DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oom THE COLERIDGE COLLECTION EARLY RECOLLECTIONS; CHIEFLY RELATING TO THE LATE SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 2 Vols. Cloth, with 6 Portraits, 21s. Proofs 28s. MEtDTM tATK,©Wi €®E»amE®©a, from * Drawing by Haru/irA fryzti/n fcc, Pofsefs/m of jW Pofsefsr. EARLY RECOLLECTIONS, CHIEFLY RELATING TO THE LATE SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, DURING HIS LONG RESIDENCE IN BRISTOL. By JOSEPH COTTLE. IN TWO VOL UMES. VOL. II. LONDON: LONGMAN, REES & CO. AND HAMILTON ADAMS & CO. 1837. C 849£ CONTENTS OF VOL. II. Page. Letter of Mr. Southey, Corunna, 1795 ... ... 3 Letter of Mr. Southey, Lisbon, 1796 ... ... 6 Mr. Southey's Rhyming letter, Lisbon, 1800 ... ... 14 Letter of Mr. Coleridge, respecting Germany ... ... 18 Slow sale of Mr. Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads ... 23 Letter from Mr. Wordsworth ... ... 24 Mr. C. accompanies Mr. Coleridge on a visit to Mr. Words- worth, Stockburn, Durham ... ... 25 Mr. Davy arrives in Bristol to superintend the Pneumatic Institution ... ... 28 Mr. Lambton, and Mr. T. Wedgwood's liberal patronage of the Pneumatic Institution ... ... 28 The Earl of Durham and his brother, educated by Dr. Beddoes 29 Mr. Davy's hazardous experiments with the Nitrous Oxide and other gases ... ... 33 Ludicrous effects produced on Miss by the Nitrous Oxide 37 Mr. Davy nearly killed by the gases ... ... 40 Relinquishment of the Pnehmatie Institution ... ... 41 Mr. Davy's experiments on the epidermis of canes ... 42 Questions respecting Silex on the surface of plants ... 44 263853 CONTENTS. Page. Mr. Coleridge introduced to Mr. Davy ... ... 46 Mr. Coleridge's satire on a Cantabrigian ... ... 45 Observations on Mr. Bowles ... ... 47 Origin of Mr. Coleridge's Tragedy ... ... 49 Mr. Coleridge's Military Life ... ... 54 Mr. Coleridge ransomed by his friends ... ... 63 Mr. Wade's approval of this narrative (note) ... 63 Anecdote of Mr. Coleridge, and his rusty gun ... 64 Anecdote of Mr. Coleridge, and his awkward riding ... 64 Epigrams by Mr. Coleridge ... ... 65 Mr. Coleridge departs for Malta ... ... 68 Mr. Davy leaves Bristol, for the Royal Institution ... 70 Two Letters from Sir H. Davy ... 69 70 Mr. Davy's estimate of Mr. Coleridge, in Letters to Mr. Poole ... ... 69 72 Professor Wilson's estimate of Mr. Coleridge ... ... 73 Letter from Mr. Coleridge, on his return from Malta, 1807 75 Jerome Buonaparte's civilities to Mr. Coleridge, when atRome 77 Mr. Coleridge's singular escape from Italy ... ... 79 York Cathedral, and Mr. Coleridge (note) ... ... 83 Mr. Coleridge's views of the Trinity ... ... 85 Mr. Coleridge's views of Socinianism ... ... 99 A conversation of Mr. Coleridge detailed ... ..101 Mr. Coleridge's conversation with, and opinion of the Atheist Holcroft 105 Mr. Coleridge, when lecturing in Bristol on " Paradise Regain- ed " pronounced Satan to be a " Sceptical Socinian" 111 Consequences of this declaration ... ... 112 Mr. Coleridge's letter to Mr. G. Pricker ... ... 116 Mr. Coleridge's observations on the Thirty nine Articles ... 122 Mr. De Quincey presents Mr. Coleridge with Three Hundred pounds ... ... . . 129 Letters of Mr. Coleridge ... ... 130 to 134 CONTENTS. Page. Mr. Coleridge leaves Bristol, 1007 ... ... 134 Reasons why Biography should be impartial ... ... 135 Mr. Coleridge reappears in Bristol, to deliver Lectures, 1814, after an absence of 7 years ... ... 140 Mr. Coleridge disappoints his audience by a sudden excursion into North Wales ... ... 142 Mr. Coleridge lectures on Shakspeare ... ... 143 Mr. Coleridge, and a Transparency for the capture of Buo- naparte ... ... ... 144 Mr. Coleridge, at this time, discovers to his friends, his great consumption of Opium. ... ... 149 Mr. Cottle's letter of remonstrance ... ... 150 Mr. Coleridge's full confessions, in reply ... ... 155 Second Letter ..'. ... ... 159 Mr. Coleridge's distressing answer ... ... . ... 160 Mr. Coleridge seeks to enter an Asylum where his uill might be coerced ... ... ... 161 Letters from Mr. Coleridge ... ... ... 169 The quantity of Opium taken "by Mr. Coleridge .. 169 Mr. Coleridge's contrivance to cheat the Dr. so as to obtain Opium ... ... ... 172 Mr. Coleridge leaves Bristol to reside at Calne ... ... 173 Letter of Mr. Coleridge from Calne ... ... 174 Second Letter of Mr. Coleridge from Calne ... ... 177 Observations ... ... ... 180 Mr. Coleridge's letter, deploring his use of Opium, and requi- ring that a full disclosure of its baneful effects on him, might be made public after his death ... 185 Observations ... ... ... 187 Mr. Coleridge's apologetical remarks ... ... 190 Extracts, illustrative of Mr. Coleridge's religious views ... 191 Mr. Coleridge's Letter to A. S. Kinnaird ... ... 193 Concluding observations ... ... ... 195 283853 APPENDIX. Mr. Coleridge's Letters on the Fine Arts. Mr. Coleridge's Contributions to "Joan of Arc." Notices of John Henderson. Chatterton and Rowley. Mr. Southey on the "Satanic School." KlLLCROP. Cotton Factory Children. Notices of William Gilbert. EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. The Reader has several times heard of Pantiso- cracy ; a scheme perfectly harmless in itself, though obnoxious to insuperable objections. The ingenious devisers of this state of society, gra- dually withdrew from it their confidence ; not in the first instance without a struggle ; but cool reflection presented so many obstacles, that the plan, of itself, as the understanding expanded, gradually dissolved into " thin air." A friend had suggested the expediency of first trying the plan in Wales, but even this less exceptionable theatre of experiment was soon abandoned, and sound sense obtained its rightful empire. It was mentioned (Vol. 1. p. 194.) that Mr. Southey was the first to abandon the scheme of American colonization ; and that, in confirmation, VOL. II. B A EARLY RECOLLECTIONS towards the conclusion of 1795, he accompanied his uncle, the Rev. Herbert Hill, (Chaplain to the English factory at Lisbon) through some parts of Spain and Portugal ; of which occurrence, Mr. S.'s entertaining "Letters" from those countries are the result ; bearing testimony to his rapid accumulation of facts, and the accuracy of his observations on persons and things.* Mr. S. hav- ing sent me a letter from Corunna, and two others from Lisbon, I shall here (with Mr. S.'s permission) gratify the reader by presenting them for his perusal. * At the instant Mr. Southey was about to set off on his travels, I observed he had no stick, and lent him a stout holly of my oAvn. In the next year, on his return to Bristol, " Here " said Mr. S. (exciting great surprise) " Here is the holly you were kind enough to lend me !" — 1 have since then looked with additional respect on my old igneous traveller, and remitted a portion of his aceustomed labour. It was a source of some amusement, when, in November of the past year, ( 1836) Mr. Southey, in his journey to the AVest, to my great gratification, spent a few days with me, and in talking of Spain and Portugal, I showed him his companion, the Old Holly ! Though somewhat bent with age, the servant (after an interval of forty years) was immediately recognized by his master, and with an additional interest, as this stick, he thought, on one occasion had been the means of saving his purse, if not his life, from the sight of so efficient an instrument of defence, having intimidated a Spanish robber. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. d "Corunna, Dec. 15th, 1795. Indeed my dear friend, it is strange that you are reading a letter from me at this time, and not an account of our Shipwreck. We left Falmouth on Tuesday mid-day ; the wind was fair till the next night, so fair that we were within twelve hours 1 sail of Corunna ; it then turned round, blew a tempest, and continued so till the middle of Saturday. Our dead lights were up fifty hours, and I was in momentary expectation of death. You know what a situation this is. I forgot my sickness, and though I thought much of the next world, thought more of those at Bristol, who would daily expect letters ; daily be disappointed, and at last learn from the newspapers, that the Lauzarotte had never been heard of. Of all things it is most difficult to understand the optimism of this difference of language ; the very beasts of the country do not understand English. Say " poor fellow " to a dog, and he will probably bite you ; the cat will come if you call her " Meeth-tha," but " puss" is an outlandish phrase she has not been accustomed to „ last night I went to supper to the fleas, and an excel- lent supper they made ; and the cats serenaded me with their execrable Spanish : to lie all night b 2 4 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS in Bowling-Green Lane* would be to enjoy the luxury of soil and smooth lying. At sight of land a general shaving took place ; no subject could be better for Bunbury, than a Packet cabin taken at such a moment. For me, I am as yet whiskered, for I would Dot venture to shave on board, and have had no razor on shore till this evening. Custom-house officers are more troublesome here than in England, I have however got every thing at last ; you may form some idea of the weather we endured ; thirty fowls over our head were drowned ; the ducks got loose, and ran with a party of half naked Dutchmen into our cabin : 'twas a precious place, eight men lying on a shelf much like a coffin. Mr. Wahrendoff, a Swede, was the whole time with the bason close under his nose. The bookseller's shop was a great comfort ; the Consul here has paid me particular attentions, and I am to pass to-morrow morning with him, when he will give me some directions concerning Spanish literature. He knows the chief literary men in England, and did know Brissot and Petion. Of the dramatic poet whom Coates's * page 46, Vol. 1. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. Q friend Zimbernatt mentioned as rivalling Shak- speare, I hear nothing ; that young Spaniard seems to exaggerate or rather to represent things like a warm hearted young man, who believes what he wishes. The father-in-law of Tailien is a banker, what you call a clever fellow ; another word (says the most sensible man here) for a cheat ; the court and the clergy mutually support each other, and their combined despotism is indeed dreadful, yet much is doing ; Jardine is very active ; he has forwarded the establishment of schools in the Asturias with his Spanish friends. Good night, they are going to supper. Oh, their foul oils and wines ! Tuesday morning. I have heard of hearts as hard as rocks, and stones, and adamants, but if ever I write upon a hard heart, my simile shall be as inflexible, as a bed in a Spanish Posada ; we had beef steaks for supper last night, and a sad libel upon beef steaks they were. I wish you could see our room ; a bed in an open recess, one just moved from the other corner. Raynsford packing his trunk ; Maber shaving himself ; tables and chairs ; looking glass hung even too high for a Patagonian, the four evange- lists, &c. &c. the floor beyond all filth, most filthy. b3 O EARLY RECOLLECTIONS I have been detained two hours since I began to write, at the custom house. Mr. Cottle, if there be a custom house to pass through, to the infernal regions, all beyond must be, compara- tively, tolerable. ******* Adieu, Robert Southey." "Lisbon, February 1st, 1796. ' Certainly, I shall hear from Mr. Cottle, by the first Packet ' said I. — Now I say, 'probably I may hear by the next,' so does experience abate the sanguine expectations of man. What, could you not write one letter ? and here am I writing not only to all my friends in Bristol, but to all in England. Indeed I should have been vexed, but that the packet brought a letter from Edith, and the pleasure that gave me, allowed no feeling of vexation. What of 'Joanf Mr. Coates tells me it gains upon the public, but authors seldom hear the plain truth. I am anxious that it should reach a second edition, that I may write a new preface, and enlarge the last book. I shall omit all in the second book which Coleridge wrote. Bristol deserves panegyric instead of satire. I know of no mercantile place so literary. Here OK S. T. COLERIDGE. 7 I am among the Philistines, spending my morn- ings so pleasantly, as books, only books, can make them, and sitting at evening the silent spectator of card playing and dancing. The English here unite the spirit of commerce, with the frivolous amusements of high life. One of them who plays every night (Sundays are not excepted here) will tell you how closely he attends to profit. ' I never pay a porter for bringing a burthen till the next day (says he) for while the fellow feels his back ache with the weight, he charges high ; but when he comes the next day the feeling is gone, and he asks only half the money.'' And the author of this philosophical scheme is worth 200,000 pounds ! ! This is a comfortless place, and the only plea- sure I find in it, is in looking on to my departure. Three years ago I might have found a friend, Count Leopold Berchtold. This man (foster brother of the Emperor Joseph) is one of those rare characters, who spend their lives in doing good. It is his custom in every country he visits, to publish books in its language, on some subject of practical utility ; these he gave away. I have now lying before me the two which he printed in Lisbon ; the one is an Essay on the means of 8 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS preserving life, in the various dangers to which men are daily exposed. The other an Essay on extending the limits of benevolence, not only towards men, but towards animals. His age was about twenty five ; his person and his manners the most polished. My uncle saw more of him than any one, for he used his library ; and this was the only house he called at ; he was only seen at dinner, the rest of the day was constantly given to study. They who lived in the same house with him, believed him to be the wandering Jew. He spoke all the European languages, had written in all, and was master of the Arabic. From thence he went to Cadiz, and thence to Bar- bary ; no more is known of him. We felt a smart earthquake the morning after our arrival here. These shocks alarm the Por- tuguese dreadfully ; and indeed it is the most terrifying sensation you can conceive. One man jumped out of bed and ran down to the stable, to ride off almost naked as he was. Another, more considerately put out his candle, ' because I know, (said he) the fire does more harm than the earthquake.' The ruins of the great earthquake are not yet removed entirely. The city is a curious place : a straggling plan ; OF S. X. COLERIDGE. 9 built on the most uneven ground, with heaps of ruins in the middle, and large open places. The streets filthy beyond all English ideas of filth, for they throw every thing into the streets, and nothing is removed. Dead animals annoy you at every corner ; and such is the indolence and nastiness of the Portuguese, that I verily believe they would let each other rot, in the same manner, if the priests did not get something by burying them. Some of the friars are vowed to wear their clothes without changing for a year ; and this is a comfort to them : you will not wonder, therefore, that I always keep to the windward of these reverend perfumers. The streets are very agreeable- in wet weather. If you walk under the houses, you are drenched by the water-spouts. If you attempt the middle, there is a river. If you would go between both, there is the dunghill. The rains here are very violent, and the streams in the streets, on a declivity, so rapid as to throw down men; and sometimes to overset carriages. A woman was drowned, some years ago, in one of the most fre- quented streets of Lisbon. But to walk home at night is the most dangerous adventure, for then the chambermaids shower out the filth into the 10 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS streets with such profusion, that a Scotchman might fancy himself at Edinburgh. You cannot conceive what a cold perspiration it puts me in, to hear one dashed down just before me; as Thomson says, with a little alteration : " Hear nightly dashed, amid the perilous street, The fragrant stink-pot." This furnishes food for innumerable dogs, that belong to nobody, and annoy every body. If they did not devour it, the quantities would breed a pestilence. In a moon-light night, we see dogs and rats feeding at the same dunghill. Lisbon is plagued with a very small species of red ant, that swarm over every thing in the house. Their remedy for this is, to send for the priest, and exorcise them. The drain from the new convent opens into the middle of the street. An English pigsty is cleaner than the metropolis of Portugal. To-night 1 shall see the procession of ' Our Lord of the Passion. 1 This image is a very celebrated one, and with great reason, for one night he knocked at the door of St. Roque's church, and there they would not admit him. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 1 I After this he walked to the other end of the town, to the church of St. Grace, and there they took him in : but a dispute now arose between the two churches, to which the image belonged ; whether to the church which he first chose, or the church that first chose him. The matter was compro- mised. One church has him, and the other fetches him for their processions, and he sleeps with the latter the night preceding. The better mode for deciding it, had been, to place the gen- tleman etween both, and let him walk to which he liked best. What think you of this story being believed in 1796 ! ! ! The power of the Inquisition still exists, though they never exercise it, and thus the Jews save their bacon. Fifty years ago it was the greatest delight of the Portuguese to see a Jew burnt. Geddes, the then chaplain, was present at one of these detestable Auto da Fe's. He says, ' the transports expressed by all ages, and all sexes, whilst the miserable sufferers were shrieking and begging mercy for God's sake, formed a scene more horrible than any out of hell !' He adds, that ' this barbarity is not their national character, for no people sympathize so much at the execution of a criminal ; but it is the damnable nature of 12 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS their religion, and the most diabolical spirit of their priests ; their celibacy deprives them of the affections of men, and their creed gives them the ferocity of devils. -1 Geddes saw one man gagged, because, immediately he came out of the Inqui- sition gates, he looked up at the sun, whose light for many years had never visited him, and exclaimed, ' How is it possible for men who behold that glorious orb, to worship any being but him who created it V My blood runs cold when I pass that accursed building ; and though they do not exercise their power, it is a reproach to human nature that the building should exist. It is as warm here as in May with you ; of course we broil in that month at Lisbon ; but I shall escape the hot weather here, as I did the cold weather of England, and quit this place the latter end of April. You will of course see me the third day after my landing at Falmouth, or, if I can get companions in a post-chaise, sooner. This my resolution is like the law of the Medes and Persians, that altereth not. Be so good as to procure for me a set of Coleridge's ' Watchman,'* with his Lectures and Poems. I want to write a Tragedy here, but can find no leisure to begin it. Portugal is much plagued with robbers, and OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 13 tliey generally strip a man, and leave him to walk home in his birth-day suit. An Englishman was served thus at Almeyda, and the Lisbon magis- trates, on his complaint, took up the whole vil- lage, and imprisoned them all. Contemplate this people in what light you will, you can never see them in a good one. They suffered their best epic Poet to perish for want ; and they burned to death their best dramatic writer, because he was a Jew. Pombal, whose heart was bad, though he made a good minister, reduced the church during his administration. He suffered no persons to enter the convents, and, as the old monks and nuns died, threw two convents into one, and sold the other estates. By this means, he would have annihilated the whole generation of vermin ; but the king died, and the queen, whose religion has driven her mad, undid, through the influence of the priests, all that Pombal had done. He escaped with his life, but lived to see his bust destroyed, and all his plans for the improvement of Portugal reversed. He had the interest of his country at heart, and the punishment, added to the regret of having committed so many crimes to secure his power, must almost have been enough for this execrable marquis. VOL. II c 14 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS The climate here is delightful, and the air so clear, that when the moon is young, I can often distinguish the whole circle, thus ; O. You and Robert may look for this some fine night, but I do not remember ever to have observed it in England. The stars appear more brilliant here, but I often look up at the Pleiades, and remember how much happier 1 was when I saw them in Bristol. Fare you well. Let me know that my friends remember me. Robert Southey." Mr. Southey paid a second visit to Lisbon, in 1800, accompanied by Mrs. S. when I received from him the following poetical letter, which, for ease, vivacity, and vigorous description, stands at the head of that class of compositions. A friendly vessel, mistaken for a French privateer, adds to the interest. In one part, the poet conspicuously bursts forth, "Lisbon, May 9th, 1800, Dear Cottle, d'ye see, In writing to thee, I do it in rhyme, That I may save time, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 15 Determine! to say, Without any delay, Whatever conies first, Whether hest or worst. Alack for me ! When I was at sea, For I lay like a log, As sick as a dog, And whoever this readeth, Will pity poor Edith : Indeed it was shocking, The vessel fast rocking, The timbers all creaking, And when we were speaking, It was to deplore That we were not on shore, And to vow we would never go voyaging more. The fear of our fighting, Did put her a fright in, And I had alarms For my legs and my arms. When the matches were smoking, I thought 'twas no joking, And though honour and glory And fame were before me, 'Twas a great satisfaction, c 2 16 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS That we had not an action, And I felt somewhat holder, When I knew that my head might remain on my shoulder. But, 0, 'twas a pleasure, Exceeding all measure, On the deck to stand, And look at the land ; And when I got there, I vow and declare, The pleasure was even Like getting to heaven I I could eat and drink, As you may think ; I could sleep at ease, Except for the fleas, But still the sea-feeling, — The drunken reeling, Did not go away For more than a day : Like a cradle, the heel Seemed to rock my head, And the room and the town r Went up and down. My Edith here, Thinks all things queer^ •OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 17 And some things she likes well ; But then the street She thinks not neat, And does not like the smell. Nor do the fleas Her fancy please, Although the fleas like her ; They at first view Fell merrily to, For they made no demur. But, O, the sight ! The great delight ! From this my window, west ! This view so fine, This scene divine ! The joy that I love hest ! The Tagus here, So broad and clear, Blue, in the clear blue noon — And it lies light, All silver white, Under the silver moon ! Adieu, adieu, Farewell to you, Farewell, my friend so dear, Write when you may, c3 18 EARLY RECOLLECTION'S' I need not say, How gladly we shall hear. I leave off rhyme, And so next time, Prose writing you shall see ; But in rhyme or prose, Dear Joseph knows The same old friend in me. R. Southey." Although referring to a somewhat later period,. I shall here introduce a letter from Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Wade, relating to Germany, which at one time it was the purpose of Mr. W. to visit. "March 6th, 1801. My very dear friend, I have even now received your letter. My habit& of thinking and feeling have not hitherto inclined me to personify commerce in any such shape as could tempt me to turn Pagan, and oifer vows to the Goddess of our Isle. But when I read that sen- tence in your letter, 'The time will come I trust, when I shall be able to pitch my tent in your neighbourhood,'' I was most potently tempted to a breach of the second commandment, and on my OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 19 knees, to entreat the said Goddess, to touch your bank notes and guineas with her magical, multi- plying wand. I could offer such a prayer for you, with a better conscience than for most men, because I know that you have never lost that healthy common sense, which regards money only as the means of independence, and that you would sooner than most men cry out, enough ! enough ! To see one's children secured against want, is doubtless a delightful thing ; but to wish to see them begin the world as rich men, is unwise to ourselves, (for it permits no close of our labors) and is pernicious to them; for it leaves no motive to their exertions, none of those sympathies with the industrious and the poor, which form at once the true relish and proper antidote of wealth. * * * Is not March rather a perilous month for the voyage from Yarmouth to Hamburg ? dan- ger there is very little, in the packets, but I know what inconvenience rough weather brings with it ; not from my own feelings, for I am never sea sick, but always in exceeding high spirits on board ship., but from what I see in others. But you are now an old sailor. At Hamburg I have not a shadow of acquaintance. My letters of introduction produced for me (with one exception, viz. Klopstock the 20 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS brother of the poet) no real service, but merely distant and ostentatious civility. And Klopstock will by this^time have forgotten my name, (which indeed he never properly knew) for I could speak only English, and Latin, and he only French and German. At Ratzeburgh (35 English miles N. E. from Hamburgh on the road to Lubec) I resided four months, and I should hope, was not unbeloved by more than one family, but this is out of your route. At Gottingen I stayed near five months, but here I knew only students, who will have left the place by this time, and the high learned professors, only one of whom could speak English , and they are so wholly engaged in their academical occupations, that they would be of no service to you. Other acquaintance in Germany I have none, and connection I never had any. For though I was much intreated by some of the Literati to correspond with them, yet my natural laziness, with the little value I attach to literary men, as literary men, and with my aversion from those letters, which are to be made up of stu- died sense, and unfelt compliments, combined to prevent me from availing myself of the offer. Herein and in similar instances, with English authors of repute, I have ill consulted the OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 21 growth of my reputation and fame. But I have cheerful and confident hopes of myself. If I can hereafter do good to my fellow creatures, as a poet, and as a metaphysician, they will know it ; and any other fame than this, I consider as a serious evil, that would only take me from out the number and sympathy of ordinary men, to make a coxcomb of me. As to the Inns or Hotels at Hamburgh, I should recommend you to some German Inn. Wordsworth and I were at the ' Der Wilde Man,' and dirty as it was, I could not find any Inn in Germany very much cleaner, except at Lubec. But if you go to an English Inn, for heaven's sake, avoid the Shakspeare, at Altona, and the King of England, at Hamburgh. They are houses of plunder, rather than entertainment. The Duke of York's Hotel, kept by Seaman, has a better reputation, and thither I would advise you to repair ; and I advise you to pay your bill every morning at breakfast time ; it is the only way to escape imposition. What the Hamburgh merchants may be I know not, but the trades- men are knaves. Scoundrels, with yellow-white phizzes, that bring disgrace on the complexion of a bad tallow candle. Now as to carriage, I know 22 EAELY RECOLLECTIONS scarcely what to advise ; only make up your mind to the very worst vehicles, with the very worst horses, drawn by the very worst postillions, over the very worst roads, (and halting two hours at each time they change horses) at the very worst inns ; and you have a fair, unexaggerated picture of travelling in North Germany. The cheapest way is the best ; go by the common post waggons, or stage coaches. What are called extraordinaries, or post chaises, are little wicker carts, uncovered, with moveable benches or forms in them, execrable in every respect. And if you buy a vehicle at Hamburgh, you can get none decent under thirty or forty guineas, and very probably it will break to pieces on the infernal roads. The canal boats are delightful, but the porters everywhere in the United Provinces, are an impudent, abominable, and dishonest race. You must carry as little luggage as you well can with you, in the canal boats, and when you land, get recommended to an inn beforehand, and bar- gain with the porters first of all, and never lose sight of them, or you may never see your port- manteau or baggage again. My Sarah desires her love to you and yours. God bless your dear little ones ! Make haste and OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 23 get rich, dear friend ! and bring up the little creatures to be playfellows and schoolfellows with my little ones ! Again and again, sea serve you, wind speed you, all things turn out good to you ! God bless you, S. T. Coleridge." As a curious literary fact, I might mention, that the sale of the first edition of the " Lyrical Ballads, 1 '' was so slow, and the severity of most of the Reviews so great, that its progress to oblivion seemed ordained to be as rapid as it was certain. I had given thirty guineas for the copy -right, as detailed in the preceding letters ; but the heavy sale induced me to part with the largest propor- tion of the impression of Five hundred, at a loss, to Mr. Arch, a London bookseller. After this transaction had occurred, I received a letter from Mr. Wordsworth, written the day before he set sail for the Continent, requesting me to make over my interest in the " Lyrical Ballads " to Mr. Johnson, of St. Paul's Church-yard. This I could not have done, had I been so disposed, as the engagement had been made with Mr. Arch. On Mr. W.'s return to England, I addressed a 24 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS letter to him, explaining the reasons why I could not comply with his request, to which he thus replied : " My dear Cottle, I perceive that it would have been impossible for you to comply with my request, respecting the ' Lyrical Ballads, 1 as you had entered into a treaty with Arch. How is the copy-right to be disposed of when you quit the bookselling business ? We were much amused with the ' Anthology. 1 Your poem of the ' Killcrop 1 we liked better than any ; only we regretted that you did not save the poor little innocenfs life, by some benevolent art or other. You might have managed a little pathetic incident, in which nature, appearing forcibly in the child, might have worked in some way or other, upon its superstitious destroyer.* * The child's life will now he found saved, in conformity with the humane suggestion of Mr. W. As my poem of the " Killcrop," which was originally printed in the " Anthology," (anonymously) has not been included in my last, fourth edition ; and as Mr. Wordsworth has expressed himself favourably concerning it, I have re-printed it in the Appendix. Mr. Southey has informed me, that this " Killcrop " is printed as his, in the French edition of his Poems. This is a compliment which exceeds its desert. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 25 We have spent our time pleasantly enough in Germany, but we are right glad to find ourselves in England, for we have learnt to know its value. We left Coleridge well at Gottingen, a month ago. * * * * God bless you, my dear Cottle, Your affectionate friend, W. Wordsworth; 1 Soon after the receipt of the above, I received another letter from Mr. W. kindly urging me to pay him a visit in the north, in which, as an inducement, he says, ***** * * a "VVrite to me beforehand, and I will accompany you on a tour. You will come by Greta-bridge, which is about twenty miles from this place, (Stockburn) ; and after we have seen all the curiosities of that neighbourhood, I will accompany you into Cum- berland and Westmoreland. * * * God bless you, dear Cottle, W. W." _, A short time after the receipt of this invitation, Mr. Coleridge arrived in Bristol from Germany, and as he was about to pay Mr. Wordsworth a VOL. II D 26 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS visit, he pressed me to accompany him. I had intended a journey to London, and now deter- mined on proceeding with so agreeable a compan- 1 on, and on so pleasant a journey, arid tour; taking the metropolis on my return. To notice the complicated incidents which occurred on this tour, would occupy a large space. I therefore pass it all over, with the remark, that in this interview with Mr. Wordsworth, the subject of the " Lyrical Ballads" was mentioned but once, and that casually, and only to account for its failure ! which Mr. W. ascribed to two causes ; first, the "Ancient Mariner," which, he said, no one seemed to understand ; and 2ndly, the unfa- vourable notice of most of the Reviews. On my reaching London, having an account to settle with Messrs. Longman and Rees, the book- sellers, of Paternoster Row, I sold them all my copy-rights, which were valued as one lot, by a third party. On my next seeing Mr. Longman, he told me, that in estimating the value of the copy-rights, Fox's "Achmed," and Wordsworth's "Lyrical Ballads," were "reckoned as nothing." " That being the case," I replied, " as both these authors are my personal friends, 1 should be obliged, if you would return me again these two OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 27 copy-rights, that I may have the pleasure of pre- senting them to the respective writers. 1 ' Mr. Longman answered, with his accustomed liberal- ity, " You are welcome to them." On my reach- ing Bristol, I gave Mr. Fox his receipt for twenty guineas ; and on Mr. Coleridge's return from the north, I gave him Mr. Wordsworth's receipt for his thirty guineas; so that whatever advantage has arisen, subsequently, from the sale of this volume of the "Lyrical Ballads," has pertained exclusively to Mr. W. I have been the more particular in these state- ments, as it furnishes, perhaps, the most remark- able instance on record, of a volume of Poems remaining for so long a time, almost totally neg- lected, and afterwards acquiring, and that almost rapidly, so much deserved popularity. A month or two after Mr. Coleridge had left Bristol for Germany, Dr. Beddoes told me of a letter he had just received from his friend, Davies Giddy, (afterward, with the altered name of Gilbert, President of the Royal Society) recom- mending a very ingenious young chemist, of Penzance, in Cornwall, to assist him in his Pneumatic Institution, at the Hotwells. " The character is so favourable," said the Dr. " I think d2 28 EAELY EECOLLECTIONS I shall engage him;" handing me the letter. I read it, and replied, " You cannot err in receiv- ing a young man thus recommended." Two or three weeks after, Dr. B. introduced to me no other than Mr. afterwards Sir, Humphrey Davy. (Mr. Giddy little thought that this M young che- mist, of Penzance," was destined to precede him- self, in occupying the chair of Newton.) This Pneumatic Institution, for ascertaining how far the different gases, received into the lungs, were favourable, or not, to certain dis- eases, has often been referred to ; but its origin, that I am aware of, has never been stated. It has erroneously been supposed, to have depended for its establishment and support, exclusively on Dr. Beddoes. But being acquainted with the circumstances of the case, it is right to mention, that this Gaseous Institution resulted from the liberality of the late Mr. Lambton. When Mr. L. heard from Dr. Beddoes an opinion expressed, that Medical Science might be greatly assisted by a fair and full examination of the effects of fac- titious airs on the human constitution, particu- larly in reference to consumption ; to obtain this ' i fair and full examination," Mr. Lambton imme- diately presented Dr. B. with the munificent sum OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 29 of fifteen hundred pounds. One other individual also, contributed handsomely toward the same object, — the late Mr. Thomas Wedgewood, who presented Dr. B. with one thousand pounds, for the furtherance of this design.* It might here be mentioned, that a few months after this, two intelligent-looking boys were often seen with Dr. B. with whom they were domestica- ted. The Dr. was liberally remunerated for super- intending their education, (with suitable masters ;) and this he did at the dying request of their father, who had recently deceased in Italy. Dr. Beddoes took great pains with these boys, so that when they entered at Eton, they were found quite equal to other boys of their own age, in classical attainments, and greatly their superiors in general knowledge. The father was the above Mr. Lambton, and one of the two boys, is the present Earl of Durham. One of the precepts strongly inculcated on these youths, was, " Never be idle, boys. Let energy be apparent in all you do. If you play, play heartily, and at your book, be deter- mined to excel. Languor is the bane of intellect." * The house of the Pneumatic Institution was situated in Dowry- Square, Hotwells ; the house in the comer, forming the north angle of the Square. d3 30 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS I remember to have seen Mr. Lambton at Dr. B^s. He had a fine countenance, but it betrayed the hue of consumption. After having been for some time under the care of Dr. Beddoes, the Dr. recommended his patient to try a warmer climate, when Mr. L. departed for Italy. Mr. Lambton's health still declining, and considering that his only chance for life depended on the skill of his own experienced physician, he wrote to Dr. Bed- does, urging him, without delay, to set off, I think, for Naples. This I received from Dr. B. himself, who said, at the same time, " On Mon- day morning I shall set off for Italy." But before Monday, the tidings arrived that Mr. Lambton was dead ! The two young Lambtons had the additional privilege of living under the same roof with Mr. Davy, and on various occasions, through life, the Earl of Durham and his brother, have testified a deep sense of respect and friendship for the illus- trious chemist, who so enlivened and edified their younger days. When Dr. Beddoes introduced to me young Mr. Davy, (being under twenty) I was much struck with the intellectual character of his face. His eye was piercing, and, when not engaged in OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 31 converse, was remarkably introverted, amounting to absence, as though his mind had been pursuing some severe trains of thought, scarcely to be interrupted by external objects ; and from the first interview also, his ingenuousness impressed me as much as his mental superiority. Mr. D. hav- ing no acquaintance in Bristol, I encouraged and often received his visits, and he conferred an obli- gation on me, by often passing his afternoons in my company. During these agreeable interviews, he occasionally amused me by relating anecdotes of himself; or detailing his numerous chemical experiments: or otherwise by repeating his poems, several of which he gave me (still retained ;) and it was impossible to doubt, that if he had not shone as a philosopher, he would have become conspicuous as a poet.* I must now refer again to the Pneumatic Institu- * Mr. Davy often asked me to attend his experiments, at the Wells, and as an evidence of the zeal with which he wished to induce as many as he could to pursue his favourite chemistry, in consequence of my taking great interest in his proceedings, he urged me to pursue chemistry, as a science. To prove that he was in earnest, he bought for me a box of chemical tests, acids, alkalies, glass tubes, retorts, blow-pipe, trough, &c. &c. and assisted me in some of my first experiments. The trough I occasionally use at the present time. 32 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS tion, to which the medical world looked with some anxiety, and which excited much conversation in the circle where I happened to be placed. Dr. Beddoes early in the year 1798, had given an ad- mirable course of Lectures in Bristol, (at the Red Lodge) on the principles and practice of Che- mistry, and which were rendered popular by a great diversity of experiments ; so that, with other branches of the science, the gases, had become generally familiar. The establishment of the Pneumatic Institution immediately following, the public mind was prepared, in some measure, to judge of its results ; and a very considerable increase of confidence was entertained, from the acknowledged talents of the young superintend- ant ; so that all which could be accomplished was fully calculated upon. The funds also which supported the Institution being ample, the appara- tus corresponded, and a more persevering and enthusiastic experimentalist than Mr. Davy, the whole kingdom could not have produced ; an ad- mission which was made by all who knew him, before the profounder parts of his character had been developed. No personal danger restrained him from determining facts, as the data of his reasoning ; and if Fluxions, or some other means, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 33 had not conveyed the information, such was his enthusiasm, he would almost have sprung from the perpendicular brow of St. Vincent, to determine his precise time, in descending from the top to the bottom. I soon learnt from Mr. D. himself the course of his experiments ; many of which were in the highest degree hazardous, when, with friendly earnestness, T warned him against his imminent perils. He seemed to act, as if in case of sacri- ficing one life, he had two or three others, in reserve, on which he could fall back, in case of necessity. He sometimes so excited my fears, that I half despaired of seeing him alive the next morning. He has been known sometimes to breathe a deadly gas, with his finger on his pulse, to determine how much could be borne, before a serious declension occurred in the vital action. The great hazards to which he exposed himself may be estimated by the following slight detail. Dr. Mitchell, as well as Dr. Priestley, had stated the fatal effects on animal life, of the gazeous oxide of azote ; Mr. Davy, on the con- trary, for reasons which satisfied himself, in its pure state, thought it respirable ; at least, "that a single inspiration of this gas might neither 34 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS destroy, nor materially injure the powers of life." He tried one inspiration. No particularly injuri- ous effects followed. He now breathed, out of his green bag, three quarts of this nitrous oxide (gazeous oxide of azote,) when it was attended with a degree of giddiness, great fulness in the head, and with loss of distinct sensation, and voluntary power, analogous to intoxication. Not being able fully to determine whether the gas was " stimulant "or " depressing/'' he now breathed four quarts of it from his green bag, when an irresistible propensity to action followed, with motions, " various and violent." Still, not being satisfied, he proceeded in his experiments, and at length found that he could breathe nine quarts for three minutes, and twelve quarts for rather more than four, but never for five minutes, without the danger of fatal consequences, as before five minutes had expired, the mouth-piece " generally dropped from his unclosed lips." By breathing from six to seven quarts only, muscular motions were produced, and he manifested the pleasure it excited, by stamping, laughing, dan- cing, shouting, &c. At another time, having ascertained that his pure nitrous oxide, was eminently stimulant, he OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 35 wanted to determine whether the system, in a high state of stimulation, would then be suscep- tible of a proportionate accession of stimulus from his new gas ; like that which would be experienced by the man, who after taking one bottle of wine, drank a second ; and to acquire demonstration on this nice subject, (although he was a confirmed water-drinker) to form the basis of his experiment, he drank off with all dispatch a whole bottle of wine, the consequence of which was, that he first reeled, and then fell down insen- sibly drunk. After lying in this state for two or three hours, he awoke with a sense of nausea, head-ache, and the usual effects of intoxication. At the first return of recollection, however, un- daunted by the past, the young enthusiastic philosopher called out for the green bag, when he breathed twelve quarts of nitrous oxide, for three or four minutes. The consequence of this was, he became a second time intoxicated, though in a less degree, when he strode across the room, and by stamping, laughing, dancing, and vocifera- tion, found that the same effects followed, which attended his former experiment, without any increase of stimulus from the wine. All the gases that had hitherto been the subject 36 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS of investigation, sunk in importance before this nitrous oxide, which the perseverance of Mr. Davy had now obtained in any quantity, and in its pure state, consequently divested of that fo- reign admixture which rendered it usually so destructive. He had also ascertained the quantity which might safely be admitted into the lungs. Dr. Beddoes was sanguine as to its medical qualities, and conceived that, if not a specific, it might prove highly advantageous in paralysis, and pulmonary affections ; and, in conjunction with these benefits, he well knew it would confer importance on his own Pneumatic Institution. As the Dr. meditated a publication expressly on this subject, he was desirous of collecting the testimony of others, for which purpose, he persuaded several of his friends to breathe this innocent, but exhilarating nitrous oxide, while they described, and he recorded their sensations. Mr. Southey, Mr. Clayfield, Mr. Tobin, and others, inhaled the new air. One, it made dance, another laugh, while a third, in his state of excitement, being pugnaciously inclined, very uncourteously, struck Mr. Davy rather violently with his fist. It became now an object with Dr. B. to witness the effect this potent gas might OF S. X. COLERIDGE. 37 produce on one of the softer sex, and lie prevailed on a courageous young lady, (Miss — ) to breathe out of his pretty green bag, this delightful nitrous oxide. After a few inspirations, to the astonish- ment of every body, the young lady dashed out of the house, when, racing down the square, she leaped over a great dog in her way, but being hotly pur- sued by the fleetest of her friends, the fair fugitive, or rather the temporary maniac, was at length overtaken and secured, without further damage. Dr. Beddoes now expressed a wish to record my testimony also, and presented me his green bag; but being satisfied with the effects produced on others, I begged to decline the honour. The Pneumatic institution, at this time, from the laughable and diversified effects produced by this new gas on different individuals, quite exorcised philosophical gravity, and converted the labora- tory into the region of hilarity and relaxation. The young lady's feats, in particular, produced great merriment, and so intimidated the ladies, that not one, after this time, could be prevailed upon to look at the green bag, or hear of nitrous oxide, without horror ! But more perilous experiments must now be noticed. Mr. Davy having succeeded so well VOL. II E 38 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS with the Nitrous Oxide, determined even to ha- zard a trial with the deadly Nitrous Gas. For this purpose he placed in a bag, " one hundred and fourteen cubic inches of nitrous gas," and knowing that unless he exhausted his lungs of the atmospheric air, its oxygen would unite with the nitrous gas, and produce in his lungs aqua-fortis, he wisely resolved to expel if possible, the whole of the atmospheric air from his lungs, by some contrivance of his own. For this purpose, in a second bag, he placed seven quarts of nitrous oxide, and made from it three inspirations, and three expirations, and then instantly transferred his mouth to the nitrous gas bag, and turning the stop-cock, took one inspiration. This gas, in passing through his mouth and fauces, burnt his throat, and produced such a spasm in the epiglot- tis, as to cause him instantly to desist, when, in breathing the common air, aqua-fortis was really formed in his mouth, which burnt his tongue, palate, and injured his teeth. Mr. D. says, " I never design again to repeat so rash an expe- riment. 1 ' But though this experiment might not be repeated, there was one other nearly as danger- ous, to which Mr. Davy's love of science prompted OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 39 him to resort ; not by trying it on another but, generously, on himself. Mr. D. wanted to determine whether the car- buretted hydrogen gas, was so destructive to animal life as had been represented. In its pure state, one inspiration of this gas was understood to destroy life, but Mr. Davy mixed three quarts of the gas, with two quarts of atmospheric air, and then breathed the whole for nearly a minute. This produced only slight effects, (nothing to an experimental chemist ;) merely " giddiness, pain in the head, loss of voluntary power, 11 &c. The spirit of inquiry not being to be repressed by these trifling inconveniences, Mr. Davy was now emboldened to introduce into his green bag, four quarts of carburetted hydrogen gas, nearly pure. After exhausting his lungs in the usual way, he made two inspirations of this gas. The first inspiration produced numbness and loss of feeling in the chest. After the second, he lost all power of perceiving external things, except a terrible oppression on his chest, and he seemed sinking fast to death ! He just had consciousness enough to remove the mouth-piece from his unclosed lips, when he became wholly insensible. After breathing the common air for some time, e2 40 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS consciousness was restored, and Mr. Davy faintly uttered, as a consolation to his then attendant, (Mr. John Tobin) "I do not think I shall die." Such are some of the appalling hazards encoun- tered by Mr. Davy, in his intrepid investigation of the gases. These destructive experiments, du- ring his residence at Bristol, probably, produced those affections of the chest, to which he was sub- ject through life, and which, beyond all question, shortened his days. Nothing at this moment so excites my surprise, as, that Mr, D.'s life should have been protracted, with all his unparalleled indifference concerning it, to the vast age, for him, of fifty years. I cannot here withhold an ungracious piece of information. In the prospect of this establish- ment, great expectations had been raised, and the afflicted of all descriptions, were taught to expect a speedy cure ; so that when the doors were opened, no less than seventy or eighty pa- tients, progressively applied for the gratuitous alleviation of their maladies. But it is too great a tax on human patience, when cures are always promised, but never come. No one recovery, in an obstinate case, had occurred ; in consequence OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 41 of which, many patients became dissatisfied, and remitted their attendance. Independently of which, an idea had become prevalent amongst the crowd of afflicted, that they were merely made the subjects of experiment, which thinned the ranks of the old applicants, and intimidated new. It might be said, that patients after a cer- tain period had so ominously declined, that the very fire was likely to become extinguished for want of fuel. In order that the trials might be deliberately proceeded in, a fortunate thought occurred, to Dr. Beddoes ; namely, not to bribe, but to reward all persevering patients ; for Mr. Davy informed me, that, before the Pneumatic institution was broken up, they allowed every patient sixpence per diem ; so that when all hopes of cure had subsided, it became a mere pecuniary calculation with the sufferers, whether, for a parish allowance of three shillings a week, they should submit or not, to be drenched with these nauseous gases. This Pneumatic Institution, though long in a declining state, protracted its existence for more than two years, till the departure from Bristol, of Mr. D. and then, by its failure, it established the useful negative fact, (however mortifying) that e3 42 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS medical science was not to be improved through the medium of factitious airs.* I happened to be present, when Mr. W. Coates casually named to Mr. Davy, (then just turned of twenty) that his boy, the preceding evening, had accidentally struck one piece of cane against another, in the dark, and which produced light. It was quite impressive to notice the intense earnestness with which Mr. D. heard this fact, which, by others, might have been immediately forgotten. Mr. D. on the contrary, without speaking, appeared lost in meditation. He sub- sequently commenced his experiments on these canes, and communicated the results, thus, to his friend Mr. Giddy, (now Gilbert.) " My dear friend, * * * * I have now just room to give you an account of the experiments I have lately been engaged in. First. One of Mr. Coates's children acciden- tally discovered, that two bonnet-canes rubbed together produced a faint light. The novelty of * See also, in a more extended form, Mr. Davy's " Researches Chemical and Philosophical, chiefly concerning Nitrous Oxide, and its Respiration." 8vo. 1800. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 43 this experiment induced me to examine it, and I found that the canes, on collision, produced sparks of light, as brilliant as those from flint and steel. Secondly. On examining the epidermis, I found, when it was taken oif, that the canes no longer gave light on collision. Thirdly. The epidermis, subjected to chemi- cal analysis, had all the properties of silex. Fourthly. The similar appearance of the epi- dermis of reeds, corn, and grasses, induced me to suppose that they also contained silex. By burn- ing them carefully, and analyzing their ashes, I found that they contained it in rather larger pro- portions than the canes. Fifthly. The corn and grasses contain suffi- cient potash to form glass with their flint. A very pretty experiment may be made on these plants with the blow-pipe. If you take a straw of wheat, barley, or hay, and burn it, beginning at the top, and heating the ashes with a blue flame, you will obtain a perfect globule of hard glass, fit for microscopic discovery." The circumstance, that all canes, as well as straws, and hollow grasses, have an epidermis of silex, is one of the most singular facts in nature. 44 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Mr. Davy, in another place, has stated the advantages arising to this class of vegetables, from their stony external concretion ; namely, " the defence it offers from humidity ; the shield which it presents to the assaults of insects; and the strength and stability that it administers to plants, which, from being hollow, without this support, would be less perfectly enabled to resist the effect of storms. Those canes which are not hollow, are long and slender, and from wanting the power to sustain themselves, come usually in contact with the ground, when they would speedily decay, from moisture, but for the impenetrable coat of mail with which nature has furnished them. But ques- tions still arise for future investigators. How came the matter of flint to invest those plants which most need it, and not others ? Whence does this silex come ? Is it derived from the air ? or from water ? or from the earth ? That it emanates from the atmosphere is wholly inadmis- sible. If the silex proceed from water, where is the proof? and how is the superficial deposit effected ? Also, as silex is not a constituent part of water, if incorporated at all, it can be held only in solution. By what law is this solution OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 45 produced, so that the law of gravity should be suspended ? If the silex be derived from the earth, by what vessels is it conveyed to the surface of the plants ? and, in addition, if earth be its source, how is it that earth-seeking, and hollow plants, with their epidermis of silex, should arise in soils that are not silicious ? being equally pre- dominant, whether the soil be calcareous, argilla- ceous, or loamy. The decomposition of decayed animal and vegetable substances, doubtless com- poses the richest superficial mould ; but this soil, so favourable for vegetation, gives the reed as much silex, but no more, in proportion to the size of the stalk, than the same plants growing in mountainous districts, and primitive soils. It is to be regretted, that the solution of these questions, with others that^ might be enumerated, had not occupied the profoundly investigating spirit of Mr. Davy ; but which subjects now offer an ample scope for other philosophical speculators. It is a demonstrative confirmation of the accu- racy of Mr. Davy's reasoning, that a few years ago, after the burning of a large mow, in the neighbourhood of Bristol, a stratum of pure, com- pact, vitrified silex appeared at the bottom, form- ing one continuous sheet, nearly an inch m 46 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS thickness. I secured a portion, which, with a steel, produced an abundance of bright sparks. Upon Mr. Coleridge 1 s return from the north, to Bristol, where he meant to make some little stay, I felt peculiar pleasure in introducing him to young Mr. Davy. The interview was mutually agreeable, and, that which does not often occur, notwithstanding their raised expectations, each, afterward, in referring to the other, expressed to me the opinion, that his anticipations had been surpassed. They frequently met each other under my roof, and their conversations were often bril- liant ; intermixed, occasionally, with references to the scenes of their past lives. On one occasion, Mr. Coleridge entered into some of his college scenes, to one of which I may here refer. He said that, perhaps, it was culpa- ble in him not to have paid more attention to his dress, than he did when at the University, but the great, excluded the little. He said that he was once walking through a street in Cambridge, leaning on the arms of two silk gowns, when his own habiliments formed rather a ludicrous con- trast. His cap had the merit of having once been new; and some untoward rents in his gown, which he had a month before intended to get mended, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 47 left a strong tendency, in some of its posterior parts, to trail along the ground in the form, commonly called " tatters." The three friends were settling the exact site of Troy, or some other equally momentous subject, when they were passed by two spruce gownsmen, one of whom said to the other, (which just caught the ear of Mr. C.) " That sloven thinks he can hide his rib- bons by the gowns of his companions."' 1 Mr. C. darted an appalling glance at him, and passed on. He now learned the name, and acquired some particulars respecting the young man who had offended him, and hastened home to exercise his Juvenallian talent. The next day he gave his satire to a friend, to show it to the young man, who became quite alarmed at the mistake he had made, and also at the ominous words, "He who wrote this can write more." The cauldron might boil over with fresh " bubble, bubble, toil and trouhle." There was no time to lose. He therefore immediately proceeded to Mr. C/s chambers; apologized for his inconsiderate expressions : thought him to have been some " rough colt" from the country, again begged his pardon, and received the hand of reconciliation. This young, mis-calculating Can- 48 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS tabrigian, now became one of Mr. CVs warmest friends, and afterwards arose to eminence. The satire was singularly cutting. I can recal but two unconnected lines : " With eye that looks around with asking gaze, " And tongue that traffics in the trade of praise." Mr. Coleridge now told us of the most remark- able of his Cambridge eccentricities, that of his having enlisted as a soldier. He had previously stated to me many of the following particulars, yet not the whole ; but in addition to that which I heard from Mr. C. (who never told all the inci- dents of his military life to any one person, but, on the contrary, detailed some few to one, and some few to another.) Having taken a deep inter- est in this singular adventure, I made a point of collecting from different friends, every scattered fact I could obtain, and shall now throw the whole into one narrative. But before I proceed, I must take some notice of a statement on this subject, communicated to the public, by Mr. Bowles, wherein his account appears to clash with mine. Of this gentleman (with who.?