MY DEAR SOUTHEY,--The last three days I have been fighting up against a

restless wish to write to you. I am afraid lest I should infect you with

my fears rather than furnish you with any new arguments, give you impulses

rather than motives, and prick you with _spurs_ that had been dipped in

the vaccine matter of my own cowardliness. While I wrote that last

sentence, I had a vivid recollection, indeed an ocular spectrum, of our

room in College Street, a curious instance of association. You remember

how incessantly in that room I used to be compounding these half-verbal,

half-visual metaphors. It argues, I am persuaded, a particular state of

general feeling, and I hold that association depends in a much greater

degree on the recurrence of resembling states of feeling than on trains of

ideas, that the recollection of early childhood in latest old age depends

on and is explicable by this, and if this be true, Hartley’s system

totters. If I were asked how it is that very old people remember

_visually_ only the events of early childhood, and remember the

intervening spaces either not at all or only verbally, I should think it a

perfectly philosophical answer that old age remembers childhood by

becoming “a second childhood!” This explanation will derive some

additional value if you would look into Hartley’s solution of the

phenomena--how flat, how wretched! Believe me, Southey! a metaphysical

solution, that does not instantly _tell_ you something in the heart is

grievously to be suspected as apocryphal. I almost think that ideas

_never_ recall ideas, as far as they are ideas, any more than leaves in a

forest create each other’s motion. The breeze it is that runs through

them--it is the soul, the state of feeling. If I had said no _one_ idea

ever recalls another, I am confident that I could support the assertion.

And this is a digression.--My dear Southey, again and again I say, that

whatever your plan may be, I will contrive to work for you with equal zeal

if not with equal pleasure. But the arguments against your plan weigh upon

me the more heavily, the more I reflect; and it could not be otherwise

than that I should feel a confirmation of them from Wordsworth’s complete

coincidence--I having requested his deliberate opinion without having

communicated an iota of my own. You seem to me, dear friend, to hold the

dearness of a scarce work for a proof that the work would have a general

sale, if not scarce. Nothing can be more fallacious than this. Burton’s

Anatomy used to sell for a guinea to two guineas. It was republished. Has

it paid the expense of reprinting? Scarcely. Literary history informs us

that most of those great continental bibliographies, etc., were published

by the munificence of princes, or nobles, or great monasteries. A book

from having had little or no sale, except among great libraries, may

become so scarce that the number of competitors for it, though few, may be

proportionally very great. I have observed that great works are nowadays

bought, not for curiosity or the _amor proprius_, but under the notion

that they contain all the _knowledge_ a man may ever want, and if he has

it on his _shelf_ why there it is, as snug as if it were in his _brain_.

This has carried off the encyclopædia, and will continue to do so. I have

weighed most patiently what you said respecting the persons and classes

likely to purchase a catalogue of all British books. I have endeavoured to

make some rude calculation of their numbers according to your own

numeration table, and it falls very short of an adequate number. Your

scheme appears to be in short faulty, (1) because, everywhere, the

generally uninteresting, the catalogue part will overlay the interesting

parts; (2) because the first volume will have nothing in it tempting or

deeply valuable, for there is not time or room for it; (3) because it is

impossible that any one of the volumes can be executed as well as they

would otherwise be from the to-and-fro, now here, now there motion of the

mind, and employment of the industry. Oh how I wish to be talking, not

writing, for my mind is so full that my thoughts stifle and jam each

other. And I have presented them as shapeless jellies, so that I am

ashamed of what I have written--it so imperfectly expresses what I meant

to have said. My advice certainly would be, that at all events you should

make _some classification_. Let all the law books form a catalogue _per

se_, and so forth; otherwise it is not a book of reference, without an

index half as large as the work itself. I see no well-founded objection to

the plan which I first sent. The two main advantages are that, stop where

you will, you are in harbour, you sail in an archipelago so thickly

clustered, (that) at each island you take in a completely new cargo, and

the former cargo is in safe housage; and (2dly) that each labourer working

by the _piece_, and not by the _day_, can give an undivided attention in

some instances for three or four years, and bring to the work the whole

weight of his interest and reputation.... An encyclopædia appears to me a

worthless monster. What surgeon, or physician, professed student of pure

or mixed mathematics, what chemist or architect, would go to an

encyclopædia for _his_ books? If valuable treatises exist on these

subjects in an encyclopædia, they are out of their place--an equal

hardship on the general reader, who pays for whole volumes which he

_cannot_ read, and on the professed student of that particular subject,

who must buy a great work which he does not want in order to possess a

valuable treatise, which he might otherwise have had for six or seven

shillings. You omit those things only from your encyclopædia which are

excrescences--each volume will _set up_ the reader, give him at once

connected trains of thought and facts, and a delightful miscellany for

lounge-reading. Your treatises will be long in exact proportion to their

general interest. Think what a strange confusion it will make, if you

speak of each book, according to its date, passing from an Epic Poem to a

treatise on the treatment of sore legs? Nobody can become an enthusiast in

favour of the work.... A great change of weather has come on, heavy rain

and wind, and I have been _very_ ill, and still I am in uncomfortable

restless health. I am not even certain whether I shall not be forced to

put off my Scotch tour; but if I go, I go on Tuesday. I shall not send off

this letter till this is decided.

God bless you and

S. T. C.

CXL. TO HIS WIFE.

Friday afternoon, 4 o’clock, Sept. (1), [1803].

MY DEAR SARA,--I write from the Ferry of Ballater.... This is the first

post since the day I left Glasgow. We went thence to Dumbarton (look at

Stoddart’s tour, where there is a very good view of Dumbarton Rock and

Tower), thence to Loch Lomond, and a single house called Luss--horrible

inhospitality and a fiend of a landlady! Thence eight miles up the Lake to

E. Tarbet, where the lake is so like Ulleswater that I could scarcely see

the difference; crossed over the lake and by a desolate moorland walked to

another lake, Loch Katrine, up to a place called Trossachs, the Borrowdale

of Scotland, and the only thing which really beats us. You must conceive

the Lake of Keswick pushing itself up a mile or two into Borrowdale,

winding round Castle Crag, and in and out among all the nooks and

promontories, and you must imagine all the mountains more _detachedly_

built up, a general dislocation; every rock its own precipice, with trees

young and old. This will give you some faint idea of the place, of which

the character is extreme intricacy of effect produced by very simple

means. One rocky, high island, four or five promontories, and a Castle

Crag, just like that in the gorge of Borrowdale, but not so large. It

rained all the way, all the long, long day. We slept in a hay-loft,--that

is, Wordsworth, I, and a young man who came in at the Trossachs and joined

us. Dorothy had a bed in the hovel, which was varnished _so rich_ with

peat smoke an apartment of highly polished [oak] would have been poor to

it--it would have wanted the metallic lustre of the smoke-varnished

rafters. This was [the pleasantest] evening I had spent since my tour; for

Wordsworth’s hypochondriacal feelings keep him silent and self-centred.

The next day it still was rain and rain; the ferry-boat was out for the

preaching, and we stayed all day in the ferry wet to the skin. Oh, such a

wretched hovel! But two Highland lassies,[281] who kept house in the

absence of the ferryman and his wife, were very kind, and one of them was

beautiful as a vision, and put both Dorothy and me in mind of the Highland

girl in William’s “Peter Bell.”[282] We returned to E. Tarbet, I with the

rheumatism in my head. And now William proposed to me to leave them and

make my way on foot to Loch Katrine, the Trossachs, whence it is only

twenty miles to Stirling, where the coach runs through to Edinburgh. He

and Dorothy resolved to fight it out. I eagerly caught at the proposal;

for the _sitting_ in an open carriage in the rain is death to me, and

somehow or other I had not been quite comfortable. So on Monday I

accompanied them to Arrochar, on purpose to see the _Cobbler_ which had

impressed me so much in Mr. Wilkinson’s drawings; and there I parted with

them, having previously sent on all my things to Edinburgh by a Glasgow

carrier who happened to be at E. Tarbet. The worst thing was the money.

They took twenty-nine guineas, and I six--all our remaining cash. I

returned to E. Tarbet; slept there that night; the next day walked to the

very head of Loch Lomond to Glen Falloch, where I slept at a cottage-inn,

two degrees below John Stanley’s (but the good people were very

kind),--meaning from hence to go over the mountains to the head of Loch

Katrine again; but hearing from the gude man of the house that it was 40

miles to Glencoe (of which I had formed an idea from Wilkinson’s

drawings), and having found myself so happy alone (such blessing is there

in perfect liberty!) I walked off. I have walked forty-five miles since

then, and, except during the last mile, I am sure I may say I have not met

with ten houses. For eighteen miles there are but two habitations! and all

that way I met no sheep, no cattle, only one goat! All through moorlands

with huge mountains, some craggy and bare, but the most green, with deep

pinky channels worn by torrents. Glencoe interested me, but rather

disappointed me. There was no _superincumbency_ of crag, and the crags not

so bare or precipitous as I had expected. I am now going to cross the

ferry for Fort William, for I have resolved to eke out my cash by all

sorts of self-denial, and to walk along the _whole line of the Forts_. I

am unfortunately shoeless; there is no town where I can get a pair, and I

have no money to spare to buy them, so I expect to enter Perth barefooted.

I burnt my shoes in drying them at the boatman’s hovel on Loch Katrine,

and I have by this means hurt my heel. Likewise my left leg is a little

inflamed, and the rheumatism in the right of my head afflicts me sorely

when I begin to grow warm in my bed, chiefly my right eye, ear, cheek, and

the three teeth; but, nevertheless, I am enjoying myself, having Nature

with solitude and liberty--the liberty natural and solitary, the solitude

natural and free! But you must contrive somehow or other to borrow ten

pounds, or, if that cannot be, five pounds, for me, and send it without

delay, directed to me at the Post Office, Perth. I guess I shall be there

in seven days or eight at the furthest; and your letter will be two days

getting thither (counting the day you put it into the office at Keswick as

nothing); so you must calculate, and if this letter does not reach you in

time, that is, within five days from the date hereof, you must then direct

to Edinburgh. I will make five pounds do (you must borrow of Mr. Jackson),

and I must _beg_ my way for the last three or four days! It is useless

repining, but if I had set off myself in the Mail for Glasgow or Stirling,

and so gone by foot, as I am now doing, I should have saved twenty-five

pounds; but then Wordsworth would have lost it.

I have said nothing of you or my dear children. God bless us all! I have

but one untried misery to go through, the loss of Hartley or Derwent, ay,

or dear little Sara! In my health I am middling. While I can walk

twenty-four miles a day, with the excitement of new objects, I can

_support_ myself; but still my sleep and dreams are distressful, and I am

hopeless. I take no opiates ... nor have I any temptation; for since my

disorder has taken this asthmatic turn opiates produce none but positively

unpl[easant effects].

[No signature.]

MRS. COLERIDGE,

Greta Hall, Keswick, Cumberland, S. Britain.

CXLI. TO ROBERT SOUTHEY.

[EDINBURGH], Sunday night, 9 o’clock, September 10, 1803.

