ham, where about four or five hun- | dred pounds a year were raised by subscription, for a considerable period, to defray the charges attending his numerous publications in defence of Unitarianism. Mr. Coleridge had no such good luck in the manufacturing districts through which he travelled; and the members of his "Watchman," instead of illuminating the minds of the people by a wide circulation, were employed, as long as they lasted, every morning in lighting the author's own fire. stance coming to the knowledge of the late Mr. Wedgewood, in Staffordshire, he took our author under his protection, settled on him a liberal annuity, and sent him to Germany to acquire the language, and to complete those studies, which he had so indiscreetly left unfinished, by quitting Cambridge to instruct the unenlight ened in the arcana of political philo sophy. During the stay of Mr. Coleridge abroad, his wife and children resided with Mr. Southey, at Keswick, where also Mrs. Lovell, who had been left a widow in destitute circumstances, found an asylum. What was the end proposed by this course of proceeding on the part of Mr. Coleridge, we are not told, but it does not appear to have had any other good effect than that of making him better acquainted with the living languages, which en When the warning voice of this guardian of liberty ceased to be heard, which was in the summer of 1796, our author found it expedient to seek a retirement in an obscure village called Stowey, at the foot of the Quantock Hills, in Somersetshire, where also Mr. Wordsworth had a cottage. A congeniality of sentiment produced a firm friendship, and the two poets be-abled him to become secretary to Sir came inseparable; but being strangers Alexander Ball, on his being appointto the natives of the place where they ed Governor of Malta. This situa resided, and their conversation being tion, however, he did not long retain; above the ordinary level, they naturally and after visiting Rome, he returned enough excited much notice, and some to England, more enlarged in knowsuspicion. One person concluded ledge than improved in circumstanthey were either agents for the French ces. He now became a writer for the republic, or incendiaries connected newspapers, a translator of German with some conspiracy against govern- plays, and a lecturer on polite literament. These surmises were strength-ture at the Royal Institution. One of ened into conviction, by hearing Cole- the subjects discussed by him was ridge sometimes drop a word or two, Education; and having considered at in discourse with his friend, on the some length, the new system of Lanpolitics of the day. The man, in con- caster, when he came to the discipli sequence, who had formed his judg- narian part, in which one boy was ment of their character, resolved to made to act the part of a beadle of observe their movements; and often, executioner to another, the lecturer when they had no idea that any one threw the book down with vengeance was near, he listened behind them, in from the rostrum on the floor, exclaimtheir rambles on the hills, or along ing, "No boy who has been subject the sea shore. After watching them to punishments like these, will stand in this manner for some weeks, with-in fear of Newgate, or feel any out being discovered himself, or ga- horror at the thoughts of a slave thering any thing on which to ground ship!" an information, he very candidly acknowledged how he had been employed. Mr. Coleridge next gave lectures at different places, upon poetic composition, and the plays of Shakspeare; While in this secluded state, Mr. but the little interest which this spe Coleridge wrote several poems, and cies of entertainment was calculated some pieces for the periodical prints; to excite, soon subsided; whether but the remuneration was scanty, and from the want of novelty in the subject, his embarrassments increased so much, or of attraction in the manner of treatthat he left Somersetshire, and, as we ing it, we cannot take upon ourselves have been credibly informed, enlisted to determine. It is to be lamented, into a regiment of horse, quartered however, that a person so endowed at Reading; but the officers, on ascer- with native genius, and enriched by taining who he was, generously grant-acquired learning, should have been ed him his discharge. This circum-driven to the necessity of making a show of his intellectual powers for a precarious subsistence. Had he contrived any thing in the nature of a phantasmagoric spectacle, to deceive the eye, he might have profited by the ingenuity of his invention; but lectures which required the exercise of thought on the part of his audience, were not likely to succeed in a capital where people go to exhibitions only for amusement. Nor were the literary exertions of Mr. Coleridge, as an author, much more advantageous to him than his lectures. He began a paper called “The Friend," which had the fate of his "Watchman;" he produced also what he called "Lay Sermons," with no better success; and his tragedy, entitled "Remorse," though possessing many poctic beauties, was not adapted to the stage. He next published two poetic tales, one bearing the title of “ Christabel," and the other “Kulla Khan;" both wild and improbable fictions, displaying a glaring mixture of beauties and deformities. The "Biographia Literaria," in two volumes, printed in 1817, would have been an entertaining and instructive work, had the author given more narrative and less disquisition. The few anecdotes contained in this literary life of Mr. Coleridge, are so amusing, that the reader is vexed at finding no more entertainment of the same sort. One of these shall be here selected, because it is characteristic, and throws light upon one branch of modern criticism. "Some years ago," says Mr. Coleridge, "a gentleman, the chief writer and conductor of a celebrated Review, [he might as well have said the Edinburgh,] distinguished by its hostility to Mr. Southey, spent a day or two at Keswick. That he was, without diminution on this account, treated with every hospitable attention by Mr. Southey and myself, I need not say. But one thing I may venture to notice, that at no period of my life do I remember to have received so many, and such high-coloured compliments, in so short a space of time. He was likewise circumstantially informed by what series of accidents it had happened that Mr. Wordsworth, Mr. Southey, and I, had become neighbours; and how utterly unfounded was the supposition, that we considered ourselves as belonging to any common school, but that of good sense, confirmed by the long-established models of the best times of Greece, Rome, Italy, and England; and still more groundless the notion that Mr. Southey, (for as to myself, I had published so little, and that little of so little importance, as to make it almost | ludicrous to mention my name at all,) could have been concerned in the formation of a poetic sect with Mr. Wordsworth, when so many of his works had been published, not only previously to any acquaintance between them, but before Mr. Wordsworth himself had written any thing but in a diction ornate, and uniformly sustained; when, too, the slightest examination will make it evident, that between those and the after writings of Mr. Southey, there exists no other difference than that of a progressive degree of excellence, from progressive development of power, and progressive facility from habit and increase of experience. Yet, among the first articles which this man wrote after his return from Keswick, we were characterized as "The school of whining and hypochondriacal poets, that haunt the lakes." "In reply to a letter from the same gentleman, in which he had asked me whether I was in earnest in preferring the style of Hooker to that of Dr. Johnson; and Jeremy Taylor to Burke; I stated, somewhat at large, the comparative excellencies and defects which characterized our best prose writers, from the Reformation to the first half of Charles II. and that of those who had flourished during the present reign and the preceding one. About twelve months afterwards, a review appeared on the same subject, in the concluding paragraph of which, the reviewer asserts, that his chief motive for entering into the discussion was to separate a rational and qualified admiration of our elder poets, from the indiscriminate enthusiasm of a recent school, who praised what they did not understand, and caricatured what they were unable to imitate. And that no doubt might be left concerning the persons alluded to, the writer annexes the names of Miss Baillie, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge. For that which follows, I have only hearsay evidence, but yet such as demands my belief, viz. that on being questioned concerning this apparently wanton attack, more especially with reference to Miss Baillie, the writer had stated as his motives, that this lady when at Edinburgh had declined a proposal of introducing him to her; that Mr. Southey had written against him; and Mr. Wordsworth had talked contemptuously of him; and that, as to Coleridge, he had noticed him, merely because the names of Southey, and Wordsworth, and Coleridge, always went together." About the same time that he published the farrago of facts and opinions which he styled his Literary Life, Mr. Coleridge favoured the world with a work, bearing the truly ominous title of "Sibylline Leaves;" being a collection of his scattered poetry, introduced by a very splenetic preface, complaining of the public taste, and taking a last farewell of Parnassus. But there is a fatality attending those who have once enlisted in the service of the muses; and though our author had not found that service in any degree profitable, he could not so easily shake it off as he imagined. The fit soon returned upon him, and within a few months after his abjuration, he produced one of his best pieces, entiiled "Zapolia, a Christmas Tale, in two parts." This dramatic poem is a palpable imitation of Shakspeare's Winter's Tale, and the scene, which is completely tragic, is laid in Illyria; but it would be difficult to render the plot interesting on the stage. As a poem, it possesses many striking beauties, which would be more pleasing if the author had not disfigured them by uncouth language, and a metaphysical jargon, drawn from the dreams of Kant and other German visionaries. This was the last public appearance of Mr. Coleridge as a poet, but he has been, as we understand, employed in some literary concerns with others; particularly in the unfortunate " Encyclopædia Metropolitana," the prospectus to which is too characteristic of his style, and manner of thinking, to be mistaken. Z. A gentleman, who was, at the time a to which I allude, under a violent sa paroxysm of mania, and confined to his room, was called upon by an old re acquaintance, who had not seen him for several years. Upon going into his apartment, the gentleman said to the person who conducted him, "Will he know me, Sir?"-“O dear, yes. he knows every body," was the reply. This the gentleman overheard, and b laughed. "What do you laugh at Sir?" said the attendant. "Why," said he, "I don't know every body, but I know all those that I used to know," putting out his hand at the t same time to the stranger, and calling him by his name. I once knew a patient, who was so violent and vindictive, that the securing of his arms and legs, so that he could neither strike nor kick, was absolutely necessary. In this state he continued raving, and abusing all about him. Among other things, he observed respecting himself, "What a shame for a man of my consequence to be kept as a prisoner! what is the reason of it? what has brought me to this?" I replied in a whisper, "Your pride, Sir." Never shall I forget that look of rationality and placidity, which his countenance immediately assumed. "Give me your hand, Sir, give me your hand," said he: "I had thought you must be mad for treating me as you have done; but I ask your pardon; you are a wise and understanding man, for admitting pride to be my complaint, you have taken a most excellent way to cure me. Your physic, and your authority, and these shackles, will cure pride, I'll warrant them." Walking out with a patient on one occasion, we met a gentleman of our acquaintance; to whom, after the first salutations were over, the patient said, "Well, Sir, I don't eat the bread of idleness at Spring Vale. What with eating and drinking, taking medicine, and walking over these hills, &c. our time is pretty well taken up. Besides, I am busy composing a book. I am writing a sort of epitome of the history of man, from his cradle to his grave."-"Very well," said the gentleman, "when you publish your book, I shall take care to be a purchaser."_"What!" said the patient, "publish a book,—a madman publish a book,-why, was such S a thing ever heard of?"-" O, but," | said the gentleman, "you don't call yourself a madman."- No, no," he replied, “I don't call myself a madman, but master here does." And truly I did, for a more confirmed and inveterate case of insanity I never saw. me. "No," I said, "I will not shake hands with any such person as you are; a pretty expense we have been at! What do you think of yourself? did you not promise upon your word of honour that you would never run away? With a most sly look, he replied, "Sir, I did not run away, I walked every step." Once, at breakfast, the morning being fine, I said, Well, now, ladies, for a long walk! nothing like exertion in these cases; nothing is got by sitting still."-" True," said one of them, "how should the mind regain its rational powers, if it is not rationally exercised?" These words should be written in letters of gold, and placed in every house where the cure of insanity is attempted; and yet they were spoken by one really insane. At another time I was walking out with him, and we were accosted by a beggar. "Art thou in real distress?" said my patient. “I am, indeed," replied the beggar. "Dost thou want food?" said the other. "I do, Sir, I assure you," was the reply. "Well, then, said the patient, silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I will give unto thee.' I will give thee advice: go into the next village, and feign thyself mad; the people will then take thee up, and carry thee to that house above there, and they'll give thee plenty of food.-I want to fast, and they will not let me. The scripture says, fast and pray; now I only want to fast and pray, but as they will not let me fast, I cannot pray." I must observe here, that previous to his being put under my care, he had fasted six days at one time; but, upon seeing me, he said it was all over, and he began to cat: and yet in a little time he was as obstinate with me, till he found that I could force food into him with little trouble. He then said, he might as well take it quietly. At one time," Well, Miss S. and what was it that observing that we were annoyed with brought you to Spring Vale?" With some sheep breaking into our premi- a quick manner, as being suddenly ses from the adjoining waste, he called roused from a stupor, and with that out to me, "Master, I'll tell you how keen sarcastic look for which she had to keep those sheep away:-you have been noticed in her happier days, she only to catch the leader, and drench said, "Oh, I came to be cured of my him with some of your physic, and megrims :" as much as to say, I'll tell hang me if either he or any of the the truth; and you, I know, have been flock will ever come again." telling falsehoods. A gentleman who had made his escape from the asylum, after being taken, on finding himself closely watched, came to me and said, "I confess that I have been wrong in escaping; but to put you at ease on my account, I promise, upon my honour, that from this time I will never run away, and you well know that I am too tenacious of my honour ever to violate it." Soon after this, however, he again made his escape, and I was put to much trouble and expense in having him brought back. On his return, he came with a great deal of confidence to shake hands with An unfortunate lady, who from gross ill treatment for full seven years before, being put under my care, had become fatuous. She would sit muttering to herself, and it was but seldom possible to make her speak. In this state she was sitting one day with some other ladies, who were not so bad as herself, but were capable of conversing; and they were telling the causes which brought them to Spring Vale: One came to be cured of the rheumatism, another of a consumption, but all concealed the real cause. At last one of them said, If any mental attack can be made upon the hallucinations of insanity, with a prospect of success, it must be by the shafts of ridicule. I have often been highly pleased with the adroitness of my patients in ridiculing the folly of other patients, though they were affected in a similar way themselves. And even in those low desponding cases, which require every possible consolation, I have frequently observed, with great delight, the sympathies of friendship exerted by those afflicted with the same discase, with most happy effect; so that, under constant and judicious regula tions, the insane may be the best soci- | ety for each other. But it is not in wit or repartee, or in the occasional expression of the social feelings, that the nature of insanity can be determined. Those afflicted with this malady may, generally, under proper management, be rendered agreeable and intelligent companions, capable of communicating any knowledge they previously possessed; and while those of a lower rank in life shall be capable of useful employment, those of a higher shall be able to exhibit their superior education to the best advantage. THOS. BAKEWELL. Spring-Vale, near Stone, (To be continued.) STRICTURES ON PRIDE. "Pride was not made for man." ECCLESIASTIcus. educated because he has not had so Flattery so coincides with the passions and propensities of man, that when he cannot get the praise and adulation of his fellow-creatures, he fills himself up with his own, and, intoxicated with self-esteem, becomes proud, haughty, and consequently worthless. Now, the conduct of such a person as this, evidently shews him to possess a shallow mind, as it proves him to be destitute of self-knowledge, which is indispensably necessary to the proper regulation of our actions; and it finally draws upon him the censure and opprobrium of the world. I have attempted to shew the evil and folly of pride, when brought into action; and I will now exhibit it as it exists in the mind, in the state of inordinate self-esteem. In order to do this effectually, I will put the thoughts of such a person as I have Of all the objects which excite satire just been describing, into the form of and contempt, there is none more a soliloquy :-"I am wise, great, and ridiculous than pride; for, arising from good; nay, I am wiser, greater, and an opinion of self-superiority, it bears better, than all I see around me. upon itself the stamp of egotism. It With my accomplishments and educais the custom of some people, when tion, I am worthy to command the they want to know the worth or im- admiration and esteem of all the portance of an individual, to examine world; for superiority is my distinchis descent, and trace his genealogy: tion, and to enjoy the praise of manif he chance to be equally high-born kind must be my lot. They talk of with themselves, he is judged to be Shakspeare's greatness; but his father worthy of friendship and esteem; but was a woolcomber, while I am nobly if the contrary happen to be the case, descended. We hear of the victories he is immediately discarded as a of Alexander; but his neck was awkmean and beggarly plebeian. Now, ward and awry, while mine is straight were ridicule out of the case, and did and handsome: and, in short, comnot such conduct, even at the first pared with most of my fellow-creaglance, expose itself to laughter, every tures, I am entitled to superior rank reflecting being would pronounce it and honours. Now that I begin to despicable in the extreme, because it see my own worth, I will despise all derogates from the wisdom of God. the plebeians who may be in any way He has appointed every man a sphere, inferior to me, for I certainly am bein which he may act both honourably fore all in the endowments of both and usefully; nay, the talents given mind and body." If this specimen be to each individual by his Maker, are correct, (and I have no doubt that capable of raising him to notice and many a proud man, if his thoughts esteem; and he must be despised, for- were inspected, would be found insooth, because he happens to want a dulging in far more extravagant ideas particular favour, which has been than these,) how foolishly ridiculous, given to another! It is the same as extravagantly weak, and unaccountcontemning the ox for being unac-ably depraved, a proud heart must be! quainted with the classics. But how frequently is this conduct pursued! the rich man despises the poor for his poverty; the learned slights the un A person indulging in these thoughts, very nearly resembles the donkey, having long cars, to listen with delight to his own praises, even when dic |