/» name and writings 1 have connected OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 49 so many pleasant remembrances, from early life,) I wish to speak with the utmost respect ; but the truth Mr. B. himself will be glad to learn. Mr, Coleridge , s acquaintance, personally, with Mr. B. was, I believe, exceedingly limited. It should be known, that Mr. C. had written a Son- net on Mr. Bowles, and also one on Mr. Sheridan. Having learnt that Mr. B. was acquainted with Mr. S. he sent the two Sonnets to Mr. Bowles, (as I understood) with a request that he would give the other to Mr. Sheridan. Mr. B. did give the Sonnet to Mr. S. who expressed satisfaction at it, and recommended Mr. Coleridge to write a Tragedy, or some dramatic piece, which, if approved, he would bring out at Drury Lane. Mr. B. communicated this message from Sheridan to Mr. Coleridge, and this was the origin of Mr. C.'s Tragedy of " Osorio," afterward deno- minated " Remorse."" Mr. C. to this time, had not seen Mr. B. (Vol. 1. p. 232.) Mr. Coleridge wrote to me from Stowey, (Vol. 1 . p. 234) naming that he was going to spend a few days with Mr. Bowles, and to read him his Tragedy, which Mr. B. after it was quite finished and corrected, was to transmit to Mr. Sheridan. Knowing that Mr. Coleridge generally concealed vol. n F 50 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS the fact of his enlistment, from all but his most intimate friends, and to those only of his own age, I entertain the firm conviction, that Mr. C. never spoke one word to Mr. Bowles on this subject, which persuasion I shall relinquish only, when a contrary assertion is advanced by Mr. B. (which has not yet taken place.) It is most unlikely that Mr. C. during a first, and short visit, should un- reservedly expatiate on a fact, that could not favourably impress any stranger, and particularly a clergyman. In the latter years of his life, he, very naturally, never, in the most distant way, referred to the subject. Mr. Bowles is correct in stating, that Mr. Coleridge enlisted in the regiment of the 15th, Elliofs Light Dragoons, but it is at utter variance with all that Mr. C. stated to his intimate friends, that Mr. Nathaniel Ogle, should have been the only individual concerned in the liberation of Mr. C. Two other officers, at least, were principal agents in this affair ; besides which, all the inci- dents, relating to Mr. C. during his connexion with the regiment, are passed over in silence, except the one of Captain Ogle, having seen some latin under Cumberbatch , s saddle. This may, and must have been one of the incidents connected OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 51 with Mr. C. because Captain O. affirms it, but it must be deemed only one of many. Mr. Bowles also states one circumstance relating to what he calls, " The most correct, sublime, chaste, and beautiful of Mr. Coleridge's poems ; the Religious Musings ;" namely, that, " it was written, non inter sylvas academi, but in the tap-room at Reading." This information could not have been received from Mr. C. but perhaps was derived from the imperfect recollection, or apprehension, of Captain O. ; but whoever the in- formant may have been, the assertion, has not the merit of being founded on a shadow of accuracy. The poem of the " Religious Musings," was not written "in the tap-room at Reading," nor any where, till long after Mr. C. had for ever quitted that sacred bower, and even the University itself. It was written partly at Stowey ; partly on Red- clifF Hill, and partly in my parlour, where both Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey, occasionally wrote their verses. But to settle this part more absolutely. On beholding so unexpected an assertion, I referred to the original MS. in which, at the commencement, Mr. C. thus writes. " Religious Musings, a desultory poem, written on Christmas eve, in the f2 52 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS year of our Lord, 1794." This also is the title prefixed to his printed " Poems.'" Had there been an error in the date, as Mr. C. corrected the press, it undoubtedly would have been noticed by him. As a correlative argument, it might be named, that Mr. C. in his ever readiness to gratify me, by the recital of his various poems, never spoke of, nor repeated to me, one line of the " Religi- ous Musings, 1 '' till 1806, a subject which he well knew would interest me so much, and which, from its extent, would not have been likely to be forgotten by him. This is presumptive evidence, but the more conclusive is, that I perfectly remember the time when the poem was written, at least, as to the far larger part. Every new forty or fifty lines that he produced fresh from his opulent mint, he read to me with peculiar zest, when in Bristol ; and he will be found often to have referred to this poem in his letters. He also sometimes condescended to ask my observations. A part of the poem was even written after all before in the volume was printed ; the press being suspended till he had progressively completed it. Mr. C. was in the habit of bringing me a dozen or twenty lines at a time, for the printer, which precious strips are still retained, and were bound OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 53 up by me with MSS. of his Lectures and Poems. (I have even six commencements of one part of the poem, with successive alterations, before he was finally satisfied.) The discrepancy between the facts here stated, and the date " 1794," can only be reconciled by the supposition that a frag- ment, that is, the former part of the poem was written at Christmas 1794, as, upon examining- the MS. of this poem, I find that the beginning is written on different paper from the rest, both as to size and colour. All this evidence, it is presumed, will satisfy every reasonable mind, that the information is quite erroneous, which states, that the " Religious Musings," " was written in the tap-room, at Reading," and, con- sequently, that " WilkieV fine pencil must be transferred to some more veritable subject. I shall now proceed with the narrative of Mr. Coleridge's military life, chiefly collected from Mr. C.'s own mouth, but not inconsiderably, from the information of other of his more intimate friends ; particularly R. Lovell ; although I must apprise the reader that after a lapse of forty years, I cannot pledge myself for every individual word : a severity of construction which neither my memoranda, nor memory, would authorize. f3 54 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS In order not to interrupt the reader, by stating that this was derived from one source, and that from another, (at this time hardly to be separated in my own mind, and of little consequence to the reader,) I shall proceed, as though the whole had been related, by Mr. C. to Mr. Davy and myself. Mr. Coleridge now told us of one of his Cam- bridge eccentricities, which highly amused us. He said that he had paid his addresses to some young woman, (I think, a Mary E — ) who, rejecting his offer, he took it so much in dudgeon, that he ran away from the University to London, when, in a reckless state of mind, he enlisted himself as a common man in a regiment of horse. No objection having been taken to his height, or age, and being thus accepted, he was asked his name. He had previously determined to give one that was thoroughly Kamtschatkian, but haying noticed that morning over a door in Lincoln's Inn Fields, (or the Temple) the name " Cumberbatch," (not Comberback) he thought this word sufficiently outlandish, and replied, 45 Silas Tomken Cumberbatch," and such was the entry in the regimental book. Here, in his new capacity, laborious duties OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 55 devolved on Mr. C. He endeavoured to think on Csesar, and Epaminondas, and Leonidas, with other ancient heroes, and composed himself to his fate ; rememhering, in every series, there must be a commencement : but still he found, confronting him, no imaginary inconveniences. Perhaps he who had most cause for dissatisfaction, was the Drill Sergeant, who thought his pro- fessional character endangered ; for after using his utmost efforts to bring his raw recruit into some- thing like training, he expressed the most serious fears, from his unconquerable awkwardness, that he never should be able to make " a proper' soldier of him /" Mr. C. it seemed, could not even rub down his own horse, which, however, it should be known, was rather a restive one, who (like Cowper's Hare) " would bite if he could," and, in addi- tion, kick, not a little. We could not suppose that these predispositions in the martial steed were at all aggravated by the unskillful jockey ship to which he was subjected, but the sensitive quadru- ped did rebel a little in the stable, and wince a little in the field ! Perhaps this poor ruminating animal was something in the state of the horse that carried Mr. Wordsworth's " Ideot Boy, 1 " 56 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS who, in his sage contemplations, " wondered" — " What he had got upon his back H This rubbing down his horse was a constant source of annoyance to Mr. C. who thought that the most rational way was, — to let the horse rub himself down, shaking himself clean, and so to shine in all his native beauty ; but on this subject there were two opinions, and, unfortunately, his that was to decide carried most weight. If it had not been for the foolish and fastidious taste of the ultra precise Sergeant, this whole mass of trouble might have been avoided, but, seeing the thing must be done, or, punishment ! he set about the herculean task, with the firmness of a Wallenstein, bat, lo ! the paroxysm was brief, in the necessity that called it forth. Mr. C. overcame this im- mense difficulty, by bribing a young man of the regiment to perform the achievement for him ; and that, on very easy terms ; namely, by writing for him some " Love Stanzas," to send to his sweetheart ! Mr. Coleridge, in the midst of all his deficiences, it appeared, was liked by the men, although he was the butt of the whole company ; being esteemed by them as next kin to a natural, though of a peculiar kind — a talking natural. This fancy OF S. T. COLEEIDGE. 57 of theirs was stonily resisted by the love-sick swain, but the regimental logic prevailed ; for, whatever they could do, with masterly dexterity, he could not do at all, ergo, must he not be a natural ? There was no man in the regiment who met with so many falls from his horse, as Silas Tomken Cumberbatch! He often calculated with so little - precision his due equilibrium, that, in mounting on one side, (perhaps the wrong stirrup) the probability was, especially, if his horse moved a little, that he lost his balance, and, if he did not roll back on this side, came down ponderously on the other ! when the laugh spread amongst the men, "Silas is off again!" Mr. C. had often heard of campaigns, but he never before had so correct an idea of hard service. Some mitigation was now in store for Mr. C. arising out of a whimsical circumstance. He had been placed, as a sentinel, at the door of a ball- room, or some public place of resort, when two of his officers, passing in, stopped for a moment, near Mr. C. talking about Euripides, two lines from whom, one of them repeated. At the sound of Greek, the sentinel instinctively turned his ear, when he said, with all deference, touching his lofty cap, " I hope your honour will excuse me, 58 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS but the lines you have repeated are not quite accurately cited. These are the lines ," when he gave them, in their more correct form. " Besides," said Mr. C. " instead of being in Euripides, the lines will be found in the second antistrophe of the ' iEdipus of Sophocles. 1 " "Why, who the d — are you?" said the officer, " old Faustus ground young again ?" "I am only your honour's humble sentinel," said Mr. C. again touching his cap. The officers hastened into the room, and inquired of one and another, about that " odd fish," at the door ; when one of the mess, (it is believed, the surgeon) told them, that he had had his eye upon him, but he would neither tell where he came from, nor any thing about his family of the Cumberbatches ; but," continued he, " instead of being an < odd fish,' I suspect he must be a 'stray-bird 1 from the Oxford, or Cambridge aviary." They learned, also, the laughable fact, that he was bruised all over, by frequent falls from his horse. " Ah," said one of the officers, " we have had, at different times, two or three of these ' University birds 1 in our regiment." They, how- ever, kindly took pity on the ' poor scholar, 1 and had Mr. C. removed to the medical department, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 59 where he was appointed ' assistant' in the regimen- tal hospital. This change was a vast improvement in Mr. C.'s condition ; and happy was the day, also, on which it took place, for the sake of the sick patients ; for, Silas Tomken Cumberbatch's amusing stories, they said, did them more good than all the " doctor's physic !" Many ludicrous dialogues sometimes occurred between Mr. C. and his new disciples ; particularly with the " geogra- pher.'* The following are some of these dialogues. If he began talking to one or two of his com- rades, (for they were all on a perfect equality, except, that those who went through their ex- ercise the best, stretched their necks a little above the "awkward squad;" in which ignoble class Mr. C. was placed, as the pre-eminent mem- ber, almost by acclamation.) If he began to speak, notwithstanding, to one or two, others drew near, increasing momently, till by and by the sick beds were deserted, and Mr. C. formed the centre of a large circle. On one occasion, he told them of the Pelopon- nesian war, which lasted twenty-seven years. " There must have been famous promotion there," said one poor fellow, haggard as a death's head. Another, tottering with disease, ejaculated, " can 60 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS yon tell, Silas, how many rose from the rauks ?" He now still more excited their wonderment, by recapitulating the feats of Archimedes. As the narrative proceeded, one restrained his scepticism, till he was almost ready to burst, and then vocif- erated, " Silas, that's a lie !" " D ye think so ?" said Mr. C. smiling, and went on with his story. The idea, however, got amongst them, that Silas's fancy was on the stretch, when Mr. C. finding that this tact would not do, changed his subject, and told them of a famous general, called Alexander the Great. As by a magic spell, the flagging attention was revived, and several, at the same moment, to testify their eagerness, called out, "The general! The general!" I'll tell you all about him," said Mr. C. when impatience marked every countenance. He then told them whose son this Alexander the Great was ; no less than Philip of Macedon. " I never heard of him," said one. " I think I have," said another, (ashamed of being thought ignorant) " Silas, wasn't he a Cornish man ? I knew one of the Alexanders at Truro !" Mr. C. now went on describing to them, in glow- ing colours, the valour, and the wars, and the OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 61 conquests of this famous general. "Ah," said one man, whose open mouth had complimented the speaker, for the preceding half hour ; " Ah," said he, "Silas, this Alexander must have been as great a man as our Colonel !" Mr. C. now told them of the " Retreat of the Ten Thousand." " I don't like to hear of retreat," said one. "Nor I," said a second: "I'm for marching on." Mr. C. now told of the incessant conflicts of these brave warriors, and of the vir- tues of the " square." " They were a parcel of •crack men," said one. " Yes," said another, "their bayonets fixed, and sleeping on their arms day and night." " I should like to know," said a fourth, " what rations were given with all that hard fighting ;" on which an Irishman replied, ""to be sure, every time the sun rose, two pounds of good ox beef, and plenty of whiskey." At another time he told them of the invasion of Xerxes, and his crossing the wide Hellespont. " Ah," said a young recruit, (a native of an obscure village in Kent, who had acquired a decent smattering of geography, — knowing well that the world was round, and, that the earth was divided into land and water, and, further- more, that there were more countries on the globe VOL. II « 62 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS than England, and who now wished to show off a little before his comrades ;) said this young man of Kent; "Silas, I know where that "Hellspont" is. I think it must be the mouth of the Thames, for "'tis very wide." Mr. C. now told them of the heroes of Thermo- pylae, when the geographer interrupted him, by saying, " Silas, I think I know, too, where that 'Thermopple' is; isn't it somewhere up in the north ?" " You are quite right, Jack," said Mr. C. "it is to the north of the Line." A conscious elevation marked his countenance, and he rose at once, five degrees in the estimation of his friends. In one of these interesting conversaziones, when Mr. C. was sitting at the foot of a bed, sur- rounded by his gaping comrades, (who were always solicitous of, and never wearied with, his stories,) the door suddenly burst open, and in came two or three gentlemen, (his friends) amid the uniform dresses, in vain, for some time, looking for their man. At length, they pitched on Mr. C. and taking him by the arm, led him, in silence, out of the room, (a picture, indeed, for a Wilkie !) As the supposed deserter passed the threshold, one of the astonished auditors uttered, with a sigh, " poor Silas ! I wish they may let OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 63 him off with a cool five hundred !" Mr. C.'s ran- som being soon adjusted, his friends had the pleasure of placing him, once more, safe in the University.* * This account of Mr. Coleridge's military life, I read to Mr. Wade, who remarked that the greater part of what he had heard, Mr. Coleridge had, at different times, repeated to him. Mr. W. having now asked of me permission to peruse the whole of this manuscript ; and, recollecting that he had been an old and steady friend of Mr. C. I readily acceded to his wish, and at the same time expressed an earnest desire that, in that case, he would read the Memoir thoughtfully, in my presence, on successive mornings, and, without hesitation, dissent, if he thought it needful, from any of my remarks, or statements. Mr. Wade finished the reading of the MS. so late as the 10th of August last (1836); when his remarks were, " I have read delibe- rately the whole manuscript with intense interest, as all who knew Coleridge will, and, I think, those who knew him not. It is Cole- ridge himself, undisguised. All the statements I believe to be cor- rect. Most of them I know to be such. There is nothing in this Memoir of our friend to which I object ; nothing which I could wish to see omitted." He continued, " With respect to those let- ters relating to opium, I think you would be unfaithful, if you were to suppress them : but that letter addressed to me, must be pub- lished, (according to Mr. Coleridge's solemn injunction,) either by you, or myself. The instruction to be derived from this, and his penitential letters addressed to you, is incalculable. All my friends unite with me in this opinion." Mr. W. related, at this time, one circumstance, received by him from Mr. Coleridge, which was new to me, and which is as follows. One of the men in Mr. C.'s company, had, it appeared, a bad case of the small pox, when Mr. C. was appointed to be his nurse, night g2 64 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS A very old friend of Mr. Coleridge has recently furnished me with the two following anecdotes of Mr. C. which were also new to me. The inspecting officer of his regiment, on one occasion, was examining the guns of the men, and coming to one piece which was rusty, he called out in an authoritative tone, " Whose rusty gun is this ?" when Mr. C. said, " is it very rusty, Sir ?" " Yes, Cumberbatch, it is" said the offi- cer, sternly. "Then, Sir," replied Mr. C. "it must be mine P* The oddity of the reply dis- armed the officer, and the "poor scholar" escaped without punishment.* Mr. Coleridge was a remarkably awkward horseman, so much so, as generally to attract notice. Some years after this, he was riding along the turnpike road,, in the county of Durham, when a wag, approaching him, noticed his peculi- arity, and (quite mistaking his man) thought the and day. The fatigue, and anxiety, and various inconveniences, involved in the superintendence on this his sorely diseased comrade,, almost sickened him of hospital service ; so that one or two more such cases would have reconciled him to the ranks, and have made him covet, once more, the holiday play of rubbing down his horse. * At the time Mr. Coleridge belonged to the 15th Light Dra- goons, the men earned carbines, in addition to swords and pistols^ More recently, a shorter gun has been substituted, called a fusee _ OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 65 rider a fine subject for a little sport ; when, as he drew near, he thus accosted Mr. C. " I say, young- man, did you meet a tailor on the road?" "Yes," replied Mr. C. (who was never at a loss for a re- joinder) "I did; and he told me, if I went a little further I should meet a goose!" The assailant was struck dumb, while the traveller jogged on. Mr. Coleridge, at his next visit, gave me several Epigrams, translated by him from the German, which here follow : ON A BAD READER OF HIS OWN VERSES. Hoarse Msevius reads his hobbling verse To all, and at all times, And deems them both divinely smooth, His voice, as well as rhymes. But folks say Msevius is no ass ! But Mamus makes it clear, That he's a monster of an ass, An ass without an ear. If the guilt of all lying consists in deceit, Lie on — 'tis your duty, sweet youth ! For believe me, then only we find you a cheat, When you cunningly tell us the truth." g3 66 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS *• As Dick and I at Charing Cross were walking, Whom should we see on t'other side pass by, But Informator with a stranger talking, So I exclaimed — " O, what a lie !" Quoth Dick, "What can you hear him ?" Stuff t I saw him open his mouth — ant that enough?" ON OBSERVING A LADY LICKING HER LAP-DOG, Thy Lap-dog, Rufa, is a dainty beast ; It don't surprise me in the least, To see thee lick so dainty clean a beast, But that so dainty clean a beast licks thee — Yes — that surprises me. Jack writes his verses with more speed Than the printer's boy can set 'em ; Quite as fast as we can read, But only — not so fast as we forget 'em." Mr. Coleridge accompanied these Epigrams with the translation of one of Lessing's pieces, where the felicity of the expression, in its English form, will excite in most readers a suspicion, that OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 67 no High Dutch original, could equal the Poem in its new dress. MY LOVE. I ask'd ray love, one happy day, What I should call her in my lay ! By what sweet name from Rome or Greece ; Iphigenia, Clelia, Chloris, Laura, Lesbia, or Doris, Dorimene, or Lucrece ? Ah ! replied my gentle fair, Beloyed ! what are names hut air ! Take whatever suits the line : Call me Clelia, call me Chloris, Laura, Lesbia, or Doris, Only, only, call me thine. Mr. C. told me that he intended to translate the whole of Lessing. I smiled, Mr. C. understood the symbol, and smiled in return. The above poem is thus printed in the last edition of 1835, by which the two may be compared, and the reader determine whether he deems the alterations to be improvements. NAMES. I asked my fair one happy day, What I should call her in my lay ; 68 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS By what sweet name from Rome or Greece Lalage, Neaera, Chloris, Sappho, Leshia or Doris, Arethusa, or Lucrece. Ah, replied my gentle fair, Beloved, what are names hut air ? Choose thou whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage, or Doris, Only, only, call me thine. Some time after this, Mr. Coleridge, finding his health in a declining state, was advised to try a warmer climate, when recollecting that a friend of his, Sir John Stoddart, was the Judge of Malta, he repaired to that island. Here he was introduced to Sir Alexander Ball, the Governor, who happened at that time to be in want of a Secretary, and being greatly pleased with Mr Coleridge, he immediately engaged him in that capacity.* * Mr. Coleridge sustained one serious loss, on quitting Malta, which he greatly deplored, He had packed in a large case, all his books and MSS. with all the letters received by him during his residence on the island. His directions were, to be forwarded to England, by the first ship •, with Bristol, as its ultimate destination. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 69 I shall here for the present leave the narrative of Mr. C. in other and better hands, and pro- ceed to remark, that Mr. Davy, and Mr. Coleridge continued their friendly feeling toward each other, through life. Mr. Davy, in a letter to Mr. Poole, thus expresses himself. (1804.) " I have received a letter from Coleridge within the last three weeks. He writes from Malta, in good spirits, and, as usual, from the depth of his being. God bless him ! He was intended for a great man. I hope and trust he will, at some period, appear such." Mr. Davy, after a continuance in Bristol of more than two years, sent me the following letter, with a copy of Burns's Life and Works, by Dr. Currie. " Dear Cottle, I have been for the last six weeks, so much hurried by business, and the prospect of a change It was never received, nor ecaild he ever learn what became of it. It may be lying, at this moment in some eustorn-house-warerocm., waiting for the payment of the duty ! Of which liability Mr. C probably, was not aware. 70 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS of situation, that I have not had time to call on you. I am now on the point of leaving the Hotwells, and had designed to see you this morning, but engagements have unluckily pre- vented me. I am going to the Royal Institution, where, if you come to London, it will give me much pleasure to see you. Will you be pleased to accept the copy of Burn's Life and Poems, sent with this, and when you are reading with delight, the effusions of your brother bard, occasionally think of one who is, with sincere regard and affection, Your friend, H. Davy. March 9th, 1801." In the following letter, received by me from Sir H. Davy, so late as June, 1823, he refers to Mr. Coleridge. "My dear Sir, * * * I have often thought on the subject of the early history of our planet, and have some peculiar views, but I have some reserve in talking here about it, as all our knowledge on such matters is little more than ignorance. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 71 What J stated to the Royal Society, in award- ing the medal to Professor Buckland, has not been correctly given in the Journals. I merely said that the facts lately brought forward, proved the occurrence of that great catastrophe, which had been recorded in sacred and profane history, and of which traditions were current, even amongst the most barbarous nations. I did not say they proved the truth of the Mosaic account of the deluge, that is to say, of the history of the Ark of Noah, and the preservation of animal life. This is Revelation ; and no facts, that I know of, have been discovered in science that bear upon this question, and the sacred history of the race of Shem. My idea was to give to Csesar what belonged to Caesar, &c. &c. and not to blend divine truths, with the fancies of men. I met Coleridge this morning, looking very well. I had not seen him for years. He has promised to dine with me on Monday. * * * Very sincerely yours, H. Davy. June 11th, 1823." In a letter of Sir H. Davy, addressed to his 72 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS friend Mr. Poole, 1803, he thus writes of S. T. C. *' Coleridge has left London for Keswick. During his stay in town, I saw him seldomer than usual : when I did see him, it was generally in the midst of large companies, where he is the image of power and activity. His eloquence is unimpaired ; perhaps it is softer and stronger. His will is less than ever commensurate with his ability. Brilli- ant images of greatness float upon his mind, like images of the morning clouds on the waters. Their forms are changed by the motion of the waves, they are agitated by every breeze,- and modified by every sun-beam. He talked in the course of an hour, of beginning three works ; and he recited the poem of Christabel unfinished, and as I had before heard it. What talent does he not waste in forming visions, sublime, but uncon- nected with the real world ! I have looked to his efforts, as to the efforts of a creating being ; but as yet he has not laid the foundation for the new world of intellectual forms." Sir H. Davy was the chief agent, in prevailing on Mr. Coleridge to give a course of lectures on Shakspeare, at the Royal Institution, which he OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 73 did, eighteen in number, in the year 1808. Sir H. D. in writing to Mr. Poole, this year, thus refers to Mr. C. " Coleridge after disappointing his audience twice from illness, is announced to lecture again this week, He has suffered greatly from excessive sensibility, the disease of genius. His mind is a wilderness, in which the cedar and the oak, which might aspire to the skies, are stunted in their growth by underwood, thorns, briars, and parasi- tical plants. With the most exalted genius, enlarged views, sensitive heart, and enlightened mind, he will be the victim of want of order, precision, and regularity. I cannot think of him without experiencing the mingled feelings of admiration, regard, and pity,'" To this testimony in confirmation of Mr. Cole- ridge's intellectual eminence, high and numerous additional authorities might be cited, but I shall restrict myself to the estimate of Mr. C. expressed by Professor Wilson. " Tf there be any man of great and original genius alive at this moment, in Europe, it is VOL. II H 74 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Coleridge. Nothing can surpass the melodious richness of words, which he heaps around his ima- ges ; images that are not glaring in themselves, but which are always affecting to the very verge of tears, because they have all been formed and nourished in the recesses of one of the most deeply musing spirits, that ever breathed forth its inspirations, in the majestic language of England."* I must here recommence my narrative of Mr. Coleridge. In the year 1807, I accidentally learnt that Mr. C. had returned to England, from the Mediterranean, very ill, and that he was then on a visit to his friend Mr. Poole, at Stowey. On receiving this information, I addres- sed to him a letter of condolence, and expressed * Mr. Coleridge, when at the University of Gottingen, found pleasant English Society. With four gentlemen (students) whom he there met (Dr. Parry, the present eminent physician of Bath ; Dr. Carlyon, the no less eminent physician of Truro ; Captain Parry, the North Pole Navigator ; and Mr. Chester) he made an excursion to the Hartz mountains. Many striking incidents respecting this pedestrian excursion arc before the public, in Mr. C.'s own letters ; and it may here be added, Dr. Carlyon has recently published a Work, entitled " Early Years and Late Reflections," which gives among other valuable matter, many additional particulars con- nected with this visit to the Brocken, as well as interesting notices concerning Mr. Coleridge, during his residence in Germany. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 75 a liope that his health would soon allow him to pay me a visit, in Bristol. To this letter he thus replied. " Dear Cottle, On my return to Bristol (whenever that may be) I will certainly give you the right hand of old fellowship ; hut, alas ! you will find me the wretched wreck of what you knew me, rolling rudderless. My health is extremely bad. Pain I have enough of, but that is indeed to me, a mere trifle, but the almost increasing, overpower- ing sensations of wretchedness : achings in my limbs, with an indescribable restlessness, that makes action to any available purpose, almost impossible : and, worst of all, the sense of blighted utility, regrets, not remorseless. But enough ; yea, more than enough ; if these things produce, or deepen the conviction of the utter pow- erlessness of ourselves, and that we either perish, or find aid from something that passes understanding. Affectionately, S. T. C. 5 ' Some weeks after, Mr. Coleridge called on me ; when, in the course of conversation, he entered h2 76 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS into some observations on his own character, thai made him appear unusually amiable. He said that, naturally, he was very arrogant ; that it was his easily besetting sin ; a state of mind which he said, he ascribed to the severe subjection to which he had been exposed, till he was fourteen years of age, and from which, his own consciousness of superiority made him revolt. He then stated that he had renounced all his Socinian sentiments ; that he considered Socinianism as a heresy of the worst description ; attempting, in vain, to reconcile sin and holiness ; the world and heaven ; opposing the whole spirit of the Bible : and he further said, that Socinianism was subversive of all that truly constituted Christianity. At this interview he professed his deepest conviction of the truth of Revelation ; of the Fall of Man ; of the Divinity of Christ, and redemption alone through his blood. To hear these sentiments so explicitly avowed, gave me unspeakable pleasure, and formed a new, and unexpected, and stronger bond of union. A long and highly interesting theological con- versation followed, in which Mr. C. proved, that, however weak his body, the intellectual vigour of his mind was unimpaired. He exhibited, also, more sobriety of manner than T had before noticed OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 77 in him, with an improved and impressive maturity in his reflections; expressed in his happiest lan- guage, and which, could it have been accurately recorded, would have adorned the most splendid of his pages; — so rare and pre-eminent was the powerful and spontaneous utterance with which this gifted son of genius was endowed. Mr. Coleridge, at his next visit, related to me some of his Italian adventures ; the narration of one or two of which, will here be introduced. He said, that after quitting Malta, he had landed on Sicily, and visited Etna ; his ascent up whose side, to the crater, he graphically described, with some striking features ; but as this is a sub- ject, proverbially enlarged upon by all travellers, I waive further notice, and proceed to state, that Mr. C. after leaving Sicily, passed over to the south of Italy, and journeyed on to Rome. Shortly after Mr. Coleridge had arrived in this city, he attracted some notice amongst the literati, as an English "Man of Letters.''' Cardinal Fesch, in particular, was civil, and sought his company ; but that which was more remarkable, Jerome Buonaparte (the best of the Buonaparte family) was then a resident at Rome, and Mr, C's reputation becoming known to him, he sent h3 78 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS for Mr. Coleridge, and after showing him his palace, pictures, &c. thus generously addressed him. " Sir, I have sent for you to give you a lit- tle candid advice. I do not know that you have said, or written any thing against my brother Napoleon, but, as an Englishman, the supposition is not unreasonable. If you have, my advice is, that you leave Italy as soon as you possibly can •" This hint was gratefully received, and Mr. Coleridge soon after quitted Rome, in the suite of Cardinal Fesch. From his anxiety to reach England, he proceeded to Leghorn, where an occurrence attended Mr. C. which will excite every reader's sympathy. Mr. Coleridge had journeyed to this port, where he hoped, rather than expected, to find some conveyance, through the medium of a neutral, that should waft him to the land, "more prized than ever." The hope proved delusive. The war was now raging between England and France, and Buonaparte being lord of the ascendant in Italy, Mr. Cole- ridge's situation became insecure, and even peril- ous. To obtain a passport was impossible ; and as Mr. C. had formerly rendered himself obnox- ious to the great Captain, by some political papers, he was in daily and hourly expectation of OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 79 being incarcei'ated in an Italian prison, which would have been the infallible road to death ! In half despair of ever again seeing his family and friends, and under the constant dread of apprehension by the emissaries of the Tuscan government, or French spies ; Mr. Coleridge said, he went out one morning, to look at some ruins in the neighbourhood of Leghorn, in a state of despondency, where certainty, however terrible, would have been almost preferable to suspense. While musing on the ravages of time, he turned his eye, and observed, at a little distance, a sea- faring looking man, musing, like himself, in silence, on the waste around. Mr. Coleridge advanced toward him, supposing, or, at least, deeming it possible, that he also might be mourn- ing his captivity, and commenced a discourse with him ; when he found that the stranger was an American captain, whose ship was then in the harbour, and on the point of sailing for England. This information sent joy into Mr. C.'s heart ; but he testified no emotion, determined, he said, to obtain the captain's good will, by showing him all the civilities in his power, as a preliminary to any future service the captain might be dis- posed to render him, whether the power were 80 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS united with the disposition or not. This showed adroitness, with great knowledge of human nature; (and more winning and captivating manners than those of Mr. C. when called forth, were never possessed by mortal !) In conformity with this almost forlorn hope, Mr. Coleridge explained to the American captain the history of the ruin ; read to him some of the half defaced Latin and Italian inscriptions, and concluded with extolling General Washington, and predicting the stability of the Union. The right keys, treble and tenor, were touched at the same moment, "Pray, young man, ,1 said the captain, " who are you ?" Mr. C. replied, "I am a poor unfortunate Englishman, with a wife and family at home ; but I am afraid I shall never see them more ! I have no passport, nor means of escape ; and, to increase my sorrow, 1 am in daily dread of being thrown into jail, when those I love will not have the last pleasure of knowing that I am dead !