An Odd Fault.—­It is said that when the learned Humphrey Prideaux offered his Life of Mahomet to the bookseller, he was desired to leave the copy with him for a few days, for his perusal.  The bookseller said to the doctor at his return, “Well, Mr. What’s your Name, I have perused your manuscript; I don’t know what to say of it; I believe I shall venture to print it; the thing is well enough; but I could wish there were a little more humour in it.”  This story is otherwise told in a note in Swift’s works, where the book is said to have been Prideaux’s “Connexion of the History of the Old and New Testament,” in which, it must be confessed, the difficulty of introducing humour is more striking.

Dictionaries.—­Dr. Johnson, while compiling his dictionary, sent a note to the Gentleman’s Magazine, to inquire the etymology of the word CURMUDGEON.  Having obtained the desired information, he thus recorded in his work his obligation to an anonymous writer:  “CURMUDGEON, s. a vicious way of pronouncing coeur mechant.  An unknown correspondent.”  Ash copied the word into his dictionary, in the following manner:  CURMUDGEON, from the French, coeur, “unknown,” and mechant, “correspondent!”

Heber’s Palestine.—­When Reginald Heber read his prize poem, “Palestine,” to Sir Walter Scott, the latter observed that, in the verses on Solomon’s Temple, one striking circumstance had escaped him, namely, that no tools were used in its erection.  Reginald retired for a few minutes to the corner of the room, and returned with the beautiful lines:—­

    “No hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung;
      Like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung. 
    Majestic silence,” &c.

Use of H.—­“What has become of your famous General Eel?” said the Count d’Erleon to Mr. Campbell.  “Eel,” said a bystander, “that is a military fish I never heard of;” but another at once enlightened his mind by saying to the count, “General Lord Hill is now Commander-in-Chief of the British forces!”

Cowper’s “John Gilpin.”—­It happened one afternoon, in those years when Cowper’s accomplished friend, Lady Austen, made a part of his little evening circle, that she observed him sinking into increased dejection.  It was her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief, and at this time it occurred to her to tell him the story of John Gilpin, (which had been treasured in her memory from her childhood), in order to dissipate the gloom of the passing hour.  Its effects on the fancy of Cowper had the air of enchantment.  He informed her the next morning that convulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him waking during the greatest part of the night! and that he had turned it into a ballad.  So arose the pleasant poem of “John Gilpin.”