Was it a spirit on yon shapeless pile?
It wore, methought, a holy Druid's form,
Musing on ancient days! The dying storm
Moan'd in his lifted locks. Thou, night! the while
Dost listen to his sad harp's wild complaint,
Mother of shadows! as to thee he pours
The broken strain, and plaintively deplores
The fall of Druid fame! Hark! murmurs faint
Breathe on the wavy air! and now more loud
Swells the deep dirge; accustomed to complain
Of holy rites unpaid, and of the crowd
Whose ceaseless steps the sacred haunts profane.
O'er the wild plain the hurrying tempest flies,
And, mid the storm unheard, the song of sorrow dies.
[3] I had an opportunity of introducing Mr. Southey at this time, to the
eldest Mrs. More, who invited him down to spend some whole day with her
sister Hannah, at their then residence, Cowslip Green. On this occasion,
as requested, I accompanied him. The day was full of converse. On my
meeting one of the ladies soon after, I was gratified to learn that Mr.
S. equally pleased all five of the sisters. She said he was "brim full of
literature, and one of the most elegant, and intellectual young men they
had seen."
[4] It might he intimated, that, for the establishment of these lectures,
there was, in Mr. Coleridge's mind, an interior spring of action. He
wanted to "build up" a provision for his speedy marriage with Miss Sarah
Fricker: and with these grand combined objects before him, no effort
appeared too vast to be accomplished by his invigorated faculties.
[5] Copied from his MS. as delivered, not from his "Conciones ad Populum"
as printed, where it will be found in a contracted state.
[6] Muir, Palmer, and Margarot.
[7] An eminent medical man in Bristol, who greatly admired Mr.
Coleridge's conversation and genius, on one occasion, invited Mr. C. to
dine with him, on a given day. The invitation was accepted, and this
gentleman, willing to gratify his friends with an introduction to Mr. C.
invited a large assemblage, for the express purpose of meeting him, and
made a splendid entertainment, anticipating the delight which would be
universally felt from Mr. C. a far-famed eloquence. It unfortunately
happened that Mr. Coleridge had forgotten all about it! and the
gentleman, [with his guests, after waiting till the hot became cold]
under his mortification consoled himself by the resolve, never again to
subject himself to a like disaster. No explanation or apology on my part
could soothe the choler of this disciple of Glen. A dozen subscribers to
his lectures fell off from this slip of his memory.
"Sloth jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand
Drop friendship's precious perls, like hour-glass sand.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in morning's feverish doze,"
[8] This honest upholsterer, (a Mr. W. a good little weak man) attended
the preaching of the late eloquent Robert Hall. At one time an odd fancy
entered his mind, such as would have occurred to none other; namely, that
he possessed ministerial gifts; and with this notion uppermost in his
head, he was sorely perplexed, to determine whether he ought not to
forsake the shop, and ascend the pulpit.
In this uncertainty, he thought his discreetest plan would be to consult
his Minister; in conformity with which, one morning he called on Mr.
Hall, and thus began. "I call on you this morning, Sir, on a very
important business!" "Well Sir." "Why you must know, Sir--I can hardly
tell how to begin." "Let me hear, Sir." "Well Sir, if I must tell you,
for these two months past I have had a strong persuasion on my mind, that
I possess ministerial talents."--Mr. Hall (whose ideas were high of
ministerial requisites) saw his delusion, and determined at once to check
it. The Upholsterer continued: "Though a paper-hanger by trade, yet, sir,
I am now satisfied that I am called to give up my business, and attend to
something better; for you know, Mr. Hall, I should not bury my talents in
a napkin." "O Sir," said Mr. H. "you need not use a napkin, a
pocket-handkerchief will do."
This timely rebuke kept the good man to his paper-hangings for the
remainder of his days, for whenever he thought of the ministry, this same
image of the pocket-handkerchief, always damped his courage.
[9] Gilbert's derangement was owing to the loss of a naval cause at
Portsmouth, in which he was concerned as an Advocate. Among other
instances, one time when at his lodgings, he interpreted those words of
Christ personally, "Sell all that thou hast and distribute to the poor,"
when, without the formality of selling, he thought the precept might be
more summarily fulfilled, and therefore, one morning he tumbled every
thing he had in his room, through the window, into the street, that the
poor might help themselves; bed, bolsters, blankets, sheets, chairs! &c.,
&c, but unfortunately, it required at that season a higher exercise of
the clear reasoning process than he possessed, to distinguish accurately
between his own goods and chattels and those of his landlady!
He had all the volubility of a practised advocate, and seemed to delight
in nothing so much as discussion, whether on the unconfirmed parallactic
angle of Sirius, or the comparative weight of two straws. Amid the circle
in which he occasionally found himself, ample scope was often given him
for the exercise of this faculty. I once invited him, for the first time,
to meet the late Robert Hall. I had calculated on some interesting
discourse, aware that each was peculiarly susceptible of being aroused by
opposition. The anticipations entertained on this occasion were
abundantly realized. Their conversation, for some time, was mild and
pleasant, each, for each, receiving an instinctive feeling of respect;
but the subject happened to be started, of the contra-distinguishing
merits of Hannah More and Ann Yearsley. By an easy transition, this led
to the quarrel that some time before had taken place between these two
remarkable females; the one occupying the summit, and the other moving in
about the lowest grade of human society; but in genius, compeers. They at
once took opposite sides. One argument elicited another, till at length
each put forth his utmost strength, and such felicitous torrents of
eloquence could rarely have been surpassed; where on each side ardour was
repelled with fervency, and yet without the introduction of the least
indecorous expression.
