#••. 
 
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 ^4i 
 
ajorncU HmuErfiita Bbrary 
 
 atljaca, Nero ^ork 
 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 MADE BY 
 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST, JOHN 
 ITHACA. N. Y. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 VICTOR EMANUEL 
 
 CLASS OF 1919 
 
 1925 
 
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MEMOIR AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 SARA COLERIDGE. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 HER DAUGHTER. 
 
 "A Spirit, yet a Woman too." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1874- 
 
MEMOIR AND LETTERS OF 
 SARA COLERIDGE. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " Poor is the portrait that one look portrays, 
 It mocks the face on which we loved to gaze."* 
 
 And if this be true of such external resemblances as pictorial 
 art is employed to produce, it is equally true of that uncon- 
 scious self-portraiture, that revelation of the inner mind, which 
 is contained, in a greater or less degree, in any collection of 
 published letters. The interest which such works are intended 
 to excite is, in the main, biographical, and their object is not 
 merely to preserve and bring to light a number of writings of 
 intrinsic merit and beauty, but still more, perhaps, to present 
 to the reader a record, however imperfect, of the personal 
 characteristics, both moral and intellectual, of the writer. 
 
 But how faint and inadequate, if not incorrect, is that image 
 of the departed which can alone be thus reproduced ! Even 
 the original correspondence, could it be given entire in all its 
 details (which is, for obvious reasons, impossible), would be but 
 as a mirrored reflection — a selection from the correspondence 
 is but its scattered fragments. 
 
 The difficulty which must attend on all such undertakings 
 as that on which I have been engaged, in editing the letters 
 
 * Lines in " Phantasmion." 
 
X Preface. 
 
 of my Mother, is rather increased than diminished by that very 
 quahty which constitutes their peculiar charm — I mean their 
 perfect genuineness and life-hl^e reality. 
 
 Touching descriptions of personal feehng, acute remarks, 
 and wise reflections occur here in abundance, which seem, to 
 the eye of affection, to be "gems of purest ray serene," the ut- 
 terances of a heart full of sensibility, and an intellect at once 
 subtle and profound. Yet, severed as they must often be from 
 the context which justified and explained them, these thought- 
 ful comments on the life within and around her may, it is 
 to be feared, either lose their full significance, or assume one 
 that is exaggerated and untrue. 
 
 Even those portions of the following collection which seem, 
 at first sight, to be most abstract and elaborate (such as the 
 critical discussions on Art and Poetry, and those which inti- 
 mate the results of speculative thought and religious inquiry), 
 will be found, on consideration, to be full of personal refer- 
 ences, suggested by special occasions, and. connected at all 
 points with the realities of life. 
 
 The letters of Sara Coleridge were not acts of authorship, 
 but of friendship ; we feel, in reading them, that she is not en- 
 tertaining or instructing a crowd of listeners, but holding quiet 
 converse with some congenial mind. Her share of that con- 
 verse we are privileged in part to overhear, while the response 
 is borne away by the winds in another direction. 
 
 A book composed of epistolary extracts can never be a 
 wholly satisfactory one, because its contents are not only rela- 
 tive and fragmentary, but unauthorized and unrevised. To ar- 
 rest the passing utterances of the hour, and reveal to the 
 world that which was spoken either in the innermost circle of 
 home affection, or in the outer (but still guarded) circle of so- 
 
Preface. xi 
 
 cial and friendly intercourse, seems almost like a betrayal of 
 confidence, and is a step which can not be taken by survivors 
 without some feelings of hesitation and reluctance. That re- 
 luctance is only to be overcome by the sense that, however 
 natural, it is partly founded on delusion — a delusion which 
 leads us to personify "the world," to our imagination, as an ob- 
 tuse and somewhat hostile individual, who is certain to take 
 things by the wrong handle, and can not be trusted to make 
 the needful allowances and supply the inevitable omissions. 
 Whereas it is a more reasonable, as well as a more comfortable 
 belief, that the only part of the world which is in the least like- 
 ly to concern itself with such a volume as this, is composed 
 of a number of enlightened and sympathetic persons, who, it 
 is hoped, though strangers to all but the name of Sara Cole- 
 ridge, may yet derive from her letters some portion of the grat- 
 ification which they once afforded to those who knew and loved 
 her. And if it be well for us to " think on whatsoever things 
 are true, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are 
 lovely," and to rejoice in " any virtue and any praise," we 
 ought surely to be willing that all who desire it should hear 
 the music of the words in which these things are uttered, and 
 see the light of the life in which they shone. 
 
 In conclusion, I have only to offer my respectful and grate- 
 ful acknowledgments to those who have rendered this memo- 
 rial possible by their kindness in intrusting me with these 
 treasured records of a friendship long past, yet never past away. 
 
 E. C. 
 
 Hanwell Rectory, May 7, 1873. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface Page ix 
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 Recollections of Sara Coleridge. Written by Herself, 
 IN A Letter to her Daughter. 
 
 Little Grand Lamas. — Fall into the Greta. — " Pi-pos, Pot-pos." — Visit to 
 the South. — Martha and Eliza Flicker. — Greta Hall Garden. — Greta 
 Hall Drawing-room. — Visit to Allan Bank. — Political Discussions. — 
 The Lake Poets on Dress. — Visit to Allonby. — Night Fears. — Sketch 
 by William Collins. — Reminiscences of Sir Henry Taylor. — Early Re- 
 ligious Views. — "Memoir of the Chevalier Bayard." — "Account of the 
 Abipones." — Visit to Highgate. — Marriage Prospects. — Henry Nelson 
 Coleridge. — " Phantasmion " and "Pretty Lessons." — Widowhood. — 
 Editorial Duties. — Her Spirituality of Mind. — Her Sweetness of Man- 
 ner. — Her Memory 33~67 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I.— 1833. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, her Eldest Brother Hartley 
 Coleridge, and Miss Trevenen 68-75 
 
 L Importance of Indirect Influences in Education. — Description of her 
 Son at Three Years of Age. — A Child's First Effort at Recollection. (68- 
 70.) II. Mrs. Joanna Baillie. — " An Old Age Serene and Bright." — Miss 
 
xiv Contents, 
 
 Martineau's Characters of Children. — "A Little Knowledge" of Political 
 Economy " a Dangerous Thing." — Comparison of Tasso, Dante, and Mil- 
 ton. (71-73.) III. Characteristics of English Scenery. — Somerset, York- 
 shire, Devon, Derbyshire, and the Lakes. — Visit of H. N. Coleridge to Mr. 
 
 Poole at Nether Stowey. (73, 74.) IV. "Dodging." — Children best 
 
 Managed by Authority, not by Premature Appeals made to their Feelings. 
 
 (74.) V. The Ancients' Close Observation and Accurate Delineation of 
 
 Nature. — Names of Colors in Classic Poetry. — " The Geoj^ics.'LiJS.) 
 
 CHAPTER II.— 1834. 
 Letters to her Husband, and to Miss Trevenen. . 76-89 
 
 I. Books for the Little Ones. — " Original Poems." — Mrs. Howitt's Poetry. 
 — Mrs. Hannah More. — Girlish View of her Literary Pretensions confirmed 
 by Maturer Judgment. — A Group of Authoresses. — Remarks on Jane Aus- 
 ten's Novels by the Lake Poets. — Hannah More's Celebrity accounted for. 
 — Letters of Walpole and Mrs. Barbauld. — Love of Gossip in the Reading 
 
 Public. (76-79.) II. Reasons why the Greek and Latin Poets ought to 
 
 continue to form Part of the Course of School Instruction. — Lord Byron's 
 Peculiar Experience no Argument against it. — Milton's Scheme of Educa- 
 tion. — Conjecture as to the Effect of Circumstances on the Development of 
 Poetic Genius. (79, 80.) III. Dryden and Chaucer. (80, 81.) IV. Con- 
 centration, not Versatility, the Secret of Success in Life. — Visionaries. — The 
 Passion of Envy and the Vice of Cruelty. — Is Sporting Wrong ? Practical 
 Bearings of the Question. — Cruelty of Children seldom Deliberate. — Folly 
 
 of Exaggerating Bird-nesting into a Crime. (81-85.) V. The Drama and 
 
 the Epic. — Painting among the Ancients. — Sense of the Picturesque in Na- 
 ture a Development of Modern Taste. (85, 86.) VI. The Sublime and 
 
 the Beautiful. — Comparative Popularity of Shakespeare, Milton, and Ben 
 Jonson. — Education of Taste by an Exclusive Study of the Best Models. 
 (86-88.) VII. Mrs. Joanna Baillie's Taste in Dress.— Opinion of the Po- 
 etess and of her Sister expressed by an Eminent Savant. (SS, 89.) 
 
 CHAPTER III.— 1834 {continued). 
 
 Letters to her Husband and her Eldest Brother, and 
 to Mrs. Plummer 90-103 
 
 I. Composition of "Pretty Lessons for Good Children." (90.) II. 
 
 Chaucer's Poetry not that of a Primitive Age. (90, 91.) HI. Note on En- 
 thusiasm. — Mischievous Effect of Wrong Names given to IMoral Qualities. 
 (91, 92.) IV. Cowper's "Iliad " and " Odyssey."— Requisites for a Success- 
 ful Translation of liomer. (92, 93.) V. False Etymologies. — Dr. John- 
 son, his Mental Powers and Moral Character. — Quiet Conclusion of " Par- 
 adise Lost," and of the Part of Shylock in the " Merchant of Venice." • 
 
 Silence of Revenge ; Eloquence of Love and Grief and Indignation. (93- 
 
Contents. 
 
 XV 
 
 95-) VI. Authority of Criticism.— The Judicial Faculty as much a Part 
 
 of the Human Mind as the Inventive Faculty.— Great Art appeals to Sym- 
 pathies which Exist in all. (95-97.) VII. Botany.— The Linnsean System 
 
 quite as Natural as the Modern Classification, though less Comprehensive. 
 —Both Arrangements ought to be Learned by Botanical Students. (97, 98.) 
 
 VIII. On_the Death of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.— Details of his Last 
 
 Illness. — His Will, Letters, and Literary Remains.— Respect and Affection 
 felt for Him by Those with whom he Lived.— Probable Influence of his 
 Writings on the Course of Religious Thought.— Remarks on his Genius and 
 Character by Different Critics.— His Last Readings and Notes. (98-102.) 
 IX. Attachment of Mr. Wordsworth to the Church of England.— Argu- 
 ments for an Establishment, in Mr. Coleridge's "Church and State." (103.) 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— 1835. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, to Mrs. Plummer, Miss Trev- 
 ENEN, Mrs. Henry M. Jones 104-120 
 
 I. Early Training. — How to Instill Right Principles of Conduct, and 
 Teach a Child the Use of his Mind. — A Little Boy's Notion of Parental 
 
 Discipline. (104, 105.) IL Her Contributions to the "Table Talk." — 
 
 Taking Notes a Useful Practice. — Education: A Quick Child may be 
 Taught a Good Deal without any Danger of Cramming. — Deaths of Charles 
 
 Lamb and Edward Irving. (105-108.) III. "The Accomplishment of 
 
 Verse." — The Delightful Duty of Improving Natural Talents. (108, 109.) 
 IV. Newspaper Criticisms on the " Table Talk." — Unreasonable Com- 
 plaints Answered, and False Insinuations indignantly Rejected. — Mr. Cole- 
 ridge not a Partisan, either of Whigs or Tories, though he was a Friend of 
 the People and Supporter of the National Church. — Mr. Southey's Opinion 
 
 of the Book. (109, 1 10.) V. Union of Thought and Feeling in the Poetry of 
 
 Wordsworth. — The "White Doe of Rylstone." (111,112.) VI. Charles 
 
 Lanib, his Shyness and Tenderness. — A Life-long Friendship. (112, 113.) 
 
