of Cyrus, which was read to me, seized my imagination, and, next to Joseph in the Old Testament, Cyrus became the favourite of my childhood.  My sister and I used to amuse ourselves with playing Cyrus at the court of his grandfather Astyages.  At the great Persian feasts, I was, like young Cyrus, to set an example of temperance, to eat nothing but watercresses, to drink nothing but water, and to reprove the cupbearer for making the king, my grandfather, drunk.  To this day I remember the taste of those water-cresses; and for those who love to trace the characters of men in the sports of children, I may mention that my character for sobriety, if not for water-drinking, has continued through life.’

* In Gay’s Fables.

When Richard Edgeworth encouraged his daughter Maria’s literary tastes, he was doubtless mindful how much pleasure and support his own mother had derived from studying the best authors; and when we read later of the affectionate terms on which Maria stood with her various stepmothers and their families, we cannot help thinking that she must have inherited at least one of the beautiful traits in her grandmother’s character which Richard Edgeworth especially dwells on:  ’She had the most generous disposition that I ever met with; not only that common generosity, which parts with money, or money’s worth, freely, and almost without the right hand knowing what the left hand doeth; but she had also an entire absence of selfish consideration.  Her own wishes or opinions were never pursued merely because they were her own; the ease and comfort of everybody about her were necessary for her well-being.  Every distress, as far as her fortune, or her knowledge, or her wit or eloquence could reach, was alleviated or removed; and, above all, she could forgive, and sometimes even forget injuries.’

Richard’s taste for science early showed itself, when at seven years old his curiosity was excited by an electric battery which was applied to his mother’s paralysed side.  He says:—­

’At this time electricity was but little known in Ireland, and its fame as a cure for palsy had been considerably magnified.  It, as usual, excited some sensation in the paralytic limbs on the first trials.  One of the experiments on my mother failed of producing a shock, and Mr. Deane seemed at a loss to account for it.  I had observed that the wire which was used to conduct the electric fluid, had, as it hung in a curve from the instrument to my mother’s arm, touched the hinge of a table which was in the way, and I had the courage to mention this circumstance, which was the real cause of failure.’