THOMAS CORIAT was born at Odcombe, near Ewel, in Somersetshire, and bred at Oxford, where he attained to a considerable proficiency in the Greek and Latin tongues. Having a great desire to travel, he visited several parts of Europe, and, at his return, after six months' absence, printed, in the year 1611, an acount of what he had seen, under the title of "Coriat's Crudities." This book, which had a prodigious sale, was, according to the fashion of the times, ushered into the world with no less than sixty encomiums in verse, penned by the

most celebrated wits of the times. These poems were written in an ironical style; but Coriat was proud of them, and understood them in a literal sense. Indeed, he appears to have been a man of excellent parts and learning, but of weak judgment, and therefore has been said to be the anvil on which the courtiers in the reign of James I tried their wits; but it is added, "this anvil sometimes returned their hammers VOL. VIII. NO. XLIX.

as hard knocks as it received, his bluntness repaying their abusiveness." Prince Henry, king James' son, allowed him a pension, and retained him in his service; and Coriat was constantly introduced with the dessert at all court entertainments. Amongst others that writ mock commendatory verses upon "Coriat's Crudities" was John Taylor, who, being a waterman, was called the Water Poet. gave great offence to Mr. Coriat, who complained of them to king James. They were those which follow:

These verses

It is well known that James I was ambitious of being considered as the Solomon of the age he lived in. John Taylor, a watermann the Thames and a poet, and therefore always stiled the Water Poet, laid hold on this to flatter the monarch on the following occasion: Having offended Coriat by his writings, that celebrated traveller presented a petition to king James, praying that Taylor might be punished for his insolence. Taylor followed the complaint with a counter-petition, conceived in the following sonnet:

Tea-urns.

Tea-urns pass for a modern and a British invention: their appli cation only is new. There is among the finds at Pompeii, preserved in the museum of Portici, an urn containing a hollow metallic cylinder, for the insertion of red hot iron, in which water was thus kept boiling. The whole apparatus in form and structure closely resembles our own utensils. Hero, in his Pneumatica, describes this machine by the name anthepsa. Cicero mentions it in his oration for Roscius Amerinus as of Corinthian origin. The Chinese have it not; for in Kien Long's Ode to Tea he describes a kettle on the fire.

Tobacco.

The Marrow of Compliments (Lond. 1654) contains the following song in praise of tobacco: Much meet doth gluttony procure

To feed men fat like swine;
But he's a frugal man indeed

That with a leaf can dine.
He needs no napkin for his hands,

His fingers' ends to wipe,
That hath his kitchen in a box,
His roast-meat in a pipe.

The Dunmow Bacon.

This whimsical institution, it should seem, was not peculiar to Dunmow. There was the same in Bretagne :-"A l'abbaie Sainct Melaine, près Rennes, y a plus de six cens ans sont, un costé de lard encore tout frais et ordonné aux

premiers, qui par an et jour ensemble mariez ont vescu san debat, grondement, et sans s'en repentir." Contes d'Entrap, t. ii. p. 161. ..

Dr. Bentley.

During the celebrated controversy betwixt Mr. Boyle and Dr. Bentley, on the subject of the Epistles of

Theodore, King of Corsica.

When Theodore, the unfortunate king of Corsica, was so reduced as to lodge in a garret in London, a number of gentlemen made a col. lection for his relief. The chairman of the committee informed him by letter, that on the following day, at twelve o'clock, two gentlemen would wait upon him with the money. To give his attic apartment an appearance of royalty, the poor monarch placed an arm-chair on his half-testered bed, and, seating himself under the scanty canopy, gave what he thought might serve as the representation of a throne. When his two visitors entered the room, he graciously held out his right hand, that they might have the honour of kissing it. Hogarth, vol. 1. p. 12.

Ireland's

brought before the court of session against his rich landlord, as he was coming out of the parliament house observed the city of Edinburgh's arms then inscribed over the gate, Nisi Dominus frustra (without the Lord it is in vain), shook his head, and said, "very true; Unless you be a laird it is in vain to come here."

Don Quixote.