MY DEAREST SOUTHEY,--I arrived here half an hour ago, and have only read

your letters--scarce read them.--O dear friend! it is idle to talk of what

I feel--I am stunned at present by this beginning to write, making a

beginning of living feeling within me. Whatever comfort I can be to you I

will--I have no aversions, no dislikes that interfere with you--whatever

is necessary or proper for you becomes _ipso facto_ agreeable to me. I

will not stay a day in Edinburgh--or only one to hunt out my clothes. I

cannot chitchat with Scotchmen while you are at Keswick, childless![283]

Bless you, my dear Southey! I will knit myself far closer to you than I

have hitherto done, and my children shall be yours till it please God to

send you another.

I have been a wild journey, taken up for a spy and clapped into Fort

Augustus, and I am afraid they may [have] frightened poor Sara by sending

her off a scrap of a letter I was writing to her. I have walked 263 miles

in eight days, so I must have strength somewhere, but my spirits are

dreadful, owing entirely to the horrors of every night--I truly dread to

sleep. It is no shadow with me, but substantial misery foot-thick, that

makes me sit by my bedside of a morning and cry.--I have abandoned all

opiates, except ether be one.... And when you see me drink a glass of

spirit-and-water, except by prescription of a physician, you shall despise

me,--but still I cannot get quiet rest.

When on my bed my limbs I lay,

It hath not been my use to pray

With moving lips or bended knees;

But silently, by slow degrees,

My spirit I to Love compose, 5

In humble trust my eyelids close,

With reverential resignation,

No wish conceiv’d, no thought exprest,

Only a _Sense_ of supplication,

A _Sense_ o’er all my soul imprest 10

That I am weak, yet not unblest,

Since round me, in me, everywhere

Eternal strength and Goodness are!--

But yester-night I pray’d aloud

In anguish and in agony, 15

Awaking from the fiendish crowd

Of shapes and thoughts that tortur’d me!

Desire with loathing strangely mixt,

On wild or hateful objects fixt.

Sense of revenge, the powerless will, 20

Still baffled and consuming still;

Sense of intolerable wrong,

And men whom I despis’d made strong!

Vain glorious threats, unmanly vaunting,

Bad men my boasts and fury taunting; 25

Rage, sensual passion, mad’ning Brawl,

And shame and terror over all!

Deeds to be hid that were not hid,

Which all confus’d I might not know,

Whether I suffer’d or I did: 30

For all was Horror, Guilt, and Woe,

My own or others still the same,

Life-stifling Fear, soul-stifling Shame!

Thus two nights pass’d: the night’s dismay

Sadden’d and stunn’d the boding day. 35

I fear’d to sleep: Sleep seemed to be

Disease’s worst malignity.

The third night, when my own loud scream

Had freed me from the fiendish dream,

O’ercome by sufferings dark and wild, 40

I wept as I had been a child;

And having thus by Tears subdued

My Trouble to a milder mood,

Such punishments, I thought, were due

To Natures, deepliest stain’d with Sin; 45

Still to be stirring up anew

The self-created Hell within,

The Horror of the crimes to view,

To know and loathe, yet wish to do!

With such let fiends make mockery-- 50

But I--Oh, wherefore this _on me_?

Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly,

Unequal, restless, melancholy;

But free from Hate and sensual Folly!

To live belov’d is all I need, 55

And whom I love, I love indeed,

And etc., etc., etc., etc.[284]

I do not know how I came to scribble down these verses to you--my heart

was aching, my head all confused--but they are, doggerel as they may be, a

true portrait of my nights. What to do, I am at a loss; for it is hard

thus to be withered, having the faculties and attainments which I have. We

will soon meet, and I will do all I can to console poor Edith.--O dear,

dear Southey! my head is sadly confused. After a rapid walk of

thirty-three miles your letters have had the effect of perfect

intoxication in my head and eyes. Change! change! change! O God of

Eternity! When shall we be at rest in thee?

S. T. COLERIDGE.

CXLII. TO THE SAME.

EDINBURGH, Tuesday morning, September 13, 1803.

MY DEAR SOUTHEY,--I wrote you a strange letter, I fear. But, in truth,

yours affected my wretched stomach, and my head, in such a way that I

wrote mechanically in the _wake_ of the first vivid idea. No conveyance

left or leaves this place for Carlisle earlier than to-morrow morning,

for which I have taken my place. If the coachman do not turn Panaceist,

and cure all my ills by breaking my neck, I shall be at Carlisle on

Wednesday, midnight, and whether I shall go on in the coach to Penrith,

and walk from thence, or walk off from Carlisle at once, depends on two

circumstances, first, whether the coach goes on with no other than a

common bait to Penrith, and secondly, whether, if it should not do so, I

can trust my clothes, etc., to the coachman safely, to be left at Penrith.

There is but eight miles difference in the walk, and eight or nine

shillings difference in the expense. At all events, I trust that I shall

be with you on Thursday by dinner time, if you dine at half-past two or

three o’clock. God bless you! I will go and call on Elmsley.[285] What a

wonderful city Edinburgh[286] is! What alternation of height and depth! A

city looked at in the polish’d back of a Brobdingnag spoon held

lengthways, so enormously _stretched-up_ are the houses! When I first

looked down on it, as the coach drove up on the higher street, I cannot

express what I felt--such a section of wasps’ nests striking you with a

sort of bastard sublimity from the enormity and infinity of its

littleness--the infinity swelling out the mind, the enormity striking it

with wonder. I think I have seen an old plate of Montserrat that struck me

with the same feeling, and I am sure I have seen huge quarries of lime and

free stone in which the shafts or strata stood perpendicularly instead of

horizontally with the same high thin slices and corresponding interstices.

I climbed last night to the crags just below Arthur’s Seat--itself a rude

triangle-shaped-base cliff, and looked down on the whole city and

firth--the sun then setting behind the magnificent rock, crested by the

castle. The firth was full of ships, and I counted fifty-four heads of

mountains, of which at least forty-four were cones or pyramids. The smoke

was rising from ten thousand houses, each smoke from some one family. It

was an affecting sight to me! I stood gazing at the setting sun, so

tranquil to a passing look, and so restless and vibrating to one who

looked stedfast; and then, all at once, turning my eyes down upon the

city, it and all its smokes and figures became all at once dipped in the

brightest blue-purple: such a sight that I almost grieved when my eyes

recovered their natural tone! Meantime, Arthur’s Crag, close behind me,

was in dark blood-like crimson, and the sharpshooters were behind

exercising minutely, and had chosen that place on account of the fine

thunder echo which, indeed, it would be scarcely possible for the ear to

distinguish from thunder. The passing a day or two, quite unknown, in a

strange city, does a man’s heart good. He rises “a sadder and a wiser

man.”

I had not read that part in your second requesting me to call on Elmsley,

else perhaps I should have been talking instead of learning and feeling.

Walter Scott is at Lasswade, five or six miles from Edinburgh. His house

in Edinburgh is divinely situated. It looks up a street, a new magnificent

street, full upon the rock and the castle, with its zigzag walls like

painters’ lightning--the other way down upon cultivated fields, a fine

expanse of water, either a lake or not to be distinguished from one, and

low pleasing hills beyond--the country well wooded and cheerful. “I’

faith,” I exclaimed, “the monks formerly, but the poets now, know where to

fix their habitations.” There are about four things worth going into

Scotland for,[287] to one who has been in Cumberland and Westmoreland:

First, the views of all the islands at the foot of Loch Lomond from the

top of the highest island called Inch devanna (_sic_); secondly, the

Trossachs at the foot of Loch Katrine; third, the chamber and ante-chamber

of the Falls of Foyers (the fall itself is very fine, and so, after rain,

is White-Water Dash, seven miles below Keswick and very like it); and how

little difference a height makes, you know as well as I. No fall of

itself, perhaps, can be worth giving a long journey to see, to him who has

seen any fall of water, but the pool and whole rent of the mountain is

truly magnificent. Fourthly and lastly, the City of Edinburgh. Perhaps I

might add Glencoe. It is at all events a good make-weight and very well

worth going to see, if a man be a Tory and hate the memory of William the

Third, which I am very willing to do; for the more of these fellows dead

and living one hates, the less spleen and gall there remains for those

with whom one is likely to have anything to do in real life....

I am tolerably well, meaning the day. My last night was not such a noisy

night of horrors as three nights out of four are with me.[288] O God! when

a man blesses the loud screams of agony that awake him night after night,

night after night, and when a man’s repeated night screams have made him a

nuisance in his own house, it is better to die than to live. I have a joy

in life that passeth all understanding; but it is not in its present

Epiphany and Incarnation. Bodily torture! All who have been with me can

bear witness that I can bear it like an Indian. It is constitutional with

me to sit still, and look earnestly upon it and ask it what it is? Yea,

often and often, the seeds of Rabelaisism germinating in me, I have

laughed aloud at my own poor metaphysical soul. But these burrs by day of

the will and the reason, these total eclipses by night! Oh, it is hard to

bear them. I am complaining bitterly to others, I should be administrating

comfort; but even this is one way of comfort. There are states of mind in

which even distraction is still a diversion; we must none of us _brood_;

we are not made to be brooders.

God bless you, dear friend, and

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Mrs. C. will get clean flannels ready for me.

CXLIII. TO MATTHEW COATES.[289]

GRETA HALL, KESWICK, December 5, 1803.

DEAR SIR,--After a time of sufferings, great as mere bodily sufferings can

well be conceived to be, and which the horrors of my sleep and night

screams (so loud and so frequent as to make me almost a nuisance in my own

house) seemed to carry beyond mere _body_, counterfeiting as it were the

tortures of guilt, and what we are told of the punishment of a spiritual

world, I am at length a convalescent, but dreading such another bout as

much as I dare dread a thing which has no immediate connection with my

conscience. My left hand is swollen and inflamed, and the least attempt to

bend the fingers very painful, though not half as much so as I could wish;

for if I could but fix this Jack-o’-lanthorn of a disease in my hand or

foot, I should expect complete recovery in a year or two! But though I

have no hope of this, I have a persuasion strong as fate, that from twelve

to eighteen months’ residence in a genial climate would send me back to

dear old England a sample of the first resurrection. Mr. Wordsworth, who

has seen me in all my illnesses for nearly four years, and noticed this

strange dependence on the state of my moral feelings and the state of the

atmosphere conjointly, is decidedly of the same opinion. Accordingly,

after many sore struggles of mind from reluctance to quit my children for

so long a time, I have arranged my affairs fully and finally, and hope to

set sail for Madeira in the first vessel that clears out from Liverpool

for that place. Robert Southey, who lives with us, informed me that Mrs.

Matthew Coates had a near relative (a brother, I believe) in that island,

the Dr. Adams[290] who wrote a very nice little pamphlet on Madeira,

relative to the different sorts of consumption, and which I have now on my

desk. I need not say that it would be a great comfort to me to be

introduced to him by a letter from you or Mrs. Coates, entreating him to

put me in a way of living as cheaply as possible. I have no appetites,

passions, or vanities which lead to expense; it is now absolute habit to

me, indeed, to consider my eating and drinking as a course of medicine. In

books only am I intemperate--they have been both bane and blessing to me.