 VII. Writings of Charles Wolfe in Prose and Verse. — His Defense of 
 
 Poetry against the Attacks of the Utilitarians. — Wolfe with the Methodists. 
 — Wesley's Interview with Two Crazy Enthusiasts. — Political Questions 
 from a Conservative Point of View. — The Secularization of Church Proper- 
 ty. — Projected Disestablishment of the Church in Ireland certain to Lead to 
 the same Measure in England. — A Sisterly Wish on Behalf of the Sister 
 
 Isle. (113-1 16.) VIII. Severity not the Right Mode of Treatment for an 
 
 Obstinate Temper, in Spite of its Apparent Success. — Parental Discipline 
 
 has a Higher Aim, and avails itself of Pligher Influences. (116, 117.) 
 
 IX. Spiders. — Their Webs and Ways. (118.) X. Unpractical Suggestions 
 
 of a Writer in the Athenceum on the Subject of Female Education. — Board- 
 ing-school Life not Unhealthy for Girls under Ordinary Circumstances. — 
 Alleged Physical Superiority of Savage over Civilized Races not Founded 
 
 on Fact, nor much Worth Regretting if it were, (i 18-120.) XL Puns. 
 
 — Affectation. (120.) 
 
xvi Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER v.— 1836. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, Rer Mother, Mrs. H. M. Jones, 
 Miss Trevenen, Miss Arabella Brooke 121-134 
 
 I. " Miscellaneous Plays," by Mrs. Joanna Baillie. (121.) II. A Perfect 
 
 Reticule. — Bridgewater Treatise by Dr. Roget. — Natural History less De- 
 pendent on other Sciences than Astronomy — or Comparative Anatomy. — 
 Want of Reality in the Poetry of Mrs. Hemans. — Excess of this Quality in 
 
 Crabbe. {121-123.) III. Etymology of Plat and Plait. — The Plaits (or 
 
 Plats) of a Lady's Hair, and the Plaits of her Gown, originally the same 
 Word, though Different in Meaning and Pronunciation. — A Social Sunbeam. 
 
 (123, 124.) IV. '■'■Clever'''' People not always Thinking People. — Serious 
 
 Reflections Suggested by the Receipt of Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying," 
 as a Present from a Friend. — Sympathy more to be Prized than Admiration. 
 — " The Boy and the Birds," and the " Story without an End." — A Critic's 
 
 Foible. (124-126.) V. A Visit to Devonshire. — Advantage of Frequent 
 
 Intercourse among Relations. — Forebodings of Illness, too soon Realized. — 
 Maternal Cares and Interests. — Interruption of her Journey Homeward. 
 (126-128.) VI. " Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be com- 
 forted." (128, 129.) VII. " The 6'/5<2/z«^ Spirit of Imagination." (129, 130.) 
 
 VIII. Speculations on Life and Organization. — Life considered as the 
 
 Connecting Link between Mind and Matter. — Mr. Coleridge's Application 
 of this View to the Scriptural Narratives of Demoniacal Possession, and 
 
 to the Christian Doctrine of the Resurrection. (130-132.) IX. "The 
 
 Remains." — Metaphysics like Alum. (132, 133.) X. Abbott's "Corner- 
 Stone," and other Religious Works. — Comparison of Archbishop Whately 
 with Dr. Arnold, in their Mode of Setting Forth the Evidences of Christian- 
 ity. — Verbosity of Dr. Chalmers. — Value of the Greek Language as an In- 
 strument of Mental Cultivation. (133, 134.) 
 
 CHAPTER VI.— 1S37. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, to Miss A. Brooke, Mrs. Plum- 
 MER, Mrs. H. M. Jones 135-154 
 
 I. Difference between the Italian Satiric Poets and their English Imi- 
 tators. (135.) II. Unsatisfactoriness of Desultory Correspondence. — 
 
 " Phantasmion, a Romance of Fairy-land." — Defense of Fairy Tales by Five 
 Poets. — Books about Children not often Books for Children. — Inconoruous 
 Effect of Scripture Lessons intermixed with Nursery Talk and Doino-s. — 
 Christianity best Taught by a Mother out of the Bible and Prayer-book. — 
 "Newman's Sermons." — "Maurice's Letters to the Quakers." (135-138.) 
 
 III. " Mary and Plorence ; or. Grave and Gay," a Tale for Children. — 
 
 Right Interpretation of St. John iii., 8. — Heavenly Things should be set be- 
 
Contents. xvii 
 
 fore Children both "plainly" and "by a Parable." (138, 139.) IV. Re- 
 gent's Park. (139, 140.) V. Dryden's Censure of Ovid, on the Score of 
 
 the Rhetorical Expressions attributed to the Dying Narcissus. — His Ob- 
 servations not True to Nature, nor Applicable to the Case in Question. — 
 Definition of "Force" and "Liveliness" in Poetry. — The Homeric My- 
 thology not Allegorical. — Symbolical Character of the Imagery of Milton 
 and Wordsworth.^Originality of Virgil. (140-142.) VI. "Parochial Ser- 
 mons" by John Henry Newman. — Power and Beauty of his Style. — Tend- 
 ency of his Teachings to Exalt the Passive rather than the Active Qualities 
 of Humanity. — The Operation of Divine Grace on the Soul is a Mystery, 
 the Visible Effect whereof is Holiness ; but Writers of the Oxford School 
 appear to Represent the Effect as no less Invisible than the Cause. — The 
 Ordinance of Preaching. (142-145.) VII. Graphic Style of the Old Testa- 
 ment Narratives. — Greek and Roman History less Objective. (145, 146.) 
 
 VIII. " Phantasmion" a Descriptive Piece ; not an Allegory, or Moral Tale. 
 — Want of Artistic Unity in Goethe's " Faust." (146-148.) IX. Prepara- 
 tion for the Study of Divinity. — Tendency to Discursiveness inherited from 
 
 her Father. (148.) X^ View of Grasmere. — " Prosy" Letters preferred 
 
 to Practical Ones. — Inefficiency of Dames' Schools, and even of National 
 Schools, as at that Time Conducted. — Effect of Church Principles and Prac- 
 tices in giving a Religious Tone to a School. (148, 149.) XL Conserva- 
 tive Replies to some Arguments of the Radical Party. — The British Con- 
 stitution not originally Popular, but Paternal. — An Appeal to Universal 
 Suffrage not an Appeal to the Collective Wisdom of the Age, but to its Col- 
 lective Ignorance. — " The Majority will be always in the Right ;" but not 
 till it has Adopted the Views of the Minority. — Despotism of the Mob in 
 America Regretted by many Americans. — English Government not a mere 
 Machine for Registering Votes. — How are the People to be Trained to a 
 Right Exercise of their Liberties ? — " Govern them, and lift them up forever." 
 (150-154.) XII. Insanity. — Intermediate State of the Departed not dis- 
 tinctly Revealed in Scripture. (154.) 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— 1838. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, to Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Mrs. 
 Plummer, Miss A. Brooke, Miss Trevenen. . 155-165 
 
 I. Letter of Condolence to a Friend on the Death of a Brother. (155, 156.) 
 
 II. Mr. Gillman's Life of her Father. — Earlier Development of Mr. 
 
 Coleridge's Mind in the Direction of Poetry than in that of Theological 
 
 Research. (156, 157.) HI. Blessing of Fraternal Affection. — Danger to 
 
 which it is Exposed from Human Infirmity. (157, 158.) IV. Sea-side Oc- 
 cupations. — Bathing : Childish Timidity not to be Cured by Compulsion. — 
 Letter-writing : Friendly Letters, like Visits, not mere Vehicles for News. 
 
 (158, 159.) V. The " History of Rome," by Dr. Arnold. — The Study of 
 
 Divinity, Poetry, and Physiology preferred to that of History or Politics. — 
 Christian Theology as an Intellectual System, based on Metaphysics.— Im- 
 portance of Right Views on these Subjects.— National Education the Proper 
 
 B 
 
xviii Contents. 
 
 Work of the Church. (159-161.) VI. Literary Varieties.— Spirituality of 
 
 Northern Nations, and Metaphysical Subtlety of the Greeks. (161.) VII. 
 
 Miracle of the Raising of Lazarus passed over by the Synoptical Gospels. 
 
 (161, 162.) VIII. Connection between the Senses and the Mind.— Poetic 
 
 Genius Implies a Sensitive Organization. — Early Greatness of Great Poets. 
 — Poetic Imagination of Plato brought to bear upon Abstract Ideas. (162, 
 
 163.) IX. Treasures of English Literature. — Arnold's "Rome." (163.) 
 
 X.The Homeric Ithaca. — Autobiographical Air of the "Odyssey." (163, 
 
 164.) XI. Description of the Falls of Niagara in Miss Martineau's 
 
 "Retrospect of Western Travel." (164.) XII. Lukewarm Christians. 
 
 (164, 165.) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.— 1839. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, Mrs. Plummer, Miss A. Brooke, 
 Miss Trevenen 166-174 
 
 I. Characteristics of the Oxford School of Divines. — Combinations, even 
 for the Best Purposes, not Favorable to Truth. — Superior Confidence in- 
 spired by an Independent Thinker. — Are Presbyterians Excluded from the 
 Visible Church .'' — Authority of Hooker cited against such a Decision. — 
 Defense of the Title of Protestant. — Luther : Injustice commonly done to 
 
 his Character and Work. (166-169.) H- -^ Little Lecturer. — Stammering 
 
 a Nervous Affection, dependent on the Imagination. (169, 170.) III. Phi- 
 losophy of the "Excursion." (170, 171.) IV. Lord Byron on the Lake 
 
 Poets. (171.) V. Writing to Order. — Sunday Stories and Spanish Ro- 
 mances. (171, 172.) VI. Pain more Bearable when its Cause is Known. 
 
 — Books and Letters Composed but never Written. — Musings on Eternity. — 
 " We know not yet what we shall be." — Descriptions of Heaven, Symbolical, 
 Material, and Spiritual. — Conjectures of Various Writers respecting the 
 Condition of Departed Souls. (172-174.) 
 
 CHAPTER IX.— 1S40. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, her Eldest Brother, Mrs. J. 
 Stanger, Mrs. H. M. Jones 175-180 
 
 I. Love of Books a Source of Happiness, and likely to be Increased by 
 
 Classical Studies. (175.) H. Lord Byron's " Mazeppa" and "Manfred." — 
 
 His Success in Satire and in Sensational Writing. (175, 176.) III. Prac- 
 tical View of the Duties of God-parents. — Sponsorship Nowadays chiefly a 
 
 Social Obligation. (176, 177.) IV. On the Death of an Infant Daughter. 
 
 (177, 178.) V. " They sin who tell us Love can die." (178, 179.) VI. A 
 
 Sunset Landscape. (179.) VII. The True Art of Life. (179, 180.) 
 
Contents. xix 
 
 CHAPTER X.— 1841, 1842. 
 
 Letters to her Husband, Mrs. Plummer, Mrs. Thomas 
 Farrer, Miss Trevenen, Mrs. H. M. Jones, the Rev. 
 H. Moore, the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge. . 181-190 
 
 I. Necessity of Patience and Hope in Education. (i8i.) II. The Lake 
 
 Poets on Sport. — Tlie " Life of Wesley" a Wonderful Book. (i8i, 182.) 
 
 III. Coolness of Unimaginative People. — Imagination, like Religion, " re- 
 quires looking after." (182.) IV. Inflexibility of the French Language.^ 
 
 The Second Part of " Faust :" its Beauties and Defects. — Visionary Hopes. 
 
 (183.) V. Reminiscences of a Tour in Belgium. — Hemling's "Marriage 
 
 of St. Catharine" at Bruges, and Van Eyck's " Adoration of the Lamb" at 
 Ghent. — Devotional Gravity of the Early Flemish Painters, and Human 
 Pathos of Rubens. — Works of that Master at Antwerp and Mechlin. (183- 
 
 185.) VL Prayer for the Dead. (185.) VH. A Visit to Oxford. (186.) 
 
 VIII. Illness of her Husband, and Death of his only Sister. (186-188.) 
 
 IX. On the same Topics. — Religious Bigotry. (188.) X. " Hope De- 
 ferred." — Her Son at Eton. (189.) XL Resignation. (189, 190.) 
 
 CHAPTER XL— 1843. 
 
 Letters to her Son, her Eldest Brother, Mrs. Gillman, 
 Mrs. J. Stanger, Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Rev. 
 Henry Moore, Edward Quillinan, Esq., Mrs. Thomas 
 Farrer, Miss Morris, Mrs. H. M. Jones 191-210 
 
 I. To her Son. (191.) H. Her Husband's Death. — First Meeting with 
 
 him at Highgate. (191, 192.) III. On the same Subject. — Trial of a 
 
 Mourner's Faith, and How it was Met. (192-194.) IV. Affectionate Kind- 
 ness of Relatives and Friends. — Special Gifts of a Christian Minister, in his 
 Attendance upon the Sick and Dying. (194-196.) — '■ — V. Memoir of Nicho- 
 las Ferrer. (196, 197.) VI. A Quiet Heart. (197.) VII. Monument of 
 
 Robert Southey. — Recumbent Statues. (197, 198.) VIII. On her Loss. — 
 
 Injury done to the Mind by Brooding over Grief. (198, 199.) IX. God's 
 
 Will the Best Consolation. (199, 200.) X. New Friends. — A Happy Pair 
 
 (200.) XL Dryness of Controversial Sermons. (201.) XII. Preliminary 
 
 Essay to the " Aids to Reflection," by the Rev. James Marsh. — Her " Essay 
 on Rationalism." — Consolation and Instruction derived from Theological 
 
 Studies. (201, 202.) XIII. A Visit to Margate. — Domestic Economy in 
 
 its Right Place. — An Eton School-boy. — Reading under Difficulties. — High 
 Moral Aim of Carlyle's "Hero-worship." — Joy of a True Christian. — The 
 
 Logic of the Heart and the Logic of the Head. (202-205.) XIV. Beauty of 
 
 Sussex Scenery. — Congenial Society. (205, 206.) XV. Friendly Recollec- 
 tions and Anticipations. (206.) XVI. On her Loss.— Cheerfulness instead 
 
XX Contents. 
 
 of Happiness.— Visits to Eton and Tunbridge Wells. (206-208.) XVII. 
 
 Sympathy Inspired by the Sorrows of Childhood and Youth. (208,209.) 
 
 XVIII. Restoration of the Jews.— Literal Fulfillment of the Promise ap- 
 parently Indicated by Old Testament Prophecy, and by the Words of St. 
 Paul in his Epistle to the Romans. (209, 210.) XIX. Readings in Aris- 
 tophanes.— Cheerfulness and Simplicity of Early Poetry. (210.) 
 
 CHAPTER XII.— 1844. 
 
 Letters to Miss Morris, John Kenyon, Esq., Mrs. Edward 
 Coleridge, Mrs. Farrer, Mrs. J. Stanger. . . . 211-222 
 
 I. " Traveling Onward." — Differences of Mental Perspective in the Con- 
 templation of Truth. — Doctrine of the Millennium. — Symbolism in the 
 Bible. — "Messiah's Kingdom" and the "Reign of the Saints" both signify 
 the Establishment of Christianity. — Literal Explanation of the latter Proph- 
 ecy by some of the Fathers not Founded on Tradition. (211, 212.) 
 
 II. Critique on the Early Poems of Elizabeth Barrett (Mrs. Browning). — Fa- 
 vorite Pieces. — Exuberance of her Style Inappropriate to Solemn Themes. 
 — Hasty Objections made by Miss B to the Ideal Philosophy of Berke- 
 ley, and to the Wolfian Theory of Homer. (213-215.) III. Gladsomeness 
 
 a Natural Gift of Childhood. — Severe Discipline not Suited to the Period 
 of Early Youth. (215, 216.) IV. The Temple Church. — Color in Archi- 
 tecture. (216.) V. Use of Metrical Rules in Poetry. — Versification of 
 
 " Christabel " and " The Ancient Mariner." — Artificial Character of some 
 
 of the Greek Metres. (216, 217.) VI. The " Life of Arnold" a Book to 
 
 be " Gloried in." — The Visible Church not to be Identified with any Single 
 System. — Dr. Arnold's Opinion that there ought to be no Distinction be- 
 tween the Clergy and the Laity. (217, 218.) VII. "Xothing to Do."— - 
 
 Isaac Taylor's Suggestion that there will be Work as well as Rest in Heaven. 
 — Sea-side Views and Walks. — Fellow-lodgers. — Idleness and Extravagance 
 of London Shop-keepers. — Two Sorts of Diffuseness. — Lord Eldon. — Re- 
 flections on his Character and Portrait. (218-221.) VIII. Religious Dis- 
 cussion Necessary to the Church ; and Useful, under Certain Conditions, to 
 the Individual Christian. (221,222.) 
 
 CHAPTER XIII.— 1S45. 
 
 Letters to the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Hartley 
 Coleridge, Esq., Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Miss Morris, 
 Miss Erskine, Mrs. Farrer, the Hon. Mrs. Henry 
 Taylor 223-246 
 
 I. Memories of her Native Vale. — The Quarterly Review a greater Au- 
 thority on Practical than on Poetical Matters. — Dr. Arnold as a Man and a 
 Writer. — His Peculiar Theory of Church and State. — Definition of Humility 
 
Contents. xxi 
 
 and Modesty, suggested by a Note in the " Northern Worthies." {223-226.) 
 
 II. The Royal Academy of 1845. — Turner's Painting. (226, 227.) 
 
 III. Visitors before Luncheon. (227, 228.) IV. Interpretations of Scripture 
 
 Prophecies by Writers of the Evangelical School. — Antichristian Character 
 of the Papacy supposed to be Predicted by the " Little Horn" in the Book 
 of Daniel, the "Man of Sin" in the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, 
 and "Babylon the Great" in the Revelations. — Contents of the Sixth Vial. 
 — Shelley's Atheism. — Not Papal, but Pagan Rome the Real Object of the 
 
 Apocalyptic Denunciations. (228-230.) V. Occasional Recurrence of 
 
 Millennial Preachings. — Unpractical Nature of the Doctrine. — Bearing of 
 the Parable of the Ten Virgins on this Subject. — Various Styles of Contem- 
 porary Divines. (231,232.) VI. Dr. Pusey's Preaching. (232.) VII. 
 
 Sunset over the Sea. (232.) VIII. Canterbury Cathedral and St. Augus- 
 tine's College. (233.) IX. Reunion of Christendom. — The Romish Cler- 
 gy and the Roman Church. (233-235.) X. "New Heavens and a New 
 
 Earth." (235, 236.) XL Poetry of Keats: its Beauties and Defects. — 
 
 "The Grecian Urn" and "Endymion." (236-239.) XII. Sudden Death 
 
 of her Mother. — Reilections on the Event. (240.) XIII. Peculiar Sense 
 
 of Solitude arising from the Loss of a Parent. — Editorial Labors on the 
 "Biographia Literaria." — Mr. Coleridge's Immense Reading, and Striking 
 
 Quotations made from Obscure Authors. (241, 242.) XIV. " S. T. C. on 
 
 the Body." — The Essential Principle of Life not Dependent on the Material 
 Organism. — Teaching of St. Paul on this Point. — The Glorified Humanity 
 of Christ. — Disembodied Souls. — Natural Regrets arising from the Thought 
 of our Great Change. (242-246.) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV.— 1846, jMiuary-July. 
 
 Letters to Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Rev. Frederick D. Mau- 
 rice, Henry Taylor, Esq., Miss Morris, Mrs. H. M. 
 Jones, Mrs. Richard Townsend 247-276 
 
 I. The Conviction of Sin.— Exaggerated Self-Accusations of the Relig- 
 ious. — Substantial Agreement among Christians of all Denominations. 
 (247, 248.) IL Grace in Baptism. (249.) III. Defense of Mr. Cole- 
 ridge's View of Baptism. — Regeneration, in its Primary Sense, means the 
 Work of God upon the Soul, which leads to Sanctification. — Baptism 
 effects a Change of State (not of Nature) by giving the Promise of the 
 Holy Spirit. — "The Gospel of the Poor." — Use of Rationalism in rec- 
 tifying Popular Theology. — Negative Character of German Philosophy. 
 
 (249-252.) IV. "Moral Effects the Test of Spiritual Operations."— 
 
 Dream -Verses.— Milton's Beauty. (252, 253.) V. Originality of Milton's 
 
 Genius. — Love of Nature Displayed in his Poetry. (253,254.) VL 
 
 Blanco White.— Comparison between his State of Mind and. that of Cow- 
 
 per and of Shelley. (254, 255.) VII. Character of her Mother. (255.) 
 
 VIII. Unfair Criticism of Mr. Coleridge's Religious Opinions.— His 
 
 MS. NotesT— Care taken of them by Mr. Southey. (256.) IX. Beauties 
 
 'of Crabbe. (256, 257.) X. Reflections of an Invalid.— Defense of Luther. 
 
xxii Contents. 
 
 —Charges of Irreverence often Unjustly Made. — Ludicrous Illustration 
 found in a Sermon of Bishop Andrewes'.— Education : how far it may be 
 Secular without being Irreligious. — Mr. Keble's "Lyra Innocentium." — 
 
 Religious Poetry. (257-260.) XL Composition of " Phantasmion." — 
 
 - Love in Fairy-land. (261, 262.) XII. Comparative Merits of the Earlier 
 
 (^ and Later Poems of Wordsworth.— Burns. (263.) XIIL Classification 
 
 [ of Mr.Wordsworth's Poems, with a View to Proving the Superiority of 
 ") fhe Earlier Ones over the Later.— Earlier Poems : Meditative ; Lyrical. — 
 ^ Poems of Incidents : Reflective and Pathetic. — Poems of Sentiment : Re- 
 flective and Imaginative ; Descriptive. — Ballad Poems. — Homely Strains. 
 
 —Sonnets.— Later Poems. (264-273.) XIV. Critique on " Laodamia." 
 
 — Want of Truth and Delicacy in the Sentiments attributed to the Wife 
 in that Poem. — No Moral Lessons of any Value to be Drawn from such 
 a Misrepresentation. — Superior Beauty and Fidelity of a Portrait taken 
 from the Life. — Leading Idea of Shelley's " Sensitive Plant." (273-276.) 
 
 CHAPTER XV.— 1846, yiLly-December. 
 
 Letters to Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Rev. Henry Moore, 
 Miss Fenwick, Mrs. Farrer, Miss Moore.. . . 277-298 
 
 I. Mr. Raskin's " Modern Painters." (277.) II. A Talk with Mr. Car- 
 
 lyle. — Money as the Reward of Virtue. — Different Effects of Sorrow on 
 Different Minds. — Miss Fenwick. — Milton, Good as well as Great. (277- 
 
 279.) III. A Picture. (279.) IV. Danger of Exclusiveness in Parental 
 
 Affection. (279, 280.) V. St. Augustine's College. — Holiday Tasks. — The 
 
 Evening Gray and the Morning Red. (280-282.) VI. " Saintism." — 
 
 Untrustworthiness of Religious Autobiographies. (282, 283.) VII. Hu- 
 man Sorrow and Heavenly Rest. — "The Golden Manual." — Blue and 
 White in Sky, Sea, and Land. — Landor's " Pentameron." — Comparative 
 
 Rank of Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, and Dante. (283-2S6.) VIII. 
 
 Age and Ugliness. — " Expensive Blessings." — .Eschylus. —Principle of 
 Pindaric Metre, and Spirit of Pindaric Poetry.— Physical and Intellectual 
 
 Arts of Greece. (286-288.) IX. Miss Farrer. (2SS-290.) X. On the 
 
 Establishment— The Church Supported by the State, not in its Catholic, 
 
 but in its National Character. — Bishops in Parliament. (290, 291.) XL 
 
 The^"Divina Commedia." — Barbarous Conception of the W^orld of Fallen 
 Spirits exhibited in the " Inferno." —Dante compared with Milton, Lu- 
 cretius, and Goethe. — Dante as Poet, Philosopher and Politician. (291-295.) 
 
 XII. Dante's Lucifer and Milton's Satan.— The Anthropomorphism 
 
 of Milton an Inheritance of the Past. — Personality of the Evil Spirit. 
 
 Confusion between the Spiritual and the Material in the "Divina Com- 
 media." — Poetic Merits of Dante. (295-29S.) 
 
Contents. xxiii 
 
 CHAPTER XVI.— 1847, January -yuly. 
 
 Letters to Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Hon. Mr. Justice Cole- 
 ridge, Miss Fenwick, Miss Erskine, Miss Morris, 
 Miss Trevenen 299-316 
 
 I. Characters of Milton, Charles the First, and Oliver Cromwell. (299.) 
 
 II. Reserve in Friendship. — A Labor of Love. — Dedication of the Second 
 Edition of the "Biographia Literaria" to Mr. Wordsworth. — "The Silence 
 ofTQld Age." (299, 300.)- — IIL A Visit to Bath.— Her Son's Eton Suc- 
 cesses. — School-boy Taste. — The Athanasian Creed. — Doctrine of the Fil- 
 ial Subordination not contained in it. — The Damnatory Clauses. — Candor 
 in Argument. (301-303.) IV. Reasons why Popular Fallacies on Re- 
 ligious Subjects ought to be Exposed. — Gradual Advance of the Human 
 Mind in the Knowledge of Divine Truth. — Admission of Objections to the 
 
 Athanasian Creed by Churchmen. — The Nicene Creed. (303-305.) V. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth. — Walks and Talks with the Aged Poet. — His 
 Consent obtained to a Removal of the Alterations made by him in his 
 
 Early Poems. (305, 306.) VI. Fasting and Self-denial. (306, 307.) 
 
 ~VlI. The Irish Famine. — Defects and Excellences of the Irish Character. 
 
 — Bath Churches. — " The Old Man's Home ;" an Allegory. (307-309.) 
 
 VIII. Last Visit of Mr. Wordsworth to London. (309.) IX. Illness of 
 
 Mrs. Quillinan. — Answer to the Question " Whether Dying Persons ought 
 to be Warned of their State at the Risk of Hastening their Departure V 
 
 — Holy Livmg the only Real Preparation for Holy Dying. (309-311.) 
 
 X. A Month Later. — Criticisms on her Introduction to the " Biographia 
 Literaria." — Controversial Difficulties. — London in May. — Mrs. Southey's 
 
 Poems. (312-314.) XL The Earnest of Eternal Life. (314.) XII. The 
 
 Sister of Charles Lamb. (315.) XIII. Religious Tendency of Mr. Cole- 
 ridge's Writings.^Her Father, her Uncle, and Mr. Wordsworth. (315.) 
 
 XIV. Margate in a Storm. (316.) 
 
 CHAPTER XVH.— 1847, July -December. 
 
 Letters to Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Hon. Mr. Justice Cole- 
 ridge, Miss Fenwick, Rev. Henry Moore, Miss Ers- 
 kine, Miss Morris, Miss Trevenen, Mrs. H. M. Jones, 
 Mrs. Richard Townsend 317-338 
 
 L Grasmere Church-yard. (317.) IL The Installation Ode. — "The 
 
 Triad." (317, 318.) III. High-Church Principles practically carried out. 
 
 ■^(318, 319.) IV. Intellectual Ladies, Modern and Ancient. (319, 320.) 
 
 V. Sacred Poetry : Keble, Quarles, and Crashaw. (320, 321.) VL 
 
 The Art of Poetry. — A Lesson on Metre. (321-323.) VII. Lodging- 
 
xxiv Contents. 
 
 house Discomforts.— A Programme Unfulfilled. (323-325.) VIII. Mod- 
 ern Novels : " Grantley Manor," " Granby," " The Admiral's Daughter." 
 
 (325,326.) IX. "Marriage," by Miss Ferrier.— Novel Writing. (326.) 
 
 X. Mrs. Gillman of Highgate. (326.) XL The Salutary Discipline 
 
 of Affliction.— Earthly Enjoyments and Heavenly Hopes. (327, 328.) 
 
 XII. Controlling Grief for the Sake of Others. (328, 329.) XIII. " Anti- 
 
 Lutherism." — Charges made against Luther of Irreverence, Immorality, 
 and Uncharitableness. — Luther's Doctrine of Justification adopted by the 
 English Church.— " Heroes," and the "Worship" due to them. — Luther's 
 
 Mission as a Witness for Gospel Truth. (329-332.) XIV. Performance 
 
 of " Philip van Artevelde," by Mr. Macready, at the Princess's Theatre. 
 (332, 333.) XV. Dr. Arnold on the Wickedness of Boys. — Social Oys- 
 ters. — A Liberal High Churchman. (333, 334.) XVI. Pamphlet by a 
 
 Seceder to the Roman Church. — The Hampden Controversy. — Church Or- 
 namentation. (335-337.) XVII. Origin of the Dislike felt to Dr. Hamp- 
 den's Views. (337.) XVIII. Dr. Hampden's " Observations on Dissent." 
 
 (337, 338-) 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII.— 1848. 
 
 Letters to Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Rev. Henry Moore, 
 Miss Morris, Miss Fenwick, Mrs. H. M. Jones, Mrs. 
 Richard Townsend, Mrs. Gillman, C. B. Stutfield, 
 Esq 339-35 1 
 
 I. Mr. Coleridge's Religious System addressed to the Heart and Con- 
 science, not to the Intellect alone. (339, 340.) II. Her Son's Prepara- 
 tion for the Newcastle Examination. — Schbol Rivalries. (340.) III. The 
 
 Newcastle Scholar. — The Chartist Demonstration. — Lowering of the Fran- 
 chise. — Moral and Material Improvement the Real Wants of the Poor, not 
 
 Political Power. (341-343.) IV. Youth and Age. (343.) V. Early 
 
 Marriage. (343, 344.) VI. Charms of our Native Place. — Country Life 
 
 and Town Life. — Portrait -painters. — Portraits of Middle-aged People. 
 
 (344, 345.) VII. Teaching Work. — Dickens as a Moralist for the Young. 
 
 (345, 346.) VIII. Mr. Coleridge's Philosophy inseparable from his Re- 
 ligious Teaching. — His View of the Inspiration of Scripture. (346, 347.) 
 
 IX. Mr. Spedding's Critique on Lord Macaulay's Essay on Bacon. — 
 
 The Ordinance of Confirmation. — Primitive Explanations of its Meaning 
 
 and Efficiency. (347, 348.) X. Pindar. — Dante's " Paradiso." — " Faustina," 
 
 by Ida Countess Hahn-Iiahn. — Haziness of Continental Morality. — A Co- 
 quette on Principle. — Lord Bacon's Insincerity. (34S-350.) XI. Roman- 
 ist Secessions. (350,351.) 
 
Contents. ' xxv 
 
 CHAPTER XIX.— 1848 {continued). 
 
 Letters to the Rev. Henry Moore, Aubrey de Vere, Esq., 
 Miss Fenwick, the Rev. Edward Coleridge. . 352-367 
 
 I. Dr. Arnold's School Sermons. — His Comment on the Story of the 
 Young Men who Mocked Elisha. — Individuals under the Mosaic Dis- 
 pensation dealt with as Public, not as Private Characters. — Dr. Ham- 
 mond's proposed Rendering of 2 Peter i., 20. (352, 353.) H. Mr. Long- 
 fellow's "Evangeline." — Hexameters in German and English. — "Hype- 
 rion," by the same Author. — " Letters and Poetical Remains of John 
 
 Keats." (354, 355.) HL Justice and Generosity. — "Vanity Fair." — The 
 
 World, and the Wheels on which it Moves. — Thackeray, Dickens, and 
 
 Currer Bell. — Devotion of Dobbin to Amelia. (356, 357.) IV. Essay 
 
 on "Money." — Prodigality and Avarice. (357.) V. Mr. Carlyle on Hero- 
 
 Worship. — Ceremonial, in his View, the Husk of Religion ; Veneration its 
 Kernel. — Veneration rightly bestowed on Mental Power as an Image of 
 One of the Divine Attributes. — Voltaire justly Admired by the French 
 for his Native Genius. — Association of Goodness with Wisdom, and of 
 Poetry with Philosophy. — Mr. Carlyle's Heroes described by him as Bene- 
 factors, not merely Rulers of Men. — Instances of Voltaire, Rousseau, and 
 Cromwell. — A True Sense in which "Might is Right." — Character of Mira- 
 beau. — Comparison of Mr. Carlyle as a Moralist with Lord Byron, as a 
 Historian with Lord Macaulay. — Aim and Spirit of his History of the 
 French Revolution. (358-367.) 
 
 CHAPTER XX.— 1849, January -yuly. 
 
 Letters to Miss Fenwick, Miss Morris, Mrs. J. Stanger, 
 Mrs. R. Townsend, Mrs. Plummer, Aubrey de Vere, 
 Esq., Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Edward Quilli- 
 nan, Esq., Henry Taylor, Esq., Rev. Edward Cole- 
 ridge 368-389 
 
 I. A Sad New- Year. — Alarming Illness of her Brother Hartley. (368, 
 
 369.) II. His Long Absence and Unexpected Death. — Disappointment 
 
 of Long-ciierished Hopes. — His Attaching Qualities. — His Grave in Gras- 
 
 mere Church-yard. — His Last Hours. (369, 370.) III. Affectionate Be- "V 
 
 havior of the Old Friends at Rydal Mount on this Occasion. — Mr. Words- 
 worth's Opinion of Hartley's Character and Genius. (371, 372.) IV. 
 
 "Christian Use of Sorrow. (372.) V. Sensitiveness about Public Opinion. 
 
 (372, 373.) VI. Lecture at the Royal Institution. — Visit to the Dudley 
 
 Gallery. — Early Italian Masters, Fra Angelico and Fra Bartolomeo. — Com- 
 
xxvi Contents. 
 
 parison between the " Last Judgment " of Fra Angelico and the " Divina 
 Commedia" of Dante. — Her Brother Hartley, his Countenance and Por- 
 trait. (373-375.) VII. Strong-minded Women. (375.) VIII. Dean 
 
 Stanley's Sermons. — Study of German Theology. (376, 377.) IX. Essay 
 
 on the Idea of Life, by S. T. Coleridge. (377.) X. Juvenile Criticism. — 
 
 Review of Lord Macaulay's History in the Quarterly. — Miss Strickland's 
 Life of Maria d'Este. — Remarks on Governesses in an Article on "Vanity 
 
 Fair." (378, 379.) XI. "Une Femme Accomplie." (379, 380.) XII. 
 
 Failure and Success. — Her Son's Choice of a Profession. — Metaphysical 
 Training a Desideratum in University Education. — Confusions arising 
 from the Misuse of Philosophical Terms. — A General Council of the 
 
 Church to be desired for the Settlement of Controversies. (380, 381.) 
 
 XIII. Modern "Miracles." (382.) XIV. Claims of Society. — A Practical 
 
 Philosophy. (382, 383.) XV. Lights and Shadows. — " Latter-day Pam- 
 phlets." — " Chartism." — " Shirley." — Walking Powers not Lost. (383, 384.) 
 
 XVI. Afternoon Calls. — Hurried Composition. — " Metaphysico-pho- 
 
 bia." — Middle-aged Looks. — Simplicity of her Mother's Character. (384, 
 
 385.) XVII. Early Associations with the Seasons. — Vaughan, Herbert, 
 
 and Crashaw. (386.) XVIII. Miss Sellon at Plymouth. — Lord Macau- 
 lay's History. — Cruelty of James II. (386,387.) XIX. Revolutions of 
 
 1848. — Chester Place and Hyde Park Gardens. — A Little Beauty. (387, 
 
 388.) XX. A Fatiguing Task. — Comparison of Mr. Coleridge with Mr. 
 
 Fonblanque as a Newspaper Writer. — Vindication of his Character for 
 Industry and Political Integrity. — Plato on the Immortality of the Soul. — 
 Mr. Newman's Sermon on the Intermediate State. — Opinion concerning 
 Paradise held in the Primitive Church. (388, 389.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXL— 1849, July-December. 
 
 Letters to Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Aubrey de Yere, Esq., 
 Henry Taylor, Esq., Miss Fennvick, Mrs. Farrer, 
 Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge 390-412 
 
 I. " Sacred and Legendary Art," by Mrs. Jameson.— Parallel between the 
 Classic Mythology and the Hagiology of the Roman Catholic Church. — 
 
 Hartley Coleridge's Poems. (390, 391.) -H. Principle of a Poor Law.— 
 
 Mortality in Ireland. — Poetry and Farming. (391, 392.) HI. Durability 
 
 of Early Impressions. — Morbid Depravity. — Swedenborg. (392, 393.) 
 
 IV. Hearing and Reading. — Facts and Opinions. (393.) V. Jud"-ment 
 
 of the Privy Council in the Gorham Case. — Functions of the Council 
 Declaratory, not Legislative. — Depreciatory Tone of the " Latter-day Pam- 
 phlets."— Pictures belonging to Mr. Munro of Hamilton Place. (393, 394.) 
 
 VI. Scotland and Switzerland.— Historical Interest attaching to the 
 
 Former. — Bathing in the River Greta. (395.) VII. Tunbridge Wells. 
 
 (395. 396.) VIII. Cholera and Infection.— Need of Sanitary Improve- 
 ments. — Evening Walks at Heme Bay. — Sisterhoods ; what they Are, and 
 
Contents. xxvii 
 
 what they Might Be. — Remarks of Sir •Francis Palgrave on the Resurrec- 
 tion of the Body, and on the Gospel Narratives of the Heahng of De- 
 moniacs. — Proposed View of the Miracles in Question does not " Explain 
 them Away." — A Last View of Heme Bay. — Home and Social Duties. — 
 Archbishop Trench on the Miracles. — Associations with Places. — Love 
 
 and Praise. (396-402.) IX. Kentish Landscapes. — Scenery of the Lakes. 
 
 (402.) X. A Pet Name. — Child-like Playfulness of Aristophanes. — Theo- 
 logical Readings of S. C. — The Miracle of Gadara. — The Origin of Mental 
 Disorders not a Religious, but a Scientific Question. — Language of our 
 Lord on such Occasions that of Parable. — Liability of Animal Natures to 
 Frenzy. — Metaphysical Views of the Early Fathers not held now by any 
 School of Thinkers. — Mr. Coleridge's Letters on Inspiration. — " The Old 
 
 Curiosity Shop." — Little Nell and Mignon. (403-407.) XI. Remarks on 
 
 an Article on "Tennyson, Shelley, and Keats," in the Edinbui-gh Review. — 
 Inferiority of Keats to Shelley in Point of Personal Character. — Connection 
 between Intellectual F^arnestness and Moral Elevation. — Perfection of his 
 I'oetry within its own Sphere. — Versatility ascribed by the Reviewer to 
 Keats in Contrast to Coleridge. — Classification other Father's Poems, 
 
 showing their Variety. (407-411.) XII. Personal Likeness between Mr. 
 
 Coleridge and Lord Macaulay. (412.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXII.— 1850, January -July. 
 
 Letters to Edward Quillinan, Esq., Rev. Henry Moore, 
 Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Miss Fenwick, Mrs. H. M. 
 Jones, Miss Morris, Mrs. R. Townsend, Professor^^^ 
 Henry Reed 413-450 
 
 I. Chinese Selfishness. — The Irish Famine. — Objects of Charity. — 
 Church Decoration, and the Relief of the Poor.— Butchers' Prices. — Sud- 
 den Death of Bishop Coleridge. — The Anglican Formularies a Compro- 
 mise. — Non-natural Sense put on the Baptismal Service by One Party, 
 and on the Articles and Homilies by Another.— Mystic Theory of Re- 
 generation, Unsupported by Antiquity, Opposed to the Moral Sense, and 
 Contradicted by the Epistle of St. John. (413-419.) II. Various Occu- 
 pations of S. C— Fatigues of Chaperonage.— Barry Cornwall at a Balk- 
 Waltzing. — Invitation to the Lakes. — Effect of Railway Traveling on her 
 
 Health. — (419-421.) HI. "Telling" Speeches not always the Best. (421, 
 
 422.) IV. Death of Mrs. Joanna Baillie. (422.) V. Mr. Carlyle's "Lat- 
 ter-day Pamphlets" compared with his "Chartism." — Ideal Aristocracy.— 
 
 English Government. (422, 423.) VI. Home Amusements.— Reasonings 
 
 of an Anti-Gorham Controversialist. — Holiness the Evidence of Election, 
 
 not its Ground. (423-425.) VII. Illness of Mr. Wordsworth. (425.) 
 
 VIIL Lives of the Lake Poets.— Presumption of Incompetent Biographers. 
 
 (425, 42"6.) IX. Hopes of Mr. Wordsworth's Recovery. — His Natural 
 
 Cheerfulness,,— Use of Metaphysical Studies. (427, 428.) X. A Relapse. 
 
xxviii Contents. 
 
 — Regeneration in the Scriptural Sense implies a Moral Change. — Im- 
 portance of Correct Statements in Theology. — Reason the only Standard 
 of Spiritual Truth. — Distinction between Original Sin and Hereditary 
 Guilt. — Views of Baptismal Grace, Anglican and Romanistic. — Hooker, 
 
 Jackson, Taylor, and Waterland, on Baptism. (428-434.) XI. Death of 
 
 Mr^ Wordsworth. — Sense of Intimacy with her Father, produced by her 
 
 Continual Study of his Writings. (435, 436.) XII. "Now we see through 
 
 a glass darkly; but then face to face." (436, 437.) XIII. Breaking of 
 
 Old Ties. — The Times on Mr. Wordsworth's Poetry. — True Cause of its 
 
 Different Reception on the Continent and in America. (437,438.) 
 
 XIV. "The Prelude." (439.) XV. "The Prelude" a Greater Poem than 
 
 " The Excursion." — Collection of Turners at Tottenham. — " Lycidas," by 
 
 Fuseh. (439,440.) XVI. A Staffordshire Country-house. — Visitors at 
 
 T Wood. (440, 441.) XVII. Critique on Mr. Ruskin's "Modern 
 
 Painters." — Figures and Landscapes Painted on the same Principles by 
 the Old Masters. — Instances of Generalization in Poetry and Painting. — 
 Turner "the English Claude." — Distinct Kinds of Interest inspired by 
 Nature and by Art. — Subjective Character of the Latter. — Truth in Paint- 
 ing Ideal, not Scientific. — Imitation defined by Ancient and Modern Winters. 
 — Etymology of the Word. — Death of Sir Robert Peel. — Vindication 
 
 of his Policy. (441-446.) XVIIL The Black Country.— T Wood ; 
 
 the Dingle ; Boscobel ; Chillington. — Liberality and Exclusiveness. — The 
 
 Wolverhampton Iron-works. — Trentham. — B Park. — Leicestershire 
 
 Hospitality. (446-450.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII.— 1850, yuly-Decc7nber. 
 
 Letters to Mrs. Moore, Miss Fenwick, Aubrey de Vere, 
 Esq., Professor Henry Reed, Rev. ED^VARD Cole- 
 ridge, Miss Morris, Edward Quillinan, Esq., Hon. 
 Mr. Justice Coleridge 451-482 
 
 I. Rain, Roses, and Hay. — Experiences of Wesley as a Preacher among 
 the Agricvilturists and Manufacturers. — Influences of Society, Education, 
 and Scenery on the Development of Poetic Genius. (451,452.) II. Do- 
 mestic Architecture, Mediaeval and Modern. (452, 453.) HI. Biograph- 
 ical Value of "The Prelude." (453.) IV. Mr. Tennyson's "In Memo- 
 
 riam." — Favorite Passages. — Moral Tone of " The Prelude." — Neuralgia, 
 and Dante's Demons. — English Reserve. — Interchange of Thought be- 
 tween Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth. (453-457.) V. " In Memo- 
 
 riam ;" its Merits and Defects. — Shelley's "Adonais." (457.) VI. Pub- 
 lic Singers.— Lovers at the Opera. (458.) VII. Simplicity and Sublimity 
 
 of "The Prelude." (458, 459.)— VIIL "One Baptism for the Remission 
 
 oi Sins.'''' (459.) IX. Mr. Coleridge's Influence as an Adviser. (460.) 
 
 X. Spiritual Truths beheld by the Eye of Faith in the Light of Reason. 
 
 The Gospel its own best Evidence. (460, 461.) XL Apology for Free- 
 dom of Discussion with a Friend who was a Roman Catholic " by An- 
 
Co7itents. xxix 
 
 cestry." — Differences that are not Material contrasted with those that are. 
 — Popular Views, whether Romanist or Protestant, not Pure Truth. — In- 
 jurious Effect of Party Divisions in the Cause of National Education. — 
 
 Anglican Idea of the Real Presence. (462-464.) XII. Character of 
 
 Christian in the "Pilgrim's Progress." (464.) XIII. Comparative Merits 
 
 of Sir Walter Scott's Novels. — Severity of Satirists on the Faults of their 
 own Country or Class. (464, 465.) XIV. Sympathy of Friends.— Collec- 
 tion of her Brother Hartley's "Works. — Article in the Quarterly on the 
 Homeric Controversy. — Infidelity. — Repeated Attacks on Revelation must 
 
 be Repeatedly Met. (465-467.) XV. Her Native Vale of Keswick, and 
 
 the Valley of Life. — The Papal Aggression. — Reception of it by John Bull. 
 — "Alton Locke." (467, 468.) XVI. Objections to the Use of Mesmer- 
 ism as a Medical Agent. — The Papal Aggression. — Romanism in Ireland, 
 in England, and in Spain. — "Anglo-Catholicism" a Transient Phase of 
 
 Opinion. (468-471.) XVII. Troubles and Anxieties. — The Shortness of 
 
 Life not to be Regretted. (471.) XVIII. Early and Late Periods of the 
 
 Wordsworthian Poetry compared with Ancient and Modern Art. — Mr. 
 Ruskin's " Modern Painters." — Scott's Novels. — Character-drawing in the 
 "Black Dwarf" — The Anti-Papal Demonstration. — Aversion to Popery 
 in the English Mind. — The Pope's Move Political, not Religious. — Intoler. 
 
 ance of Romanism. (472-479.) XIX. Character of a Friend. (479.) 
 
 XX. The Lower Mastership of Eton School. — Moderation Acquired by Ex- 
 perience. — Speeches for and against the proposed Parliamentary Enact- 
 ment Rejecting the Pope's Claim to Exercise Territorial Jurisdiction in 
 England. — Such a Protest neither Intolerant nor Unpractical. (479-481.) 
 XXI. Essay on Baptism in the "Aids to Reflection" inadequately Ex- 
 pressed. — Distinction between Signs and Causes. — Action of the Will in- 
 dispensable to an Inward Renewal. (482.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV.— 185 1, January -July. 
 
 Letters to the Rev. Henry Moore, Mrs. Moore, Miss 
 Fenwick, Mrs. Farrer, Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Edward 
 QuiLLiNAN, Esq., Professor Henry Reed. . . . 483-505 
 
 I. Causes of the Indifference to the Papal Aggressions displayed both by 
 Ultra-High-Churchmen and Ultra-Liberals. — Mixed Character of all Na- 
 tional Movements. — The Three Chief Religious Parties, and the Right of 
 Each to a Place in the English Church. — Inconsistency and Dogmatism 
 among the Bishops. — True View of the Royal Supremacy. — Roman Intol- 
 erance to be Resisted. (483-487.) II. Faith and Works. — Allowances 
 
 to be Made on all Sides. — Insult offered to our Church by Rome, in affect- 
 ing to Ignore its Existence. — Anomalous Position of the Establishment in 
 Ireland. — The Royal Supremacy as Representing the Lay Element of the 
 
 Church. (4S7-490.) HI. Letter to Countess Ida Hahn-Hahn by Oherken. 
 
 — " Death's Jest-Book," and other Dramatic Works, by Mr. Beddoes. (490, 
 
XXX Contenls. 
 
 491.) IV. Inaccuracies of a Review in the Quarterly of the "Life of 
 
 Soulhey." (491.) V. Mr. Carlyle's "Life of Sterling."— Autobiography 
 
 of Leigh Hunt— Epicureanism. (491,492.) VI. Early Reminiscences of 
 
 the Character and Conversation of Mr. Wordsworth and Mr. Southey. — 
 Youthful Impressions mostly Unconscious. — The Platonic Ode. — "The 
 Triad" Compared with " Lycidas." — " The Prelude."— Testimonies con- 
 tained in it to the Friendship between her Father and Mn Wordsworth. 
 
 (492-495.) VII. Visit to the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park. — Sculpture 
 
 and Jewels. — The Royal Academy of 1851. — Portrait of Mr. Wordsworth 
 by Pickersgill. — Supposed Tendency to Pantheism in the " Lines on Tintern 
 
 Abbey." (496-498.) VIII. Intellectual Tuft-hunting. (499.) IX. The 
 
 Bears of Literature. — Margate. — Bean -fields and Water Companies. — 
 Hartley Coleridge's Lines to Dr. Arnold. — Eutychianism. — Leibnitz on 
 the Nature of the Soul. — Materialism of the Early Fathers. — Great 
 Metaphysical Work projected by Mr. Coleridge. — Historical Reading. 
 
 — Scott's Novels. (499-503.) X. Comments on an Essay on her 
 
 Brother Hartley and his Poetry. — Death of Mr. Quillinan. — Moehler's 
 " Symbolik." (504, 505.) 
 
 CHAPTER XXV.— 1851, yuly -December. 
 
 Letters to Mr. Ellis Yarnall, Professor Henry Reeq, 
 Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Thomas Blackburxe, Esq., Miss 
 Fenwick 506-528 
 
 I. Visit to the Zoological Gardens. — Dependence on Outward Conditions 
 
 a Characteristic of Animals, in Contradistinction to Man. (506, 507.) 
 
 II. Immortality. — Causes of Ancient and Modern Infidelitv. — Comparative 
 Advantages of America and Europe. — Copies from the Old INIasters. — The 
 Bridgewater Gallery. — The High-Church Movement. — The Central Truth 
 of Christianity. — Mystery of Anglicanism as Compared with Romanism, 
 Quakerism, and Skepticism. — Danger of Staking the Faith on External 
 Evidences. — Pre - eminence ascribed by Certain Fathers and Councils of 
 the Church to the See of Rome. — The Protestant Ground of Faith. — The 
 Theory of Development. — A Dinner-party at Mr. Kenyon's. — Interesting 
 Appearance and High Poetic Gifts of Mrs. Browning. — Expression and 
 
 Thought in Poetry. — Women's Novels. — Conclusion. (507-518.) III. 
 
 Prayer for Temporal and Spiritual Benefits. (518.) IV. Increase of Ill- 
 ness. — Fancied Wishes. — Trial and Effects of Mesmerism. — Editorial Du- 
 ties still Fulfilled. — ^Derwent Isle and Keswick Vale. — Visit of the Arch- 
 dukes to General Peachy in 1815. — Old Letters. — Death, and the Life 
 
 beyond it. (518-522.) V. Leave-taking.— Value of a Profession. — A 
 
 Lily and a Poem. — Flowers. — Beauty and Use. (522, 523.) VI. Proposal 
 
 to Visit the South of France. — Climate and Society of Lausanne. — The 
 Spasmodic School of Poetry. — Article on Immortality in the Westminster 
 Review. — Outward Means a Part of the Christian Scheme. — The "Evil 
 
Contents. xxxi 
 
 Heart of Unbelief." — The Foundations of Religion. (523-526.) VII. 
 
 Gradual Loss of Strength. — Credulity of Unbelievers. — Spiritual Peace. — 
 
 Thoughts of Past Years. (526, 527.) VIII. Congratulations on a Friend's 
 
 Recovery from Illness. — Her own State of Health and of Mind. — Wilkie's 
 Portrait of her Brother Hartley at Ten Years of Age. — "The Northern 
 Worthies." — A Farewell. (527, 528.) 
 
RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 EARLY LIFE OF SARA COLERIDGE. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HERSELF, 
 
 In a Letter addressed to her Daughter. 
 
 September %th, 185 1, Chester Place. 
 
 My dearest E , 
 
 I have long wished to give you a httle sketch of my hfe, 
 I once intended to have given it with much particularity, but 
 now twie pressed — my horizon has contracted of late. I must 
 content myself with a brief compendium. 
 
 I shall divide my history into childhood, earlier and later; 
 youth, earlier and later; wedded life, ditto; widowhood, ditto; 
 and I shall endeavor to state the chief moral or reflection sug- 
 gested by each — some maxim which it specially illustrated, or 
 truth which it exemplified, or warning which it suggested. 
 
 My father has entered his marriage with my mother, and the 
 births of my three brothers, with some particularity, in a Family 
 Bible, given him, as he also notes, by Joseph Cottle on his mar- 
 riage ; the entry of my birth is in my dear mother's handwrit- 
 ing, and this seems like an omen of our life-long separation, for 
 I never lived with him for more than- a few weeks at a time. 
 He lived not much more, indeed, with his other children ; but 
 most of their infancy passed under his eye. Alas ! more than 
 
 * This fragment of autobiography was begun during my mother's last ill- 
 ness, eight months before her death. — E. C. 
 
 c 
 
34 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 any of them I inherited that uneasy health of his, which kept 
 us apart. But I did not mean to begin with — alas ! so soon or 
 so early to advert to the great misfortune of both our lives — 
 want of bodily vigor adequate to the ordinary demands of life, 
 even under favorable circumstances. 
 
 I was born at Greta Hall, near Keswick, December 22d, 1802. 
 My brother Hartley was then six years and three months, born 
 September 19th, 1 796, at Bristol ; Derwent,born September 14th, 
 1800, at Keswick, two years and three months old. My fa- 
 ther, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (married at Bristol, October 4th, 
 1795, to Sarah Fricker, eldest daughter of Mr. Fricker, of Bris- 
 tol), was now twenty-nine years of age; my mother, thirty-one. 
 Their second child, Berkeley, born at Nether Stowey, May loth, 
 
 1798, died, while my father was in Germany, February loth, 
 
 1799, in consequence of a cold caught after inoculated small- 
 pox, which brought on decline. Mamma used to tell me moth- 
 er's tales, which, however, were confirmed by my KwaX. Lovell, 
 of this infant's noble and lovely style of beauty — his large, soft 
 eyes, of a " London-smoke " color, exquisite complexion, regular 
 features, and goodly size. She said that m)^ father was very 
 proud of him, and one day, when he saw a neighbor approach- 
 ing his little cottage at Stowey, snatched him away from the 
 nurse half dressed, and with a broad smile of pride and de- 
 light, presented him to be admired. In her lively way, she 
 mimicked the tones of satisfaction with which he uttered, "This 
 is my second son." Yet, when the answer was, "Well, this is 
 something like a child," he felt affronted on behalf of his little 
 darling Hartley. 
 
 During the November, and great part of December, previous 
 to my birth, my father was traveling in Cornwall with Mr. Tom 
 Wedgewood, as I learn by letters from him to my mother. The 
 last of the set is dated December i6th, and in it my father 
 speaks as if he expected to be at Ambleside Thursday even- 
 ing, December 23d. He writes with great tenderness to my 
 mother on the prospect of her confinement. I believe he reached 
 home the day after my birth. Several of his letters, the last 
 three, are from Crescelles, the house of Mr. Allan, father of 
 Lady Mackintosh and of Mrs. Drew, the brother of Lady Al- 
 derson. 
 
 Mamma used to tell me that, as a young infant, I was not so 
 fine and flourishing as Berkeley, who was of a taller make than 
 
Little Grand-Lamas. 35 
 
 any of her other children, or Derwent, though not quite so small 
 as her eldest born. I was somewhat disfigured with red-gum. 
 In a few months, however, I became very presentable, and had 
 my share of adoration. " Little grand-lamas," my father used 
 to call babes in arms, feeling doubtless all the while what a 
 blessed contrivance of the Supreme Benignity it is that man, 
 in the very weakest stage of his existence, has power in that 
 very weakness. Then babyhood, even where attended with no 
 special grace, has a certain loveliness of its own, and seems to 
 be surrounded, as by a spell, in its attractions for the female 
 heart, and for all hearts which partake of woman's tenderness, 
 and whose tenderness is drawn out by circumstances in that 
 particular direction. 
 
 My father wrote thus of Hartley and of me in a letter to Mr. 
 Poole of 1803: "Hartley is what he always was, a strange, 
 strange boy, ' exquisitely wild j' an utter visionary — like the moon 
 among thin clouds, he moves in a circle of light of his own 
 making. He alone is a light of his own. Of all human beings, 
 I never saw one so utterly naked of self He has no vanity, 
 no pride, no resentments; and, though very passionate, I never 
 yet saw him angry with any body. He is, though seven years 
 old, the merest child you can conceive ; and yet Southey says 
 he keeps him in perpetual wonderment, his thoughts are so 
 truly his own. His dispositions are very sweet ; a great lover of 
 truth, and of the finest moral nicety of feelings; and yet always 
 dreaming. He said very prettily, about half a year ago, on my 
 reproving him for some inattention, and asking him if he did 
 not see something : ' My father,' quoth he, with flute-like voice, 
 ' I see it — I saw it, and to-morrow I shall see it again when I 
 shut my eyes, and when my eyes are open, and I am looking at 
 ■ other things ; but, father, it is a sad pity, but it can not be helped, 
 you know; but I am always being a bad boy when I am think- 
 ing of my thoughts.' If God preserve his life for me, it will be 
 interesting to know what he will become ; for it is not only my 
 opinion, or the opinion of two or of three, but all who have been 
 with him talk of him as a thing that can not be forgotten." 
 
 " My meek little Sara is a remarkably interesting baby, with 
 the finest possible skin, and large blue eyes ; and she smiles as 
 if she were basking in a sunshine, as mild as moonlight, of her 
 own quiet happiness." 
 
 In the same letter, my father says : " Southey I like more and 
 
36 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 more. He is a good man, and his industry is stupendous ; take 
 him all in all — his regularity and domestic virtues, genius, tal- 
 ent, acquirements, and knowledge — and he stands by himself." 
 
 Of this first stage of my life, of course I have no remem- 
 brance ; but something happened to me when I was two years 
 old which was so striking as to leave an indelible trace on my 
 memory. I fancy I can even now recall, though it may be but 
 the echo or reflection of past remembrances, my coming drip- 
 ping up the Forge Field, after having fallen into the river, be- 
 tween the rails of the high wooden bridge that crossed the 
 Greta, which flowed behind the Greta Hall hill. The maid had 
 my baby-cousin Edith, sixteen months younger than I, in her 
 arms ; I was rushing away from Derw^ent, who was fond of 
 playing the elder brother on the strength of his two years' sen- 
 iority, when he was trying in some way to control me, and in 
 my hurry slipped from the bridge into the current. Luckily 
 for me, young Richardson was still at work in his father's forge. 
 He doffed his coat and rescued me from the water. I had 
 fallen from a considerable height, but the strong current of the 
 Greta received me safely. I remember nothing of this adven- 
 ture but the walk home through the field. I was put between 
 blankets on my return to the house ; but my constitution had 
 received a shock, and I became tender and delicate, having be- 
 fore been a thriving child. As an infant, I had been nervous 
 and insomnolent. My mother has often told me how seldom I 
 would sleep in the cradle ; how I required to be in her arms be- 
 fore I could settle into sound sleep. This weakness has ac- 
 companied me through life. 
 
 One other glimpse of early childhood my mind retains. I 
 can just remember sitting by my Aunt Lovell in her little down- 
 stairs wing-room, and exclaiming, in a piteous tone, "I'se mis- 
 eral !" A poor, little, delicate, low-spirited child I doubtless was, 
 with my original nervous tendencies, after that escape from the 
 Greta. " Yes, and you will be miserable," Aunt Lovell com- 
 passionately broke out, as mamma has told me, "if your moth- 
 er doesn't put you on a cap." The hint was taken, and I wore 
 a cap till I was eight years old. I appear in a cap, playing 
 with a doll, in a little miniature taken of me at that age by the 
 sister of Sir William Benthorn, who also made portraits in the 
 same style of my Uncle and Aunt Southey, my mother, Aunt 
 Lovell, and cousins Edith and Herbert. 
 
''Pi-pos, Pot-posy 2>7 
 
 _ I can not leave this period of my existence without some 
 little allusion to my brother Derwent's sweet childhood. I 
 have often heard from mamma what a fine, fair, broad-chested 
 little fellow he was at two years old, and how he got the name 
 of Stumpy Canary when he wore a yellow frock, which made 
 him look like one of those feathery bundles in color and form. 
 I fancy I see him now, as my mother's description brought him 
 before me, racing from kitchen to parlor, and from parlor to 
 kitchen, just putting in his head at the door, with roguish smile, 
 to catch notice, then off again, shaking his little sides with laugh- 
 ter. Mr. Lamb and his sister, who paid a visit of three weeks 
 to my parents in the summer of 1802, were charmed with the 
 little fellow, and much struck with the quickness of eye and of 
 memory that he displayed in naming the subjects of prints in 
 books which he was acquainted with. " Pi-pos, Pot-pos," were 
 his names for the striped or spotted opossum, and these he 
 would utter with a nonchalant air, as much as to say, " Of 
 course, I know it all as pat as possible." " David Lesley, Den- 
 eral of the Cock Army," was another of his familiars. Mr. 
 Lamb calls him "Pi-pos" in letters to Greta Hall, after his visit 
 to the Lakes. 
 
 My parents came to Keswick in 1801. My father writes to 
 my Uncle Southey, urging his joining him in the North, and de- 
 scribing Greta Hall, April 13th, 1800. See Southey's Life, vol. 
 ii., p. 146. 
 
 I find in a letter of mamma to Aunt Lovell, written, but not 
 sent, this record of early Greta Hall times : 
 
 " Well, after poor Mrs. Southey's* death, you all removed to 
 Bristol, where the first child, Margaret, was born and died. 
 Soon after this period, Southey, Edith, and you (Mrs. Lovell) 
 came to Keswick. How well I recollect your chaise driving 
 up the Forge Field ! The driver could not find the right road 
 to the house, so he came down Stable Lane, and in at the 
 Forge Gate. My Sara was seven months old, very sweet, and 
 her uncle called her ' Fat Sal.' 
 
 " My husband, I think, was then in Malta, where he remain- 
 ed three years — there and in Sicily and Rome. Soon after his 
 return in the autumn of 1806, Coleridge went away with Hart- 
 ley to the Wordsworths at Coleorton ; thence he went to Lon- 
 
 * The mother of Robert Southey.— E. C. 
 
38 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 don, and wrote to me to bring the other two children to Bris- 
 tol, and wait there in College Street, at Martha's, with moth- 
 er, till he should join us to go to Stowey and Ottery togeth- 
 er. Accordingly I set off to Penrith, stayed a night at old 
 Miss Monkhouse's, and next day proceeded toward Liverpool, 
 where we were met by Dr. Crompton's carriage, and taken to 
 Eton Hall, four miles out of Liverpool, where we stayed a fort- 
 night, to the great happiness of Derwent and Sara. Thence 
 we got to Birmingham, stayed a few days with the Misses Law- 
 rence, saw Joseph Lovell and wife and children, and then pro- 
 ceeded to Bristol, to Martha's in College Street. 
 
 " After some time, Samuel Taylor Coleridge brought Hartley 
 from London to join us, and we five all proceeded to Stowey, 
 to Mr. Poole's most hospitable abode, remaining most pleasant- 
 ly with him for more than two months, and did not go to Ot- 
 tery at all. (I believe they had illness there.) We made visits 
 to Ashhall (Mr. Brice's), to Bridgewater, at the Chubbs'. Then 
 I, with my children, returned to Bristol, hoping to be rejoined 
 by father. At length he came, but was not for returning with 
 us to Keswick. We set forward with Mr. De Quincey to Liver- 
 pool, where we (z. e., myself and children) remained a few days 
 with the Koster family, and were again joined by Mr. De Quin- 
 cey, and reached Grasmere, where w^e w^ere joyfully received 
 by the Wordsworths at their cottage, and the next day took a 
 chaise to Keswick, on which occasion poor Hartley was so 
 afraid that he should not again be a pet of dear friend Wilsy,* 
 that he screamed out of a window of the chaise, ' Oh, Wilsy, 
 Wilsy, let me sleep with you !' " 
 
 I was in my fifth year during this visit to the South, and my 
 remembrances are partial and indistinct glimpses of memory, 
 islanded amid the sea of non-remembrance. I recollect more 
 of Derwent than of Hartley, and have an image of his stout 
 build, and of his resolute, managing way, as we played together 
 at Bristol. I remember Mrs. Perkins, with her gentle, Madonna 
 countenance; and walking round the square with her daughter, 
 who gave me currants when we came round to a certain point. 
 I have faint recollections, too, of Stowey, and of staying at the 
 Kosters' at Liverpool. At this time I was fond of reading the 
 original poems of the Misses Taylor, and used to repeat some 
 
 * Mrs. Wilson, the landlord's housekeeper. — See Memoir of Hartley Cole- 
 ridge, p. x.\ix. — E. C. 
 
Atmt Martha and Aunt Eliza. 39 
 
 of them by heart to friends of mamma's. Aunt Martha I 
 thought a fine lady on our first arrival at College Street. She 
 wore a white veil — so it seems to my remembrance — when I 
 first saw her. I can but just remember Aunt Eliza, then at 
 Mrs. Watson's, and that there was an old lady, very invalidish, 
 at College Street, Mrs. Fricker, my mother's mother. At this 
 time I could not eat meat, except bacon. 
 
 My brothers were allowed to amuse themselves with the no- 
 ble art of painting, which they practiced in the way of daubing 
 with one or two colors, I think chiefly scarlet, over any bit of a 
 print or engraving, in vol. or out of it, that was abandoned to 
 their clutches. It was said of Derwent, that upon one of these 
 pictorial occasions, after diligently plying his brush for some 
 time, he exclaimed, with a slow, solemn, half-pitying, half-self- 
 complacent air, " Thethe little minute thingth are very difficult ; 
 but they mutht be done! ethpethially thaithes !"* This '' mutht 
 be done r^ conveyed an awful impression of resistless necessity, 
 the mighty force of a principled submission to dut}^, with a hint 
 of the exhausting struggles and trials of life. 
 