It seems a problem in literature, that a nation the gravest and most seriously disposed by its natural temper, and the gloomy despotism of its government and religion, should have produced the most lively work that ever was written. It abounds in original humour and exquisite satire. It displays the most copious invention, the most whimsical incidents, and the keenest remarks on the follies of its cotemporaries. There is no book in whatever language that so eminently possesses the power of exciting laughter. The following anecdote may be recorded as an instance of it: Philip III, being one day at a balcony of the palace at Madrid, observed a young student on the borders of the Manzanares, with a book in his hand, who, as he read, exhibited the most violent marks of extacy and admiration, by his gestures and the repeated peals of laughter which he sent forth. Struck with the oddity of the sight, the king turned to one of his courtiers, and said, "Either that young man is out of his mind, or he is reading Don Quixote." The courtier descended for the purpose of satisfying the curiosity of the monarch, and discovered that it actually was a volume of Cervantes, which the youth was perusing with such delight.

Anecdote of Voltaire.

A curious circumstance is mentioned in a French paper, repecting

the second representation of Voltaire's celebrated tragedy of Zara. On its first representation, the play was received with the loudest applause; but the author conceived that some alteration in several passages would greatly increase the effect of the piece. Voltaire accordingly did introduce some alterations, and presented the play in the improved state to the several performers. Dufresne, who personated the principal character, refused to attend to the alterations, and no entreaties could prevail on him to give them the smallest notice. It was necessary to have recourse to a stratagem to gain Voltaire's object. He was apprised that Dufresne was very fond of a good dinner, and he determined to address him on this score. Voltaire got a pie prepared, filled with partridges, and sent it to Dufresne's house by a person who was carefully to conceal from him from whom the present came. The present was graciously received, and immediately made part of an entertainment which Dufresne happened that day to be giving to a party of friends. The pie was opened; and to Dufresne's no small surprise, each partridge contained in its mouth a copy of the alterations in Zara. He was so well pleased with the conceit, that he restudied the part; and a present of a partridge-pie was the means of giving stability to one of Voltaire's best tragedies.

he turns his attention, he will equally excel. But although he has an equal capacity of excelling in any science, he cannot become an adept in all; universal knowledge is not to be grasped by a human capacity. He must give his whole mind to one or two sciences, these will be connected with several others, in which he will collaterally make a considerable progress. It is rare, indeed, to find a man eminent in two opposite branches of knowledge.

"But if it be true, that children are born with an equal capacity of excelling in every science, how comes it that when they are arrived at years of maturity, and their parents are desirous of fixing them in a particular trade or profession, they find in them an invincible dislike to it, and that their inclination and talent lie quite a different way; and that children who are remarkably clever in some things, are frequently as stupid in others?"

The first object that strikes children forcibly, and excites in them an uncommonly strong sensation, fixes their genius; it instantly leads them to a science, in which they find delight, and the pleasure it affords induces them to bestow upon it labour and attention; it is, therefore, impossible but that they should excel in it. The improvement they make is always in proportion to the keenness of their sensations.

Parents should fix upon a profession for their children as soon as they are born; and, when the first dawning of reason begins to appear, use the necessary means to form their genius accordingly. They almost universally think that they have done their part in sending them to a reputable school, and giving them a good classical education. This is the least part of education. Some casual occurrence fixes children's genius, and the odds are very much against its being fixed according to the parent's wishes, unless, indeed, it should happen that, by never experiencing a strong sensation, they should remain destitute

of genius, and then they are equally fitted for plodding at any thing. But, even if such a sensation should occur, it will hardly infuse into them that spirit of emulation which a wise parent can. It is then gene

rally the fault of the parents if the child's genius does not point exactly as they would have it.

When chance fixes the genius of a child, it very often inspires it with as strong an aversion for one science as it does with love for another. In vain is it compelled to study what it hates; compulsion increases the disgust; it receives only unpleasant sensations; and, were it to live to the age of Methuselah, it would not be perfect in its rudiments.

We will now inquire, "by what means can the genius of a child be formed to any particular science, so as to ensure his attaining a considerable eminence in it?"

By placing him in situations the best calculated to excite strong sensations, and at times when they will strike him most forcibly.

Would I, for example, make my child a painter? his toys should almost entirely consist of pictures: and whenever I rewarded him for being good, it should be by a present of one particularly pretty. I would point out to him their various beauties, give him a pencil and some paints, tell him to copy them, and that when he had drawn those he had got, I would give him others; and when he had attempted it, reward and applaud him. I would teach him how to hold his pencil, and sometimes guide his hand. As soon as fit he should have a master. I would frequently take him out and show him the finest prospects, and point out to him distinctly their particular beauties, and, upon the spot, make him endeavour to imitate them. In order to fire him with emulation, I would relate to him the

* I here use the word chance in the sense that Helvetius does, viz: “An unknown concatenation of causes, calculated to produce certain effects."