For the last three years I have not read less than eight hours a day

whenever I have been well enough to be out of bed, or even to sit up in

it. Quiet, therefore, a comfortable bed and bedroom, and still better than

that, the comfort of kind faces, English tongues, and English hearts now

and then,--this is the sum total of my wants, as it is a thing which I

_need_. I am far too contented with solitude. The same fullness of mind,

the same crowding of thoughts and constitutional vivacity of feeling which

makes me sometimes the first fiddle, and too often a watchman’s rattle in

society, renders me likewise independent of its excitements. However, I am

wondrously calmed down since you saw me--perhaps through this unremitting

disease, affliction, and self-discipline.

Mrs. Coleridge desires me to remember her with respectful regards to Mrs.

Coates, and to enquire into the history of your little family. I have

three children, _Hartley_, seven years old, _Derwent_, three years, and

_Sara_, one year on the 23d of this month. _Hartley_ is considered a

genius by Wordsworth and Southey; indeed by every one who has seen much of

him. But what is of much more consequence and much less doubtful, he has

the sweetest temper and most awakened moral feelings of any child I ever

saw. He is very backward in his book-learning, cannot write at all, and a

very lame reader. We have never been anxious about it, taking it for

granted that loving me, and seeing how I love books, he would come to it

of his own accord, and so it has proved, for in the last month he has made

more progress than in all his former life. Having learnt everything almost

from the mouths of people whom he loves, he has connected with his words

and notions a passion and a feeling which would appear strange to those

who had seen no children but such as had been taught almost everything in

books. _Derwent_ is a large, fat, beautiful child, quite the _pride_ of

the village, as Hartley is the _darling_. Southey says wickedly that “all

Hartley’s guts are in his brains, and all Derwent’s brains are in his

guts.” Verily the constitutional differences in the children are great

indeed. From earliest infancy Hartley was absent, a mere dreamer at his

meals, put the food into his mouth by one effort, and made a second effort

to remember it was there and swallow it. With little Derwent it is a time

of rapture and jubilee, and any story that has not _pie_ or _cake_ in it

comes very flat to him. Yet he is but a baby. Our girl is a darling little

thing, with large blue eyes, a quiet creature that, as I have often said,

seems to bask in a sunshine as mild as moonlight, of her own happiness.

Oh! bless them! Next to the Bible, Shakespeare, and Milton, _they_ are the

three books from which I have learned the most, and the most important

and with the greatest delight.

I have been thus prolix about me and mine purposely, to induce you to tell

me something of yourself and yours.

Believe me, I have never ceased to think of you with respect and a sort of

yearning. You were the first man from whom I heard that article of my

faith enunciated which is the nearest to my heart,--the pure fountain of

all my moral and religious feelings and comforts,--I mean the absolute

Impersonality of the Deity.

I remain, my dear sir, with unfeigned esteem and with good wishes, ever

yours,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

INDEX

Abergavenny, 410.

Abergavenny, Earl of, wreck of the, 494 n.;

495 n.

Abernethy, Dr. John, 525;

C. determines to place himself under the care of, 564, 565.

Achard, F. C., 299 and note.

Acland, Sir John, 523 and note.

Acting, 621-623.

Acton, 184, 186-188, 191.

Adams, Dr. Joseph, 442 and note.

Addison’s _Spectator_, studied by C. in connection with _The Friend_,

557, 558.

_Address on the Present War, An_, 85 n.

_Address to a Young Jackass and its Tethered Mother_, 119 and note, 120.

Aders, Mrs., 701 n., 702 n., 752;

letters from C., 701, 769.

Adscombe, 175, 184, 188.

Advising, the rage of, 474, 475.

Adye, Major, 493.

_Æschylus, Essay on the Prometheus of_, 740 and note.

_Aids to Reflection_, 688 n.;

preparation and publication of, 734 n., 738;

C. calls Stuart’s attention to certain passages in, 741;

favourable opinions of, 741;

756 n.

Ainger, Rev. Alfred, 400 n.

Akenside, Mark, 197.

Albuera, the Battle of, C.’s articles on, 567 and note.

Alfoxden, 10 n.;

Wordsworth settles at, 224, 227;

326, 515.

Alison’s _History of Europe_, 628 n.

Allen, Robert, 41 and note, 45, 47, 50;

extract from a letter from him to C., 57 n.;

63, 75, 83, 126;

appointed deputy-surgeon to the Second Royals, 225 and note;

letter to C., 225 n.

Allsop, Mrs., 733 n.

Allsop, Thomas, friendship and correspondence with C., 695, 696;

publishes C.’s letters after his death, 696;

his _Letters, Conversations, and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge_,

41 n., 527 n., 675 n., 696 and note, 698 n., 721 n.;

711;

C.’s letter of Oct. 8, 1822, 721 n.;

letter from C., 696.

Allston, Washington, 523;

his bust of C., 570 n., 571;

his portraits of C., 572 and note;

his art and moral character, 573, 574;

581, 633;

his genius and his misfortunes, 650;

695 and notes;

letter from C., 498.

Ambleside, 335;

Lloyd settles at, 344;

577, 578.

America, proposed emigration of C. and other pantisocrats to, 81, 88-91,

98, 101-103, 146;

prospects of war with England, 91;

241;

progress of religious deism in, 414;

C.’s letter concerning the inevitableness of a war with, 629.

Amtmann of Ratzeburg, the, 264, 268, 271.

_Amulet, The_, 257.

_Ancient Mariner, The_, 81 n.;

written in a dream or dreamlike reverie, 245 n.;

696.

_Animal Vitality, Essay on_, by Thelwall, 179, 212.

_Annual Anthology_, the, edited by Southey, 207 n., 226 n., 295 n., 298

n.;

C. suggests a classification of poems in, 313, 314, 317;

318, 320, 322 and note, 330, 331, 748 n.

_Annual Review_, 488, 489, 522.

_Anti-Jacobin, The Beauties of the_, its libel on C., 320 and note.

_Antiquary, The_, by Scott, C.’s portrait introduced into an

illustration for, 736 and note.

_Ants, Treatise on_, by Huber, 712.

_Ardinghello_, by Heinse, 683 and note.

Arnold, Mr., 602, 603.

Arrochar, 432 and note.

Arthur’s Crag, 439.

A-seity, 688 and note.

Asgill, John, and his Treatises, 761 and note.

Ashburton, 305 n.

Ashe, Thomas, his _Miscellanies, Æsthetic and Literary_, 633 n.

Ashley, C. with the Morgans at, 631.

Ashley, Lord, and the Ten Hours Bills, 689 n.

Ashton, 140 and note.

_As late I roamed through Fancy’s shadowy vale_, a sonnet, 116 n., 118.

Atheism, 161, 162, 167, 199, 200.

_Athenæum, The_, 206 n., 536 n., 753 n.

_Atlantic Monthly_, 206 n.

Autobiographical letters from C. to Thomas Poole, 3-21.

Baader, Franz Xavier von, 683 and note.

Babb, Mr., 422.

Bacon, Lord, his _Novum Organum_, 735.

Badcock, Mr., 21.

Badcock, Harry, 22.

Badcock, Sam, 22.

Bala, 79.

Ball, Lady, 494 n., 497.

Ball, Sir Alexander John, 484, 487, 496, 497;

mutual regard of C. and, 508 n.;

524, 554;

C.’s narrative of his life, 579 n.;

his opinions of Lady Nelson and Lady Hamilton, 637.

_Ballad of the Dark Ladie, The_, 375.

Bampfylde, John Codrington Warwick, his genius, originality, and

subsequent lunacy, 309 and note;

his _Sixteen Sonnets_, 309 n.

Banfill, Mr., 306.

Barbauld, Anna Lætitia, 317 n.

_Barbou Casimir, The_, 67 and notes, 68.

Barlow, Caleb, 38.

Barr, Mr., his children, 154.

Barrington, Hon. and Rt. Rev. John Shute, Bishop of Durham, 582 and note.

Bassenthwaite Lake, 335, 376 n.;

sunset over, 384.

_Beard, On Mrs. Monday’s_, 9 n.

Beaumont, Lady, 459, 573, 580, 592, 593;

procures subscribers to C.’s lectures, 599;

644, 645, 739, 741;

letter from C., 641.

Beaumont, Sir George, 440 n., 462;

his affection for C. preceded by dislike, 468;

493;

extract from a letter from Wordsworth on John Wordsworth’s death, 494

n.;

496;

lends the Wordsworths his farmhouse near Coleorton, 509 n.;

579-581;

C. explains the nature of his quarrel with Wordsworth to, 592, 593;

595 n., 629;

on Allston as an historical painter, 633;

739, 741;

letter from C., 570.

_Beauties of the Anti-Jacobin, The_, its libel on C., 320 and note.

Becky Fall, 305 n.

Beddoes, Dr. Thomas, 157, 211, 338;

C.’s grief at his death, 543 and note, 544 and note;

his advice and sympathy in response to C.’s confession, 543 n.;

his character. 544.

Bedford, Grosvenor, 400 n.

Beet sugar, 299 and note.

Beguines, the, 327 n.

Bell, Rev. Andrew, D. D., 575, 582 and note, 605;

his _Origin, Nature, and Object of the New System of Education_, 581

and note, 582.

_Bell, Rev. Andrew, Life of_, by R. and C. C. Southey, 581 n.

Bellingham, John, 598 n.

Bell-ringing in Germany, 293.

Belper, Lord (Edward Strutt), 215 n.

Bennett, Abraham, his electroscope, 218 n., 219 n.

Bentley’s Quarto Edition of Horace, 68 and note.

Benvenuti, 498, 499.

_Benyowski, Count, or the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka, a Tragi-comedy_, by

Kotzebue, 236 and note.

Berdmore, Mr., 80, 82.

Bernard, Sir Thomas, 579 and notes, 580, 582, 585, 595 n., 599.

_Betham, Matilda, To. From a Stranger_, 404 n.

_Bible, The_, as literature, C.’s opinion of, 200;

slovenly hexameters in, 398.

Bibliography, Southey’s proposed work, 428-430.

_Bibliotheca Britannica, or an History of British Literature_, a

proposed work, 425-427, 429, 430.

Bigotry, 198.

Billington, Mrs. Elizabeth Weichsel, 368.

Bingen, 751.

_Biographia Literaria_, 3, 68 n., 74 n., 152 n., 164 n., 174 n., 232 n.,

257, 320 n., 498 n., 607 n., 669 n., 670 n.;

C. ill-used by the printer of, 673, 674;

679, 756 n.

Birmingham, 151, 152.

Bishop’s Middleham, 358 and note, 360.

_Blackwood’s Magazine_, 756.

Blake, William, as poet, painter, and engraver, 685 n., 686 n.;

C.’s criticism of his poems and their accompanying illustrations,

686-688;

his _Songs of Innocence and Experience_, 686 n.