Gilbert was an astrologer; and at the time of a person's birth, he would
with undoubting confidence predict all the leading events of his future
life, and sometimes (if he knew anything of his personal history) even
venture to declare the past. The caution with which he usually touched
the second subject, formed a striking contrast with the positive
declarations concerning the first.
I was acquainted at this time with a medical man of enlarged mind and
considerable scientific attainments; and accidentally mentioning to him
that a friend of mine was a great advocate for this sublime science, he
remarked, "I should like to see him, and one half hour would be
sufficient to despoil him of his weapons, and lay him prostrate in the
dust." I said, "if you will sup with me I will introduce you to the
astrologer, and if you can beat this nonsense out of his head, you will
benefit him and all his friends." When the evening arrived, it appeared
fair to apprise William Gilbert that I was going to introduce him to a
doctor, who had kindly and gratuitously undertaken to cure him of all his
astrological maladies. "Will he?" said Gilbert. "The malady is on his
side. Perhaps I may cure him."
Each having a specific business before him, there was no hesitation or
skirmishing, but at first sight they both, like tried veterans, in good
earnest addressed themselves to war. On one side, there was a
manifestation of sound sense and cogent argument; on the other, a
familiarity with all those arguments, combined with great subtlety in
evading them; and this sustained by new and ingenious sophisms. My
medical friend, for some time stood his ground manfully, till, at length,
he began to quail, apparently from the verbal torrent with which he was
so unexpectedly assailed. Encountered thus by so fearful and consummate a
disputant, whose eyes flashed fire in unison with his oracular tones and
empassioned language, the doctor's quiver unaccountably became exhausted,
and his spirit subdued. He seemed to look around for some mantle in which
to hide the mortification of defeat; and the more so from his previous
confidence. Never was a more triumphant victory, as it would
superficially appear, achieved by ingenious volubility in a bad cause,
over arguments, sound, but inefficiently wielded in a cause that was
good. A fresh instance of the man of sense vanquished by the man of
words.
[10] I would here subjoin, that when money, in future, may thus be
collected for ingenious individuals, it might be the wisest procedure to
transfer the full amount, at once, to the beneficiary, (unless under very
peculiar circumstances.) This is felt to be both handsome and generous,
and the obligation is permanently impressed on the mind. If the money
then be improvidently dissipated, he who acts thus ungratefully to his
benefactors, and cruelly to himself, reflects on his own folly alone. But
when active and benevolent agents, who have raised subscriptions, will
entail trouble on themselves, and with a feeling almost paternal, charge
themselves with a disinterested solicitude for future generations,
without a strong effort of the reasoning power, the favour is reduced to
a fraction. Dissatisfaction almost necessarily ensues, and the accusation
of ingratitude is seldom far behind.
[11] The Rev. James Newton, was Classical Tutor at the Bristol Baptist
Academy, in conjunction with the late Dr. Caleb Evans, and, for a short
season, the late Robert Hall. He was my most revered and honoured friend,
who lived for twenty years an inmate in my Father's family, and to whom I
am indebted in various ways, beyond my ability to express. His learning
was his least recommendation. His taste for elegant literature; his fine
natural understanding, his sincerity, and conciliating manners justified
the eulogium expressed by Dr. Evans in preaching his Funeral Sermon,
1789, when he said (to a weeping congregation), that "He never made an
enemy, nor lost a friend."
Mr. Newton was on intimate terms with the late Dean Tucker, and the Rev.
Sir James Stonehouse, the latter of whom introduced him to Hannah More,
who contracted for him, as his worth and talents became more and more
manifest, a sincere and abiding friendship. Mr. Newton had the honour of
teaching Hannah More Latin. The time of his instructing her did not
exceed ten months. She devoted to this one subject the whole of her time,
and all the energies of her mind. Mr. Newton spoke of her to me as
exemplifying how much might be attained in a short time by talent and
determination combined; and he said, for the limited period of his
instruction, she surpassed in her progress all others whom he had ever
known. H. More was in the habit of submitting her MSS. to Mr. N.'s
judicious remarks, and by this means, from living in the same house with
him, I preceded the public in inspecting some of her productions;
particularly her MS. Poem on the "Slave Trade," and her "Bas Bleu." When
a boy, many an evening do I recollect to have listened in wonderment to
colloquisms and disputations carried on in Latin between Mr. Newton and
John Henderson. It gives me pleasure to have borne this brief testimony
of respect toward one on whom memory so often and so fondly reposes! Best
of men, and kindest of friends, "farewell till we do meet
again!"-(Bowles.)
[12] From his natural unassumed dignity, Mr. Foster used to call Mr. Hall
"_Jupiter_."
[13] Mr. Hall broke down all distinction of sects and parties. On one of
his visits to Bristol, when preaching at the chapel in Broadmead, a
competent individual noticed in the thronged assembly an Irish Bishop, a
Dean, and thirteen Clergymen. The late Dr. Parr was an enthusiastic
admirer of Mr. Hall. He said to a friend of the writer, after a warm
eulogium on the eloquence of Mr. H. "In short, sir, the man is inspired."
Hannah More has more than once said to the writer, "There was no man in
the church, nor out of it, comparable in talents to Robert Hall."
[14] I presented Mr. C. with the three guineas, but forbore the
publication.
[15] I received a note, at this time, from Mr. Coleridge, evidently
written in a moment of perturbation, apologising for not accepting an
invitation of a more congenial nature, on account of his "Watch
drudgery." At another time, he was reluctantly made a prisoner from the
same cause, as will appear by the following note.
"April, 1796.
My dear Cottle,
My eye is so inflamed that I cannot stir out. It is alarmingly inflamed.
In addition to this, the Debates which Burnet undertook to abridge for
me, he has abridged in such a careless, slovenly manner, that I was
obliged to throw them into the fire, and am now doing them myself!...