for the shield of Achilles, as master-pieces, scarcely to be surpassed by any thing in Virgil.

My preceptor's manner of reading the liturgy was singularly impressive, particularly with reference to the Lord's Prayer and the Commandments. To his delivery of the Lord's Prayer, when he came to the words, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven," he laid the emphasis on the words in italics. Indeed, the Doctor delighted in antithesis. This was the principal fault of his style. He generally took a volume of printed sermons into the pulpit, in particular those of Dr. Barrow, of whom and Jeremy Taylor I have heard him speak as the most eloquent prose-writers in the English language. From one of these discourses he read at intervals several passages, making extempore additions from time to time. In this way he made three or four sermons from one of Barrow's. On days appointed for a fast or thanksgiving, many persons came from a considerable distance to his parish church. On these and other similar occasions, whilst I was under his tuition, the Doctor used to dictate to me, in his summer-house, as fast as I could write, a sermon, the preaching of which would occupy nearly an hour, and this was generally done on the morning of the day when the discourse in question was to be delivered. Indeed, Parr's facility of composition was astonishing. He scarcely ever paused for a word, and his corrections and alterations on a revisal were very rare. I firmly believe, that if his correspondence with his friends and with the various literary characters of Great Britain and the Continent, were published, it would constitute many folio volumes, and very interesting volumes too, comprising, as they would,

learned critiques and commentaries upon the great writers of Greece and Rome. The assistance he gratuitously gave to authors, was incalculable. Sometimes when he was much pleased with a modern work, he took the pains to write an elaborate critique upon it, which he sent inclosed in a letter to the author, although in some instances quite a stranger to him. I well recollect the manner in which he devoured every page of the first edition of Roscoe's Life of "Lorenzo de Medicis. After his first perusal of the book, he went through it again with me, to whom he dictated numerous critical observations and suggestions, which he enclosed in a complimentary letter to Mr. Roscoe, and which, as I believe, led to a friendly intimacy between the Doctor and that gentleman.

Parr's handwriting was, in truth, what he himself termed it, "a chaotic scrawl," and, to those who were not familiar with it, appeared like Egyptian hieroglyphics. It was generally written in lines of uneven length, so as at first sight to resemble a Greek ode. But, as he almost always had an amanuensis, his correspondents were seldom inconvenienced. When he did write a letter himself, it was often on a scrap of paper; and this I have known him do, when addressing a learned prelate now living. Dr. Parr, like Dr. Johnson, was very fond of a good dinner, in the eating of which he evinced a degree of delight not very philosophical. I have known him, when there has been a hash on the table, say, "Give me all flippets," meaning the triangular pieces of bread on the dish; and once, when dining in company with some young ladies at Coventry, upon seeing a roast fowl he exclaimed, in a moment of forgetfulness, "Give me both the wings." But with regard to wine he was remarkably temperate, more particularly when his habit of smoking is considered. He did not, however, flinch from the bottle on festive occasions: he used to say, that he despised the cold-hearted fellow who could never be tempted to convivial enjoyment. When engaged in friendly controversy over wine, the Doctor would sometimes lay down his pipe, and pour forth a torrent of eloquence, such as he thought calculated to overwhelm his adversary; at the conclusion of which he would smoke with all his might for a minute or two, until he had raised a cloud over the table: he would then lay down his pipe again, with an air of visible triumph, as much as to say, "Answer that, if you can!"