Bloomfield, Robert, 395.

Blumenbach, Prof., 279, 298.

_Book of the Church, The_, 724.

Books, C.’s early taste in, 11 and note, 12;

in later life, 180, 181.

Booksellers, C.’s horror of, 548.

Borrowdale, 431.

Borrowdale mountains, the, 370.

_Botany Bay Eclogues_, by Robert Southey, 76 n., 116.

Bourbons, C.’s Essay on the restoration of the, 629 and note.

Bourne, Sturges, 542.

Bovey waterfall, 305 n.

Bowdon, Anne, marries Edward Coleridge, 53 n.

Bowdon, Betsy, 18.

Bowdon, John (C.’s uncle), C. goes to live with, 18, 19.

Bowdons, the, C.’s mother’s family, 4.

Bowles, the surgeon, 212.

_Bowles, To_, 111.

Bowles, Rev. William Lisle, C.’s admiration for his poems, 37, 42, 179;

63 n., 76 and note;

C.’s sonnet to, 111 and note;

115;

his sonnets, 177;

his _Hope, an Allegorical Sketch_, 179, 180;

196, 197, 211;

his translation of Dean Ogle’s Latin Iambics, 374 and note;

school life at Winchester, 374 n.;

C.’s, Southey’s, and Sotheby’s admiration of, and its effect on their

poems, 396;

borrows a line from a poem of C.’s, 396;

his second volume of poems, 403, 404;

637, 638, 650-652.

Bowscale, the mountain, 339.

Box, 631.

Boyce, Anne Ogden, her _Records of a Quaker Family_, 538 n.

Boyer, Rev. James, 61, 113, 768 n.

Brahmin creed, the, 229.

Brandes, Herr von, 279.

Brandl’s _Samuel Taylor Coleridge and the English Romantic School_, 258,

674 n., 740 n.

Bratha, 394, 535.

Bray, near Maidenhead, 69, 70.

Brazil, Emperor of, an enthusiastic student and admirer of C., 696.

Bread-riots, 643 n.

Brecon, 410, 411.

Bremhill, 650.

Brent, Mr., 598, 599.

Brent, Miss Charlotte, 520, 524-526;

C.’s affection for, 565;

577, 585, 600, 618, 643, 722 n.;

letter from C., 722.

_See_ Morgan family, the.

Brentford, 326, 673 n.

Bridgewater, 164.

Bright, Henry A., 245 n.

Bristol, C.’s bachelor life in, 133-135;

138, 139, 163 n., 166, 167, 184, 326, 414, 520, 572 n., 621, 623, 624.

_Bristol Journal_, 633 n.

_British Critic_, the, 350.

Brookes, Mr., 80, 82.

_Brothers, The_, by Wordsworth, the original of Leonard in, 494 n.;

C. accused of borrowing a line from, 609 n.

Brown, John, printer and publisher of _The Friend_, 542 n.

Brun, Frederica, C.’s indebtedness to her for the framework of the _Hymn

before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni_, 405 n.

Bruno, Giordano, 371.

Brunton, Miss, 86 and note, 87, 89;

verses to, 94.

Brunton, Elizabeth, 86 n.

Brunton, John, 86 n., 87.

Brunton, Louisa, 86 n.

Bryant, Jacob, 216 n., 219.

Buchan, Earl of, 139.

Buclé, Miss, 136.

_See_ Cruikshank, Mrs. John.

Buller, Sir Francis (Judge), 6 n.;

obtains a Christ’s Hospital Presentation for C., 18.

Buonaparte, 308, 327 n., 329 and note;

his animosity against C., 498 n.;

530 n.;

C.’s cartoon and lines on, 642.

Burdett, Sir Francis, 598.

Burke, Edmund, C.’s sonnet to, 116 n., 118;

his _Letter to a Noble Lord_, 157 and note;

Thelwall on, 166;

177.

Burnett, George, 74, 121, 140-142, 144-151, 174 n., 325, 467.

Burns, Robert, 196;

C.’s poem on, 206 and note, 207.

Burton, 326.

Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_, 428.

Busts of C., 570 n., 571, 695 n.

Butler, Samuel (afterwards Head Master of Shrewsbury and Bishop of

Lichfield), 46 and note.

Buttermere, 393.

Byron, Lord, his _Childe Harold_, 583;

666, 694, 726.

_Byron, Lord, Conversations of_, by Capt. Thomas Medwin, 735 and note.

Cabriere, Miss, 18.

Caermarthen, 411.

Caldbeck, 376 n., 724.

Calder, the river, 339.

Caldwell, Rev. George, 25 and note, 29, 71, 82.

Calne, Wiltshire, C.’s life at, 641-653.

Calvert, Raisley, 345 n.

Calvert, William, proposes to study chemistry with C. and Wordsworth,

345;

his portrait in a poem of Wordsworth’s, 345 n.;

proposes to share his new house near Greta Hall with Wordsworth and

his sister, 346;

his sense and ability, 346;

347, 348.

Cambridge, description of, 39;

137, 270.

_Cambridge, Reminiscences of_, by Henry Gunning, 24 n., 363 n.

_Cambridge Intelligencer, The_, 93 n., 218 n.

Cambridge University, C.’s life at, 22-57, 70-72, 81-129;

C. thinks of leaving, 97 n.;

137.

Cameos and intaglios, casts of, 703 and note.

Campbell, James Dykes, 251 n., 337 n.;

his _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 269 n., 527 n., 572 n., 600 n., 631 n.,

653 n., 666 n., 667 n., 674 n., 681 n., 684 n., 698 n., 752 n.,

753 n., 772 n.

Canary Islands, 417, 418.

Canning, George, 542, 674.

Canova, Antonio, on Allston’s modelling, 573.

Cape Esperichel, 473.

Carlisle, Sir Anthony, 341 and note.

Carlton House, 392.

Carlyle, Thomas, his portrait of C. in the _Life of Sterling_, 771 n.

Carlyon, Clement, M. D., his _Early Years and Late Recollections_, 258,

298 n.

Carnosity, Mrs., 472.

Carrock, the mountain, a tempest on, 339, 340.

Carrock man, the, 339.

Cartwright, Major John, 635 and note.

Cary, Rev. Henry, his _Memoir of H. F. Cary_, 676 n.

_Cary, H. F., Memoir of_, by Henry Cary, 676 n.

Cary, Rev. H. F., his translation of the _Divina Commedia_, 676, 677 and

note, 678, 679;

C. introduces himself to, 676 n.;

685, 699;

letters from C., 676, 677, 731, 760.

_Casimir, the Barbou_, 67 and notes, 68.

Castlereagh, Lord, 662.

_Castle Spectre, The_, a play by Monk Lewis, C.’s criticism of, 236 and

note, 237, 238;

626.

Catania, 458.

Cat-serenades in Malta, 483 n., 484 n.

Catherine II., Empress of Russia, 207 n.

Cathloma, 51.

Catholic Emancipation, C.’s Letters to Judge Fletcher on, 629 and note,

634 and note, 635, 636, 642.

Catholicism in Germany, 291, 292.

Catholic question, the, letters in the _Courier_ on, 567 and note;

C. proposes to again write for the _Courier_ on, 660, 662;

arrangements for the proposed articles on, 664, 665.

Cattermole, George, 750 n.;

letter from C., 750.

Cattermole, Richard, 750 n.

Cattle, disposal of dead and sick, in Germany, 294.

Chalmers, Rev. Thomas, D. D., calls on C., 752 and note.

Chantrey, Mr. (afterwards Sir) Francis, R. A., C.’s impressions of, 699;

727.

Chapman, Mr., appointed Public Secretary of Malta, 491, 496.

_Character, A_, 631 n.

_Charity_, 110 n.

_Chatterton, Monody on the Death of_, 110 n., 158 n.;

C.’s opinion of it in 1797, 222, 223;

620 n.

Chatterton, Thomas, unpopularity of his poems, 221, 222;

Southey’s exertions in aid of his sister, 221, 222.

Chemistry, C. proposes to study, 345-347.

Chepstow, 139, 140 n.

Chester, John, accompanies C. to Germany, 259;

265, 267, 269 n., 272, 280, 281, 300.

_Childe Harold_, by Byron, 583.

Childhood, memory of, in old age, 428.

Children in cotton factories, legislation as to the employment of, 689

and note.

Christ, both God and man, 710.

_Christabel_, written in a dream or dreamlike reverie, 245 n.;

310, 313, 317, 337 and note, 342, 349;

Conclusion to Part II., 355 and note, 356 n.;

Part II., 405 n.;

a fine edition proposed, 421, 422;

437 n., 523;

C. quotes from, 609, 610;

the broken friendship commemorated in, 609 n.;

the copyright of, 669;

the _Edinburgh Review’s_ unkind criticism of, 669 and note, 670;

Mr. Frere advises C. to finish, 674;

696.

_Christianity, the one true Philosophy_ (C.’s _magnum opus_), outline

of, 632, 633;

fragmentary remains of, 632 n.;

the sole motive for C.’s wish to live, 668;

J. H. Green helps to lay the foundations of, 679 n.;

694, 753;

plans for, 772, 773.

_Christian Observer_, 653 n.

_Christmas Carol, A_, 330.

_Christmas Indoors in North Germany_, 257, 275 n.

_Christmas Out of Doors_, 257.

Christmas-tree, the German, 289, 290.

Christ’s Hospital, C.’s life at, 18-22;

173 n.

_Christ’s Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago_, by Charles Lamb, 20 n.

_Christ’s Hospital, List of Exhibitioners, from 1566-1885_, 41 n.

_Chronicle, Morning_, 111 n., 114, 116 n., 119 n., 126, 162, 167, 505,

506, 606 n., 615, 616.

Chubb, Mr., of Bridgwater, 231.

_Church, The Book of the_, by Southey, 724.

Church, the English, 135, 306, 651-653, 676, 757.

Church, the Scottish, in a state of ossification, 744, 745.

Church, the Wesleyan, 769.

Cibber, Colley, and his son, Theophilus, 693.

Cibber, Theophilus, his reply to his father, 693.

Cintra, Wordsworth’s pamphlet on the Convention of, 534 and note, 543

and note;

C.’s criticism of, 548-550.

Clagget, Charles, 70 and note.

Clare, Lord, 638.

Clarke, Mrs., the notorious, 543 n.

Clarkson, Mrs., 592.

Clarkson, Thomas, 363, 398;

his _History of the Abolition of the Slave Trade_, 527 and note,

528-530;

his character, 529, 530;

C.’s review of his book, 535, 536;

538 n., 547, 548;

on the second rupture between C. and Wordsworth, 599 n.

Clement, Mr., a bookseller, 548.

Clergyman, an earnest young, 691.

Clevedon, C.’s honeymoon at, 136.

Clock, a motto for a market, 553 and note, 554 n.

Coates, Matthew, 441 n.;

his belief in the impersonality of the deity, 444;

letter from C., 441.