*" The captain's heart was touched. He had a wife and family at a distance. " My young man," said he, " what is your name?" The reply was, "Samuel Taylor Coleridge." " Poor young man," answered the captain. " You meet me at this place to-morrow morning, exactly at ten o'clock." So saying, the OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 81 captain withdrew. Mr. C. stood musing on the singular occurrence, in which there was something inexplicable. His discernment of the stranger's character, however, convinced him that there existed no under plot, but still there was a wide space between probability and certainty. On a balance of circumstances, he still thought all fair, and, at the appointed hour, repaired to the inte- rior of the ruins. No captain was there ; but, in a few minutes he appeared, and, hastening up to Mr. Coleridge, exclaimed, exultingly, " I have got your pass- port !" " How ! What !" said Mr. C. almost overpowered by his feelings. " Ask me no ques- tions, 1 ' replied the captain; "you are my stew- ard, and you shall sail away with me to-morrow morning !" He continued, (giving him his address) " You come to my house, to-morrow, early, when I will provide you with a jacket and trowsers, and you shall follow me to the ship with a, basket of vegetables ." In short, thus accou- tred, he did follow the captain to the ship, the next morning ; and in three hours, he fairly sailed out of Leghorn harbour, triumphantly, on his course to England ! As soon as the ship had cleared the port, Mr. 82 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Coleridge hastened down to the cabin, and cried, " my dear captain, tell me how you obtained my passport?" Said the captain, very gravely, "Why, I went to the authorities, and swore that you were an American, and my steward ! I swore, also, that I knew your father and mother ; that they lived in a red-brick house, about half a mile out of New York, on the road to Boston !" It is gratifying to add, that this benevo- lent little-scrupulous captain refused to accept any thing from Mr. C. for his passage to England ; and behaved, in many other respects, with the same uniform kindness. During the voyage, Mr. Coleridge told me, he was attacked with a dangerous illness, when, he said, he thought he should have died,, but for the "good captain" who attended him with the solicitude of a father. Mr. C. also said, had he known what the captain was going to swear, whatever the consequences might have been, he would have prevented him.* * It was a remarkable quality in Mr. Coleridge's mind, tbat edi- fices excited little interest in him. On his return from Italy, and after having resided for some time in Rome, I remember his describ- ing to me the state of society; the characters of the Pope snd Cardinals ; the gorgeous ceremonies, -with the superstitions of the OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 83 The following long letter will be read with interest. "Bristol, 1807. Dear Cottle, To pursue our last conversation. Christians expect no outward or sensible miracles from prayer. Its effects, and its fruitions are spiritual, and accompanied says that true Divine, Arch- people, but not one word did he utter concerning St. Peter's, the Vatican, or the numerous antiquities of the place. As a further con- firmation, I remember to have been with Mr. Coleridge, at York on our journey into Durham, to see Mr. Wordsworth, when, after breakfast at the inn, perceiving Mr. C. engaged, I went out alone, to see the famous York Minster, (being, in the way, detained in a bookseller's shop.) In the mean time, Mr. C. having missed me, he set off in search of his companion. Supposing it probable that I was gone to the Minster, he went up to the door of that magnificent structure, and inquired of the porter, whether such an individual as myself had gone in there. Being answered in the negative, he had no further curiosity, not even looking into the interior, but turned away to pursue his search ! so that Mr. C. left York, without beholding, or wishing to behold, the chief attraction of the city, or being at all conscious that he had committed, by his neglect, high treason against all architectural beauty ! This deficiency in his regard for edifices, while he was feverishly alive to all the operations of mind, and all intellectual inquiries, formed a striking and singular feature in Mr. Coleridge's mental constitution, worthy of being noticed. 84 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS bishop Leighton, ' not by reasons and arguments but by an inexpressible kind of evidence, which they only know who have it."' To this I would add, that even those who, like me I fear, have not attained it, may yet presume it. First, because reason itself, or rather mere human nature, in any dispassionate moment, feels the necessity of religion, but if this be not true there is no religion, no religation, or binding over again ; nothing added to reason, and therefore Socinianism, (misnamed UnitarianismJ is not only not Christianity, it is not even religion, it does not religate ; does not bind anew. The first outward and sensible result of prayer, is, a penitent resolution, joined with a consciousness of weakness in effecting it, yea even a dread, too well grounded, lest by breaking and falsifying it, the soul should add guilt to guilt ; by the very means it has taken to escape from guilt ; so pitiable is the state of unregenerate man. Are you familiar with Leighton , s Works I He resigned his archbishoprick, and retired to volun- tary poverty on account of the persecutions of the Presbyterians, saying, ' I should not dare to introduce Christianity itself with such cruelties, how much less for a surplice, and the name of a bishop. 1 'OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 85 if there could be an intermediate space between inspired, and uninspired writings, that space would be occupied by Leighton. No show of learning, no appearance, or ostentatious display of eloquence; and yet both may be shown in him, conspicuously and holily. There is in him something that must be felt, even as the scriptures must be felt. You ask me my views of the Trinity. I accept the doctrine, not as deduced from human reason, in its grovelling capacity for comprehending spiritu- al things, but as the clear revelation of Scripture, Rut perhaps it may be said, the Socinians do not admit this doctrine as being taught in the bible. I know enough of their shifts and quibbles, with their dexterity at explaining away all they dislike, (and that is not a little) but though beguiled once by them, I happily, for my own peace of mind, escaped from their sophistries, and now, hesitate not to affirm, that Socinians would lose all cha- racter for honesty, if they were to explain their neighbour's will with the same latitude of inter- pretation, which they do the Scriptures. I have in my head some floating ideas on the Logos, which I hope, hereafter, to mould into a consistent form ; but it is a gross perversion of the truth, in Socinians, to declare that we believe VOL, II I 86 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS in Three Gods, and they know it to be false. They might, with equal justice affirm that we believe in three suns. The meanest peasant, who has acquired the first rudiments of Christianity, would shrink back from a thought so monstrous. Still the Trinity has its difficulties. It would be strange if otherwise. A Revelation that revealed nothing, not within the grasp of human reason ! — no religation, no binding over again, as before said : but these difficulties are shadows, contrasted with the substantive, and insurmountable obstacles with which they contend who admit the Divine authority of Scripture, with the superlative excellence of .Christ, and yet undertake to prove that these Scriptures teach, and that Christ taught, his own pure humanity! If Jesus Christ was merely a Man, — if he was not God as well as Man, be it considered, he could not have been even a good man. There is no medium. The Saviour in that case was abso- lutely a deceiver ! one, transcendently unrighte- ous ! in advancing pretensions to miracles, by the " Finger of God, 1 "' which he never performed ; and by asserting claims, (as a man) in the most aggravated sense, blasphemous ! These conse- quences, Socinians, to be consistent, must allow, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 87 and which impious arrogation of Divinity in Christ, (according to their faith,) as well as his false assumption of a community of " glory " with the Father, " before the world was, 11 even they will be necessitated to admit, completely exonerated the Jews, according to their law, in crucifying one, who " being a man, 11 "made himself God I 11 But, in the Christian, rather than in the Socinian, or Pharisaic view, all these objections vanish, and harmony succeeds to inexplicable confusion. If Socinians hesitate in ascribing unrighteousness to Christ, the inevita- ble result of their principles, they tremble, as well they might, at their avowed creed, and virtually renounce what they profess to uphold. The Trinity, as Bishop Leighton has well remarked, is, " a doctrine of faith, not of demon- stration, 11 except in a moral sense. If the New Testament declare it, not in an insulated passage, but through the whole breadth of its pages, rendering, with any other admission, the Book, which is the christian's anchor-hold of hope, dark and contradictory, then it is not to be rejected, but on a penalty that reduces to an atom, all the sufferings this earth can inflict. Let the grand question be determined; Is, or is not i 2 88 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS the Bible inspired % No one Book has ever been subjected to so rigid an investigation as the Bible, by minds the most capacious, and, in the result., which has so triumphantly repelled all the assaults of Infidels. In the extensive intercourse which I have had with this class of men, I have seen their prejudices surpassed only by their ignorance. This I found conspicuously the case in Dr. D. (Vol. I, p. 167) the prince of their fraternity. Without, therefore stopping to contend on what all dispassionate men must deem, undebatable ground, I may assume inspiration as admitted ; and, equally so, that it would be an insult to man's understanding, to suppose any other Re- velation from God than the christian Scriptures. If these Scriptures, impregnable in their strength ; sustained in their pretensions by undeniable pro- phecies and miracles ; and by the experience of the inner man, in all ages, as well as by a concatenation of arguments, all bearing upon one point, and extending, with miraculous consis- tency, through a series of fifteen hundred years ; if all this combined proof does not establish their validity, nothing can be proved under the sun; but the world and man must be abandoned, with all its consequences to one universal scepticism ! . OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 89 Under such sanctions, therefore, if these Scrip- tures, as a fundamental truth, do inculcate the doctrine of the Trinity ; however surpassing human comprehension ; then I say, we are bound to admit it on the strength of moral demon- stration. The supreme Governor of the world, and the Father of our spirits, has seen fit to disclose to us, much of his will, and the whole of his natural and moral perfections. In some instances he has given his word only, and demanded our faith,' while, on other momentous subjects, instead of bestowing a full revelation ; like the Via Lactea, he has furnished a glimpse only, through either the medium of inspiration, or by the exercise of those rational faculties with which he has endowed us. I consider the Trinity as substantially resting on the first proposition, yet deriving support from the last. I recollect when I stood on the summit of Etna, and darted my gaze down the crater ; the imme- diate vicinity was discernible, till, lower down, obscurity gradually terminated in total darkness. Such figures exemplify many truths revealed in the Bible. We pursue them, until, from the imperfection of our faculties, we are lost in impen^ i3 90 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS etrable night. All truths, however, that are essential to faith, honestly interpreted ; all that are important to human conduct, under every diversity of circumstance, are manifest as a blaz- ing star. The promises also of felicity to the righteous, in the future world, though the precise nature of that felicity may not be defined, are illustrated by every image that can swell the ima- gination : while the misery of the lost, in its unutterable intensity, though the language that describes it is all necessarily figurative, is there exhibited as resulting chiefly, if not wholly, from the withdravvment of the light of God's counte- nance, and a banishment from his presence ! — best comprehended in this world, by reflecting on the desolations which would instantly follow the loss of the sun's vivifying and universally diffused warmth. You, or, rather, all should remember, that some truths, from their nature, surpass the scope of man's limited powers, and stand as the criteria of faith, determining, by their rejection, or admission, who among the sons of men can con- fide in the veracity of heaven. Those more ethe- real truths, of which the Trinity is conspic- uously the chief, without being circumstantially OF S. T. COLEKIDGE. 91 explained, may be faintly illustrated by material objects. — The eye of man cannot discern the satellites of Jupiter, nor become sensible of the multitudinous stars, whose rays have never reached our planet, and, consequently, garnish not the canopy of night ; yet, are they the less real, because their existence lies beyond man's unassisted gaze ? The tube of the philosopher, and the celestial telescope, — the unclouded visions of heaven, will confirm the one class of truths, and irradiate the other. The Trinity is a subject on which analogical reasoning may advantageously be admitted, as furnishing, at least, a glimpse of light, and with this, for the present, we must be satisfied. Infi- nite Wisdom deemed clearer manifestations inex- pedient ; and is man to dictate to his Maker ? I mav further remark, that where we cannot behold a desirable object distinctly, we must take the best view we can ; and I think you, and every candid and enquiring mind, may derive assistance from such reflections as the following. Notwithstanding the arguments of Spinosa, and Descartes, and other advocates of the Material system, (or, in more appropriate language, the Atheistical system ! J it is admitted by all men, 92 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS not prejudiced; not biased by sceptical preposses- sions, that mind is distinct from matter. The mind of man, however, is involved in inscrutable darkness, (as the profoundest metaphysicians well know) and is to be estimated, (if at all) alone, by an inductive process; that is, by its effects. Without entering on the question, whether an extremely circumscribed portion of the mental process, surpassing instinct, may, or may not, be extended to quadrupeds, it is universally acknow- ledged, that the mind of man, alone, regulates all the voluntary actions of his corporeal frame. Mind, therefore, may be regarded as a distinct genus, in the scale ascending above brutes, and including the whole of intellectual existences ; advancing from thought , (that mysterious thing !) in its lowest form, through all the gradations of sentient and rational beings, till it arrives at a Bacon, a Newton, and then, when unincumbered by matter, extending its illimitable sway through Seraph and Archangel, till we are lost in the Great Infinite ! Is it not deserving of notice, as an especial sub- ject of meditation, that our limbs, in all they do, or can accomplish, implicitly obey the dictation of the mind ? that this operating power, whatever OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 93 its name, under certain limitations, exercises a sovereign dominion, not only over our limbs, bat over all our intellectual pursuits ? The mind of every man is evidently the fulcrum, the moving force, which alike regulates all his limbs and actions ; and in which example, we find a strong illustration of the subordinate nature of mere matter. That alone which gives direction to the organic parts of our nature, is wholly mind; and one mind, if placed over a thousand limbs, could, with undiminished ease, controul and regulate the whole. This idea is advanced on the supposition, that one mind could command an unlimited direction over any given number of limbs, provided they were all connected by joint and sinew. But sup- pose, through some occult and inconceivable means, these limbs were dis -associated, as to all material connexion ; suppose, for instance, one mind, with unlimited authority, governed the operations of two separate persons, would not this, substantially, be only one person, seeing the directing principle was one ? If the truth, here contended for, be admitted, that two persons, governed by one mind, is, incontestably one per- son ; the same conclusion would be arrived at s 94 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS and the proposition equally be justified, which affirmed that , three, or, otherwise, four persons, owning also necessary and essential subjection to one mind, would only be so many diversities, or modifications of that one mind, and therefore the component parts, virtually collapsing into one whole, the person would be one. Let any man ask himself, whose understanding can both reason, and become the depository of truth, whether, if one mind thus regulated, with absolute authority, three, or, otherwise, four persons, with all their cong(.ries of material parts, would not these parts, inert in themselves, when subjected to one pre dominant mind, be, in the most logical sense, one person ? Are ligament and exterior combination indispensable pre-reguisites to the sovereign influ- ence of mind over mind ? or mind over matter ? But perhaps it may be said, we have no instance of one mind governing more than one body. This may be, but the argument remains the same. With a proud spirit, that forgets its own con- tracted range of thought, and circumscribed know- ledge, who is to limit the sway of Omnipotence ? or, presumptuously to deny the possibility of that Being, who called light out of darkness, so to exalt the dominion of one mind, as to give it OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 95 absolute sway over other dependent minds, or (indifferently) over detached, or combined por- tions of organized matter? But if this superin- duced quality be conferable on any order of created beings, it is blasphemy to limit the power of God, and to deny his capacity to transfuse his own Spirit, when, and to whom he will. This reasoning may now be applied in illustra- tion of the Trinity. We are too much in the habit of viewing our Saviour Jesus Christ, through the medium of his body. " A body was prepared for him, 1 ' but this body was mere matter; as insensible in itself, as every human frame when deserted by the soul. If therefore the Spirit that was in Christ, was the Spirit of the Father : if no thought, no vibration, no spiritual communi- cation, or miraculous display, existed in, or proceeded from Christ, not immediately and consubstantially identified with Jehovah, the Great First cause ; if all these operating principles were thus derived, in consistency alone with the conjoint divine attributes ; if this Spirit of the Father ruled and reigned in Christ as his own manifestation, then, in the strictest sense, Christ exhibited "^ the God-head bodily,"" and was undeniably "one with the Father ;"" confirmatory 96 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS of the Saviour's words ; ' Of myself,'' (my body) ' I can do nothing, the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works. 1 But though I speak of the body, as inert- in itself, and necessarily allied to matter, yet this declaration must not be understood as militating against the christian doctrine of the resurrection of the body. In its grosser form, the thought is not to be admitted, for, " flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, 1 '' but, that the body, without losing its consciousness, and individu- ality, may be subjected, by the illimitable power of Omnipotence, to a sublimating process, so as to be rendered compatible with spiritual associa- tion, is not opposed to reason, in its severe abstract exercises, while in attestation of this exhilarating belief, there are many remote ana- logies in nature exemplifying the same truth, while it is in the strictest accordance with that final dispensation, which must, as christians, regulate all our speculations. I proceed now to say, that If the postulate be thus admitted, that one mind influencing two bodies, would only involve a diversity of operations, but in reality be one in essence ; or otherwise, (as an hypothetical OE S. T. COLERIDGE. 97 argument, illustrative of truth) if one preeminent mind, or spiritual subsistence, unconnected with matter, possessed an undivided and sovereign dominion over two or more disembodied minds, so as to become the exclusive source of all their subtlest volitions and exercises, the unity, however complex the modus of its manifestation, would be fully established ; and this principle extends to Deity itself, and shows the true sense, as I conceive, in which Christ and the Father are one. In continuation of this reasoning, if God who is light, the Sun of the Moral World, should in his union of Infinite Wisdom, Power, and Goodness, and from all Eternity, have ordained that an emanation from himself (for aught we know, an essential emanation, as light is inseparable from the luminary of day) should not only have existed in his Son, in the fulness of time to be united to a mortal body, but that a like emanation from himself (also perhaps essential) should have constituted the Holy Spirit, who, without losing his ubiquity, was more especially sent to this lower earth, by the Son, at the impulse of the Father, then, in the most comprehensive sense, God, and his Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, are one. " Three Persons in one VOL. II. K 98 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS God," and thus form the true Trinity in Unity. To suppose that more than one Independent Power, or Governing mind exists in the whole universe, is absolute Polytheism, against which the denunciations of all the Jewish, and Christian Canonical books were directed. And if there be but one directing Mind, that Mind is God ! — operating, however, in Three Persons, according to the direct and uniform declarations of that inspiration which " brought life and immortality to light." Yet this divine doctrine of the Trinity is to be received, not because it is, or can be clear to finite apprehension, but, (in reiteration of the argument) because the Scriptures, in their unsophisticated interpretation expressly state it. The Trinity, therefore, from its important as- pects, and Biblical prominence, is the grand article of faith, and the foundation of the whole christian system. Who can say, as Christ and the Holy Ghost proceeded from, and are still one with the Father, and as all the disciples of Christ derive their fulness from him, and, in spirit, are inviolately united to him as a branch is to the vine, who can say, but that, in one view, what was once mysteriously separated, may, as mysteriously, be OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 99 tecouibined, and, (without interfering with the everlasting Trinity, and the individuality of the spiritual and seraphic orders) the Son, at the consummation of all things, deliver up his media- torial kingdom to the Father, and God, in some peculiar, and infinitely sublime sense, become All in All ! God love you, & T. Coleridge."* In a former page, Mr. Coleridge has been represented as entertaining sentiments in early life, approaching to, though not identified with, those of Socinians : on his return to Bristol, in the year 1807, a complete reverse had taken place in his theological tenets, (as stated, Vol. 2. p. 76.) " Reflection and reading, particularly the Bible, had taught him," as he said, " the unstable foun- dation on which Socinians grounded their faith ;" and in proportion as orthodox sentiments acquired an ascendency in his mind, a love of truth com- pelled him to oppose his former errors, and sti- mulated him, by an explicit declaration of his religious views, to counteract those former im- pressions, which his cruder opinions had led * It was a favourite citation with Mr. Coleridge, " I in them, and thou in me, that they all may be one in us," k2 100 KAELY RECOLLECTIONS him once so strenuously to enforce on all around. The editor of Mr. Coleridge's " Table Talk," has conferred an important benefit on the public, by preserving- so many of Mr. C.'s familiar conver- sations, particularly those on this important sub- ject of Socinianism. Few men ever poured forth torrents of more happily-expressed language, the result of more matured reflection, in his social intercourse, than Mr. Coleridge ; and at this time, the recollection is accompanied with serious regret, that I allowed to pass unnoticed, so many of Mr. C.'s splendid colloquies, which, could they be recalled, would exhibit his talents in a light equally favourable with his most deliberately- writ- ten productions. I did indeed take notes of one of Mr. Cole- ridge's conversations, on his departure from a supper party, and which I shall subjoin, because the confirmed general views, and individual opin- ions of so enlarged a mind as that of Mr. C. must command attention ; especially when exercised on subjects, intrinsically important. I however observe, that my sketch of the conversation, must be understood as being exceedingly far from doing justice to the original. Some preliminary remarks will favourably introduce the sequel. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 101 In this year I was invited to meet Mr. Cole- ridge, in company with a zealous Socinian min- ister. It was natural to conclude, that such uncongenial, and, at the same time, such inflam- mable materials, would soon ignite. The subject of Socinianism having been introduced soon after dinner, the minister avowed his sentiments, in language that was construed into a challenge, when Mr. Coleridge advanced at once to the charge, by saying, " Sir, you give up so much, that the little you retain of Christianity is not worth keeping. 1 ' We looked in vain for a reply. After a manifest internal conflict, the Socinian minister very prudently allowed the gauntlet to remain undisturbed. Shortly after this occurrence, Mr. Coleridge supped with the writer, when his well-known con- versational talents were eminently displayed ; so that what Pope affirmed of Bolingbroke, that "his usual conversation, taken down verbatim, from its coherence and accuracy, would have borne printing, without correction," was fully, and perhaps, more justly applicable to Mr. C. Some of the theological observations of Mr. C. are here detailed. Mr. C. said, he had recently had a long con- k3 102 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS versation with Mr. — , (a Socinian minister) who declared, that, " He could discover nothing in the New Testament which in the least favoured the Divinity of Christ." Mr. C. replied, that " It appeared to him impossible for any man to read the New Testament, with the common exercise of an unbiased understanding, without being convinced of the Divinity of Christ, from the testimony almost of every page." He said, " it was evident that different persons might look at the same object with very opposite feelings. For instance," he remarked, " if Sir Isaac Newton looked at the planet Jupiter, he would view him, with his revolving moons, and would be led to the contemplation of his being inhabited, which thought would open a boundless field to his imagination : whilst another person, standing perhaps at the side of the great philoso- pher, would look at Jupiter, with the same set of feelings that he would at a silver sixpence. "So," he said, " some persons were wilfully blind, and did not seek for that change, that preparation of the heart and understanding, which would enable them to see clearly the gospel truth." He said that " Socinians believed no more than St. Paul did before his conversion : for the Phari- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 103 sees believed in a Supreme Being, and a future state of rewards and punishments." " St. Paul," he said, " thought he ought to do many things contra- ry to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. The saints he shut up in prison, having received authority from the High Priest, and when they were put to death, he gave his voice against them. But after his conversion, writing to the Romans, he says, ' I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation unto every man that believeth : to the Jew first, and also to the Gentiles.'" ' Mr. C. also said, that "he had always found Socinians to be an intolerant, bigoted people ; more so than any other sect ; and at the same time they were ludicrously supercilious." He said, " they did not fairly weigh and investigate the opinions of others, but they sneered, and thought that argument sufficient ; modestly con- sidering all reason and intellect confined to them." He mentioned also the unfair books they put into the hands of their children, as the evidences of Christianity, which taught no more religion than the Koran. He then referred to the dreadful state of the literati in London, as it respects religion, and of 104 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS their having laughed at him, and believed him to be in jest, when he professed his belief in the Bible. Having introduced to Mr. C. some years before, Mr. Davy, (afterwards Sir Humphry) I inquired, with some anxiety, for Mr. D. and expressed a hope, that he, since his removal from Bristol to London, was not tinctured with the prevailing scepticism. Mr. C, assured me that he was not : that his heart and understanding were not the soil for infidelity.* I then remarked, " During * In corroboration of this remark, an occurrence might be cited, from the Life of Sir Humphry, by his brother Dr. Davy. — Sir Humphry, in his excursion to Ireland, at the house of Dr. Richard- son, met a large party at dinner, amongst whom, were the Bishop of Raphoe, and another Clergyman. A Gentleman, one of the company (no very gentlemanly conduct) in his zeal for Infidelity, began an attack on Christianity, not doubting but that Sir H. Davy, as a Philosopher, participated in his principles, and he probably anticipated, with so powerful an auxiliary, an easy triumph over the cloth. With great confidence he began his flippant sarcasms at religion, and was heard out by his audience, and by none with more attention than by Sir Humphry. At the conclusion of his ha- rangue, Sir H. Davy, instead of lending his aid, entered on a comprehensive defence of Christianity, ' in so fine a tone of eloquence' that the Bishop stood up, from an impulse similar to that which sometimes forced a whole congregation to rise at one of the impassioned bursts of Bourdaloue, or Massillon. The Infidel was struck dumb, with mortification and astonish- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 105 your stay in London, you doubtless saw a great many of what are called, ' the cleverest men,'' how do you estimate Davy, in comparison with these ?" Mr. C.'s reply was strong, but expressive. " Why," said he, " Davy could eat them all ! There is an energy, an elasticity in his mind, which enables him to seize on, and analyze, all questions, pushing them to their legitimate con- sequences. Every subject in Davy's mind has the principle of vitality. Living thoughts spring up, like the turf under his feet." With equal justice, Mr. Davy entertained the same exalted opinion of Mr. Coleridge. Mr. C. noAv changed the subject, and spoke of Holcroft. He stated that H. was a man of small powers, with superficial, rather than solid talents, and possessing principles of the most hor- rible description ; a man who at the very moment he denied the existence of a Deity, in his heart believed and trembled. He said that Holcroft, and other Atheists, reasoned with so much fierceness and vehemence against a God, that it ment, and though a guest for the night, at the assembling of the company, the next morning, at breakfast, it was found that the Infidel had taken French leave, and at the earliest dawn had set off for his own heme. 106 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS plainly showed they were inwardly conscious there was a God to reason against ; for, he remarked, a nonentity would never excite passion. An easy transition having been made to the Bible, Mr. C. spoke of our Saviour, with an utterance so sublime and reverential, that none could have heard him without experiencing an accession of love, gratitiide, and adoration to the Great Author or our Salvation. He referred to the Divinity of Christ, as a Truth, incontestible to all who admitted the Inspiration, and conse- quent authority of Scripture. He particularly alluded to the 6th of John, v. 15. " When Jesus perceived that they would come and take him by force to make him a king, he departed again into a mountain e alone.'' " He said it characterized the low views, and worldly-minded- ness of the Jews, that, after they had seen the miracles of Jesus Christ, and heard his heavenly doctrine, and had been told that his kingdom was not of this world, they should think of con- ferring additional honour on him, by making him their King ! He departed from these little views and scenes, by night, to a neighbouring mountain, and there, in the spirit of prescience, meditated on his approaching crucifixion ; on that attendant OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 107 guilt, which would bring on the Jews, wrath to the uttermost, and terminate their impieties, by one million of their race being swept from the face of the earth. Mr. C. noticed Doddridge's works with great respect ; thought favourably of Lord Rochester's conversion, as narrated by Burnet ; spoke of Jeremy Taylor in exalted terms, and thought the compass of his mind discovered itself in none of his works more than in his " Life of Christ," extremely miscellaneous as it was. He also expressed the strongest commendation of Arch- bishop Leighton, whose talents were of the loftiest description, and which were, at the same time, eminently combined with humility. He thought Bishop Burnet's high character of Leighton, justly deserved, and that his whole conduct, and spirit, were more conformed to his Divine Master, than almost any man on record. Mr. C. now spoke of the demoralizing nature of Infidelity, and, after some striking remarks, related the following occurrence. He said that in his visit to London, he acci- dentally met, in a public office, the atheist, Hol- croft, without knowing his name, when H. began, stranger as he was, the enforcement of some of his 108 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS diabolical sentiments! (which, it appears, he was in the habit of doing, at all seasons, and in all companies ; and thereby he often corrupted the principles of those simple persons whom he could prevail on to listen to his shallow, and worn-out impieties.) Mr. C. declared himself to have felt indignant at a conduct so infamous, and at once closed with the " prating atheist," when they had a sharp encounter. Holcroft then abruptly addressed Mr. C. " I perceive you have mind, and know what you are talking about. It will be worth while to make a convert of you. I am engaged at present, but if you will call on me to-morrow morning, (giving him his card) I will engage, in half an hour, to convince you, there is no God !" (He little knew the strength of the fortress he was inconsiderately attacking.) Mr. Coleridge called on Holcroft the next morning, when the discussion was renewed, but none being present except the disputants, no account is preserved of this important conversa- tion ; but Mr. C. affirmed that he beat all his arguments to atoms ; a result that none who knew him could doubt. He also stated, that instead of his being converted to atheism, the atheist him- self, (after his manner) was converted ; for the OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 109 same day he sent Mr. C. a letter, saying, his rea- soning was so clear and satisfactory, that he had changed his views, and was now " a t heist" The next sun beheld him an atheist again : but whether he called himself this or that, his charac- ter was the same. Soon after the foregoing incident, Mr. Coleridge said, he found himself in a large party, at the house of a man of letters, amongst whom, to his surprise, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Holcroft, when, to incite to a renewal of their late dispute, and before witnesses (in the full consciousness of strength) Mr. C. enforced the propriety of teach- ing children, as soon as they could articulate, to lisp the praises of their Maker ; " for," said he> " though they can form ho correct idea of God, yet they entertain a high opinion of their father, and it is an easy introduction to the truth, to tell them that their Heavenly Father is stronger, and wiser, and better, than their earthly father." The whole company looked at Mr. Holcroft, implying that now was the time for him to meet a competent opponent, and justify sentiments which he had so often triumphantly advanced. They looked in vain. Mr. Holcroft maintained, to their surprise, a total silence, well remembering the VOL. II l 110 EAELY RECOLLECTIONS severe castigation he had so recently received. But a very different effect was produced on Mrs. Holcroft. She indignantly heard, when, giving vent to her passion and her tears, she said, " She was quite surprised at Mr. Coleridge talking in that way before her, when he knew that both herself and Mr. Holcroft were atheists !"" Mr. C. spoke of the unutterable horror he felt, when Holcroft's son, a boy eight years of age, came up to him and said, "There is no God!" so that these wretched parents, alike father and mother ! were as earnest in inculcating atheism on their children, as christian parents are in in- spiring their offspring with respect for religious truth. Actions are often the best illustration of princi- ples. Mr. Coleridge also stated the following circumstance, (notorious at the time) as an evi- dence of the disastrous effects of atheism. Hol- croffs tyrannical conduct toward his children was proverbial. An elder son, (with a mind embued with his father's sentiments) from extreme seve- rity of treatment,, had run away from his paternal roof, and entered on board a ship. Holcroft pursued his son, and when the fugitive youth saw his father in a boat, rowing toward the vessel, rather OF S. T. COLERIDGE. Ill than endure his frown and his chastisement, he seized a pistol, and blew his brains out ! I now proceed to say, it was with extreme reluctance that the Socinians in Bristol resigned their champion, especially as other defections had recently occurred in their community, and that among the more intellectual portion of their friends. Although the expectation might be extravagant, they all still cherished the hope, however languid, that Mr. C. after some oscilla- tions, would once more bestow on them his suf- frage ; but an occurrence took place, which dissi- pated the last vestige of this hope, and formed between them a permanent wall of separation. Mr. Coleridge was lecturing in Bristol, sur- rounded by a numerous audience, when, in refer- ring to the " Paradise Regained," he said, that Milton had clearly represented Satan, as a " sceptical Socinian." This was regarded as a direct and undisguised declaration of war.* It so * When I speak of a declaration of war, it must be understood as a war of sentiment. In all the intercourses of man with man, Mr. C. very properly allowed no bigoted feelings to interfere, arising out of any diversity of Theological sentiment, but, indiscriminately, manifested toward all, that suavity of manner which became the gentleman and the christian ; and this, on all proper occasions, witli* l2 ] 12 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS happened that indisposition prevented me from attending that lecture, but I received from Mr. C. directly after, a letter, in which he thus writes: " * * * * Mr. — I find is raising the city against me, (as far as he and his friends can) for having stated a mere matter of fact ; viz. that Milton had represented Satan as a sceptical Socinian ; which is the case ; and I could not have explained the excellence of the sublimest single passage in all his writings, had I not previ- ously informed the audience, that Milton had represented Satan, as knowing the Prophetic and Messianic character of Christ, but was sceptical as to any higher claims. And what other defi- nition could Mr. — himself give of a sceptical Socinian ? (with this difference indeed, that Satan's faith somewhat exceeded that of Socin- ians.) Now that Satan has done so, will you consult ' Paradise Regained, 7 Book IV. from line 196, and the same Book, from line 500." It is of consequence that Mr. Coleridge's later out relaxing an atom of his principles. His zeal was moderated by the recollection, that, " To our own Master we stand or fall." OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 1 13 sentiments on the subject of Socinianism should be given ; but as I had no opportunity of ascertaining what those sentiments were, it was satisfactory to learn, from the testimony of Mr. C.'s " Table Talk," that his last and maturest opinions were, to the fullest, confirmatory of those expressed by him in these pages. The introduction of the fol- lowing extracts from the "Table Talk," arises from the belief, that the giving of Mr. C.'s senti- ments in different periods of his life, on this vital subject, and in a consecutive form, will be accep- table to most readers. Mr. Coleridge says, 'Table Talk,' "On Socinians; I think Priestley must be considered the author of modern Unitarianism. I owe, under God, my return to the faith, to my having gone much further than the Unitarians, and so having come round to the other side* I can truly say, I never falsified the Scriptures. I always told them (the Socinians) that their interpreta- tions of Scripture were intolerable, on any principles of sound criticism ; and that, if they were to offer to con- strue the will of their neighbour, as they did that of their Maker, they would be scouted out of society. I said, plainly and openly, that it was clear enough, John and Paul were not Unitarians. L 3 114 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS "I make the greatest difference between 'ans' and ' isms.' I should deal insincerely, if I said, that I thought Unitarianism was Christianity. No, as I believe, and have faith in the doctrine, it is not the truth in Jesus Christ. By the by, what do you (Uni- tarians) mean, by exclusively assuming the title of Unitarians ? As if Trio-Unitarians were not necessa- rily Unitarians, as much (pardon the illustration) as an apple-pie, must of course be a pie ! The schoolmen would perhaps have called you Unicists, but your pro- per name is Psilanthrapists, believers in the mere human nature of Christ. * * * Unitarianism, is in effect, the worst of one kind of Atheism, joined to one of the worst kinds of Calvinism. It has no covenant with God, and it looks upon prayer as a sort of self- magnetizing ; — a getting of the body and temper into a certain status, desirable, per se, but having no cove- nanted reference to the Being to whom the prayer is addressed. "The pel texts of Socinians are quite enough for their confutation with acute thinkers. If Christ had , been a mere man, it would have been ridiculous in him, to call himself the c Son of Man ; but being God and man, it then became, in his own assumption, a peculiar and mysterious title. So, if Christ had been a mere man, his saying, 'My Father is greater than I,' (John, xv. 28.) would have been as unmeaning. It would be laughable, for example, to hear me say, 'my Remorse OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 115 succeeded indeed, but Shakspeare is a greater drama- tist than I.' But how immeasurably more foolish, more monstrous, would it not be, for a man, however honest, good, or wise, to say, 'But Jehovah is greater than I.' " Either we have an immortal soul, or we have not. If Ave have not, we are beasts : the first and wisest of beasts, it may be, but still true beasts. "We shall only differ in degree, and not in kind; just as the elephant differs from the slug. But by the concession of all the materialists, of all the schools, or almost all, we are not of the same kind as beasts; and this also we say, from our own consciousness. Therefore, methinks, it must be the possession of a soul within us, that makes the difference. " Read the first chapter of the Book of Genesis with- out prejudice, and you will be convinced at once. After the narrative of the creation of the earth and brute animals, Moses seems to pause, and says, ' And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.' And in the next chapter, he repeats the narrative. — 'And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life ;' and then he adds these words, ' and man became a living soul/ Materialism will never explain these last words." The following letter was written by Mr. Cole- 116 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS ridge, to Mr. George Fricker. It is believed in 1807, Mr. F. died 1828 ; pious and respected. " Saturday afternoon. My dear young friend, I am sorry that you should have felt any delicacy in disclosing to me your religious feelings, as ren- dering it inconsistent with your tranquillity of mind to spend the Sunday evening with me. Though I do not find in that book, which we both equally revere, any command, either express, or which I can infer, which leads me to attach any criminality to cheerful and innocent social inter- course on the Lord's day; though I do not find that it was in the least degree forbidden to the Jews on their Sabbath ; and though I have been taught by Luther, and the great founders of the church of England, that the Sabbath was a part of the cere- monial and transitory parts of the law given by Heaven to Moses ; and that our Sunday is bind- ing on our consciences, chiefly from its manifest and most awful usefulness, and indeed moral necessity; yet, I highly commend your firmness in what you think right, and assure you solemnly, that I esteem you greatly for it. I would much rather that you should have too much, than OF S, T. COLERIDGE. 117 an atom too little. I am far from surprised that, having seen what you have seen, and suffered what you have suffered, you should have opened your soul to a sense of our fallen nature ; and the incapability of man to heal himself. My opinions may not be in all points the same as yours : but I have experienced a similar alteration. 1 was for many years a Socinian ; (and at times almost a Naturalist) but sorrow, and ill health, and disap- pointment in the only deep wish I had ever cher- ished, forced me to look into myself; I read the New Testament again, and I became fully con- vinced, that Socinianism was not only not the doctrine of the New Testament, but that it scarcely deserved the name of a religion in any sense. An extract from a letter which 1 wrote a few months ago to a sceptical friend, who had been a Socinian, and of course rested all the evi- dences of Christianity on miracles, to the exclu- sion of grace and inward faith, will perhaps, surprise you, as showing you how much nearer our opinions are than what you must have sup- posed. ' I fear that the mode of defending Chris- tianity, adopted by Grotius first ; and latterly, among many others, by Dr. Paley, has increased the number of infidels; — never could it have been 118 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS so great, if thinking men had been habitually led to look into their own souls, instead of always looking out, both of themselves, and of their nature. If to curb attack, (such as yours on mi- racles) it had been answered : — ' Well, brother ! but granting these miracles to have been in part the growth of delusion at the time, and of exag- geration afterward, yet still all the doctrines will remain untouched by this circumstance, and bind- ing on thee. Still must thou repent and be regen- erated, and be crucified to the flesh ; and this not by thy own mere power ; but by a mysterious action of the moral Governor on thee; of the Ordo-ordinians, the Logos, or Word. Still will the eternal filiation, or Sonship of the Word from the Father ; still will the Trinity of the Deity, the redemption, and the thereto necessary assump- tion of humanity by the Word, ' who is with God, and is God,' remain truths ; and still will the vital head-and-heart faith in these truths, be the living and only fountain of all true virtue. Believe all these, (and with the grace of the Spirit to con- sult your own heart, in quietness and humility, they will furnish you with proofs, that surpass all understanding, because they are felt and known ;) believe all these, I say, so as that thy faith shall OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 119 be not merely real in the acquiescence of the intel- lect ; but actual, in the thereto assimilated affec- tions ; then shalt thou know from God, whether or not Christ be of God. But, take notice, I only say, the miracles are extra-essential : I by no means deny their importance, much less hold them useless, or superfluous. Even as Christ did, so would I teach : that is, build the miracle on the faith, not the faith on the miracle. May Heaven bless you, my dear George, and Your affectionate friend, S. T. C." The following comments on Socinianism, are extracted from the " Literary Remains "" of Mr. Coleridge, (Vol. 1. p. 375) and which show the coincidence of his later and last sentiments, with those he so explicitly avowed in 1807. '• Socinianism is not a religion, but a theory, and that, too, a very pernicious, or a very unsatisfactory theory. Pernicious because it excludes all our deep and awful ideas of the perfect holiness of God, his justice and his mercy, and thereby makes the voice of con- science a delusion, as having no correspondent in the character of the legislator ; regarding God as merely a 120 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS good natured pleasure-giver; so happiness be produced, indifferent as to the means : — Unsatisfactory, for it promises forgiveness, without any solution of the difficulty of the compatibility of this with the justice of God ; in no way explains the fallen condition of man, nor offers any means for his regeneration. ' If you will be good, you will be happy/ it says : that may be, but my will is weak : I sink in the struggle. " Socinianism never did, and never can subsist as a general religion. For, first, it neither states the disease, on account of which the human being hungers for revelation, nor prepares any remedy in general, nor ministers any hope to the individual. Secondly. — In order to make itself endurable on scriptural grounds, it must so weaken the texts and authority of Scrip- ture, as to leave in Scripture no binding proof of any thing. Take a pious Jew, one of the Maccabees, and compare his faith, and its grounds, with Priestley's, and then, for what did Christ come ? " Socinianism involves the shocking thought that man will not, and ought not to be expected to do his duty as man, unless he first makes a bargain with his Maker, and his Maker with him. Give me, (the individual me) a positive proof that I shall be in a state of pleasure after my death, if I do so and so, and then I will do it, and not else ! And the proof asked is not one dependent on, or flowing from, his moral nature. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 121 and moral feelings, but wholly eatfra-moral, namely by bis outward senses, tbe subjugation of which to faith, is the great object of all religion! " Socinianism involves the dreadful reflection, that it can establish its probability (its certainty being wholly out of the question, and impossible, Priestley himself declaring that his own continuance as a Christian depended on a contingency) only on the destruction of all the arguments furnished for our permanent and essential distinction from brutes ; it must prove that we have no grounds to obey, but, on the contrary, that in wisdom we ought to reject and declare utterly null, all the commands of conscience, and all that is implied in those commands, reckless of the confusion introduced into our notions of means and ends, by the denial of truth, goodness, justice, mercy, and the other fundamental ideas in the idea of God ; and all this to conduct us to a Mahomet's bridge of a knife's edge, or the breadth of a spear to salvation. And should we discover any new documents, or should an acuter logician make plain the sophistry of the deductions drawn from the present documents (and surely a man who has passed from Orthodoxy to the loosest Arminianism, and thence to Arianism, and thence to direct Humanism, has no right from his own experience to deny the probability of this) — then to fall off into the hopeless abyss of Atheism ! For the pre- VOL- II M 322 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS sent life, we know, is governed by fixed laws, which the Atheist acknowledges as well as the Theist, and if there be no spiritual world, and no spiritual life in a spiritual world, what possible bearing can the admission or rejec- tion of this hypothesis, have on our practice or feelings? Lastly. — The Mosaic dispensation was a scheme of national education. The Christian is a World Reli- gion. The former was susceptible of evidence and probabilities which do not, and cannot apply to the latter. A people forced, as it were, into a school of circumstances, and gradually, in the course of generations, taught the unity of God, first and for centuries merely as a practical abstinence from the worship of any other; — how can the principles of such a system apply to Christianity, which goes into all nations, and to all men ; the most enlightened, even by preference?" In Mr. Wade's family bible, Mr. Coleridge made remarks with a pencil, on some few of the Thirty Nine Articles, which are here tran- scribed. *' Art. 8. On the Three Creeds. O, that we were rid of the Athanasian Creed ! Art. 18. Of obtaining Eternal Salvation only by the name of Christ. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 123 In order to make this consistent with St. Paul i (Rom. ii. 9 — 1 6) we must suppose the Article to imply- that Christianity, or the Name of Christ, is within the possibility of their knowledge ; yet even those who never heard the sound, may and can only be saved, ovofxari in and by the power of Christ. As Christ is called AoyoC the Word. Analogously are his blessed influ_ ences expressed by OvOyua, the Name. In article the XIX. it is said, with christian pru- dence, what a Church is, but to God it is left to decide which is a Church. Art. 22. Of Purgatory. How mild ! Art. 23. Of ministering in the Congregation. — I would this had been an article of discipline, not of faith. Art. 27. Of Baptism, I would that this too had not been made an article of positive faith, but discipline. Art. 35. Of Homilies. This surely is no article of faith, but only a recommendation and an ordinance of discipline. Art. 26. Of consecration of Bishops and Ministers. ' This also is no article of faith, but of discipline. I question whether there ever existed so many articles in which there is so little, to which a modest M 2 124 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Christian can object. Indeed, almost the only defect consists in the name, Articles of Faith. £Keligion] I could Mash them to be divided into two parts : the first, Articles of faith : the second, Articles of discipline for the Church of England, not repugnant to any command of Scripture. S. T. C." But to return to the narrative of Mr. Coleridge. In the intervening time, between the receipt of Mr. C.'s last letter, and his calling on me, T received a note from a lady, an old friend, begging permission to introduce to me, a clever young man of her acquaintance, whom she even so honored as to call " A little John Henderson ;" concerning whom this young man wished to make inquiries. An invitation immediately followed, and the lady introduced to me, young Mr. De Quincey. Several interviews followed, each ex- hibiting his talents in a more favourable view, till I was satisfied he would either shine in literature, or, with steady perseverance, acquire eminence in either of the professions. He made many inquiries respecting John Henderson,* of whose learning, and surprising * See Appendix, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 12.5 attainments, he had heard much. After con- versing long on this subject, Mr. De Q. asked me if I knew any thing of Mr. Coleridge's pecuni- ary affairs. I replied, " J am afraid he is a legi- timate son of genius." He asked if I thought he would accept a hundred or two pounds. I answer- ed, I could not tell, but that I expected shortly to see him, when, if he seriously desired to learn, I would ascertain what the state of his finances was, and let him know. This he said, was his particular wish. When Mr. Coleridge called on me, and the extended conversation had occurred, before stated, I asked him concerning his circumstances. He confessed that he had some present difficulties, which oppressed his mind. He said that all the money he had received from his office in Malta, as secretary to Sir Alexander Ball, had been ex- pended in Italy, and on his way home. I then told him, that a young man of fortune, who admired his talents, had inquired of me, if I thought Mr. C. would accept the present of a hundred or two pounds, " and I now ask you, 11 said I, " that question, that I may return an answer." Mr. Coleridge rose from his seat. He appeared much oppressed, and, after a short m3 126 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS silence, he turned to me, and said. " Cottle I will write to you. We will change the subject. 1 ' The next day I received from Mr. C. the following letter. " My dear Cottle, Independent of letter-writing, and a dinner engagement with C. Danvers, I was the whole of yesterday till evening, in a most wretched rest- lessness of body and limbs, having imprudently discontinued some medicines, which are now my anchor of hope. This morning I dedicate to cer tain distant calls on Dr. Beddoes, and Colston at Clifton, not so much for the calls themselves, as for the necessity of taking brisk exercise. But no unforeseen accident intervening, I shall spend the evening with you from seven o'clock. I will now express my sentiments by you, on the important subject communicated to you. I need not say it has been the cause of serious meditation. Undoubtedly, calamities have so thickened on me for the last two years, that the pecuniary pressures of the moment, are the only serious obstacles at present to my completion of those works, which, if completed, would make me easy. Besides these, I have reason for belief OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 127 that a Tragedy of mine will be brought on the stage this season, the result of which is of course only one of the possibilities of life, on which, 1 am not fool enough to calculate. Finally therefore, if you know that any unknown benefactor is in such circumstances, that, in doing what he offers to do, he transgresses no duty of morals, or of moral prudence, and does not do that from feeling, which after reflec- tion might perhaps discountenance, I shall grate- fully accept it, as an unconditional loan, which I trust, I shall be able to restore at the close of two years. This however, I shall be able to know at the expiration of one year, and shall then beg to know the name of my benefactor, which I should then only feel delight in knowing, when I could present to him some substantial proof, that I have employed the tranquillity of mind, which his kindness has enabled me to enjoy, in sincere desires to benefit my fellow men. May God bless you, S. T. C." Soon after, the receipt of this letter, (on my invitation) Mr. De Quincey called on me. I said, I understood from Mr. Coleridge himself, that 128 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS he laboured under embarrassments. "Then" said he, " I will give him five hundred pounds." " Are you serious ?" I said. He replied, "lam. 11 I then inquired, "Are you of age P* 1 He said, " I am." I then asked, " Can you afford it? 11 He answered, " I can," and continued, " I shall not feel it." I paused. "Well" I said, "lean know nothing of your circumstances but from your own statement, and not doubting its accuracy, I am willing to become an agent, in any way you prescribe." Mr. De Quincey then said, " I au- thorise you, to ask Mr. Coleridge, if he will accept from a gentleman, who admires his genius, the sum of five hundred pounds, but remember, he continued, I absolutely prohibit you from naming to him, the source whence it was derived." I remarked ; "To the latter part of your injunction, if you require it, I will accede, but although I am deeply interested in Mr. Coleridge's welfare, yet, a spirit of equity compels me to recommend you, in the first instance, to present Mr. C. with a smaller sum, and which, if you see it right, you can, at any time, augment. 11 Mr. De Quincey then replied, " Three hundred pounds, I will give him, and you will oblige me by making this offer of mine to Mr. Coleridge." OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 129 I replied, " I will." I then gave him Mr. Cole- ridge's letter, requesting him to put it in his pocket, and read it, at his leisure. Soon after, I received the following communication from Mr. De Quincey. " My dear Sir, I will write for the three hundred pounds to- morrow. I am not able to say any thing farther at present, but will endeavour to call on you in a day or two. I am very sincerely, and with many thanks for your trouble in this affair, Yours, Thomas De Quincey." In a day or two, Mr. De Quincey enclosed me the three hundred pounds, when I received from Mr. Coleridge, the following- receipt, which I still retain. "November 12, 1807, Received from Mr. Joseph Cottle, the sum of three hundred pounds, presented to me, through him, by an unknown friend. S. T. Coleridge. Bristol." I have been thus particular in detailing the 130 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS whole of this affair, so honourable to Mr. De Quincey; and, as I was the communicating agent, I thought it right, on this occasion, to give pub- licity to the transaction, on the principle of doing justice to all. (Notwithstanding the prohibition, some indirect notices from myself, could have left no doubt with Mr. C. of the source of this hand- some gift.) It is singular, that a little before this time, (1807) Mr. Coleridge had written to his friend Mr. Wade, a melancholy letter, from which the fol- lowing is an extract. * * * < ' O God ! if you knew the weight of my heart, the misery that cleaves to my spirit ! I have too much reason to suspect and fear, that I must not much longer expect my annuity ! [it was reduced eventually, from £150 per annum, to £75, which was the moiety left by Mr. T. Wedgewood, and received by Mr. C. through life. The cause of this diminution need not here be noticed,] so that at my age, I am to be penniless, resourceless, in heavy debt, my health and spirits absolutely broken down, and with scarce a friend in the world !" * * * OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 131 So that Mr. De Quincey's £300 must have been received at an acceptable time ! No date determines when the following letter was written : supposed, 1807. " My dear Cottle, * * * * The common end of all narra- tive, nay, of all poems is, to convert a series into a whole, to make those events, which, in real or imagined history, move on in a straight line, assume to our understandings a circular motion — the snake with its tail in its mouth. Hence, indeed, the almost flattering and yet appropriate term, Poesy, i. e. Poieses — making. Doubtless, to His eye, which alone comprehends all past and all future, in one eternal, what to our short sight appears straight, is but a part of the great cycle, just as the calm sea to us appears level, though it be indeed only a part of a globe. Now what the globe is in geography, miniaturing in order to manifest the truth, such is a poem to that image of God, which we were created into, and which still seeking that unity, or revelation of the one, in and by the many, which reminds it, that though in order to be an individual being, it must 132 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS go further from God; yet as the receding from him, is to proceed toward nothingness and priva- tion, it must still at every step turn back toward him, in order to be at all. A straight line continually retracted, forms of necessity a circu- lar orbit. Now God's will and word cannot be frustrated. His fiat was, with ineffable awful- ness, applied to man, when all things, and all living things, and man himself (as a mere animal) included, were called forth by the Universal, i Let there be,' and then the breath of the Eter- nal superadded, to make an immortal spirit — immortality being, as the author of the i Wisdom of Solomon ' profoundly expresses it, ' the only pos- sible reflex, or image of eternity.' The immortal finite is the contracted shadow of the eternal Infi- nite. Therefore, nothingness, or death, to which we move, as we recede from God and from the "Word, cannot be nothing ; but that tremendous medium between nothing and true being, which Scripture and inmost reason present as most, most horrible ! Affectionately, S. T. C." The following letter to Mr. Wade has no date. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 133 " Tuesday night, i. e. Wednesday morning. My best and dearest friend, I have barely time to scribble a few lines, so as not to miss the post, for here as every where, there are charitable people, who, taking for granted that you have no business of your own, would save from the pain of vacancy, by employ- ing you in theirs. As to the letter you propose to write to a man who is unworthy even of a rebuke from you, I might most unfeignedly object to some parts of it, from a pang of conscience forbidding me to allow, even from a dear friend, words of admiration, which are inapplicable in exact proportion to the power given to me of having deserved them, if I had done my duty. It is not of comparative utility I speak : for as to what has been actually done, and in relation to useful effects produced, whether on the minds of individuals, or of the public, I dare boldly stand forward, and (let every man have his own, and that be counted mine which, but for, and through me, would not have existed) will challenge the proudest of my literary contemporaries to compare proofs with me, of usefulness in the excitement of reflection, and the diffusion of original or forgot- VOL. II. u 134 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS ten, yet necessary and important truths and knowledge ; and this is not the less true, because I have suffered others to reap all the advantages. But, oh ! dear friend, this consciousness, raised by insult of enemies, and alienated friends, stands me in little stead to my own soul, in how little then, before the all-righteous Judge ! who, requi- ring back the talents he had entrusted, will, if the mercies of Christ do not intervene, not demand of me what I have done, but why I did not do more ; why, with powers above so many, I had sunk in many things below most ! But this is too painful, and in remorse we often waste the energy which should be better employed in reformation — that essential part, and only possible proof, of sin- cere repentance. * * * * * * May God bless you, and Your affectionate friend, S. T. Coleridge." Toward the end of 1807, Mr. Coleridge left Bristol, and I saw nothing more of him for ano- ther seven years; that is, till 1814. All the leading features in Mr. Coleridge's life, during these two septennial periods, will, no doubt, be detailed by others. My undertaking re- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 135 commences in 1814. Some preliminary remarks must precede the narrative, which has now arri- ved at an important part. Neither to clothe the subject of biography with undeserved applause, nor unmerited censure, but to present an exact portraiture, is the object which ought scrupulously to be aimed at by every impartial writer. Here I pause, with something of an awful dilemma. Is it expedient ; is it law- ful ; to give publicity to Mr. Coleridge's practice of inordinately taking opium ? which, to a certain extent, at one part of his life, inflicted on a heart naturally cheerful, the stings of conscience, and sometimes, almost the horrors of despair ? Is it right, in reference to one who has passed his ordeal, to exhibit sound principles, habitually warring with inveterate and injurious habits ; pro- ducing, for many years, an accumulation of bodily suffering, that wasted the frame ; poisoned the sources of enjoyment ; entailed (in the long retinue of ills) dependence and poverty, and, with all these, associated that which was far less bearable, an intolerable mental load, that scarcely knew cessation ? In the year 1814, all this, I am afflicted to say, 2n 136 EAELY RECOLLECTIONS applied to Mr. Coleridge. The question to be determined is, whether it be best, or not, to obey the first impulse of benevolence, and to throw a mantle over these dark and appalling occurrences, and, since the sufferer has left this stage of exist- ence, to mourn in secret, and consign to oblivion the aberrations of a frail mortal ? This was my first design, but other thoughts arose. If the individual were alone concerned, the question would be decided ; but it might almost be said, that the world is interested in the disclosures con- nected with this part of Mr. Coleridge , s life. His example forms one of the most impressive memo- rials the pen ever recorded; so that thousands, hereafter, may derive instruction from viewing in Mr. C. much to approve, and, in other features of his character, much also to regret and deplore. Once Mr. Coleridge expressed to me, with inde- scribable emotion, the joy he should feel, if he could collect around him all who were e * beginning to tamper with the lulling, but fatal draught ;" so that he might proclaim, as with a trumpet, "the worse than death, that opium entailed. 11 I must add, if he could now speak from his grave, (retaining his earthly, benevolent solicitude for the good of others) with an emphasis that pene- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 137 trated the heart, he would doubtless utter, " Let my example be a warning !" This being my settled conviction, it becomes in me, a duty, with all practicable mildness, to give publicity to the following tale ; in which, censure will often be suspended by compassion, and every feeling be absorbed in that of pity ; in which, if the veil be removed, it will only be, to present a clear and practical exemplification of the consequences that progressively follow indulgen- ces in, what Mr. Coleridge latterly denominated, " the accursed drug !" To soften the repugnance which might, pardon- ably, arise in the minds of some of Mr. C.'s friends, it is asked, whether it be not enough to move a breast of adamant, to behold a man of Mr. Coleridge's genius, spell-bound by his nar- cotic draughts ? deploring, as he has done, in his letters to myself, the destructive consequences of opium ; writhing under its effects ; so injurious to mind, body, and estate : submitting to the depths of humiliation and poverty, and all this, for a season at least, accompanied with no effectual effort to burst his fetters, and assume the station in society which became his talents ; but on the contrary, submitting patiently to n3 138 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS dependence, and grovelling where he ought to soar ! Another powerful reason, which should recon- cile the friends of Mr. Coleridge to this detail of his destructive habits, arises from the recollection, that the pain given to their minds, is present and temporary. They should wisely consider, that, though they regret, their regrets, like themselves, as time rolls on, are passing away! but, the example, — this clear, full, incontestable example, remains ! And who can estimate the beneficial consequences of this undisguised statement, to numerous succeeding individuals ? (It is consola- tory to believe, that, had I written nothing else, this humble, but unflinching narrative would be an evidence that I had not lived in vain.) When it is considered also, how many men, of high mental endowments, have shrouded their lustre, by a passion for this stimulus, and thereby, prematurely, become fallen spirits ; would it not be a criminal concession to unauthorized feelings, to allow so impressive an exhibition of this subtile species of intemperance to escape from public notice ; and, that no discredit might attach to the memory of the individual we love, to conceal an example, fraught with so much instruction, OF S. X. COLERIDGE. 139 brought out into full display ? In the exhibition here made, the inexperienced, in future, may learn a memorable lesson, and be taught to shrink from opium, as they would from a scorpion ; which, before it destroys, invariably expels peace from the mind, and excites the worst species of conflict, that of setting a man at war with him- self. The most impressive and pungent of all Mr. Coleridge's self-upbraidings, is that, in which he thrills the inmost heart, by saying, with a sepul- chral solemnity, " I have learned what a sin is against an infinite, imperishable being, such as is the soul of man V And yet, is this, and such as this, to be devoted to forgetfulness, and all be sacrificed, lest some friend, disdaining utility, should prefer flattery to truth ? A concession to such advice, would be treachery and pusillanimity combined, at which none would so exult as the spirits of darkness. If some of the preceding language should be deemed too strong, by those who take but a con- tracted view of the subject, and who would wish to screen the dead, rather than to improve the living, let them judge what their impressions would be, in receiving, like myself, at this time, / 140 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS the communications from Mr. C. which will sub- sequently appear, and then dispassionately ask themselves, whether such impressive lessons of instruction ought to be doomed to oblivion. With these remarks, I shall proceed to notice Mr. Coleridge's re-appearance in Bristol, 1814, after an absence of seven years ; and this, as usual, with an adherence to impartial representa- tion. Mr. C. had written from London in the year 1814, to a friend in Bristol, to announce that he was coming down to give a course of Lectures on Shakspeare, such as he had delivered at the Royal Institution, London, and expressing a hope that his friends would obtain for him, as many sub- scribers as they 'could. Great efforts were made to obtain these subscribers, and the Lectures were accordingly advertised, to commence at the time appointed by the lecturer, and the place specified with the day and hour ; of the whole of which arrangement, Mr. C. had received due notice, and expressed his approval. On the morning on which the lectures were to begin, a brother of Mr. George Cumberland, (a gentleman well known in the literary world, residing in Bristol,) arrived in this city from OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 141 London, on a visit to his brother Mr. G. C. when he casually said to him, " I came as far as Bath, with one of the most amusing men I ever met with. At the White Horse, Piccadilly, he entered the coach, when a Jew boy came up with pencils to sell. This " amusing gentleman " asked the boy a few questions, when the answers of the boy being what he thought, unusually acute, the gentleman said, "that^ boy is not where he ought to be. He has talent, and if I had not an important engagement at Bristol to morrow, I would not mind the loss of my fare, but would stay a day or two in London to provide some better condition for him." He then called the waiter : wrote to a gentleman in the neighbourhood, with a pencil, urging him to patronize the bearer : gave the boy five shillings, and sent him, with the waiter, according to the address of the note. This same gentleman, he said, talked inces- santly for thirty miles out of London, in the most entertaining way, and afterwards, with little intermission, till thev arrived about Marl- * a. borough, when he discovered that the lady who was in the coach with them, was the sister of a particular friend of his. " On our arrival at 142 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS Bath," said the brother, "this entertaining gen- tleman observed to me, " I must here quit you, as I am determined not to leave this lady, who is going into North Wales, till I have seen her safe at her brother's door ;" so here the amusing gentleman left us. "Why" said Mr. Cumberland, "I should not be surprised if that were Coleridge," and yet that cannot be, for he has an appointment this day in Bristol." " That is the very name," said his brother. Mr. G. C. remarked, " This Mr. Cole- ridge is coming to Bristol, to give us a course of lectures on Shakspeare, and this evening he has appointed for his first lecture, at the Great Room, White Lion." "Whatever the engagement may be," replied the brother, "rely upon it you will have no lecture this evening. Mr. C. at the present moment is posting hard towards North Wales !" The great business now was for those who had interested themselves in the sale of tickets for the course, to hasten round to the purchasers, to announce, that Mr. C. would be prevented from giving the lectures till further notice. In two or three days, Mr. Coleridge presented himself in Bristol, after a right true journey into North Wales ; and then, another day was ap- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 143 pointed to begin the course. The day arrived. His friends met in the afternoon, full of anxiety, lest a second disappointment should take place. Not one of them had seen Mr. C. in the course of that day, and they could not tell where he had dined. They then set off, to find out this intricate point, and having 1 discovered him, after some difficulty, hurried him from the bottle, and the argument, to fulfil his less important, or, at least, his less pleasing engagement. He arrived at the lecture room, just one hour after all the company had impatiently awaited him. Apologizing for an unavoidable interrup- tion ! Mr. C. commenced his lecture on Hamlet. The intention is not entertained of pursuing this subject, except to remark, that no other important delay arose, and that the lectures gave great satisfaction. I forbear to make further remarks, because these lectures will form part of the London narrative. It may here be mentioned, that in the year 1814, when Buonaparte was captured and sent to Elba, the public expression of joy burst forth in a general illumination ; when Mr. Josiah Wade, wishing, to display a large transparency, applied to his friend Mr. Coleridge, (then residing with 144 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS him) for a subject, as a guide to his ingenious painter, of which the following is a copy, from Mr. C.'s original. The four lines were chosen, of which, the two last have something of a prophetic aspect. "On the right side of the transparency, a rock, with the word Elba on it : chained to this, by one leg, put a vulture, with the head of Napoleon Buonaparte ; then a female genius, representing Britannia, in a bending posture, with one hand holding out one wing of the vulture, and with the other clipping it with a large pair of shears ; on the one half of which appears either the word 'AVellington,' or the word 'army,' and on the other, either ' Nelson,' or else ' navy ; ' (I should pre- fer Wellington and Nelson, but that I fear Welling- ton may be a word of too many letters.) Behind Britannia, and occupying the right side of the trans- parency, a slender gilded column, with ' trade ' on its base, and the cap of liberty on its top ; and on one side, leaning against it, a trident laurelled, and on the other, a laurelled sword. At the top of the transparency, and quite central, a dove, with an olive branch, may be hovering over the bending figure of Britannia. N. B. The trident to be placed with the points upwards, the sword with its hilt upwards. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 145 We've conquer'cl us a peace, like lads true metalled : And bankrupt Nap.'s accompts seem all now settled. OR THUS. We've fought for peace, and conquer'd it at last, The rav'ning vulture's leg seems fetter'd fast ! Britons, rejoice! and yet be wary too: The chain may break, the dipt wing sprout anew.' Returning now to the lectures, — During their delivery, it was remarked by many of Mr. C.'s friends, with great pain, that there was some- thing unusual and strange in his look and deport- ment. The true cause was known to few, and least of all by myself. At one of the lectures, meeting Mr. Coleridge at the inn door, he said, grasping my hand, with great solemnity, " Cottle, this day week, I shall not be alive !" I was alarmed, and speaking to another friend, he replied, " Do not be afraid. It is only one of Mr. C.'s odd fancies. 1 " After another of the lec- tures, he called me on one side, and said, " My dear friend, a dirty fellow has threatened to arrest me for ten pounds." Shocked at the idea, I said, " Coleridge, you shall not go to gaol VOL. II o 146 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS while I can help it," and immediately gave him the ten pounds. The following" two letters were sent me (I believe) at or about this time. "■ My dear Cottle, An erysipelatous complaint, of an alarming nature, has rendered me barely able to attend and go through with my lectures, the receipts of which, have almost paid the expenses of the room, advertisements, &c* Whether this be to my discredit, or that of the good citizens of Bristol, it is not for me to judge. I have been persuaded to make another trial, by advertising three lectures, on the rise, and progress, and conclusion of the French Revolution, with a critique on the proposed constitution, but unless fifty names are procured, not a lecture give I. Even so the two far, far more important lectures, for which I have long been preparing myself, and have given more thought to, than to any other subject, viz : those on female education, * It is apprehended that this must be a mistake. I sent Mr. Coleridge, five guineas for my Shakspeare ticket, and entertain no doubt but that some others did the same. But his remark may refer to some succeeding lectures, of which I have no distinct recollection. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 147 from infancy to womanhood practically systema- tized. I shall be (God permitting) ready to give the latter end of the week after next, but upon condition that I am assured of sixty names. Why as these are lectures that I must write down, I could sell them as a recipe for twice the sum at least. If I can walk out, I will be with you on Sunday. Has Mr. Wade called on you? Mr. Le Breton, a near neighbour of your's, in Port- land Square, would (if you sent a note to him) converse with you on any subject relative to my interest, with congenial sympathy ; but indeed I think your idea one of those Chimeras, which kind- ness begets upon an unacquaintance with mankind.* ' Harry ! thy wish was Father to that thought.' God bless you, Srn c< " . X . V_ . " My dear Cottle. I have been engaged three days past, to dine * A request of permission from Mr. Coleridge, to call on a few of Ms known friends, to see if we could not raise an annuity for him of One hundred a year, that he might pursue his literary objects without pecuniary distractions. My own proportion I freely offered. o2 148 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS with the Sheriff at Merchant's Hall, to-morrow. As they will not wield knife and fork till near six, I cannot of course attend the meeting, [for the establishment of an Infant Sehool] but should it be put off, and you will give me a little longer notice, I will do my best, to make my humble talents serviceable in their proportion to a cause, in which I take no common interest, which has always my best wishes, and not seldom my prayers. God bless you, and Your affectionate friend, S. T. Coleridge:' P. S. " To you who know I prefer a roast potatoe and salt, to the most splendid public dinner, the very sight of which always offends my infant appetite, I need not say that I am actuated solely by my pre-engagement, and by the impropriety of disappointing the friend whom I am to accompany, and to whom probably I owe the unexpected compliment of the Sheriff's in- vitation. I have read two thirds of Dr. Pole's pamphlet with great interest, (on Infant Schools.) Thoughts on thoughts, feelings on feelings, crowded upon OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 149 my mind and heart, during the perusal, and which I would fain, God willing; give vent to ! I truly honor and love the orthodox dissenters, and appreciate with heart-esteem their works of love. — I have read, with much pleasure, the preface to the second edition of your Alfred. It is well written." ****** I must here refer once more to Mr. Coleridge. On returning to Bristol from Barley Wood, where I had introduced him to Mrs. Hannah More, (Vol. 1. p. 82) from the appearances I was there concerned to witness, I expressed to a friend the next day, my sorrow at beholding Mr. C. so extremely paralytic, his hands shaking to an alarming degree, so that he could not take a glass of wine without spilling it, though one hand sup- ported the other! "That,"" said he, "arises from the immoderate quantity of opium he takes. 11 It is remarkable, that this was the first time the melancholy fact, of Mr. Coleridge's excessive indulgence in opium, had come to my knowledge. It astonished and afflicted me. On this subject, Mr. C. may have been communicative to others, but to me he was silent. I withhold here much that might be said, and proceed to observe, that o3 150 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS I now saw it was mistaken kindness to give Mr, C. money, as I had learned, that he indulged in his potions according to the extent of his means, so that to he temperate, it was expedient that he should be poor. I ruminated long upon this subject, with inde- scribable sorrow ; and having ascertained from others, not only the existence of the evil, but its extent, so as to render doubt impossible, such was the impression of duty on my mind, I determined, however hazardous, to write to Mr. Coleridge, and that faithfully, otherwise, I considered myself, not a friend, but an enemy. At the end of his course, therefore, I addressed to him the following letter, under the full impression that it was a case of " life and death," and that if some strong effort were not made to arouse him from his insensibility, speedy destruction must inevitably follow. No- thing but so extreme a case, could have prompted^ or could justify, such a letter as the following. "Bristol, April 25, 1814. Dear Coleridge, I am conscious of being influenced by the purest motives in addressing to you the following letter. Permit me to remind you that I am the oldest OF S. T. COLEItlDGE. 151 friend you have in Bristol, that I was such when my friendship was of more consequence to you than it is at present, and that at that time, you were neither insensible of my kindnesses, nor backward to acknowledge them. I bring these things to your remembrance, to impress on your mind, that it is still a friend who is writing to you; one who ever has-been such, and who is now going to give you the most decisive evidence of his sincerity. When I think of Coleridge, I wish to recall the image of him, such as he appeared in past years ; now, how has the baneful use of opium thrown a dark cloud over you and your prospects. I would not say any thing needlessly harsh or unkind, but I must be faithful. It is the irresist- ible voice of conscience. Others may still flatter you, and hang upon your words, but I have another, though a less gracious duty to perform. I see a brother sinning a sin unto death, and shall I not warn him ? I see him perhaps on the bor- ders of eternity, in effect, despising his Maker's law, and yet indifferent to his perilous state ! In recalling what the expectations concerning you once were, and the excellency with which, seven years ago, you wrote and spoke on religious 152 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS truth, my heart bleeds, to see how you are now fallen ; and thus to notice, how many exhilarating hopes are almost blasted, by your present habits. This is said, not to wound, but to arouse you to reflection. I know full well the evidences of the pernicious drug ! You cannot be unconscious of the effects, though you may wish to forget the cause. — The sallow countenance ! the tottering step ! the trem- bling hand ! the glassy eye ! the disordered frame ! and yet will you not be awakened to a sense of your danger, and, I must add, your guilt ? Is it a small thing, that one of the finest of human understandings should be lost ! That your ten talents should be buried ! That most of the influences to be derived from your present example, should be in direct opposition to right and virtue ! It is true, you still talk of religion, and profess the warmest admiration of the church and her doctrines, in which it would not be lawful to doubt your sincerity ; but can you be unaware, that by your unguarded and inconsistent conduct, you are furnishing arguments to the infidel ; giv- ing occasion for the enemy to blaspheme ; and (amongst those who imperfectly know you) throw- ing suspicion over your religious profession. Is OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 153 not the great test, in some measure against you, ' By their fruits ye shall know them ?' Are there never any calm moments, when you impartially judge of your own actions by their consequences ? Not to reflect on you ; not to give you a moment's needless pain, but, in the spirit of friendship, suffer me to bring to your recollection, some of the sad effects of your undeniable intem- perance. I know you have a correct love of honest inde- pendence, (without which, there can be no true nobility of mind); and yet, for opium, you will sell this treasure, and expose yourself to the lia- bility of arrest, by some ' dirty fellow, 1 to whom you choose to be indebted for ' ten pounds P You had, and still have, an acute sense of moral right and wrong, but is not the feeling sometimes over- powered by self-indulgence ? Permit me to remind you, that you are not more suffering in your mind, than you are in your body, while you are squandering largely your money, in the pur- chase of opium, which, in the strictest equity, should receive a different direction. I will not again refer to the mournful effects pro- duced on your own health, by this indulgence in opium, by which you have undermined your 154 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS strong constitution ; but I must notice the injuri- ous consequences of this passion for the narcotic drug, on your literary efforts. What you have already done, (excellent as it is) is considered by your friends and the world, as the bloom, the mere promise of the harvest. Will you suffer the fatal draught, which is ever accompanied by sloth, to rob you of your fame, and, (what to you is a higher motive) of your power of doing good ; of giving fragrance to your memory, (amongst the worthies of future years) when you are numbered with the dead ?****** * * * * ***** And now let me conjure you, alike by the voice of friendship, and the duty you owe yourself and family ; above all, by the reverence you feel for the cause of Christianity ; by the fear of God, and the awfulness of eternity, to renounce, from this moment opium and spirits, as your bane ! Frus- trate not the great end of your existence. Exert the ample abilities which God has given you, as a faithful steward ; so will you secure your rightful pre-eminence amongst the sons of Genius; recover your cheerfulness ; your health ; (I trust it is not too late !) become reconciled to yourself; and, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 155 through the merits of that Saviour, in whom you profess to trust, obtain, at last, the approbation of your Maker ! My dear Coleridge, be wise before it be too late ! I do hope to see you a renovated man ! and that you will still burst your inglorious fetters, and justify the best hopes of your friends. Excuse the freedom with which I write. If at the first moment it should offend, on reflection, you will approve, at least of the motive, and, perhaps, in a better state of mind, thank and bless me. If all the good which I have prayed for, should not be effected by this letter, I have at least discharged an imperious sense of duty. The tear which bedims my eye, is an evidence of the sincerity with which I subscribe myself, Your affectionate friend, Joseph Cottle." The following is Mr. Coleridge's reply. "April 26th, 1814. You have poured oil in the raw and festering wound of an old friend's conscience, Cottle ! but it is oil of vitriol ! I but barely glanced at the middle of the first page of your letter, and have 156 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS seen no more of it — not from resentment, (God forbid !) but from the state of my bodily and mental sufferings, that scarcely permitted human fortitude to let in a new visitor of affliction. The object of my present reply, is, to state the case, just as it is — first, that for ten years the anguish of my spirit has been indescribable, the sense of my danger staring, but the consciousness of my guilt worse — far worse than all ! I have prayed, with drops of agony on my brow ; trem- bling, not only before the justice of my Maker, but even before the mercy of my Redeemer. — s I gave thee so many talents, what hast thou done with them V Secondly — overwhelmed as I am, with a sense of my direful infirmity, I have never attempted to disguise or conceal the cause. On the contrary, not only to friends, have I stated the whole case with tears, and the very bitterness of shame ; but in two instances, I have warned young men, mere acquaintances, who had spoken of having taken laudanum, of the direful conse- quences, by an awful exposition of its tremendous eifects on myself. Thirdly, though before God I cannot lift up my eyelids, and only do not despair of his mercy, because to' despair would be adding crime to OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 157 crime, yet to my fellow-men, I may say, that 1 was seduced into the accursed habit ignorantly. I had been almost bed-ridden for many months, with swellings in my knees. In a medical Jour- nal, I unhappily met with an account, of a cure performed in a similar case, (or what appeared to me so) by rubbing in of Laudanum, at the same time taking a given dose internally. It acted like a charm, like a miracle ! I recovered the use of my limbs, of my appetite, of my spirits, and this continued for near a fortnight. At length the unusual stimulus subsided, the complaint returned, — the supposed remedy was recurred to — but I cannot go through the dreary history. Suffice it to say, that effects were produced which acted on me by terror and cowardice, of pain and sudden death, not (so help me God !) by any temptation of pleasure, or expectation, or desire of exciting pleasurable sensations. On the very contrary, Mrs. Morgan and her sister will bear witness so far, as to say, that the longer I abstained, the higher my spirits were, the keener my enjoyments — till the moment, the direful moment arrived, when my pulse began to fluctuate, my heart to palpitate, and such a dreadful falling abroad, as it were, of my whole VOL. II p 158 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS frame, such intolerable restlessness, and incipient bewilderment, that in the last of my several attempts to abandon the dire poison, I exclaimed in agony, which I now repeat in seriousness and solemnity, ' I am too poor to hazard this.' Had I but a few hundred pounds, but £200, — half to send to Mrs. Coleridge, and half to place myself in a private mad house, where I could procure nothing but what a physician thought proper, and where a medical attendant could be constantly with me for two or three months, (in less than that time, life or death would be de- termined) then there might be hope. Now there is none! ! O God! how willingly would I place myself under Dr. Fox, in his establishment ; for my case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement, an utter impotence of the volition, and not of the intellectual faculties. You bid me rouse myself: go bid a man paralytic in both arms, to rub them briskly together, and that will cure him. 'Alas!' he would reply, ' that I cannot move my arms, is my complaint and my misery.' May God bless you, and Your affectionate, but most afflicted, S. T. Coleridge." OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 159 On receiving- this full and mournful disclosure, I felt the deepest compassion for Mr. C.'s state, and sent him the following letter. (Necessary to be given, to understand Mr. Coleridge T s reply.) " Dear Coleridge, I am afflicted to perceive that Satan is so busy with you, but God is greater than Satan. Did you ever hear of Jesus Christ ? That he came into the world to save sinners ? He does not demand, as a condition, any merit of your own, he only says, ' Come and be healed I 1 Leave your idle speculations : forget your vain philoso- phy. Come as you are. Come and be healed. He only requires you, to be sensible of your need of him, to give him your heart, to abandon with penitence, every evil practice, and he has promised that whosoever thus comes, he will in no wise cast out. To such as you, Christ ought to be precious, for you see the hopelessness of every other refuge. He will add strength to your own ineffectual efforts. For your encouragement, I express the convic- tion, that such exercises as yours, are a conflict that must ultimately prove successful. You do not cloak your sins. You confess and deplore p2 160 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS them. I believe that you will still be as 'a brand plucked from the burning,' and that you (with all your wanderings,) will be restored, and raised up, as a chosen instrument, to spread a Saviour's name. Many a 'chief of sinners,' has been brought, since the days of ' Saul of Tarsus,' to sit as a little child, at the Redeemer's feet. To this state you, I am assured, will come. Pray ! Pray earnestly, and you will be heard by your Father, which is in Heaven. I could say many things of duty and virtue, but I wish to direct your views at once to Christ, in whom is the alone balm for afflicted souls. May God ever bless you, Joseph Cottle." P. S. " If my former letter appeared unkind, pardon me ! It was not intended. Shall I breathe in your ear? — I know one, who is a stranger to these throes and conflicts, and who finds ' Wisdom's ways to be ways of pleasant- ness, and her paths, paths of peace." To this letter I received the following reply. " dear friend ! I have too much to be forgiven, OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 161 to feel any difficulty in forgiving the cruelest enemy that ever trampled on me : and you I have only to thank ! You have no conception of the dreadful hell of my mind, and conscience, and body. You hid me pray. O, I do pray inwardly to be able to pray ; but indeed to pray, to pray with a faith to which a blessing is promised, this is the reward of faith, this is the gift of God to the elect. Oh ! if to feel how infinitely worthless I am, how poor a wretch, with just free-will enough to be deserving of wrath, and of my own contempt, and of none to merit a moment's peace, can make a part of a Christian's creed ; so far I am a Christian. ©. J. . O. April 26, 1814." At this time Mr. Coleridge was indeed in a pitiable condition. His passion for opium had so completely subdued his will, that he seemed car- ried away, without resistance, by an overwhelm- ing flood. The impression was fixed on his mind, that he should inevitably die, unless he were placed under constraint, and that constraint he thought could be alone effected in an asylum ! Dr. Fox, who presided over an establishment of this p3 162 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS description, in the neighbourhood of Bristol, appeared to Mr. C. the individual, to whose sub- jection he would most like to submit. This idea still impressing his imagination, he addressed to me the following letter. "Dear Cottle, I have resolved to place myself in any situation, in which I can remain for a month or two, as a child, wholly in the power of others. But, alas ! I have no money ! Will you invite Mr. Hood, (a most dear and affectionate friend, to worthless me ;) and Mr. Le Breton, my old school-fellow, and, likewise, a most affectionate friend; and Mr. Wade, who will return in a few days : desire them to call on you, any evening after seven o'clock, that they can make convenient, and con- sult with them whether any thing of this kind can be done. Do you know Dr. Fox ? Affectionately, I have to prepare my lecture. Oh ! with how blank a spirit !"* * Some supplemental lecture. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 163 I did know the late Dr. Fox, who was an opu- lent and liberal-minded man ; and if I had applied to him, (or any friend) I cannot doubt but that he would instantly have received Mr. Coleridge gratuitously ; but nothing could have induced me to make the application, but that extreme case, which did not then appear fully to exist. My sympathy for Mr. C. at this time, was so excited, that T should have withheld no effort, within my power, to reclaim, or to cheer him ; but this recurrence to an asylum, I strenuously opposed. Mr. Coleridge knew Dr. Fox himself, eighteen years before, and to the honour of Dr. F. I think it right to name, that, to my knowledge, in the year 1796, Dr. Fox, in admiration of Mr. C.'s talents, presented him with fifty pounds I It must here be noticed, that, fearing I might have exceeded the point of discretion, in my letter to Mr. C. and becoming alarmed, lest I had raised a spirit that I could not lay, as well as to avoid an unnecessary weight of responsibility, I thought it best to send the papers that passed between Mr. C. and myself, to a mutual friend, to ask him, in these harassing circumstances, what I was to do ; especially as he knew much more of Mr. C.'s latter habits than myself, and 164 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS had proved his friendship by evidences the most substantial. This friend approved of all I had done, but delicacy prevents me from giving his reply. Just at this time I was afflicted with the burst- ing of a blood vessel, (occasioned, probably, by present agitations of mind) which reduced me to the point of death ; when the intercourse of friends, and even speaking, were wholly prohi- bited. During my illness, Mr. Coleridge sent my sister the following letter; and the succeeding one to myself. "13th May, 1814. Dear Madam, I am uneasy to know, how my friend, J. Cottle, goes on. The walk I took last Monday to en- quire in person, proved too much for my strength, and shortly after my return, I was in such a swooning way, that I was directed to go to bed, and orders were given that no one should inter- rupt me. Indeed, I cannot be sufficiently grateful for the skill with which the surgeon treats me. But it must be a slow, and occasionally, an inter- rupted progress, after a sad retrogress of nearly OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 165 twelve years.* To God all things are possible. I intreat your prayers, your brother has a share in mine. What an astonishing privilege, that a sinner should be permitted to cry, ' Our Father P Oh ! still more stupendous mercy, that this poor ungrateful sinner should be exhorted, invited, nay, commanded, to pray — to pray importunately ! That which great men most detest, namely, importunacy: to this the Giver and the For- giver encourages his sick petitioners ! I will not trouble you, except for one verbal answer to this note. How is your brother ? With affectionate respects to yourself and your sister, S. T. Coleridge. To Miss Cottle, Brunswick-Square." " Friday, 27th May, 1814. My dear Cottle, Gladness be with you, for your convalescence, and equally so, at the hope which has sustained * This acknowledges the habit of taking opium to have com- menced in the year 1802, before Mr. C. went to Malta. 166 EAIILY RECOLLECTIONS and tranquillized you through your imminent peril. Far otherwise is, and hath been, my state ; yet I too am grateful ; yet I cannot rejoice. I feel, with an intensity unfathomable by words, my utter nothingness, impotence, and worthlessness, in and for myself. I have learned what a sin is, against an infinite imperishable being, such as is the soul of man ! I have had more than a glimpse of what is meant by death and outer darkness, and the worm that dieth not — and that all the hell of the repro- bate, is no more inconsistent with the love of God, than the blindness of one who has occa- sioned loathsome and guilty diseases to eat out his eyes, is inconsistent with the light of the sun. But the consolations, at least, the sensible sweet- ness of hope, I do not possess. On the contrary, the temptation which I have constantly to fight up against, is, a fear, that if annihilation and the possibility of heaven, were offered to my choice, I should choose the former. This is, perhaps, in part, a constitutional idio- syncrasy, for when a mere boy, I wrote these lines. O, what a wonder seems the fear of death, Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep; OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 167 Babes, children, youths, and men, Night following night, for three-score years and ten.* And in my early manhood, in lines descriptive of a gloomy solitude, I disguised my own sensa- tions in the following words : Here wisdom might abide, and here remorse ! Here too, the woe -worn man, who weak in soul, And of this busy human heart aweary, Worships the spirit of unconscious life, In tree, or wild-flower. Gentle lunatic ! If so he might not wholly cease to be, He would far rather not be that he is ; But would be something that he knows not of, In woods, or waters, or among the rocks. My main comfort, therefore, consists in what the divines call, the faith of adherence, and no spiritual effort appears to benefit me so much as * These four lines, (in the edition of Mr. C.'s Poems, published after his death) are oddly enough, thrown into the " Monody on Chatterton," and form the four opening lines. Many readers may concur with myself in thinking, that the former commencement was preferable; namely — When faint and sad, o'er sorrow's desert wild, Slow journeys onward poor misfortune's child; &c. &c. 168 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS the one earnest, importunate, and often, for hours, momently repeated prayer : ' I believe ! Lord, help my unbelief ! Give me faith, but as a mus- tard seed, and I shall remove this mountain ! Faith ! faith ! faith ! I believe, Oh give me faith ! Oh, for my Redeemer's sake, give me faith in my Redeemer.' In all this I justify God, for I was accustomed to oppose the preaching of the terrors of the gos- pel, and to represent it as debasing virtue, by the admixture of slavish selfishness. I now see, that what is spiritual, can only be spiritually apprehended. Comprehended it cannot. Mr. Eden gave you a too flattering account of me. It is true, I am restored, as much beyond my expectations almost, as my deserts ; but I am exceedingly weak. I need for myself, solace and refocillation of animal spirits, instead of being in a condition of offering it to others. Yet, as soon as I may see you, I will call on you. S. T. Coleridge." " P. S. It is no small gratification to me, that I have seen and conversed with Mrs. Hannah More. She is, indisputably, the first literary female I OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 169 ever met with. In part, no doubt, because she is a christian. Make my best respects when you write. 11 It is here necessary to state, in order that the reader may possess a clear knowledge of Mr. Cole- ridged case in the year 1814, that I received information, from an undoubted source, informing me, Mr. C. had been long, very long, in the habit of taking, from two quarts of laudanum a week, to a pint a day ; and on one occasion he had been known to take, in the twenty-four hours, a whole quart of laudanum ! This exceeds the quantity which Psalmanazar ever took, or any of the race of opium consumers on record. The serious expenditure of money, resulting from this habit, was the least evil, though very great, and which must have absorbed all the produce of Mr. C's lectures, and all the liberalities of his friends. It is painful to record such circumstan- ces as the following, but the picture would be incomplete without it. Mr. Coleridge, in a late letter, (with some- thing, it is feared, if not of duplicity, of self- deception) extols the skill of his surgeon, in having gradually lessened his consumption of lau- VOL. II o. 170 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS danum, it was understood, to twenty drops a day. With this diminution, the habit was considered as subdued, and at which result, no one appeared to rejoice more than Mr. Coleridge himself. The reader will be surprised to learn, that, notwith- standing this flattering exterior, Mr. C. while apparently submitting to the directions of his me- dical adviser, was secretly indulging in his usual overwhelming quantities of opium ! Heedless of his health, and every honourable consideration, (to which, on other occasions, Mr. C. was as much alive as most men) he contrived to obtain, surrep- titiously, the " fatal drug," and thus to baffle the hopes of his warmest friends ! This was a conduct not peculiar to Mr. C. but every thorough opium eater, in his craving for the forbidden poison, would break through any impediment, rather than submit to so urgent a privation ; especially, as it is often the only anti- dote to the stings of the internal monitor. It is this subjection of the will to the passion, which invests opium with such terrific qualities. Mr. Coleridge had resided, at this time, for several months, with his kind friend, Mr. Josiah Wade, of Bristol, who, in his solicitude for Mr. C.'s benefit, had procured for him, as long as it OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 171 was necessary, the professional assistance, stated above. The surgeon, on taking leave, after the cure had been effected, well knowing the expedi- ents to which opium patients would often recur, to obtain their proscribed draughts ; at least, till the habit of temperance was fully established, cautioned Mr. W. to prevent Mr. Coleridge, by all possible means, from obtaining that by stealth, from which he was openly debarred. It reflects great credit on Mr. Wade's humanity, that, to prevent all access to opium, and thus, if possible, to rescue his friend from destruction, he engaged a respectable old decayed tradesman, constantly to attend Mr. C. and, to make that which was sure, doubly certain, placed him even in his bed- room ; and this man always accompanied him, whenever he went out. To such surveillance Mr. Coleridge cheerfully acceded, in order to show the promptitude with which he seconded the efforts of his friends. It has been stated, that every precaution was unavailing. By some unknown means and dexterous contrivances, Mr. C. still obtained his usual lulling potions ! (which he afterward confessed.) As an example, amongst many others of a simi- lar nature, one ingenious expedient, to which he a 2 172 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS resorted, to cheat the doctor, lie thus disclosed to a friend, (from whom I received it.) He said, in passing" along the quay, where the ships were moored, he noticed, by a side glance, a druggist's shop, probably an old resort, and standing near the door, he looked toward the ships, and, point- ing to one, at some distance, he said to his atten- dant, " I think that's an American." " Oh, no, that I am sure it is not," said the man. "I think it is," replied Mr. C. " I wish you would step over and ask, and bring me the particulars."" The man accordingly went ; when, as soon as his back was turned, Mr. C. stepped into the shop, had his portly bottle filled with laudanum, (which he always carried in his pocket) and then expe- ditiously placed himself in the spot where he was left. The man now returned with the particulars, beginning, " I told you, Sir, it was not an Ame- rican, but I have learned all about her.' 1 " As I am mistaken, never mind the rest, 11 said Mr. C and walked on.* * This man must have been just the kind of vigilant superinten- dent Mr. C. desired ; ready to fetch a book, or a box of snuff, &c. at command. The preceding occurrence Avould not have been intro- duced, but to illustrate the supreme ascendency which opium exercises over its unhappy votaries. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 173 Every bad course of conduct (happily for the good of social order) leads to perplexing, and generally, to disastrous results. The reader will soon have a practical illustration, that Mr. Cole- ridge was not exempt from the general law. But I must be pardoned in first making a slight refer- ence to myself. As far as recollection can be relied on, Mr. Coleridge left Bristol in August, 1814; prior to which time, my own imperfect state of health prevented me from seeing him. A general impres- sion prevailed on the minds of his friends, that it was a desperate case, that paralyzed all their efforts : that to assist Mr. C. with money, which, under favourable circumstances, would have been most promptly advanced, would now only enlarge his capacity to obtain the opium which was consu- ming him. We merely knew that Mr. Coleridge was gone to reside with his friend Mr. John Morgan, at Calne ; (a worthy man, an only son, who had unfortunately lost nearly all his patrimonial pro- perty, the result of his father's many years' 1 indus- trious toil, and on the wreck of which, he had now retired to a small house, at Calne, in Wiltshire.)* * Mr. Morgan had resided for three years in Berner's-Street, Loir* 4on, during the wholeof which time, Mr. Coleridge lived with his friend, q3 174 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS So gloomy were our apprehensions, that even the death of Mr. C. was mournfully expected, at no distant period .' for his actions, at this time, were, we feared, all of a suicidal description. The reader will judge what my concern must have been, at receiving the following letter from Mr. Coleridge, in the March of 1815. "Calne, March 7, 1815, Dear Cottle, You will wish to know something of myself. In health, I am not worse than when at Bristol I was best, yet fluctuating, yet unhappy ! in circumstances ' poor indeed I 1 I have collected my scattered, and my manuscript poems, sufficient to make one volume. Enough I have to make another. But till the latter is finished, I cannot without great loss of character, publish the former on account of the arrangement, besides the neces- sity of correction. For instance, I earnestly wish to begin the volumes, with what has never been seen by any, however few, such as a series of Odes on the different sentences of the Lord's Prayer, and more than all this, to finish my greater work on ' Christianity, considered as Philosophy, and as the only Philosophy. 1 All OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 175 the materials I have in no small part, reduced to form, and written, but oh me ! what can I do, when I am so poor, that in having to turn off every week, from these to some mean subject for the newspapers, 1 distress myself, and at last neglect the greater wholly, to do little of the less. If it were in your power to receive my manuscripts, (for instance what I have ready for the press of my poems) and by setting me forward with thirty or forty pounds, taking care that what I send, and would make over to you, would more than secure you from loss, I am sure you would do it. And I would die (after my recent experience, of the cruel and insolent spirit of calumny,) rather than subject myself, as a slave, to a club of subscribers to my poverty. If I were to say I am easy in my conscience, I should add to its pains by a lie ; but this I can truly say, that my embarrassments have not been occasioned by the bad parts, or selfish indulgences of my nature. I am at present five and twenty pounds in arrear, my expenses being at £2 10s. per week. You will say I ought to live for less, and doubtless I might, if I were to alienate myself from all social affections, and from all conversation with persons of the same educa- 176 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS tion. Those who severely blame me, never ask, whether at any time in my life, I had for myself and my family^ wants, £50 beforehand. Heaven knows of the £300. received, through you, what went to myself.* No ! bowed down under manifold infirmities, I yet dare to appeal to God of the truth of what I say, I have remained poor by always having been poor, and incapable of pursuing any one great work, for want of a competence beforehand. S. T. Coleridge." This was precisely the termination I was pre- pared to expect. I had never before, through my whole life refused Mr. C. an application for money ; yet I now hesitated; assured that the sum required, was not meant for the discharge of board, but for the purchase of opium, the expense of which, for years, had exceeded the Two pounds ten shillings per week. Under this conviction, and after a painful conflict, I sent Mr. C. on the * This statement requires an explanation, which none now can give. Was the far larger proportion of this £300 appropriated to the discharge of Opium dehts ? This does not seem unlikely, as Mr. C. chiefly lived with friends, and he could contract few other debts. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 177 next day, a friendly letter, declining his request, but enclosing- a five pound note. It happened that my letter to Mr. Coleridge passed on the road, another letter from him to myself, far more harrowing than the first. This was the last letter I ever received from Mr. C. and which in after years, I sometimes felt, without perhaps duly considering that new scenes, connexions, and pursuits, had a natural tendency to force the thoughts into new channels.* The following is Mr. Coleridge's second letter from Calne. "Calne, Wiltshire, March 1.0, 1815, My dear Cottle, I have been waiting with the greatest uneasi- ness for 'a letter from you. My distresses are impatient rather than myself : inasmuch as for the last five weeks, I know myself to be a burden, * It is a consolation to reflect, that, in the year 1821, being in London, I called to see Mr. Coleridge, at Mr. Gillman's, when he welcomed me in his former kind and cordial manner. The depres- sing thought filled my mind, that that would be our final interview in this world, as it was. On my going away, Mr. C. presented me with his "Statesman's Manual," in the Title-page of which he wrote, " Joseph Cottle, from his old and affectionate friend, S. T. Coleridge." 178 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS on those to whom I am under great obligations ; who would gladly do all for me ; hut who have done all they can ! Incapable of any exertion in this state of mind, I have now written to Mr. Hood, and have at length bowed my heart down, to beg that four or five of those, who I had reason to believe, were interested in my welfare, would raise the sum I mentioned, between them, should you not find it convenient to do it. Manuscript poems, equal to one volume of 230 to 300 pages, being sent to them immedi- ately. If not, I must instantly dispose of all my poems, fragments and all, for whatever I can get from the first rapacious bookseller, that will give any thing — and then try to get my livelihood where I am, by receiving, or waiting on day- pupils, children, or adults, but even this I am unable to wait for without some assistance : for I cannot but with consummate baseness, throw the expenses of my lodging and boarding for the last five or six weeks on those, who must injure and embarrass themselves in order to pay them. ' The Friend ' has been long out of print, and its re-publication has been called for by numbers. Indeed from the manner in which it was first circulated, it is little less than a new work. To OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 179 make it a complete and circular work, it needs but about eight or ten papers. This I could, and would make over to you at once in full copy-right, and finish it outright, with no other delay than that of finishing a short and temperate Treatise on the Corn Laws, and their national and moral effects ; which had I even twenty pounds only to procure myself a week's ease of mind, I could have printed, before the bill had passed the Lords. At all events let me hear by return of post. I am confident that whether you take the property of my Poems, or of my Prose Essays, in pledge, you cannot eventually lose the money. As soon as I can, I shall leave Calne for Bristol, and if I can procure any day pupils, shall immediately take cheap lodgings near you. My plan is to have twenty pupils, ten youths or adults, and ten boys. To give the latter three hours daily, from eleven o'clock to two, with exception of the usual school vacations, in the Elements of English, Greek, and Latin, present- ing them exercises for their employment during the rest of the day, and two hours every evening to the adults (that is from sixteen and older) on a systematic plan of general knowledge ; and I should hope that £15 a year, would not be 180 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS too much to ask from each, which excluding Sundays and two vacations, would he little more than a shilling a day, or six shillings a week, for forty-two weeks. To this I am certain I could attend with strictest regularity, or indeed to any thing me- chanical. But composition is no voluntary business. The very necessity of doing it robs me of the power of doing it. Had I been possessed of a tolerable competency, I should have been a voluminous writer. But I cannot, as is feigned of the Night- ingale, sing with my breast against a thorn. God bless you, S. T. Coleridge. Saturday, Midnight.' 11 The receipt of this letter filled me with the most poignant grief; much for the difficulties to which Mr. C. was reduced, but still more for the cause. In one letter, indignantly spurning the contributions of his " club of subscribers to his poverty ;" and in his next, (three days after- wards) earnestly soliciting this assistance ! The victorious bearer away of University prizes, now bent down to the humiliating desire of keeping a OF ?. T. COLERIDGE. I8f clay school, for a morsel of bread ! The man, whose genius has scarcely been surpassed, propos- ing to "attend'" scholars, "children or adults," and to bolster up his head, at night, in " cheap lodgings !" Oppressed with debt, contracted by expending that money on opium, which should have been paid to his impoverished friend ; and this, at a moment, when, for the preceding dozen years, if he had called his mighty intellect into exercise, the " world " would have been " all before him, where to choose his place of •rest.' 11 But at this time he preferred, to all things else, the Circean chalice ! These remarks have been reluctantly forced from me ; and never would they have passed the sanctuary of my own breast, but to call on every consumer of the narcotic poison, (who fancies, perchance, that in the taking of opium, there is pleasure only, and no pain) to behold, in this memorable example, the inevitable consequences, which follow that "accursed practice!" Property consumed ! health destroyed ! independence bar- tered ; respectability undermined ; family con- cord subverted! that peace sacrificed, which forms so primary an ingredient in man's cup of happi- ness! — a deadly war with conscience ! — an exam- VOL. II. B 182 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS pie to others, which extends its baneful influences, illimitably ! and the very mind of the unhappy votary, (whilst the ethereal spirit of natural affec- tion generally escapes !) despoiled of its best energies ; dwelling in the vale, it must be said, of degradation, rather than on the summit of useful- ness and applause ! I venture the more readily on these reflections, from the hope of impressing some young delin- quents, who are beginning to sip the " deadly poison;" little aware that no habit is so progressive, and that he who begins with the little, will rapidly pass on to the much ! I am also addition- ally urged to these mournful disclosures, from their forming one portion only, of Mr. Coleridge 1 s life. It has been my unenviable lot, to exhibit my friend in his lowest points of depression ; con- flicting with unhallowed practices, and, as the certain consequence, with an accusing conscience ; but this was his resting, not his abiding place. The fear of God, with faith in his Saviour, lin- gered long in his heart, yet it was not extin- guished. It ultimately burst forth, and " the bruised reed was not broken !" Most rejoiced should I have been, had my opportunities and acquaintance with Mr. Coleridge OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 183 continued, to have traced the gradual develop- ment into action, of those better principles which were inherent in his mind. This privilege is reserved for a more favoured biographer ; and it now remains only for me, in a closing remark, to state, that, had I been satisfied that the money Mr. C. required, (Vol. 2. p. 175) would have been expended in lawful purposes, I would have sup- plied him, (without being an affluent man) to the utmost of his requirements, and that not by divi- ding the honour with others, or receiving his writings in pledge ! But, knowing that whatever monies he received would, assuredly, be expended in opium, compassion stayed my hand. In my reply to his second letter, by " return of post, 11 I enclosed Mr. C. another five pounds : urged him in a kind letter, to come immediately to Bristol, where myself and others, would do all that could be done, to advise and assist him. I told him at the same time, that, when I declined the business of a bookseller, I for ever quitted publishing, so that I could not receive his MSS. valuable as they doubtless were ; but I reminded him, that as his merits were now appreciated by the public, the London booksellers would readily enter into a treaty, and remunerate him liberally, it 2 184 EAItLY RECOLLECTIONS It is proper to add, Mr. Coleridge returned no answer to my letter ; came not to Bristol, but went, as I learned indirectly, on 'a visit to a friend, in or near London ; and I now await a narrative of the latter periods of Mr. C.'s life, and, particularly, the perusal of his "posthumous works," with a solicitude surpassed by none. An unexpected occurrence renders it necessary to trespass one moment more on the reader's atten- tion, whilst I mention, that from my intimate knowledge of Mr. Coleridge's sentiments and cha- racter, no doubt could be entertained by me, of its being Mr. C.'s earnest wish, in order to exhi- bit to his successors the pernicious consequences of opium, that, when called from this world, the fullest publicity should be given to its disastrous effects on himself. But whatever confidence existed in my own mind, it might be, I well knew, no easy task, to inspire, with the same assurance, many of his surviving friends ; so that I have been compelled to argue the point, and to show, to those who shrunk from such disclosures, that Mr. Coleridge's example was intimately com- bined with general utility, and that none ought to regret a faithful narration of, (unquestionably) the great bane of his life, since it presented a con- OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 185 spicuous Pharos-tower, which might arrest the attention, and operate as a warning, to all others. From a conviction of the tender ground on which I stood, and entertaining a latent suspicion that some, whom I could wish to have pleased, would still censure, as unjustifiahle exposure, what with me was the result of conscience ; I repeat, with all these searching apprehensions, the reader will judge what my complicated feel- ings must have been, of joy and sorrow ; a momentary satisfaction, succeeded by the deepest pungency of affliction, when, (after all the prece- ding was written) Mr. Josiah Wade, presented to me the following mournful and touching letter, addressed to him by Mr. Coleridge, in the year 1814, which, whilst it relieved my mind from so onerous a burden, fully corroborated all that I had presumed, and all that I had affirmed. Mr. W. handed this letter to me, that it might be made public, in conformity with his departed friend's injunction. "Bristol, June 26th, 1814. Dear Sir, For I am unworthy to call any good man friend — much less you, whose hospitality and love a 3 186 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS I have abused ; accept, however, my intreaties for your forgiveness, and for your prayers. Conceive a poor miserable wretch, who for many years has been attempting to beat off pain, by a constant recurrence to the vice that repro- duces it. Conceive a spirit in hell, employed in tracing out for others the road to that heaven, from which his crimes exclude him ! In short, conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will form as tolerable a notion of my state, as it is possible for a good man to have. I used to think the text in St. James that ' he who offended in one point, offends in all,' very harsh ; but I now feel the awful, the tremendous truth of it. In the one crime of opium, what crime have I not made myself guilty of ! — Ingrati- tude to my Maker ! and to my benefactors — injustice ! and unnatural cruelty to my poor chil- dren / — self- contempt for my repeated promise — breach, nay, too often, actual falsehood ! After my death, I earnestly entreat, that a full and unqualified narration of my wretchedness, and of its guilty cause, may be made public, that, at least, some little good may be effected by the direful example ! OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 187 May God Almighty bless you, and, have mercy on your still affectionate, and, in his heart, grateful — S. T. Coleridge." This is indeed a redeeming letter. We here behold Mr. Coleridge in the lowest state of human depression, but his condition is not hopeless. It is not the insensibility of final impenitence ; it is not the slumber of the grave. A gleam of sun- shine bursts through the almost impenetrable gloom ; and the virtue of that prayer " May God Almighty have mercy !" in a penitent heart, like his, combined, as we know it was, with the recognition of Him, who is, "the Way, the Truth, and the Life," authorizes the belief, that a spirit, thus exercised, had joys in reserve, and was to become the recipient of the best influences that can illuminate regenerate man. No individual ever effected great good in the moral world, who had not been subjected to a long preliminary discipline ; and he who knows what is in man ; who often educes good from evil, can best apportion the exact kind and degree, indispensable to each separate heart. Mr. Cole- ridge, after this time, lived twenty years ! A 188 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS merciful Providence (though with many mementos of decay) preserved his body, and, in all its vigor, sustained his mind. Power was given him to subdue his former pernicious practices. The Season of solemn reflection arrived. His ten talents were no longer partially buried, but the lengthened space extended to him, was consecra- ted, by deep reflection, and consequent qualifica- tion, to elucidate and establish the everlasting principles of christian truth. Under such advantages, we are authorized in forming the highest expectations from his Great Posthumous Work. Nothing which I have nar- rated of Mr. Coleridge, will in the least, subtract from the merit, or the impression of that produc- tion, effected in his mature manhood, when his renovated faculties sent forth new corruscations, and concentrated the results of all his profound meditations. The very process to which he had been exposed, so unpropitious, as it appeared, may have been the most favourable for giving consistency to his intellectual researches. He may have thought in channels the more refined, varied, and luminous, from the ample experience he had acquired, that the only real evil, in this world, was the frown of the Almighty, and His OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 189 favour the only good ; so that the grand work, about to appear, may add strength to the strong, and give endurance to the finished pediment, of his usefulness and his fame. But although all these cheering anticipations should he fully realized, regrets will still exist. It will ever be deplored, that Mr. Coleridge's system of Christian Ethics, had not yet been deliberately recorded by himself. This feeling, however natural, is still considerably moderated, by reflecting on the ample competence of the individual on whom the distinction of preparing this system has devolved : a security, that it will be both well and faithfully executed, and which, in the same proportion that it reflects credit on the editor, will embalm with additional honours, the memory of Samuel Taylor Coleridge ; a genius, who in the opulence of his imagination, and his rich and inexhaustible capabilities, as a poet, a logician, and a metaphysician, has. not perhaps been surpassed since the days of Milton. Mr. Coleridge, in the smaller class of his " Literary Remains,'" recently published (Vol.1, p. 368.) has hypothetically referred to two cha- racters, one of which evidently pourtrays himself, 190 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS and a more pathetic appeal has rarely been made to the heart. " There are two sides to every question. If thou hast genius and poverty to thy lot, dwell on the foolish, perplexing, imprudent, dangerous, and even immoral conduct of promise-breach in small things, of want of punctuality, of procrastination in all its shapes and disguises. Force men to reverence the dignity of thy moral strength in and for itself, — seeking no excuses or palliation, from fortune, or sickness, or a too full mind that, in opulence of conception, overrated its powers of application. But if thy fate should he different, shouldest thou possess competence, health, and ease of mind, and then he thyself called upon to judge such faults, in another so gifted, — O ! then, on the other view of the question, say, am I in ease and comfort, and dare I wonder that he, poor fellow ! acted so and so ? Dare I accuse him ? Ought I not to shadow forth to myself that, glad and luxuriating in a short escape from anxiety, his mind over-promised for itself; that, want combating with his eager desire to produce things worthy of fame, he dreamed of the nobler, when he should have been producing the meaner, and so had the meaner obtruded on his moral being, when the nobler was making full way on his intellectual ? Think of the manifoldness of his petty calls ! Think in short on that which should OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 191 be as a voice from Heaven to warn thyself against this and that, and call it all up for pity, and for palliation." Mr. Coleridge, in his succeeding and better days, thus expressed his religious creed. — Literary Remains, (Vol 1 . p. 392.) " I believe and hold it as the fundamental article of Christianity, that I am a fallen creature ; that I am of myself capable of moral evil, but not of myself capable of moral good, and that an evil ground existed in my will, previously to any given act, or assignable moment of time, in my consciousness. I am born a child of wrath. This fearful mystery I pretend not to under- stand. I cannot even conceive the possibility of it, — but I know that it is so. My conscience, the sole fountain of certainty, commands me to believe it, and would itself be a contradiction, were it not so — and what is real must be possible. I receive with full and grateful faith, the assurance of Revelation, that the Word, which is from all eter- nity with God, and is God, assumed our human nature in order to redeem me, and all mankind from this our connate corruption. My reason convinces me, that no other mode of Redemption is conceivable, and, as did Socrates, would have yearned after the Redeem- er, though it woidd not dare expect so w T onderful an 192 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS act of divine loye, except only as an effort of my mind to conceive the utmost of the infinite greatness of that love. I believe that this assumption of humanity by the Son of God, was revealed and realized to us by the Word made flesh, and manifested to us in Christ Jesus ; and that his miraculous birth, his agony, his cruci- fixion, death, resurrection, and ascension, were all both symbols of our redemption, and necessary parts of the awful process. I believe in the descent and sending of the Holy Spirit, by whose free grace obtained for me by the merits of my Redeemer, I can alone be sanctified, and restored from my natural inheritance of sin and con- demnation, be a child of God, and an " inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven.' " No more befitting conclusion to the present Memoir can be offered, than the following letter of Mr. Coleridge, written a short time before his death, to a young friend. This deliberate expo- sition of his faith, and at such a season, utterly cancels every random word, or sentence, Mr. C. may ever have expressed, or written, of an opposing tendency, and which the inconsideracy of some, or the malignity of others may now advance, in derogation of his memory. In thoughtless OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 193 moments Mr. C. may sometimes have expressed himself unguardedly, attended, on reflection, no doubt with self-accusation, but here in the full prospect of dissolution, he pours forth the genuine and ulterior feelings of his soul. " To Adam Steinmetz Kinnaird. My dear godchild, — I offer up the same fervent prayer for you now, as I did kneeling before the altar, when you were baptized into Christ, and solemnly received as a living member of his spiritual body, the church. Years must pass before you will be able to read with an under- standing heart what I now write. But I trust that the all-gracious God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, who, by his only begotten Son (all mercies in one sovereign mercy !) has redeemed you from evil ground, and willed you to be born out of darkness, but into light ; out of death, but into life ; out of sin, but into righteousness ; even into the w Lord our righteousness ;' I trust that he will graciously hear the prayers of your dear parents, and be with you as the spirit of health and growth, in body and in mind. My dear godchild ! you received from Christ's minister, at the baptismal VOL. II - s 94 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS font, as your Christian name, the name of a most dear friend of your father's, and who was to me even as a son, the late Adam Steinmetz, whose fervent aspirations, and paramount aim, even from early youth, was to be a Christian in thought, word, and deed, in will, mind, and aifections. I too, your godfather, have known what the enjoyment and advantages of this life are, and what the more refined pleasures which learning and intellectual power can give ; 1 now, on the eve of my departure, declare to you (and earnestly pray that you may hereafter live and act on the conviction), that health is a great blessing ; com- petence, obtained by honourable industry, a great blessing ; and a great blessing it is, to have kind, faithful, and loving friends and relatives; but that the greatest of all blessings, as it is the most ennobling of all privileges, is to be indeed a Christian. But I have been likewise, through a large portion of my later life, a sufferer, sorely affected with bodily pains, languor, and manifold infirmities, and for the last three or four years have, with few and brief intervals, been confined to a sick room, and at this moment, in great weakness and heaviness, write from a sick bed, hopeless of recovery, yet without prospect of a OF S. T. COLEEIDGE. 195 speedy removal. And I thus, on the brink of the grave, solemnly bear witness to yon, that the Almighty Redeemer, most gracious in his promises to them that truly seek him, is faithful to perform what he has promised ; and has reserved, under all pains and infirmities, the peace that passeth all understanding, with the supporting assurance of a reconciled God, who will not withdraw his Spirit from me in the conflict, and in his own time will deliver me from the evil one. O, my dear godchild ! eminently blessed are they who begin early to seek, fear, and love their God, trusting wholly in the righteousness and mediation of their Lord, Redeemer, Saviour, and everlast- ing High Priest, Jesus Christ. O, preserve this as a legacy and bequest from your unseen godfa- ther and friend, S. T. Coleridge. July J 3th, 1834. Grove, Highgate. 1 ? Is the writer of this epistle the man, who, twenty years before, even coveted annihilation ! — Is this the man, who so long preferred, to all things else, the " Circean chalice I" — Is this he, who, at one time, learned, to his unutterable dis- s2 196 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS may, what a sin was, "against an imperishable being, such as is the soul of man !" — Is this he, whose will was once extinguished by an unhal- lowed passion, and, he himself borne along toward perdition, by a flood of intemperance ! — Is this the man who resisted the light, till darkness entered his mind, and with it " a glimpse of outer darkness !" — Is this he, who feared that his own inveterate and aggravated "crimes" would exclude him from that heaven, the road to which he was tracing out for others ! — Is this he, that, through successive years, contended with the severest mental and bodily afflictions ; who knew the cause, but rejected the remedy ? — who, in 1807, declared himself, " rolling, rudderless," " the wreck of what he once was," " with an unceasing, overwhelming sensation of wretchedness ? " and, in 1814, who still pronounced himself the endurer of all that was "wretched, helpless, and hopeless P Samuel Taylor Coleridge is the man on whom all these charges and fearful anticipations once rested: but he is changed ! but he is renovated ! When refuge failed, an Unseen Power subdued the rebel- lious, and softened the hard, and he now, on the verge of life, in the serenity of faith, sits, clothed, and in his right mind. OF S. T. COLERIDGE. 197 Before the effect of this letter, the eccentricities of S. T. Coleridge — his indiscretions, his frailties, vanish away. There is in it a mellowed charac- ter, accordant with a proximity to the eternal state, when alone the objects of time assume their true dimensions ; when — earth receding ! eternity opening ! the spirit, called to launch its untried bark on the dark and stormy waters that separate both worlds, descries light afar, and leans, as its only solace, on the hope of the christian. Checkered indeed was the life of this great but imperfect man. His dawn was not without pro- mise. Hopes and blessings attended him in his course, but mists obscured his noon, and tempests long followed him ; yet he set, serene and in splen- dor, looking on, through faith in his Redeemer, to that cloudless morning, where his sun shall no more go down. J. C. THE END. APPENDIX. ESSAYS ON THE FINE ARTS. Mr. Coleridge, in the year 1814, published, several Essays on the Fine Arts, in " Felix Farley's Bristol Journal." The Editor thus announced their appear- ance, August 6th, 1814. " The termination of the calamities of war having at length furnished us with more vacant room than we have been accustomed to find unoccupied, it is our intention next week, to diversify our columns by the commence- ment of a series of Essays on the Fine Arts; particularly on that of Painting ; illustrated by criticisms upon the pictures now exhibited by Mr. Allston, in this city, as well as on other works of merit, in the possession of several gentlemen well known in our vicinity. The pleasure to be derived from the perusal of these Essays will readily be anticipated, when we inform our readers, that they are furnished us by the pen of Mr. Coleridge." 202 appendix. On the Principles of sound criticism concerning the Fine Arts, deduced from those which animate and guide the true artist in the productions of his works. PRELIMINARY ESSAY. Unus ergo idemque perpetuo Sol perseverans atque manens aliis atque aliis, aliter atque aliter dispo- sitis, alius efficitur atque alius. Haud secus de hac solari Arte varii varie sentiunt, diversi diyersa dicunt : quot capita, tot sententise-r-et tot voces. Hiuc corvi crocitant, -euculi cuculant, lupi ululant, sues grundi- unt, ores balaut, hinniunt equi, mugiunt boves, rudunt asini. Turpe est, dixit Aristoteles, solicitum esse ad quemlibet interrogantem respondere. Boves bobus admugiant, equi equis adhinniant, asinis adrudant asini 1 Nostrum est hominibus aliquid circa hominum excellen- tissimorum inventiones pertentare. Jordan : Brunus de umbris Idearum. It will not appear complimentary to liken the Editors of Newspapers, in one respect, to galley-slaves; but the likeness is not the less apt on that account, and a simile is not expected to go on all fours. When storms blow high in the political atmosphere, the events of the day fill the sails, and the writer may draw in his oars, APPENDIX. 203 and let his brain rest ; but when cairn weather returns, then conies too " the tug of toil," hard work and little speed. Yet he not only sympathizes with the public joy, as a man and a citizen, but will seek to derive some advantages even for his editorial functions, from the cessation of battles and revolutions. He cannot indeed hope to excite the same keen and promiscuous sensation as when he had to announce events, which by the mere bond of interest brought home the movements of monarchs and empires to every individual's counting- house and fire side ; but he consoles himself by the reflection, that these troublesome times occasioned thousands to acquire a habit, and almost a necessity, of reading, which it now becomes his object to retain by the gradual substitution of a milder stimulant, which though less intense is more permanent, and by its greater divergency no less than duration, even more pleasurable. — And bow can he hail and celebrate the return of peace more worthily or more appropriately, than by exerting his best faculties to direct the taste and affections of his readers to the noblest works of peace ? The tranquillity of nations permits our patriotism to repose. We are now allowed to think and feel as men, for all that may confer honor on human nature ; not ignorant, meantime, that the greatness of a nation is by no distant links connected with the cele- brity of its individual citizens — that whatever raises our 204 APPENDIX. country in the eyes of the civilized world, will make that country dearer and more venerable to its inhabi- tants, and thence actually more powerful, and more worthy of love and veneration. Add to (what in a great commercial city will not be deemed trifling or inappertinent) the certain re-action of the Fine Arts on the more immediate utilities of life. The transfusion of the fairest forms of Greece and Rome into the articles of hourly domestic use by Mr. Wedgewood ; the im- pulse given to our engravings by Boydell ; the superior beauty of our patterns in the cotton manufactory, of our furniture and musical instruments, hold as honourable a rank in our archives of trade, as in those of taste. Regarded from these points of view, painting and statuary call on our attention with superior claims. All the fine arts are different species of poetry. The same spirit speaks to the mind through different senses by manifestations of itself, appropriate to each. They admit therefore of a natural division into poetry of language (poetry in the emphatic sense, because less subject to the accidents and limitations of time and space) ; poetry of the ear, or music ; and poetry of the eye, which is again subdivided into plastic poetry, or statuary, and graphic poetry or painting. The common essence of all consists in the excitement of emotion for the immediate purpose of pleasure through the medium of beauty ; herein contra-distinguishing APPENDIX. 205 poetry from science, the immediate object and primary- purpose of which is truth and possible utility. (The sciences indeed may and will give a high and pure pleasure ; and the Fine Arts may lead to important truth, and be hi various ways useful in the ordinary meaning of the word ; but these are not the direct and characteristic ends, and we define things by their peculiar, not their common properties.) Of the three sorts of poetry each possesses both exclusive, and comparative advantages. The last (i. e. the plastic and graphic) is more permanent, and incom- parably less dependent, than the second, i. e. music; and though yielding in both these respects to the first, yet it regains its balance and equality of rank by the universality of its language. Michael Angelo and Raphael are for all beholders ; Dante and Ariosto only for the readers of Italian. Hence though the title of these essays proposes, as their subject, the Fine Arts in general, which as far as the main principles are in question, will be realized, in proportion to the writer's ability ; yet the application and illustration of them will be confined to those of Painting and Statuary, and of these, chiefly to the former, Which like a second and more lovely nature, Turns the blank canvas to a magic mirror ; That makes the absent present, and to shadows Gives light, depth, substance, bloom, yea thought, and motion, vol. ii r 206 APPENDIX. To this disquisition two obstacles suggest themselves — enough has been already written on the subject, (this we may suppose an objection on the part of the reader) and the writers own feeling concerning the grandeur and delicacy of the subject itself. As to the first, he would consider himself as having grossly failed in his duty to the public, if he had not carefully perused all the works on the Fine Arts known to him ; and let it not be rashly attributed to self-conceit, if he dares avow his conviction that much remains to be done ; a conviction indeed, which every author must entertain, who, whether from discmalifying ignorance or utter want of thought, does not act with the full consciousness of acting to a wise purpose. The works that have hitherto appeared, have been either technical, and useful only to the Artist himself (if indeed useful at all) or employed in explaining by the laws of associ- ation the effects produced on the spectator by such and such impressions. In the latter, as in Alison, &c. much has been said well and truly ; but the principle itself is too vague for practical guidance. — Association in philosophy is like the term stimulus in medicine ; explaining every thing it explains nothing ; and above all, leaves itself unexplained. It is an excellent charm to enable a man to talk about and about any thing he likes, and to make himself and his hearers as wise as before. Besides, the specific object of the present at- appendix. 207 tempt is to enable the spectator to judge in the same spirit in which the Artist produced, or ought to have produced. To the second objection, derived from the author's own feelings, he would find himself embarrassed in the attempt to answer, if the peculiar advantages of the subject itself did not aid him. His illustrations of his principles do not here depend on his own ingenuity — he writes for those, who can consult their own eyes and judgments. The various collections as of Mr. Acraman (the father of the Fine Arts in this city) of Mr. Davies, Mr. Gibbons, &c. ; to which many of our readers either will have had, or may procure, access ; and the admirable works exhibiting now by Allston ; whose great picture with his Hebe, landscape, and sea-piece, would of themselves suffice to elucidate the fundamental doctrines of colour, ideal form, and group- ing ; assist the reasoner in the same way, as the Diagrams aid the Geometrician, but far more and more vividly. The writer therefore concludes this his prepa- ratory Essay by two postulates, the only ones, he deems necessary for his complete intelligibility : the first, that the reader would steadilv look into his own mind to know whether the principles stated are ideally true ; the second, to look at the works or parts of the works mentioned, as illustrating or exemplifying the principle, to judge whether or how far it has been realized. S. T. Coleridge, t 2 208 APPENDIX. ESSAY SECOND. In Mathematics the definitions, of necessity, precede not only the demonstrations, but likewise the postulates" and axioms : they are the sock, which at once forms the foundation and supplies the materials of the edifice. Philosophy, on the contrary, concludes with the defini- tion : it is the result, the compendium, the remem- brancer of all the preceding facts and inferences. Whenever, therefore, it appears in the front, it ought to be considered as a faint outline, which answers all its intended purposes, if only it circumscribe the subject, and direct the reader's anticipation toward the one road, on which he is to travel. Examined from this point of view, the definition of poetry, in the preliminary Essay, as the regulative idea of all the Fine Arts, appears to me after many ex- perimental applications of it to general illustrations and to individual instances, liable to no just logical re- version, or complaint : " the excitement of emotion for the purpose of immediate pleasure, through the medium of beauty." — But like all previous statements in Philosophy (as distinguished from Mathematics) it has the inconvenience of presuming conceptions which do not perhaps consciously or distinctly exist. Thus, the former part of my definition might appear equally applicable to any object of our animal appetites, APPIiNDIX. 209 till by after-reasonings the attention has been directed to the full force of the word " immediate ;" and till the mind, by being led to refer discriminatingly to its own experience, has become conscious that all objects of mere desire constitute an interest, (i. e. aliquid quod est inter boc et aliud, or that which is between the agent and his motive) and which is therefore valued only as the means to the end. To take a trivial but unexcep- tionable instance, the venison is agreeable because it gives pleasure ; while the Apollo Belvidere is not beau- tiful because it pleases, but it pleases us because it is beautiful. The term, pleasure, is unfortunately so com- prehensive, as frequently to become equivocal : and yet it is hard to discover a substitute. Complacency, which Avould indeed better express the intellectual nature of the enjoyment essentially involved in the sense of the beautiful, yet seems to preclude all emotion : and delight, on the other hand, conveys a comparative degree of pleasurable emotion, and is therefore unfit for a general definition, the object of which is to abstract the kind. For this reason, we added the words "through the medium of beauty." But here the same difficulty recurs from the promiscuous use of the term, Beauty. Many years ago the writer in company with an acci- dental party of travellers was gazing on a cataract of great height, breadth, and impetuosity, the summit of which appeared to blend with the sky and clouds, t3 210 APPENDIX. while the lower part was hidden by rocks and trees ; and on his observing, that it was in the strictest sense of the word, a sublime object, a lady present assented with warmth to the remark, adding — "Yes ! and it is not only sublime, but beautiful and absolutely pretty." And let not these distinctions be charged on the wri- ter, as obscurity and needless subtlety ; for it is in the nature of all disquisitions on matters of taste, that the reasoner must appeal for his very premises to facts of feeling and of inner sense, which all men do not pos- sess, and which many, who do possess and even act upon them, yet have never reflectively adverted to, have never made them objects of a full and distinct con- sciousness. The Geometrician refers to certain figures in space, and to the power of describing certain lines, which are intuitive to all men, as men ; and therefore his demonstrations are throughout compulsory. The Moralist and the Philosophic Critic lay claim to no posi- tive, but only to a conditional necessity, It is not necessary, that A or B should judge at all concerning poetry ; but if he does, in order to a just taste, such and such faculties must have been developed in his mind. If a man upon questioning his own experience, can detect no difference in kind between the enjoyment derived from the eating of turtle, and that from the perception of a new truth ; if in his feelings a taste for Milton is essentially the same as the taste of mutton, APPENDIX. 211 he may still be a sensible and a valuable member of society ; but it would be desecration to argue with him on the Fine Arts ; and should he himself dispute on them, or even publish a book (and such books have been perpetrated within the memory of man), we can answer him only by silence, or a courteous waiving of the subject. To tell a blind man, declaiming concern- ing light and color, " you should wait till you have got eyes to see with," would indeed be telling the truth, but at the same time be acting a useless as well as an inhuman part. An English critic, who assumes and proceeds on the identity in kind of the pleasures derived from the palate and from the intellect, and who literally considers taste to mean one and the same thing, whe- ther it be the taste of venison, or a taste for Virgil, and who, in strict consistence with his principles, passes sentence on Milton as a tiresome poet, because he finds nothing amusing in the Paradise Lost (i. e. damnat Musas, quia animum a musis non divertunt) — this taste-meter to the fashionable world, gives a ludicrous portrait of an African belle, and concludes with a tri- umphant exclamation, " such is the ideal of beauty in Dahoma !" Now it is curious, that a very intelligent traveller, describing the low state of the human mind in this very country, gives as an instance, that in their whole language they have no word for beauty, or the beautiful ; but say either it is nice, or it is good ; 212 APPENDIX. doubtless, says he, because this very sense is as yet dormant, and the idea of beauty as little developed in their minds, as in that of an infant. — I give the sub- stance of the meaning, not the words ; as I quote both writers from memory. There are few mental exertions more instructive, or which are capable of being rendered more entertaining, than the attempt to establish and exemplify the distinct meaning of terms, often confounded in common use, and considered as mere synonymes. Such are the words, agreeable, beautiful, picturesque, grand, sub- lime : and to attach a distinct and separate sense to each of these, is a previous step of indispensable neces- sity to a writer, who would reason intelligibly, either to himself or to his readers, concerning the works of poe- tic genius, and the sources and the nature of the plea- sure derived from them. But more especially on the essential difference of the beautiful and the agreeable, rests fundamentally the whole question, which assur- edly must possess no vulgar or feeble interest for all who regard the dignity of their own nature : whether the noblest productions of human genius (such as the Iliad, the works of Shakspeare and Milton, the Pan- theon, Raphael's Gallery, and Michael Angelo's Sestine Chapel, the Venus de Medici and the Apollo Belvidere, involving of course the human forms that approximate to them in actual life) delight us merely by chance, APPENDIX. 213 from accidents of local associations — in short, please us because they please us (in which case it would be impossible either to praise or to condemn any man's taste, however opposite to our own, and we could be no more justified in assigning a corruption or absence of just taste to a man, who should prefer Blackmore to Homer or Milton, or the Castle Spectre to Othello, than to the same man for preferring a black-pudding to a sirloin of beef :) or Avhether there exists in the constitu- tion of the human soul a sense, and a regulative princi- ple, which may indeed be stifled and latent in some, and be perverted and denaturalized in others, yet is nevertheless universal in a given state of intellectual and moral culture ; which is independent of local and temporary circumstances, and dependent only on the degree in which the faculties of the mind are deve- loped; and which, consequently, it is our duty to cultivate and improve, as soon as the sense of its actual existence dawns upon us. The space allotted to these Essays obliges me to defer this attempt to the following week : and I will now conclude by requesting the candid reader not alto- gether to condemn this second Essay, without having considered, that the ground-works of an edifice cannot be as sightly as tbe superstructure, and that the philo- sopher, unlike the architect, must lay his foundations in sight ; unlike the musician, must tune his instru- 214 APPENDIX. ments in the hearing of his audience. Taste is the intermediate faculty which connects the active with the passive powers of our nature, the intellect with the sen- ses ; and its appointed function is to elevate the images of the latter, while it realizes the ideas of the former. We must therefore have learned what is peculiar to each, before we can understand that " third something," which is formed by a harmony of both. S. T. Coleridge. ESSAY THIRD. On the Principles op Genial Criticism concerning the Fine Arts, especially those of Statuary and Painting. Sat vero, in hac vitas brevitate et natural obscuritate, rerum est, quibus cognoscendis tempus impendatur, ut confusis et multivocis sermonibus intelligendis illud consumere non opus est. Eheu ! quantas strages para- v6re verba nubila, quae tot dicunt, ut nihil dicant — nubes potius, e quibus et in rebus politicis et in ecclesia turbines et tonitrua erumpunt ! Et proinde recte dic- tum putamus a Platone in Gorgia : os av ra ovop,ara etSet, Krerai icai ra Trpay^ara : et ab Epicteto — apX 1 ! 7raibev(rea>s rj ra>v ovop-arav ernsite-^ns : et prudentissime Galenus SCribit — r] rav ovop-armv XP T l