I will here mention the names of a few of those individuals of rank with whom Parr was on terms of friendly intimacy when I was with him. I have already adverted to the circumstance of his having been a visitor at Carlton-house; and I have often heard him contrast the King's kind indulgence of his favourite propensity with the petty arrogance of some purse-proud persons, who thought it a condescension to tolerate what the Prince of Wales allowed him. He always spoke of his present Majesty as an accomplished gentleman and most agreeable companion; and he thought highly of his intellectual endowments. With the Duke of Sussex Parr was in habits of the greatest intimacy; and at the table of that illustrious personage, smoking was not a matter of toleration, but of reciprocal gratification. The Doctor has in his will recorded his friendship for the duke, by the legacy of a ring, of the value of ten guineas. The late Duke of Norfolk, the late and the present Dukes of Bedford, the Marquis of Tavistock, and every

other member of that distinguished family; the late Duke of Leinster, the late Duke of Devonshire, the present Marquis of Lansdowne, and his father, the first Marquis, better known as Earl of Shelburne ; Lord John Townshend, Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Windham, Mr. Tierney, General Fitzpatrick, Lord Stowell (whom I have heard Parr describe as one of our best scholars, and one of the cleverest men of the day), Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, Lord Holland, &c. I could easily swell the catalogue. At the seats of the Dukes of Norfolk and Bedford, and of Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, Parr sometimes remained a visitor for several weeks. Lord Holland was, in the Doctor's mind, identified with his illustrious uncle, who was to Parr what Mecca is to a Mussulman.

When Parr visited the metropolis, he generally remained at his lodgings until late in the afternoon. During that interval he might be said to hold a levee. I have often seen fifteen or sixteen persons assembled in his apartments at these times. His head was generally enveloped in a nightcap, and the rest of his costume was of the same calibre. On these occasions he was sometimes visited by individuals whom he had never seen before, and who came because they were anxious to be acquainted with one of his celebrity. His celebrity also occasioned several applications to him from artists, requesting him to sit for his portrait and his bust. All this homage really delighted the Doctor, though he sometimes said with an arch smile, "It's very inconvenient to be so notorious." Although his costume in a morning was such as I have described, very different was the case when he was going to dine in company. On such occasions, when arrayed in pontificalibus, and wearing the grand peruke, Parr looked strikingly pompous and dignified. On certain special occasions, when visiting grandees," he wore a suit of black velvet. When he dined out, his cassock and apron invariably constituted part of his dress; and whilst on a visit at Arundel Castle, Woburn Abbey, or Holkham, he wore in a morning, instead of his ordinary nightcap, one of crimson-velvet with a gold tassel. I take this opportunity of mentioning, that among the families of rank with whom Parr was long on a footing of friendly intimacy, I ought to have included that of the late Sir William Jerningham, and the Honourable Lady Jerningham, the father and mother of George Jerningham, now Lord Stafford.* When the Doctor

The Doctor was very partial to Mr. Edward Jerningham (Lord Stafford's youngest brother) who was for many years Secretary to the English Catholic Board, an ornament to Catholicism, or rather to Christianity. That excellent and accomplished person died a few years ago of erysipelas, "Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit, nulli flebilior quam mihi." His angelic wife, Emily Jerningham, in three weeks afterwards, became a victim of the same malady. At the first levee held by his present Majesty after his Coronation, and which was, I believe, the fullest ever known, the King said to Sir George Jerningham, "Sir George Jerningham, I thank you for your kind offer of the Staff of the Hereditary High Constable of England, to be used at my late Coronation; and my only reason for not accepting it, was, that I did not wish to see the staff in any other hands but your own."

The staff alluded to is that which belonged to Lord Stafford's ancestor, the unfortunate Stafford Duke of Buckingham, hereditary Lord High Constable of England, who was beheaded in the reign of Henry the Eighth.

came to Norwich, he generally visited Cossey Hall, where the good old style of English hospitality has long prevailed.

I will now mention two anecdotes of Parr, which I believe to be authentic, and I hope will be thought amusing, these Recollections of him being thrown together desultorily as they occur to me.

During the period when my preceptor was master of the Free-school at Norwich, and when balloons were the frequent topic of conversation, some mischievous wag inserted a paragraph in a newspaper, stating that "the celebrated Dr. Parr, on such a day, went up in a balloon with Blanchard or Lunardi (I forget which of them), and that several days had since elapsed without any tidings having arrived at Norwich, either of the balloon or Dr. Parr, to the unspeakable grief of his disconsolate family." This hoax succeeded so completely, that the Doctor's then wife received numerous letters of condolence on the sad catastrophe.

The occasion of the other occurrence, which took place during the same period, was a ball given by the Doctor at Norwich. The time fixed for the arrival of the party was shortly after the hour when the boys usually went to bed. The dormitory adjoined the ball-room, from which it was only separated by folding-doors; the company arrives; the music strikes up; country-dances commence, and all is mirth and gaiety. In the meantime the boys jump out of their beds, and crowd together, like a swarm of bees, against the folding doors. The Doctor hearing the sound of voices in the dormitory, and being desirous to ascertain the cause, on a sudden opened one of the foldingdoors, upon which down came all the boys on the floor in no other habiliment than their shirts. The effect of such an irruption in the ball-room may readily be imagined. Parr's vexation was extreme. vowed he would flog them all the next morning. Away scampered the boys amidst peals of laughter on every side.

He

In writing Latin epitaphs, Parr was unrivalled; he adhered strictly to the style of the ancient inscriptions. His epitaphs on Dr. Johnson, and on Gibbon, the former inscribed on the monument in St. Paul's Cathedral, the latter on a mausoleum erected by Lord Sheffield, are happy specimens of his powers in that species of composition. In the original copy of the epitaph on Johnson, Parr, in alluding to his poetry, described him as "Poetæ probabili." The word probabili, which is Ciceronian, the Doctor considered to be peculiarly appropriate to characterize the poetical powers of the great lexicographer. But the expression having been objected to on the ground of its not being sufficiently laudatory, Parr, (with great reluctance, and much against his own judgment, as he himself told me,) was prevailed upon to substitute the following words, which are now on the monument. "Poetæ luminibus sententiarum et ponderibus verborum admirabili." This alteration was a source of great vexation to Parr, who said to me, "The blockheads made me spoil the epitaph. In a conversation which I had with Sir William Scott on the subject, I convinced him that I was right." The epitaph to the memory of Gibbon was dictated to me: it is to be found in the last edition of Gibbon's posthumous works.

If Parr were now to range the old hereditary groves of Cossey, he might well exclaim, on meeting the present honoured and exalted lady of that hospitable mansion: "Gratior est pulchro veniens in corpore virtus."

THE SOLDIER'S WILL.

TwAs near Aboukir Bay,

Where waved the tri-color,
That sign which led to victory
Proud warriors now no more ;-
'Twas near Aboukir Bay,

Where Nelson's prowess shone,
Dimming those high names of their day-
France and Napoleon-

That deadly raged the fight;

Until the Crescent flew,

And hurried after, high and bright,

The white, the red, and blue.

And fast the victors prest

The vanquish'd in the rout;
Like ocean-bird that finds no rest,
The Turk ranged wild about.

And far and faint the sound
Of battle soon rolls by,
And slow and slower peal around
The deep artillery.

"Tis now the set of sun-
It goes down darkly red,
And flings a dusky glare upon
The desert and the dead.
But where the fight has been,
And thickest lie the slain,
Moslem and Gaul still quench in blood
Their last of mortal pain.

And curse, and prayer, and moan,

And the soul-breaking sigh,

And the despair too great to groan
Its mighty misery-

Are on the sandy shore,

With many a swordless hand;
And one whose dream of glory o'er
Is dying on that strand-

One who had nursed fond hope
Of honour and a name,

And given ambition's yearning scope
In war's flagitious game.

Valour is his, and love,

The spur that adds fresh speed
To glory's race, and aids to prove
Its claim to beauty's meed.

That love hangs lingering still
Upon his latest breath,

Changeless alike in good or ill,

The conqueror of death.

It lately came out in a law court that a soldier had traced his will with his

sword on the sand, and it was held to be good.-Daily Paper.