Coates, Mrs. Matthew, 442, 443.

Cobham, 673 n.

Cole, Mrs., 271.

_Coleorton, Memorials of_, 369 n., 440.

Coleorton Farmhouse, C.’s visit to the Wordsworths at, 509-514.

Coleridge, Anne (sister--usually called “Nancy”), 8 and note, 21, 26.

Coleridge, Berkeley (son), birth of, 247 and note, 248, 249;

taken with smallpox, 259 n., 260 n.;

262, 267, 272;

death of, 247 n., 282-287, 289.

Coleridge, David Hartley (son--usually called “Hartley”), birth of, 169;

176, 205, 213, 220, 231, 245, 260-262, 267 n., 289, 296, 305, 318;

his talkativeness and boisterousness at the age of three, 321;

his theologico-astronomical hypothesis as to stars, 323;

a pompous remark by, 332;

illness, 342, 343;

early astronomical observations, 342, 343;

an extraordinary creature, 343, 344;

345 n., 355, 356 n., 359;

a poet in spite of his low forehead, 395;

408, 413, 416, 421;

at seven years, 443;

plans for his education, 461, 462;

468, 508;

visits the Wordsworths at Coleorton Farmhouse with his father, 509-514;

as a traveller, 509;

his character at ten years, 510, 512;

511;

under his father’s sole care for four or five months, 511 n.;

spends five or six weeks with his father and the Wordsworths at Basil

Montagu’s house in London, 511 n.;

portraits of, 511 n.;

521;

his appearance, behavior, and mental acuteness at the age of thirteen,

564;

at fifteen, 576, 577;

at Mr. Dawes’s school, 576 and note, 577;

583 n.;

friendly relations with his cousins, 675 and note;

C. asks Poole to invite him to Stowey, 675;

visits Stowey, 675 n.;

684, 721, 726;

letter of advice from S. T. C., 511.

Coleridge, Derwent (son of S. T. C. and father of the editor), birth

baptism of, 338 and note;

344, and 355, 359;

learns his letters, 393, 395;

408, 413, 416;

at three years, 443;

462, 468, 521;

at nine years, 564;

at eleven years, 576, 577;

at Mr. Dawes’s school, 576 and note, 577;

580, 605 n., 671 n.;

John Hookham Frere’s assistance in sending him to Cambridge, 675 and

note;

707, 711.

Coleridge, Miss Edith, 670 n.

Coleridge, Edward (brother), 7, 53-55, 699 n.

Coleridge, Rev. Edward (nephew), 724 n.;

letters from C., 724, 738, 744.

Coleridge, Frances Duke (niece), 726 and note, 740.

Coleridge, Francis Syndercombe (brother), 8, 9, 11, 12, 13;

his boyish quarrel with S. T. C., 13, 14;

becomes a midshipman, 17;

dies, 53 and note.

Coleridge, Frederick (nephew), 56.

Coleridge, Rev. George (brother), 7, 8;

his character and ability, 8;

12, 21 n., 25 n.;

his lines to Genius, _Ibi Hæc Incondita Solus_, 43 n.;

59;

his self-forgetting economy, 65;

extract from a letter from J. Plampin, 70 n.;

95, 97 n., 98 and note, 261;

visit from S. T. C. and his wife, 305 n., 306;

467, 498 n., 512;

disapproves of S. T. C.’s intended separation from his wife and

refuses to receive him and his family into his house, 523 and note;

699 n.;

approaching death of, 746-748;

S. T. C.’s relations with, 747, 748;

letters from S. T. C., 22, 23, 42, 53, 55, 59, 60, 62-70, 103, 239.

_Coleridge, the Rev. George, To_, a dedication, 223 and note.

Coleridge, Rev. George May (nephew), his friendly relations with Hartley

C., 675 and note;

letter from C., 746.

_Coleridge, Hartley, Poems of_, 511 n.

Coleridge, Henry Nelson (nephew and son-in-law), 3, 553 n., 570 n., 579

n., 744-746;

sketch of his life, 756 n.;

letter from S. T. C., 756.

Coleridge, Mrs. Henry Nelson (Sara Coleridge), 9 n., 163 n.;

extract from a letter from Mrs. Wordsworth, 220 n.;

320 n., 327 n., 572 n.

Coleridge, James, the younger, (nephew), his narrow escape, 56.

Coleridge, Colonel James (brother), 7, 54, 56, 61, 306, 724 n., 726 n.;

letter from S. T. C., 61.

Coleridge, Mrs. James (sister-in-law), 740.

Coleridge, John (brother), 7.

Coleridge, John (grandfather), 4, 5.

Coleridge, Mrs. John (mother), 5 n., 7, 13-17, 21 n., 25, 56;

letter from S. T. C., 21.

Coleridge, Rev. John (father), 5 and note, 6, 7, 10-12, 15, 16;

dies, 17, 18;

his character, 18.

Coleridge, John Duke, Lord Chief-Justice (great-nephew), 572 n., 699 n.,

745 n.

Coleridge, Sir John Taylor (nephew), his friendly relations with Hartley

C., 675 and note;

editor of _The Quarterly Review_, 736 and note, 737;

his judgment and knowledge of the world, 739;

delighted with _Aids to Reflection_, 739;

740 n., 744, 745;

letter from S. T. C., 734.

Coleridge, Luke Herman (brother), 8, 21, 22.

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR, his autobiographical letters to Thomas Poole,

3-18;

ancestry and parentage, 4-7;

birth, 6, 9 and note;

his brothers and sister, 7-9;

christened, 9;

infancy and childhood, 9-12;

learns to read, 10;

early taste in books, 11 and note, 12;

his dreaminess and indisposition to bodily activity in childhood, 12;

boyhood, 12-21;

has a dangerous fever, 12-13;

quarrels with his brother Frank, runs away, and is found and brought

back, 13-15;

his imagination developed early by the reading of fairy tales, 16;

a Christ’s Hospital Presentation procured for him by Judge Buller, 18;

visits his maternal uncle, Mr. John Bowdon, in London, 18, 19;

becomes a Blue-Coat boy, 19;

his life at Christ’s Hospital, 20-22;

enters Jesus College, Cambridge, 22, 23;

becomes acquainted with the Evans family, 23 and note, 24;

writes a Greek Ode, for which he obtains the Browne gold medal for

1792, 43 and note;

is matriculated as pensioner, 44 and note;

his examination for the Craven Scholarship, 45 and note, 46;

his temperament, 47;

takes violin lessons, 49;

enlists in the army, 57 and note;

nurses a comrade who is ill of smallpox in the Henley workhouse, 58

and note;

his enlistment disclosed to his family, 57 n., 58, 59;

remorse, 59-61, 64, 65;

arrangements resulting in his discharge, 61-70;

his religious beliefs at twenty-one, 68, 69;

returns to the university and is punished, 70, 71;

drops his gay acquaintances and settles down to hard work, 71;

makes a tour of North Wales with Mr. J. Hucks, 72-81;

falls in love with Miss Sarah Fricker, 81;

proposes to go to America with a colony of pantisocrats, 81, 88-91,

101-103;

his interest in Miss Fricker cools and his old love for Mary Evans

revives, 89;

his indolence, 103, 104;

on his own poetry, 112;

considers going to Wales with Southey and others to found a colony of

pantisocrats, 121, 122;

his love for Mary Evans proves hopeless, 122-126;

in lodgings in Bristol after having left Cambridge without taking his

degree, 133-135;

marries Miss Sarah Fricker and spends the honeymoon in a cottage at

Clevedon, 136;

breaks with Southey, 136-151;

happiness in early married life, 139;

his tour to procure subscribers for the _Watchman_, 151 and note,

152-154;

poverty, 154, 155;

receives a communication from Mr. Thomas Poole that seven or eight

friends have undertaken to subscribe a certain sum to be paid

annually to him as the author of the monody on Chatterton, 158 n.;

discontinues the _Watchman_, 158;

takes Charles Lloyd into his home, 168-170;

birth of his first child, David Hartley, 169;

considers starting a day school at Derby, 170 and note;

has a severe attack of neuralgia for which he takes laudanum, 173-176;

early use of opium and beginning of the habit, 173 n., 174 n.;

selects twenty-eight sonnets by himself, Southey, Lloyd, Lamb, and

others and has them privately printed, to be bound up with

Bowles’s sonnets, 177, 206 and note;

his description of himself in 1796, 180, 181;

his personal appearance as described by another, 180 n., 181 n.;

anxious to take a cottage at Nether Stowey and support himself by

gardening, 184-194;

makes arrangements to carry out this plan, 209;

his partial reconciliation with Southey, 210, 211;

in the cottage at Nether Stowey, 213;

his engagement as tutor to the children of Mrs. Evans of Darley Hall

breaks down, 215 n.;

his visit at Mrs. Evans’s house, 216;

daily life at Nether Stowey, 219, 220;

visits Wordsworth at Racedown, 220 and note, 221;

secures a house (Alfoxden) for Wordsworth near Stowey, 224;

visits him there, 227;

finishes his tragedy, _Osorio_, 231;

suspected of conspiracy with Wordsworth and Thelwall against the

government, 232 n.;

accepts an annuity of £150 for life from Josiah and Thomas Wedgwood,

234 and note, 235 and note;

declines an offer of the Unitarian pastorate at Shrewsbury, 235 and

note, 236;

writes Joseph Cottle in regard to a third edition of his poems, 239;

rupture with Lloyd, 238, 245 n., 246;

first recourse to opium to relieve distress of mind, 245 n.;

birth of a second child, Berkeley, 247;

temporary estrangement from Lamb caused by Lloyd, 249-253;

goes to Germany with William Wordsworth, Dorothy Wordsworth, and John

Chester, for the purpose of study and observation, 258-262;

life _en pension_ with Chester in the family of a German pastor at

Ratzeburg, after parting from the Wordsworths at Hamburg, 262-278;

learning the German language, 262, 263, 267, 268;

writes a poem in German, 263;

proposes to proceed to Göttingen, 268-270;

proposes to write a life of Lessing, 270;

travels by coach from Ratzeburg to Göttingen, passing through Hanover,

278-280;

enters the University, 281;

receives word of the death of his little son, Berkeley, 282-287;

learns the Gothic and Theotuscan languages, 298;

reconciliation with Southey, after the return from Germany, 303, 304;

with his wife and child he visits the Southeys at Exeter, 305 and note;

accompanies Southey on a walking-tour in Dartmoor, 305 and note;

makes a tour of the Lake Country, 312 n., 313;

in London, writing for the _Morning Post_, 315-332;

life at Greta Hall, near Keswick, 335-444;

proposes to write an essay on the elements of poetry, 338, 347;

proposes to study chemistry with William Calvert as a fellow-student,

345-347;

proposes to write a book on the originality and merits of Locke,

Hobbes, and Hume, 349, 350;

spends a week at Scarborough, riding and bathing for his health,

361-363;

divides the winter of 1801-1802 between London and Nether Stowey,

365-368;

domestic unhappiness, 366;

