Sir Isaac Newton, and I know not how many other philosophers, have been made to learn by a current story how to bear coals--literally. A learned man, it is said, being asked by a little girl for a live coal, offered to bring her a fire shovel. 'It is not necessary,' replied the child, and having laid cold ashes on her palm, she placed a glowing ember on them and bore it away safely. 'With all my wisdom,' said the sage, 'I should never have thought of that!' The jest is of mediaeval antiquity--possibly pre-Latin--it was in later days, however, versified by Schurrias--an extremely aged and dying woman being substituted for the learned man. 'Nam nuda poteris ignea ferre manu? Parva puella refert: mater, perizomate prunas Portabo flammae ne nocuisse queant. Quid facies igitur, Anus inquit? Serviet hicce Mi cinis, illa refert; quo super hasce feram. Mox exclamat Anus: disco, moriorque profecto. En disco moriens quae latuere senem: _O, ich lern und stirb_!' A very great number of the 'good stories' current at the present day with new names and faces, are to be found in the works of Rabelais, and in the _Moyen Parvenir_, now generally attributed to him. It is almost needless to say that few of these were however original with the great French humorist. We find them in the Macaronics of Merlin Coccaius, and in scores of older authorities. Still it must be borne in mind that a similarity does not always establish an identity. There are few persons who cannot cite some droll instance of a sharper or greedy fellow, who, expecting an undeserved reward for some sham service, has found himself drolly overreached. So Rabelais dresses up for us anew the fable of the woodman, who, having lost his hatchet, and wearied Jupiter with prayers for its recovery, was tempted by Mercury with a golden hatchet, and asked if it were the missing article. He answering 'No,' received the precious one for reward. Which being made known, excited great hopes among his neighbors of becoming rich by the same means: