in powers of teaching, but in control over the boys; afterwards at a cottage near Rydal water, called the Nab; first with a widow, and on her death with a young farmer and his wife, who seem to have devoted themselves to his comfort and protection-for the charge of so eccentric a genius was no slight one. His wandering habits caused his friends great anxiety; he would often disappear for days, and his faithful guardian followed in pursuit and search. principles, the inalienable laws of right and wrong, while Hartley Coleridge's friends, those who lived round him, who saw him daily, whose hearts were warmed by his eloquence, who received instruction from his extended knowledge, and delight from his playful, harmless fancy, are justified in dwelling on these, and in attributing, if they can, his errors to some aberration, some idiosyncrasy, which, while it left him all the qualities that can bring pleasure and profit to others, disabled him from guiding himself. We have too much respect for his clear reasoning, his accurate views over an unusually wide range of subjects, his delicate perception of moral beauty, his religious instincts, all evident in his writings, to be able to console ourselves in his deviations from the right path under such a plea. As I have before intimated, his purposeless wanderings had been sometimes pursued till he lost the power to return. Guided forward by feelings, the nature and intensity of which may rather be guessed than known, he seemed to fly from the sight of his own home and the presence of friends, whose very love was a constraint, till he was found by his anxious host perhaps in some remote vale. He could not fall amongst strangers. Go where he would, be The following attractive, though we fear one where he might, he was treated with affectionate re-sided, picture of his course of life seems to carry spect. Love followed him like his shadow.-Me- us back to the Utopian days of the Vicar of Wakemoir, p. cxxiii. field. We could fancy we have another Burchell talking memorable wisdom and exquisite satire, writing beautiful verses, supping at harvest-homes, on absolute terms of equality with everybody, and distributing amongst all the children of the district whistles and gingerbread. It would be vain as it would be ungracious to combat against the favorable influence of charm of manner. Engaging manners and bright conversation must and will always sway those brought under their attraction, and it is right that they should do so, for they are good qualities, though they may be only natural ones; and the enjoyment of them in others may be accepted as one of the amenities of our lot, if we meet with them in the order of Providence, and do not go out of our way to put ourselves under their influence. What a catalogue of social virtues it needs to make a man generally beloved! sweetness of temper, good nature, a yielding will and ready compliance, a toleration of others' infirmities, and forbearance under small slights and hindrances; sympathy with others' modes of feeling, and delicacy of adaptation. Many a hero, we may add many a saint, is without them, and makes his great cause to suffer from their absence. The reward of his labors is sought in a higher sphere, not in the praise of men; and his greatest admirers have often to become his apologists in the minor details of deportment and manner, conscious that he who would sacrifice his life for the sake of religion, or for the good of his fellow-men, yet failed to make himself agreeable to his personal acquaintances. But because, from the infirmity of our nature, great interests and high aims often make men regardless of lesser proprieties, let us not esteem the want of them as other than a fault, nor grudge the domestic philanthropist, who cheers his neighbors' fireside, who raises their dulled spirits, whose presence brings refreshment with it, who enhances their every-day joys and sympathizes in the little trials that each day also brings in its train-though it may be only through the impulse of a genial nature-his reward, in his indulgent host of friends, with their warm welcomes, hearty praises, affectionate extenuations, tender regrets. All attractions and social good qualities are intended to have weight on those brought under their range. It is thus that society is kept together in times of sharp controversy and the war of principles, and in such times especially we should value and respect their office. Their sphere is necessarily limited men, beyond their personal influence, must be judged by their acts and avowed principles alone; and therefore the reviewer, a stranger to his person, must take the cold-hearted part of cavilling and questioning, of asserting general Among his friends we must count men, women, and children, of every rank, and of every age. While he preserved the tone of his manners, (which, though somewhat eccentric, were free from every tinge of vulgarity,) and seldom, if ever, failed of being treated with due respect and consideration, he willingly overstepped the conventional distinctions by which society is divided. In the farm-house or the cottage, not alone at times of rustic festivity, at a sheep-shearing, a wedding, or a christening, but by he was made, and felt himself at home. It may be the ingle side with the grandmother and the "bairns," that his social tendencies, his willingness to see the best side of a character, and his disposition to reluct against what he considered uncharitable censures and pharisaical restrictions, may have led him to be less select than might be desired in the choice of his casual associates in humble life, or in a rank more nearly approaching his own. If it were so I know not. Certain it is that the individuals with whom he held most intercourse, to whom he was most attached, and who regarded him with the deepest interest, the most affectionate admiration, and this for a long course of years; those by whom his death was most sincerely mourned, and by whom his memory is most estimable, but in many cases persons of peculiar retinedearly cherished, were not merely in the highest degree ment, social and intellectual. The inference is obvious. It was in some small measure to repay, or at least to express, the pleasure that he derived from the society of these friends, that many of his occasional poems were composed-some of which will be found, I believe, to rank among the best of their kind. These were thrown off with the greatest facility, and in the most casual manner, though sometimes elaborated afterwards with considerable care. They exhibit an union of graceful fancy, and highly cultivated powers of expression, with a certain thoughtful tenderness not unmixed with melancholy. They testify, in a peculiar manner, to his love of children-the young, the innocent, the beautiful, and the happy. This love was returned in kind; children doted upon him. *** He would muse on an infant by the hour. A like overflowing of his affectionate nature was seen in his fondness for animals-for anything that would love him in return-simply, and for its own sake rather than for his. His manners and appearance were peculiar. Though not dwarfish either in form or expression, his stature was remarkably low, scarcely exceeding five feet; and he early acquired the gait and general appearance of advanced age. His once dark, lustrous hair, was prematurely silvered, and became latterly quite white; his eyes, dark, soft, and brilliant, were remarkably responsive to the movements of his mind, flashing with a light from within.-Memoir, p. cxxiv. Of his conversational powers his brother is not able to speak from his own knowledge. They met seldom, and then, while in general society, from mingled excitement and embarrassment, he preserved an unusual silence; but his friends vie with each other in describing its charm:-"the pregnant thought, the wide-spreading fancy, and the playful, good-humored causticity, to which his striking countenance, his rich rhythmical voice, and even his eccentric demeanor, gave additional effect." One of the many letters written to his brother, of these recollections, says:— In days subsequent to those I have been attempting to remember, I have been constantly struck with new astonishment in every new interview with Hartley. The mine of his knowledge was inexhaustible. He had an acquaintance with every subject-with all books. Though in later years, living in distant and sequestered scenes, where one might have thought his communion with nature would have been greater than his worldly information, his knowledge of all that was passing in the bustling haunts of men, of every work that had been recently published, was complete, nay, even it might have seemed intuitive and miraculous. In relating the smallest anecdote his powers of humor and pathos were alternately brought into play. He would bring every little circumstance of a scene or event before the very vision with astonishing vivacity eye, and voice, and gesture, all speaking and working to one end. Accustomed to consider men as men, to him it mattered little to whom he disburdened himself of the load of mental treasure that literally seemed to oppress him, and to be ever seeking an utterance. I have known him enter into metaphysical disquisitions with a Cumberland peasant, (be it not, however, forgotten that a Cumberland peasant is more or less an educated man,) or (as it happened on one occasion, when he had taken shelter from the rain about the ingle-nook of a way-side hostel) deliver what may be called an historical lecture to a party of Cambrian farmers. Nor was his eloquence wholly lost even upon these less refined auditors. Their respect for his talents amounted to veneration; and even if they could not always follow him in his higher flights of speculation, a sort of consciousness that their being had been raised by communication with such a man remained to them, and it was with a sentiment of real veneration, in itself favorable to humanity, that they summed up the impression which Hartley's eloquence had made on them by the words "Ay, but Mr. Coleridge talks fine!* * That his talents were appreciated by the lower orders in Cumberland I have intimated, but, more than this, he was deeply beloved amongst them. I have heard some of that class say they would " go through fire and water to serve Mr. Coleridge." To all, indeed, of any class who ever were in familiar intercourse with Hartley, I may appeal to bear me out in this assertion, that his memory will not be less identified with the affections than honored by the intellect.-Memoir, p. cxxix. Some attempts are given to record conversations, quite as good as such attempts generally are, and conveying as much idea of power as anything so necessarily imperfect can be expected to do. But we have not space. It is as a student and thinker, however, that his brother considers he best deserves to be known. The quantity, the variety, and, I venture to add, the quality of the thought which passed through his mind during these latter years, judging from his notebook and miscellaneous papers, and taking no account of what perished with him, would surely have ranked him among the most copious and instructive, as well as the most delightful writers of his age, had he exerted the resolution, or possessed the faculty of combining his materials on any considerable scale, or on any given plan. The hope and intention of turning his literary talent to account in this way he never He mastered several modern languages—French, Italceased to cherish, and he was not wanting in exertion. ian and German, which had not fallen in his way to acquire in youth. He had commenced the study of Hebrew expressly with a view to theological investigation; and had begun to apply his knowledge, rudimental as it was, to good purposes. He read and wrote incessantly; he made copious collections; the margins of his books were filled with carefully written annotations, evidently intended for future use, to which in some few cases they have been actually ap plied; but by far the largest portion is unpublished. His note-books, which are very numerous, and bear quaint names, are full of original matter, and little cycles of speculation, sometimes profound, often acute and sagacious, almost always original and characteristic, but thrown together without even attempt at method.-Memoir, p. cxliv. 66 not owing to procrastination alone that he made no His brother very justly considers that it was adequate use of such powers and literary acquirements. The industry which did so much-and application in a certain sense he had-would have sustained the labor of regular composition, if there were not in the mind some faculty wanting" to the construction of anything systematic and complete. Minute and true observation does not necessarily imply any system of thought; and without this faculty of order in the mind, which answers to the power of forming a plot in a work of imagination, nothing great can be accomplished. However far this deficiency of power was inherent, or produced by a propensity so fatal to continuous exercise of the mind, cannot be ascertained. We have already exceeded the limits we had set ourselves, and can therefore enter into no review of the Poems to preface which the Memoir has been written. They are remarkable for genuine characteristic thought, an easy flow, and great sweetness and facility of expression. There is no crabbedness-nothing hard to be understood. He has always mastered the subject in his own mind before he presents it to his reader. It is asserted that practice and study had given him complete power over the instruments of his art, and of this suffice from the varied materials which compose we see evidence. A very few specimens must these two volumes. They form, not only in the beauty and simplicity of their style, but in higher qualities more closely allied to these than perhaps at first sight appears, a happy contrast to the inflated, ambitious, chaotic compositions, which by their number would seem to represent the poetry of the present day. We will begin with the estimate he formed of his own poetical powers, in which the various offices of poetry are very happily brought together. POIETES APOIETES. No hope have I to live a deathless name, Not mine the skill in memorable phrase To show how forms the sentient heart affect, How thoughts and feelings mutually combine, How oft the pure, impassive intellect Shares the mischances of his mortal shrine. Nor can I summon from the dark abyss Of time, the spirit of forgotten things, Bestow unfading life on transient bliss Bid memory live with "healing on its wings." Or give a substance to the haunting shades Whose visitation shames the vulgar earth, Before whose light the ray of morning fades, And hollow yearning chills the soul of mirth. I have no charm to renovate the youth Of old authentic dictates of the heart; To wash the wrinkles from the face of truth, And out of Nature form creative Art. Divinest Poesy!-'t is thine to make Age young-youth old-to baffle tyrant Time; From antique strains the hoary dust to shake, And with familiar grace to crown new rhyme. Long have I loved thee-long have loved in vain, Yet large the debt my spirit owes to thee; Thou wreath'dst my first hours in a rosy chain, Rocking the cradle of my infancy. The lovely images of earth and sky From thee I learn'd within my soul to treasure; And the strong magic of thy minstrelsy Charms the world's tempest to a sweet sad measure Nor Fortune's spite, nor hopes that once have been- Of pregnant ills-and penitential harms That dog the rear of youth unwisely wasted, Can dim the lustre of thy stainless charms, Or sour the sweetness that in thee I tasted. Vol. i., p. 130. A good sonnet is never produced by a happy incident; but implies the knowledge of the principles of poetry as an art. It is an accomplishment, and one in which Hartley Coleridge excelled, as suiting to his degree of perseverance; the sonnet furnishing the most perfect home for a single thought, the shell which exactly fits round and encloses it. We believe our readers will consider the following" on the Sublime," is an example of a pure thought admirably wrought out : What is the meaning of the word "sublime," It is a truth that cannot be contained In formal bounds of thought, in prose, or rhyme. Vol. ii., p. 15. And again, the following on " Homer" :— Far from the sight of earth, yet bright and plain His admiration for Wordsworth as a poet equalled his affection and reverence for him as a man, of which many casual notices give pleasant indication. Indeed, kindness, especially kindness bestowed in childhood and youth, left a deep impression on him, as we find also in every mention of Southey. The following sonnets to Wordsworth convey his view of the high standard of his poetry: TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Yes, mighty Poet, we have read thy lines, For long as man exists, immortal bard, TO THE SAME. And those whose lot may never be to meet spake, And many thousand hearts have blessed his name, The lovers of Wordsworth must have felt pleasure in knowing, as we are now informed, that the exquisite piece of inspiration," She was a phantom of delight,' was written on his wife three years after his marriage; the following lines by our less fortunate bard, have some points akin, though his strain of tender, regretful resignation is pitched in a lower key. TO SOMEBODY. I blame not her, because my soul I charge her not with cruel pride, Her sweet affections, free as wind, Her being's law is gentle bliss, And gay delight her beauty. Then let her walk in mirthful pride, The joy she gives shall still be hers, But better 't is to love, I ween, A maid so lovely fair.-Vol. i., p. 55. The following, on beautiful heathen legends, we choose from among others which we would gladly extract, chiefly because it is short and yet a whole She sat and wept beside His feet; the weight The biographer's promise of a volume of Essays and Marginalia has already been fulfilled, but our space forbids our entering upon a fresh field; and almost the only examples of his prose which these volumes contain are taken from his letters, and the notes which he was in the habit of affixing to the book he was reading. His mind was desultory, which may tell unfavorably on a protracted perusal, but his remarks have a spirit and originality, and commonly a candor and truth, which will always make what he wrote interesting. We give the following, from works which have long been before the public, as miscellaneous examples of lively, accurate thought and apt illustration. Speaking of the want of euphony in our English language contrasted with Italian, he says: We cannot emulate the simplicity of the Greeks or the Italians. The poet, indeed, who can, and dare, may be austere; but austerity and simplicity are different things. Simplicity is never, austerity always, conscious of itself. The Sunday habit of a modest country girl is simple-the regulation dress of a nunnery is meant to be austere. Simplicity does not seek what it feels no need of; austerity rejects what it judges unfit. But neither simplicity nor austerity are necessarily poetical. The simple must be beautiful, the austere must be great, or they have no place in genuine poetry. A daisy is simple, a turnip still simpler, yet the former belongs to the poetry of nature, the latter to her most utilitarian prose. In his Northern Worthies we find this note appended to some mention of a former class of conjurers, who affected to tell fortunes from the handwriting: The race of Manibans is not extinct, and, indeed, however absurd it may be to form a prognosis of future contingencies from the curves and angles of a MS., we will and do maintain, that a correct diagnosis of the actual character of an individual may be known from his autograph. The goodness or badness of the writing contributes nothing to his physiognomy, any more than the beauty or homeliness of a countenance influences its expression. Expression has nothing to do with beauty; and those who say that a good expression will make the plainest face beautiful, do not say what they mean. Goodness shining through ordinary features, is not beautiful, but far better-it is writing; calligraphy, as taught by writing masters lovely. So, too, with regard to the expression of to young ladies, is in truth a very lady-like sort of dissimulation, intended, like the Chesterfieldian politeness of a courtier, to conceal the workings of thought and feeling-to substitute the cold, slippery, polished opacity of a frozen pool, for the ripple and transparency of a flowing brook. But into every habitual act which is performed unconsciously, earnestly, or naturally, the mind unavoidably passes :the play of the features, the motion of the limbs, the paces, the tones, the very folds of the drapery, (es pecially if it have long been worn,) are all significant. A mild, considerate man hangs up his hat in a very different style from a hasty, resolute one. A Dissenter does not shake hands like a High Churchman. But there is no act into which the character enters more fully than that of writing; for it is generally performed alone, or unobserved; seldom, in adults, is the object of conscious attention, and takes place while the thoughts and the natural current of feeling are in full operation.-Northern Worthies, p. 8. On some apology Andrew Marvel makes for Milton, he says Perhaps it was well for Marvel that Milton could not read this, and we hope no one was so injudicious The subject of book-binding brings out the following remarks : Books, no less than their authors, are liable to get ragged, and to experience that neglect and contempt that generally follow the outward and visible signs of poverty. We do, therefore, most heartily commend the man, who bestows on a tattered and shivering volume, such decent and comely apparel, as may protect it from the insults of the vulgar, and the more cutting slights of the fair. But if it be a rare book, "the lone survivor of a numerous race," the one of its family that has escaped the trunk-maker and pastry-cook, we would counsel a little extravagance in arraying it. Let no book perish, unless it be such an one as is your duty to throw into the fire. There is no such thing as a worthless book, though there are some far worse than worthless; no book which is not worth preserving if its existence may be tolerated as there are some men whom it may be proper to hang, but none who should be suffered to starve. To reprint books that do not rise to a certain pitch of worth, is foolish. It benefits nobody so much as it injures the possessors of the original copies. It is like a new coinage of Queen Anne's farthings. That anything is in being is a presumptive reason that it should remain in being, but not that it should be multiplied. Ibid., pp. 53, 7. The following bears on his habitual respect for and appreciation of the instinctive good qualities of women as women, not as clever women or deep thinkers : its elasticity, and he found difficulty in getting from place to place. So much were his friends affected by the evident change, that one from a distance, seeing him after some interval of time, sat down by the road-side and wept after parting from him. But he pursued his reading and usual style of composition, preparing for publication. An important misprint, (as it seems,) giving August for December, makes some confusion in the history of his last illness; but we gather that at the close of 1848, his brother was summoned by a letter from Mrs. Wordsworth, informing him that Hartley was seized with an attack of bronchitis, and that his life was despaired of. Mr. Coleridge went down immediately, scarcely hoping to see him alive, but, contrary to expectation, he lingered till the sixth of January, surrounded by the devoted, affectionate care of friends, and by all that medical skill could do. But his brother's own words must give the history of his last hours : He was taken to his rest on Saturday, the 6th of January, 1849, ten days after my arrival. It would be worse than useless to dwell on the details, solemn and affecting beyond description, of this period. He died the death of a strong man, his bodily frame being of the finest construction, and capable of great endurance. Of his state of mind it will be sufficient to say, that it was such as might have been looked for by those who knew him, and loved him well-gentle, humble, loving, and devout. His time was passed either in religious exercises, or in the most searching self-communion. A few days before his death he received the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, having named a friend whose presence and participation he desired on this occasion; and again, after the last struggle had commenced, his eye resting on another friend, with whom of latter years he had been much associated, he requested him to join with him in the last expressions of hope and faith. It was so that he bade him farewell. His sorrowing friends, with whom he had been so long domesticated, and his young friend, Dr. Green, who never left him night or day, were also present. In these last hours he took a clear review of his past life; his words, whether addressed to me or to himself, falling distinct on my ear; his mind appearing to retain its wonted sagacity, and his tongue scarcely less than its wonted eloquence. Of this most solemn confession, I can only repeat, that it justified the most favorable construction that could be put upon the past, and most consolatory hope that could be formed for the future. Men are deceived in their judgments of others by a thousand causes; by their hopes, their ambition, their vanity, their antipathies, their likes and dislikes, their party feelings, their nationality, but, above all, by their presumptuous reliance on the rationative understanding, their disregard of presentiments, and unaccountable impressions, and their vain attempts to reduce everything to rule and measure. Women, on the other hand, if they be very women, are seldom deceived, except by love, compassion, or religious sympathy-by the latter too often deplorably; but then it is not because their better angel neglects to give warning, but because they are persuaded to make a merit of disregarding his admonitions. The craftiest Iago cannot win the good opinion of a true woman, unless he approach her as a lover, an unfortunate, or a religious confidant. Be it, however, remembered, No one whose lot it has often been to stand by that this superior discernment in character is merely the dying bed, can place reliance or draw conclua female instinct, arising from a more delicate sensi-sions from the circumstances, painful or consolatory, bility and finer tact, a clearer intuition, and a natural of this period-where sometimes pain, and oblivabhorrence of every appearance of evil. It is a sense ion, and death, reign supreme to our outward which only belongs to the innocent, quite distinct from eyes, over those whose lives have proclaimed them the tact of experience. If, therefore, ladies without God's faithful servants, and sometimes hope and experience attempt to judge, to draw conclusions from premises, and give a reason for their sentiments, there triumph prevail where our own confidence cannot is nothing in their sex to preserve them from error.be so firmly grounded. Yet as we are taught Ibid., p. 439. His illness, it is needless to state, was a subject of general interest, and his death of general sorrow, wherever he was known.-Memoir, p. clxxx. to pray against sudden death-as we desire for ourselves in that awful hour a mind clear to contemplate its approaching change, and capable of repentance, and love, and hope-as we long for the attendance of friends, that their affection should watch over us as we hope for the presence of God's ministers, and the ministrations of his church; so surely it must be accounted a gift from our heavenly Father, a sign of favor, a source of exceeding comfort, to see others possessed of all |