writes the _Ode to Dejection_, addressing it to Wordsworth, 378-384;

discouraged about his poetic faculty, 388;

a separation from his wife considered and harmony restored, 389, 390;

makes a walking-tour of the Lake Country, 393 and note, 394;

makes a tour of South Wales with Thomas and Sarah Wedgwood, 410-414;

his regimen at this time, 412, 413, 416, 417;

birth of his daughter Sara, 416;

with Charles and Mary Lamb in London, 421, 422;

takes Mary Lamb to the private madhouse at Hugsden, 422;

his tour in Scotland, 431-441;

love for and delight in his children, 443;

visits Wordsworth at Grasmere and is taken ill there, 447, 448;

his rapid recovery, 451;

plans and preparations for going abroad, 447-469;

his mental attitude towards his wife, 468;

voyage to Malta, 469-481;

dislike of his own first name, 470, 471;

life in Malta, 481-484;

a Sicilian tour, 485 and note, 486 and note, 487;

in Malta again, 487-497;

his duties as Acting Public Secretary at Malta, 487, 491, 493, 494 and

note, 495-497;

his grief at Captain John Wordsworth’s death, 494 and note, 495 and

note, 497;

in Italy, 498-502;

returns to England, 501;

remains in and about London, writing political articles for the

_Courier_, 505-509;

invited to deliver a course of lectures at the Royal Institution, 507;

visits the Wordsworths at Coleorton Farmhouse with his son Hartley,

509-514;

spends five or six weeks with Hartley in the company of the Wordsworths

at Basil Montagu’s house in London, 511 n.;

outlines his course of lectures at the Royal Institution, 515, 516,

522;

begins his lectures, 525;

a change for the better in health, habits, and spirits, the result of

his placing himself under the care of a physician, 533 and note,

543 n.;

with the Wordsworths at Grasmere, devoting himself to the publication

of _The Friend_, 533-559;

in London, 564;

determines to place himself under the care of Dr. John Abernethy, 564,

565;

visits the Morgans in Portland Place, Hammersmith, 566-575;

life-masks, death-mask, busts, and portraits, 570 and note, 572 and

notes;

last visit to Greta Hall and the Lake Country, 575-578;

misunderstanding with Wordsworth, 576 n., 577, 578, 586-588;

visits the Morgans at No. 71 Berners Street, 579-612;

preparations for another course of lectures, 579, 580, 582, 585;

writes Wordsworth letters of explanation, 588-595;

his Lectures on the Drama at Willis’s Rooms, 595 and notes, 596, 597,

599;

reconciled with Wordsworth, 596, 597, 599;

second rupture with Wordsworth, 599 n., 600 n.;

Josiah’s half of the Wedgwood annuity withdrawn on account of C.’s

abuse of opium, 602, 611 and note;

successful production of his tragedy, _Remorse_ (_Osorio_ rewritten),

at Drury Lane Theatre, 602-611;

sells a part of his library, 616 and note;

anguish and remorse from the abuse of opium, 616-621, 623, 624;

at Bristol, 621-626;

proposes to translate _Faust_ for John Murray, 624 and note, 625, 626;

convalescent, 631;

with the Morgans at Ashley, near Box, 631;

writing at his projected great work, _Christianity, the one true

Philosophy_, 632 and note, 633;

with the Morgans at Mr. Page’s, Calne, Wilts, 641-653;

resolves to free himself from his opium habit and arranges to enter

the house of James Gillman, Esq., a surgeon, in Highgate (an

arrangement which ends only with his life), 657-659;

submits his drama _Zapolya_ to the Drury Lane Committee, and, after

its rejection, publishes it in book form, 666 and note, 667-669;

publishes _Sibylline Leaves_ and _Biographia Literaria_, 673;

disputes with his publishers, Fenner and Curtis, 673, 674 and note;

proposes a new Encyclopædia, 674;

his reputation as a critic, 677 n.;

visits Joseph Henry Green, Esq., at St. Lawrence, near Maldon, 690-693;

his snuff-taking habits, 691, 692 and note;

his friendship and correspondence with Thomas Allsop, 695, 696;

delivers a course of Lectures on the History of Philosophy at the

Crown and Anchor, Strand, 698 and note;

criticises his portrait by Thomas Phillips, 699, 700;

at the seashore, 700, 701;

a candidate for associateship in the Royal Society of Literature, 726,

727;

elected as a Royal Associate, 728;

at Ramsgate, 729-731;

prepares and publishes _Aids to Reflection_, 734 n., 738;

reads an _Essay on the Prometheus of Æschylus_ before the Royal

Society of Literature, 739, 740;

another visit to Ramsgate, 742-744;

takes a seven weeks’ continental tour with Wordsworth and his

daughter, 751;

illness, 754-756, 758;

convalescence, 760, 761;

begins to see a new edition of his poetical works through the press,

769 n.;

writes a letter to his godchild from his deathbed, 775, 776.

_Coleridge, Early Recollections of_, by Joseph Cottle, 139 n., 140 n.,

151 n., 219 n., 232 n., 251 n., 616 n., 617 n., 633 n.

_Coleridge, Life of_, by James Gillman, 3, 20 n., 23 n., 24 n., 45 n.,

46 n., 171 n., 257, 680 n., 761 n.

_Coleridge, Samuel Taylor_, by James Dykes Campbell, 269 n., 527 n.,

572 n., 600 n., 631 n., 653 n., 666 n., 667 n., 674 n., 681 n.,

684 n., 698 n., 752 n., 753 n., 772 n.

_Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, and the English Romantic School_, by Alois

Brandl, 258, 674 n., 740 n.

_Coleridge, S. T., Letters, Conversations, and Recollections of_, by

Thomas Allsop, 41 n., 527 n., 675 n.;

the publication of, regarded by C.’s friends as an act of bad faith,

696 and note, 721 n.;

698 n.

_Coleridge, S. T., Spiritual Philosophy, founded on the Teaching of_, by

J. H. Green, 680 n.

_Coleridge’s Logic_, article in _The Athenæum_, 753 n.

_Coleridge and Southey, Reminiscences of_, by Joseph Cottle, 268 n., 269

n., 417, 456 n., 617 n.

Coleridge, Mrs. Samuel Taylor (Sarah Fricker, afterwards called “Sara”),

edits the second edition of _Biographia Literaria_, 3;

136, 145, 146, 150, 151;

illness and recovery of, 155, 156;

168;

birth of her first child, David Hartley, 169;

174 n., 181, 188-190, 205, 213, 214, 216, 224, 245;

birth of her second child, Berkeley, 247-249;

257, 258, 259 n.;

extract from a letter to S. T. C., 263 n.;

extract from a letter to Mrs. Lovell, 267 n.;

271, 297, 312 n., 313, 318, 321, 325, 326, 332;

birth and baptism of her third child, Derwent, 338 and note;

her devotion saves his life, 338 n.;

387;

fears of a separation from her husband operate to restore harmony,

389, 390;

her faults as detailed by S. T. C., 389, 390;

392, 393 n., 395, 396;

birth of a daughter, Sara, 416;

418, 443, 457, 467, 490, 491, 521;

extract from a letter to Poole, 576 n.;

578;

John Kenyon a kind friend to, 639 n.;

letters from S. T. C., 259-266, 271, 277, 284, 288, 367, 410, 420,

431, 460, 467, 480, 496, 507, 509, 563, 579, 583, 602;

letter to S. T. C. after her little Berkeley’s death, 282 n.

Coleridge, Sara (daughter), her birth, 416;

in infancy, 443;

at the age of nine, 575, 576;

580, 724;

marries her cousin, Henry Nelson C., 756 n.

_See_ Coleridge, Mrs. Henry Nelson.

_Coleridge, Sara, Memoir and Letters of_, 461 n., 758 n.

Coleridge, the Hundred of, in North Devon, 4 and note.

Coleridge, the Parish of, 4 n.

Coleridge, William (brother), 7.

Coleridge, William Hart (nephew, afterwards Bishop of Barbadoes),

befriends Hartley C., 675 n.;

707;

his portrait by Thomas Phillips, R. A., 740 and note.

Coleridge, William Rennell, 699 n.

Coleridge family, origin of, 4 n.

Collier, John Payne, 575 n.

Collins, William, his _Ode on the Poetical Character_, 196;

his _Odes_, 318.

Collins, William, A. R. A. (afterward, R. A.), letter from C., 693.

Colman, George, the younger, genius of, 621;

his _Who wants a Guinea?_, 621 n.

Columbus, the, a vessel, 730.

Combe Florey, 308 n.

Comberbacke, Silas Tomkyn, C.’s assumed name, 62.

Comic Drama, the downfall of the, 616.

_Complaint of Ninathoma, The_, 51.

_Concerning Poetry_, a proposed book, 347, 386, 387.

_Conciones ad Populum_, 85 n., 161 n., 166, 454 n., 527 n.

_Confessions of an Enquiring Spirit_, originally addressed to Rev.

Edward Coleridge, 724 n.;

756 n.

Coniston, 394.

_Connubial Rupture, On a late_, 179 n.

Consciousness of infants, 283.

Conservative Party in 1832, the, 757.

Consolation, a note of, 113.

_Consolations and Comforts, etc._, a projected book, 452, 453.

Constant, Benjamin, his tract _On the Strength of the Existing

Government of France, and the Necessity of supporting it_, 219

and note.

Contempt, C.’s definition of, 198.

_Contentment, Motives of_, by Archdeacon Paley, 47.

Conversation, C.’s, 181, 752 and note;

C.’s maxims of, 244.

Conversation evenings at the Gillmans’, 740, 741, 774.

Cookson, Dr., Canon of Windsor and Rector of Forncett, Norfolk, 311 and

note.

Copland, 400.

Cordomi, a pseudonym of C.’s, 295 n.

_Cornhill Magazine_, 345 n.

Cornish, Mr., 66.

Corry, Right Hon. Isaac, 390 and note.

Corsham, 650, 652 n.

Corsica, 174 n.

Corsican Rangers, 554.

Cote House, Josiah Wedgwood’s residence, C. visits, 416;

455 n.

Cottle, Joseph, agrees to pay C. a fixed sum for his poetry, 136;

137;

his _Early Recollections of Coleridge_, 139 n., 140 n., 151 n., 219

n., 232 n., 251 n., 616 n., 617 n., 633 n.;

144, 184, 185, 191, 192, 212;

his _Reminiscences of Coleridge and Southey_, 268 n., 269 n., 417,

456 n., 617 n.;

his financial difficulties, 319;

358;

his _Malvern Hill_, 358;

his publication of C.’s letters of confession and remorse deeply

resented by C.’s family and friends, 616 n., 617 n.;

convalescent after a dangerous illness, 619;

letters from C., 133, 134, 154, 218 n., 220, 238, 251 n., 616, 619.

_Courier_, the, 230;

C. writes for, 505, 506, 507 n., 520;

534 and note, 543;

its conduct during the investigation of the charges against the Duke

of York universally extolled, 545;

articles and recommendations for, 567 and notes, 568;

C. as a candidate for the place of auxiliary to, 568-570;

568 n.;

C. breaks with, 574;

598, 629 and notes, 634 and note;

change in the character of, 660-662, 664;

C. proposes to write on the Catholic question for, 660, 662;

arrangements for the proposed articles, 664, 665.

_Courier_ office, C. lodges at the, 505, 520.

Cowper, William, “the divine chit-chat of,” 197 and note;

his _Task_, 242 n.

Craven, Countess of, 86 n.

Craven Scholarship, C.’s examination for the, 45 and note, 46.

Crediton, 5 n., 11.

_Critical Review_, 185, 489.

Criticism welcome to true poets, 402.

Crompton, Dr., of Derby, 215;

letter from Thelwall on the Wedgwood annuity, 234 n.

Crompton, Mrs., of Derby, 215.

Crompton, Mrs., of Eaton Hall, 758.

Crompton, Dr. Peter, of Eaton Hall, 359 and note, 758 n.

Cruikshank, Ellen, 165.

Cruikshank, John, 136, 177, 184, 188.

Cruikshank, Mrs. John (Anna), 177;

lines to, 177 n.;

213.

_See_ Buclé, Miss.

Cryptogram, C.’s, 597 n.

Cunningham, Rev. J. W., his _Velvet Cushion_, 651 and note.

_Cupid turned Chymist_, 54 n., 56.

Currie, James, 359 and note.

_Curse of Kehama, The_, by Southey, 684.

Curtis, Rev. T., partner of Fenner, C.’s publisher, his ill-usage of

C., 674.

Cuxhaven, 259.

Dalton, John, 457 and note.

Damer, Hon. Mrs., 368.

Dana, Miss R. Charlotte, 572 n.

Dante and his _Divina Commedia_, 676, 677 and note, 678, 679, 731 n.,

732.

Danvers, Charles, his kindness of heart, 316.

_Dark Ladie, The Ballad of the_, 375.

Darnley, Earl, 629.

Dartmoor, a walking-tour in, 305 and note.

Dartmouth, 305 and note.

Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, C.’s conversation with, 152, 153;

his philosophy of insincerity, 161;

C.’s opinion of his poems, 164;

211;

the first literary character in Europe, and the most original-minded

man, 215;

386, 648.

Dash Beck, 375 n., 376 n.

Davy, Sir Humphry, 315-317, 321, 324, 326, 344, 350, 357, 365, 379 n.,

448;

a Theo-mammonist, 455;

456;

C. attends his lectures, 462 and note, 463;

C.’s esteem and admiration for, 514;

his successful efforts to induce C. to give a course of lectures at

the Royal Institution, 515, 516;

seriously ill, 520, 521;

hears from C. of his improvement in health and habits, 533 n.;

673 n.;

letters from C., 336-341, 345, 514.

_Davy, Sir Humphry, Fragmentary Remains of_, edited by Dr. Davy, 343 n.,

533 n.

Dawe, George, R. A., his life-mask and portrait of C., 572 and note;

his funeral and C.’s epigram thereon, 572 n.;

immortalized by Lamb, 572 n.;

engaged on a picture to illustrate C.’s poem, _Love_, 573;

his admiration for Allston’s modelling, 573;

his character and manners, 581;

a fortunate grub, 605.

Dawes, Rev. John, teacher of Hartley and Derwent C., 576 and note, 577.

Death, fear of, responsible for many virtues, 744;

the nature of, 762, 763.

Death and life, meditations on, 283-287.

Death-mask of C., a, 570 n.

_Death of Mattathias, The_, by Robert Southey, 108 and note.

Deism, religious, 414.

_Dejection: An Ode_, 378 and note, 379 and note, 380-384, 405 n.

Della Cruscanism, 196.

Democracy, C. disavows belief in, 104-105;

134, 243.

_See_ Republicanism _and_ Pantisocracy.

Denbigh, 80, 81.

Denman, Miss, 769, 770.

Dentist, a French, 40.

De Quincey, Thomas, 405 n., 525;

revises the proofs and writes an appendix for Wordsworth’s pamphlet

_On the Convention of Cintra_, 549, 550 n.;

563, 601, 772 n.

Derby, 152;

proposal to start a school in, 170 and note;

188;

the people of, 215 and note, 216.

Derwent, the river, 339.

Descartes, René, 351 and note.

_Destiny of Nations, The_, 278 n., 178 n.

_Deutschland in seiner tiefsten Erniedrigung_, by John Philip Palm, C.’s

translation of, 530.

De Vere, Aubrey, extract from a letter from Sir William Rowan Hamilton

to, 759 n.

_Devil’s Thoughts, The_, by Coleridge and Southey, 318.

Devock Lake, 393.

Devonshire, 305 and note.

_Devonshire, Georgiana, Duchess of, Ode to_, 320 and note, 330.

Dibdin, Mr., stage-manager at Drury Lane Theatre, 666.

_Disappointment, To_, 28.

_Dissuasion from Popery_, by Jeremy Taylor, 639.

_Divina Commedia_, C. praises the Rev. H. F. Cary’s translation of, 676,

677 and note, 678, 679;

Gabriele Rossetti’s essay on the mechanism and interpretation of, 732.

_Doctor, The_, 583 n., 584 n.

Döring, Herr von, 279.

Dove, Dr. Daniel, 583 and note, 584.

Dove Cottage, Grasmere, 379 n.

_See_ Grasmere.

Dowseborough, 225 n.

Drakard, John, 567 and note.

Drayton, Michael, his _Poly-Olbion_, 374 n.

Dreams, the state of mind in, 663.

Drury Lane Theatre, C.’s _Zapolya_ before the committee of, 666 and

note, 667.

Dryden, John, his slovenly verses, 672.

Dubois, Edward, 705 and note.

_Duchess, Ode to the_, 320 and note, 330.

Dunmow, Essex, 456, 459.

Duns Scotus, 358.

Dupuis, Charles François, his _Origine de tous les Cultes, ou Religion

Universelle_, 181 and note.

Durham, Bishop of, 582 and note.

Durham, C. reading Duns Scotus at, 358-361.

Duty, 495 n.

Dyer, George, 84, 93, 316, 317;

his article on Southey in _Public Characters for 1799-1800_, 317 and

note;

363, 422;

sketch of his life, 748 n.;

C.’s esteem and affection for, 748, 749;

his benevolence and beneficence, 749;

letter from C., 748.

Earl of Abergavenny, the wreck of, 494 n.;

495 n.

_Early Recollections of Coleridge_, by Joseph Cottle, 139 n., 140 n.,

151 n., 219 n., 232 n., 251 n., 616 n., 617 n., 633 n.

_Early Years and Late Recollections_, by Clement Carlyon, M. D., 258,

298 n.

East Tarbet, 431, 432 and note, 433.

Echoes, 400 n.

Edgeworth, Maria, her _Helen_, 773, 774.

Edgeworth, Richard Lovell, 262.

Edgeworth’s _Essay on Education_, 261.

Edgeworths, the, very miserable when children, 262.

Edinburgh, a place of literary gossip, 423;

C.’s visit to, 434-440;

Southey’s first impressions of, 438 n.

_Edinburgh Review, The_, 438 n.;

Southey declines Scott’s offer to secure him a place on, 521 and note,

522;

its attitude towards C., 527;

C.’s review of Clarkson’s book in, 527 and note, 528-530;

636, 637;

severe review of _Christabel_ in, 669 and note, 670;

Jeffrey’s reply to C. in, 669 n.;

re-echoes C.’s praise of Cary’s _Dante_, 677 n.;

its broad, predetermined abuse of C., 697, 723;

its influence on the sale of Wordsworth’s books in Scotland, 741, 742.

_Edmund Oliver_, by Charles Lloyd, drawn from C.’s life, 252 and note;

311.

_Education, Practical_, by Richard Lovell Edgeworth and Maria Edgeworth,

261.

Education through the imagination preferable to that which makes the

senses the only criteria of belief, 16, 17.

Edwards, Rev. Mr., of Birmingham, extract from a letter from C. to, 174

n.

Edwards, Thomas, LL. D., 101 and note.

Egremont, 393.

_Egypt, Observations on_, 486 n.

Egypt, political relations of, 492.

Eichhorn, Prof., of Göttingen, 298, 564, 707, 773.

Einbeck, 279, 280.

Elbe, the, 259, 277.

Electrometers of taste, 218 and note.

_Elegy_, by Robert Southey, 115.

Elleray, 535.

Elliot, H., Minister at the Court of Naples, 508 and note.

Elliston, Mr., an actor, 611.

Elmsley, Rev. Peter, 438 and note, 439.

_Encyclopædia Metropolitana_, a work projected by C., 674, 681.

Encyclopædias, 427, 429, 430.

Ennerdale, 393.

Epitaph, by C., 769 and note, 770, 771.

_Epitaph_, by Wordsworth, 284.

Erigena, Joannes Scotus, 417;

the modern founder of the school of pantheism, 424.

Erskine, Lord, his Bill for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, 635

and note.

_Erste Schiffer, Der_ (The First Navigator), by Gesner, 369, 371, 372,

376-378, 397, 402, 403.

Eskdale, 393, 401.

_Essay on Animal Vitality_, by Thelwall, 179, 212.

_Essay on Fasting_, 157.

_Essay on the New French Constitution_, 320 and note.

_Essay on the Prometheus of Æschylus_, 740 and note.

_Essay on the Science of Method_, 681 and note.

_Essays on His Own Times_, 156 n., 157 n., 320 n., 327 n., 329 n., 335

n., 414 n., 498 n., 567 n., 629 n., 634 n.

_Essay on the Fine Arts_, 633 and note, 634.

_Essays upon Epitaphs_, by Wordsworth, 585 and note.

Estlin, Mrs. J. P., 190, 213, 214.

Estlin, Rev. J. P., 184, 185, 190, 239, 287, 288;

his sermons, 385;

416;

letters from C., 213, 245, 246, 414.

Ether, 420, 435.

Etna, 458, 485 n., 486 n.

Evans, Mrs., C. spends a fortnight with, 23 and note;

24;

C.’s filial regard for, 26, 27;

her unselfishness, 46;

letters from C., 26, 39, 45.

Evans, Anne, 27, 29-31;

letters from C., 37, 52.

Evans, Eliza, 78.

Evans, Mrs. Elizabeth, of Darley Hall, her proposal to engage C. as

tutor to her children, 215 n.;

her kindness to C. and Mrs. C., 215 n., 210;

231, 367.

Evans, Mary, 23 n., 27, 30;

an acute mind beneath a soft surface of feminine delicacy, 50;

C. sees her at Wrexham and confesses to Southey his love for her, 78;

97 and note;

song addressed to, 100;

C.’s unrequited love for, 123-125;

letters from C., 30, 41, 47, 122, 124;

letter to C., 87-89.

Evans, Walter, 231.

Evans, William, of Darley Hall, 215 n.

Evolution, 648.

_Examiner, The_, its notice of C.’s tragedy, _Remorse_, 606.

_Excursion, The_, by Wordsworth, 244 n., 337 n., 585 n.;

C.’s opinion of, 641;

the _Edinburgh Review’s_ criticism of, 642;

C. discusses it in the light of his previous expectations, 645-650.

Exeter, 305 and note.

Ezekiel, 705 n.

Faith, C.’s definition of, 202;

204.

_Fall of Robespierre, The_, 85 and note, 87, 93, 104 and notes.

Falls of Foyers, the, 440.

_Farmer, Priscilla, Poems on the Death of_, by Charles Lloyd, 206 and

note.

_Farmers_, 335 n.

_Farmhouse_, by Robert Lovell, 115.

_Fasting, Essay on_, 157.

_Faulkner: a Tragedy_, by William Godwin, 524 and note.

Fauntleroy’s trial, 730.

_Faust_, C.’s proposal to translate, 624 and note, 625, 626.

Favell, Robert, 86, 109 n., 110 n., 113, 225 and note.

_Fayette_, 112.

_Fears in Solitude_, published, 261 n.;

318, 321, 328, 552, 703 and note.

Fellowes, Mr., of Nottingham, 153.

_Female Biography, or Memoirs of Illustrious and Celebrated Women_, by

Mary Hayes, 318 and note.

Fenner, Rest, publishes _Zapolya_ for C., 666 n.;

his ill-usage of C. in regard to _Sibylline Leaves_, _Biographia

Literaria_, and the projected _Encyclopædia Metropolitana_, 673,

674 and note.

Fenwick, Dr., 361 and note.

Fenwick, Mrs. E., 465 and note.

Fernier, John, 211.

Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, the philosophy of, 682, 683, 735.

Field, Mr., 93.

_Fine Arts, Essays on the_, 633 and note, 634.

_Fire, The_, by Robert Southey, 108 and note.

_Fire and Famine_, 327.

_First Landing Place, The_, 684 n.

_First Navigator, The_, translation of Gesner’s _Der Erste Schiffer_,

369, 371, 372, 376-378, 397, 402, 403.

Fitzgibbon, John, 638.

Fletcher, Judge, C.’s _Courier_ Letters to, 629 and note, 634 and note,

635, 636, 642.

Florence, 499 n.

Flower, Benjamin, editor of the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, 93 and note.

_Flower, The_, by George Herbert, 695.

Flowers, 745, 746.

Fort Augustus, 435.

_Foster-Mother’s Tale, The_, 510 n.

Fox, Charles James, his _Letter to the Westminster Electors_, 50;

327;

Coleridge _versus_, 423, 424;

proposed articles on, 505;

506;

death of, 507 and note;

629 and note.

Fox, Dr., 619.

Foyers, the Falls of, 440.

_Fragment found in a Lecture Room, A_, 44.

_Fragments of a Journal of a Tour over the Brocken_, 257.

France, political condition of, in 1800, 329 and note.

_France, an Ode_, 261 n., 552.

Freeling, Sir Francis, 751.

French, C. not proficient in, 181.

_French Constitution, Essay on the New_, 320 and note.

French Empire under Buonaparte, C.’s essays on the, 629 and note.

French Revolution, the, 219, 240.

Frend, William, 24 and note.

Frere, George, 672.

Frere, Right Hon. John Hookham, 672 and note;

advice and friendly assistance to C. from, 674, 675 and note;

698, 731, 732, 737.

Fricker, Mrs., 98, 189;

C. proposes to allow her an annuity of £20, 190;

423, 458.

Fricker, Edith (afterwards Mrs. Robert Southey), 82;

marries Southey, 137 n.;

163 n.

_See_ Southey, Mrs. Robert.

Fricker, George, 315, 316.

Fricker, Martha, 600.

Fricker, Sarah, C. falls in love with, 81;

83-86;

C.’s love cools, 89;

marries C., 136;

138, 163 n.;

letter from Southey, 107 n.

_See_ Coleridge, Mrs. Samuel Taylor.

_Friend, The_, 11 n., 25 n., 86 n., 257, 274 n., 275 n., 351 n., 404 n.,

412 n., 453 n., 454 n.;

preliminary prospectus of, and its revision, 533, 536 and note,

537-541, 542 n.;

arrangements for the publication of, 541, 542 and note, 544, 546, 547;

its vicissitudes during its first eight months, 547, 548, 551, 552,

554-559;

Addison’s _Spectator_ compared with, 557, 558;

the reprint of, 575, 579 and note, 580 n., 585 and note;

606, 611, 629 and note, 630, 667 n.;

J. H. Frere’s advice in regard to, 674;

the object of the third volume of, 676;

684 n.;

697, 756 n., 768 and note.

Friends, C. complains of lack of sympathy on the part of his, 696, 697.

_Friend’s Quarterly Examiner, The_, 536 n., 538 n.

_Frisky Songster, The_, 237.

_Frost at Midnight_, 8 n., 261 n.

Gale and Curtis, 579 and note, 580 n.

Gallow Hill, 359 n., 362, 379 n.

Gallows and hangman in Germany, 294.

Gardening, C. proposes to undertake, 183-194;

C. begins it at Nether Stowey, 213;

recommended to Thelwall, 215;

at Nether Stowey, 219, 220.

_Gebir_, 328.

_Gentleman’s Magazine, The_, 455 n.

_Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, Ode to_, 320 and note, 330.

German language, the, C. learning, 262, 263, 267, 268.

German philosophers, C.’s opinions of, 681-683, 735.

German playing-cards, 263.

Germans, their partiality for England and the English, 263, 264;

their eating and smoking customs, 276, 277;

an unlovely race, 278;

their Christmas-tree and other religious customs, 289-292;

superstitions of the bauers, 291, 292, 294;

marriage customs of the bauers, 292, 293.

Germany, 257, 258;

C.’s sojourn in, 259-300;

post coaches in, 278, 279;

the clergy of, 291;

Protestants and Catholics of, 291, 292;

bell-ringing in, 293;

churches in, 293;

shepherds in, 293;

care of owls in, 293;

gallows and hangman in, 294;

disposal of dead and sick cattle in, 294;

beet sugar in, 299.

Gerrald, Joseph, 161 and note, 166, 167 n.

Gesenius, Friedrich Heinrich Wilhelm, 773.

Gesner, his _Erste Schiffer_ (The First Navigator), 369, 371, 372,

376-378, 397, 402, 403;

his rhythmical prose, 398.

Ghosts, 684.

Gibraltar, 469, 473, 474;

description of, 475-479;

480, 493.

Gifford, William, his criticism of C.’s tragedy, _Remorse_, 605, 606;

669, 737.

Gillman, Alexander, 703 n.

Gillman, Henry, 693 n.

Gillman, James, his _Life of Coleridge_, 3, 20 n., 23 n., 24 n., 45 n.,

46 n., 171 n., 257;

442 n., 680 n., 761 n.;

his faithful friendship for C., 657;

C. arranges to enter his household as a patient, 657-659;

C.’s pecuniary obligations to, 658 n.;

character and intellect of, 665;

670 n., 679, 685, 692, 704;

C.’s gratitude to and affection for, 721, 722;

on C.’s opium habit, 761 n.;

768;

extracts from a letter from John Sterling to, 772 n.;

letters from C., 657, 700, 721, 729, 742.

Gillman, James, the younger, passes his examination for ordination with

great credit, 755.

Gillman, Mrs. James (Anne), her faithful friendship for C., 657;

character of, 665;

679, 684, 685, 702 n., 705, 721, 722, 729, 733;

illness of, 738;

C.’s attachment to, 746;

C.’s gratitude to and affection for, 754;

764, 774;

letters from C., 690, 745, 754.

Ginger-tea, 412, 413.

Glencoe, 413, 440.

Glen Falloch, 433.

Gloucester, 72.

Gnats, 692.

Godliness, C.’s definition of, 203 n., 204;

St. Peter’s paraphrase of, 204.

Godwin, William, 91, 114;

C.’s sonnet to, 116 n., 117;

lines by Southey to, 120;

his misanthropy, 161, 162;

161 n., 167;

C.’s book on, 210;

316, 321;

his _St. Leon_, 324, 325;

a quarrel and reconciliation with C., 457, 464-466;

his _Faulkner: a Tragedy_, 524 and note;

C. accepts his invitation to meet Grattan, 565, 566;

letter from C., 565.

_Godwin, William: His Friends and Contemporaries_, by Charles Kegan

Paul, 161 n., 324 n., 465 n.

Godwin, Mrs. William, 465, 466, 566.

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, his _Faust_, C.’s proposal to translate,

624 and note, 625, 626;

his _Zur Farbenlehre_, 699.

Gosforth, 393.

Goslar, 272, 273.

Göttingen, C. proposes to visit, 268-270, 272;

268 n., 269 n.;

C. calls on Professor Heyne at, 280;

C. enters the University of, 281;

the Saturday Club at, 281;

the gallows near, 294;

C.’s stay at, 281-300.

Gough, Charles, 369 n.

Governments as effects and causes, 241.

Grasmere, 335, 346, 362, 379 n., 394, 405 n., 419, 420;

C. visits and is taken ill there, 447, 448;

C. visits, 533-569.

_See_ Kendal.

Grattan, Henry, C.’s admiration for, 566.

Greek Islands, the, 329.

Greek poetry contrasted with Hebrew poetry, 405, 406.

Greek Sapphic Ode, _On the Slave Trade_, 43 and note.

Green, Mr., clerk of the _Courier_, 568 and note.

Green, Joseph Henry, 605, 632 n.;

his eminence in the surgical profession, 679 n.;

C.’s amanuensis and collaborateur, 679 n.;

C. appoints him his literary executor, 679 n.;

his published works, 679 n., 680 n.;

his character and intellect, 680 n.;

his faithful friendship for C., 680 n.;

his _Spiritual Philosophy, founded on the Teaching of S. T.

Coleridge_, 680 n.;

receives a visit from C. at St. Lawrence, near Maldon, 690-693;

753 n.;

letters from C., 669, 680, 688, 699, 704, 706, 726, 728, 751, 754, 767.

Green, Mrs. Joseph Henry, 691, 692, 699, 705.

Greenough, Mr., 458 and note.

Greta, the river, 339.

Greta Hall, near Keswick, C.’s life at, 335-444;

situation of, 335;

description of 391, 392;

C. urges Southey to make it his home, 391, 392, 394, 395;

Southey at first declines but subsequently accepts C.’s invitation to

settle there, 395 n.;

Southey makes a visit there which proves permanent, 435;

460 n.;

sold by its owner in C.’s absence, 490, 491;

C.’s last visit to, 575 and note, 576-578;

724, 725.

_See_ Keswick.

Grey, Mr., editor of the _Morning Chronicle_, 114.

“Grinning for joy,” 81 n.

Grisedale Tarn, 547.

Grose, Judge, 567 and note.

Grossness _versus_ suggestiveness, 377.

_Group of Englishmen, A_, by Eliza Meteyard, 269 n., 308 n.