 Talking of struggles and trials of life, my mother's two un- 
 married sisters were maintaining themselves at this time by 
 their own labors. Aunt Martha, the elder, a plain, but lively, 
 pleasing woman, about five feet high, or little more, was earn- 
 ing her bread as a dress-maker. She had lived a good deal 
 with a farmer in the country. Uncle Hendry, who married 
 Edith Fricker, her father's sister; but not liking a female-farm- 
 er mode of life, came to Bristol, and fitted herself for the busi- 
 ness. Uncle Hendry left her a small sum of money, some hun- 
 dreds, and would have done more, doubtless, had she remained 
 with him. Burnet offered marriage to my Aunt Martha during 
 the agitation of the Pantisocracy scheme. She refused him 
 scornfully, seeing that he only wanted a wife m a hurry, not her 
 individually of all the world. 
 
 Aunt Eliza, a year or twenty months younger, about the same 
 height, or but a barleycorn above it, was thought pretty in 
 youth, from her innocent blue eyes, ingenuous florid counte- 
 nance, fine light-brown hair, and easy, light motions. She was 
 not nearly so handsome in face, however, as my mother and 
 Aunt Lovell, and had not my Aunt Southey's fine figure and 
 
 * /. e., chaises. — E. C. 
 
40 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 quietly commanding air. Yet, on the whole, she was very femi- 
 nine, pleasing, and attractive. Both sisters sang, but had never 
 learned music artistically. 
 
 Such were my Aunts Martha and Elizabeth Fricker in youth; 
 but they had sterling qualities, which gave their characters a 
 high respectability. Without talent, except of an ordinary kind, 
 without powerful connections, by life-long perseverance, forti- 
 tude, and determination, by prudence, patience, and punctual- 
 ity, they not only maintained themselves, but, with a little aid 
 from kind friends, whom their merits won, they laid by a com- 
 fortable competency for their old age. They asked few favors, 
 accepted few obligations, and were most scrupulous in return- 
 ing such as they did accept, as soon as possible. They united 
 caution and discretion with perfect honesty and truth, strict fru- 
 gality and self-control, with the disposition to be kind and 
 charitable, and even liberal, as soon as ever it was in their 
 power. Their chief faults were pride and irritability of tem- 
 per. Upon the whole, they were admirable women. I say 
 were ; but one. Aunt Eliza Fricker, still survives, in the Isle of 
 Man. Aunt Martha died of paralysis, at the Isle of Man, Sep- 
 tember 26, 1850, at the age of seventy-three. Aunt Eliza is ail- 
 ing ; she must be seventy-three, I believe, now, or seventy-two.* 
 
 Our return to Greta Hall has left an image on my mind, and 
 a pleasant one. I can just remember entering the parlor, see- 
 ing the urn on the table, and tea things laid out, and a little 
 girl, very fair, with thick yellow hair, and round rosy cheeks, 
 seated, I think, on a stool near the fire. This was my cousin 
 Edith, and I thought her quite a beauty. She looked very shy 
 at first, but ere long we were sociably traveling round the 
 room together on one stool, our joint vessel, and our childish 
 noise soon required to be moderated. I was five years old the 
 Christmas after this return, which, I believe, was latish in au- 
 tumn. I remember how Mr. De Quincey jested with me on 
 the journey, and declared I was to be his wife, which I partly 
 believed. I thought he behaved faithlessly in not claiming my 
 hand. I will now describe the home of my youth, dear Greta 
 Hall, where I was born, and where I resided till my marriage, 
 at twenty-six years of age, in September, 1829. It was built on 
 a hill, on one side of the town of Keswick, having a large nurs- 
 
 * Miss Fricker died at Ramsay, in the Isle of Man, in September, 1S6S. — 
 E. C. 
 
Greta Hall Garden. 4 1 
 
 ery garden in front. The gate at the end of this garden opened 
 upon the end of the town. A few steps farther was the bridge 
 over the Greta. At the back of Greta Hall was an orchard of 
 not very productive apple-trees and plum-trees. Below this a 
 wood stretched down to the river-side. A rough path ran along 
 the bottom of the wood, and led, on the other hand (the Skid- 
 daw side of the vale), to the Cardingmill Field, which the river 
 near by surrounded ; on the other hand, the path led below the 
 Forge Field, on to the Forge. Oh, that rough path beside the 
 Greta ! How much of my childhood, of my girlhood, of my 
 youth, was spent there ! 
 
 But to return to the house. Two houses inter-connected un- 
 der one roof, the larger part of which my parents and my Uncle 
 and Aunt Southey occupied, while the smaller was the abode of 
 Mr. Jackson, the landlord. On the ground-floor was the kitch- 
 en, a cheerful, stone-flagged apartment, looking into the back 
 place, which was skirted by poultry and other out-houses, and 
 had trees on the side of the orchard, from whence it was sepa- 
 rated by a gooseberry hedge. There was a drooping laburnum- 
 tree outside our back kitchen, just in the way as you passed to 
 the Forge Field portion of the kitchen-garden. 
 
 A passage ran from the kitchen to the front door, and to the 
 left of this passage was the parlor, which was the dining-room 
 and general sitting-room. This apartment had a large window, 
 looking upon the green, which stretched out in front, in the form 
 of a long horseshoe, with a flower-bed running round it, and 
 fenced off from the great nursery garden by pales and high 
 shrubs and hedges. There was another smaller window, which 
 looked out upon another grass-plot. The room was comfort- 
 ably but plainly furnished, and contained many pictures, two 
 oil landscapes, by a friend, and several water-color landscapes. 
 One recess was occupied by a frightful portrait of mamma, by 
 a young lady. 
 
 The passage ran round the kitchen, and opened into two 
 small rooms in one wing of the rambling tenement, one which 
 Aunt Lovell sat in by day, and another which held the mangle, 
 had cupboards as a pantry, but was called the mangling-room. 
 Here we kept the lanterns and all the array of clogs and pat- 
 tens for out-of-door roamings. The clog shoes were ranged in 
 a row, from the biggest to the least, and curiously emblemed 
 the various stages of life. 
 
42 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 The staircase, to the right of the kitchen, which you ascended 
 from the passage, led to a landing-place filled with book-cases; 
 a few steps more led to a little bedroom which mamma and I 
 occupied — that dear bedroom where I lay down, in joy or in 
 sorrow, nightly for so many years of comparative health and 
 happiness, whence I used to hear the river flowing, and some- 
 times the forge hammer in the distance, at the end of the field ; 
 but seldom other sounds in the night, save of stray animals. A 
 few steps farther was a little wing bedroom, then the study, 
 where my uncle sat all day occupied with literary labors and 
 researches, but which was used as a drawing-room for com- 
 pany. Here all the tea-visiting guests were received. The 
 room had three windows, a large one looking down upon the 
 green with the wide flower-border, and over to Keswick Lake 
 and mountains beyond. There were two smaller windows look- 
 ing toward the lower part of the town seen beyond the nursery 
 garden. The room was lined with books in fine bindings ; there 
 were books also in brackets, elegantly lettered vellum-covered 
 volumes lying on their sides in a heap. The walls were hung 
 with pictures, mostly portraits, miniatures of the family and 
 some friends, by Miss Benthorn ; of Uncle and Aunt Southey, 
 by Downman, now engraved for the Life of Southey ; of my 
 cousin Edith and me, by Mr. Nash; and the three children, Ber- 
 tha, Kate, and Isabel, by the same hand. At the back of the 
 room was a comfortable sofa, and there were sundry- tables, be- 
 sides my uncle's library-table, his screen, desk, etc. Altogeth- 
 er, with its internal fittings up, its noble outlook, and something 
 pleasing in its proportions, this was a charming room. I never 
 have seen its like, I think, though it would look mean enough 
 in my eyes, as a mere room, could I see it now, as to size, fur- 
 nishing, etc. The curtains were of French gray merino, the 
 furniture-covers, at one time, buff; I can not tell what they 
 were latterly. My uncle had some fine volumes of engravings, 
 which were sometimes shown to visitors ; especiall}', I remem- 
 ber, Duppa's sketches from Raphael and INIichael Angelo from 
 the Vatican. 
 
 On the same floor with the study and wing bedrooms was a 
 larger bedroom above the kitchen, looking into the back yard. 
 This was my uncle and aunt's sleeping apartment. A passage, 
 one side of which was filled with book-shelves, led to the Jack- 
 son part of the house, the whole of which after his decease 
 
Greta Hall. 43 
 
 (and some rooms before) belonged to our party. There was a 
 room which used to be my father's study, called the organ- 
 room, from an old organ which Mr. Jackson placed there ; a 
 bedroom generally occupied by Aunt Lovell, looking into the 
 back place — this was a comfortable but gloomyish room. At 
 the end was a wing bedroom. Thence stairs led down to 
 Wilsy's bedroom, Hartley's parlor, Wilsy's kitchen and back 
 kitchen. 
 
 In the highest story of the house were six rooms, a nursery, 
 nursery bedroom, maid's bedroom, another occupied by Kate 
 and Isabel at one time, a sort of lumber-room, and a dark ap- 
 ple-room, which used to be supposed the abode of a bogle. 
 Then there was a way out upon the roof, and a way out upon 
 the leads, over one wing of the house, whence we could look 
 far out to the Penrith Road, Brow Top, and the Saddleback 
 side of the region. 
 
 I must now give one general sketch of the garden, of which 
 scraps of description have already been attached to that of the 
 house. It was very irregular. In front of the house and the 
 two large windows of parlor and study, was the green, running 
 out in the form of a long horseshoe, with a wide border of flow- 
 er-garden all round, and sheltered by a hedge. The kitchen- 
 garden was in two parts, on either side of this lawn. There 
 was green sward also on the side of the house containing the 
 front door, and there were green palings inclosing this part of 
 the premises. A few steps from the front door of the larger 
 side of Greta Hall was the front door of the landlord side, and 
 that wing of the building was covered with ivy. The parlor of 
 that part of the house, long called Hartley's parlor, looked out 
 on a piece of green sward on the other side of our front door. 
 From the back place a path led along to the gate of the nurs- 
 ery garden. To the right was another piece of green, with a 
 large copper-beech at one end, and a sort of shrubbery; below 
 that again, a set of beds, which were given up to us children as 
 our garden. 
 
 That part of the kitchen-garden which lay below the hedge 
 that bounded the lawn was divided into beds for the smaller 
 vegetables, and there was at the lower end a litde grove of 
 raspberry bushes, white and red, and beyond this a plantation 
 of under-ground artichokes, which my uncle was fond of, and a 
 gooseberry hedge called Hartley's, I think, for what reason I 
 
44 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 forget. Peas and beans were in the lower part of the garden 
 abutting on the Forge Field; in the upper compartment were 
 the strawberry beds. 
 
 My young life is almost a blank in memory from that well- 
 remembered evening of my return from our series of southern 
 visits, till the time of my visit to Allan Bank, when I was six 
 years old. That journey to Grasmere gleams before me as the 
 shadow of a shade. Some goings on of my stay there I re- 
 member more clearly. Allan Bank is a large house on a hill, 
 overlooking Easedale on one side, and Grasmere on the other. 
 Dorothy, Mr. Wordsworth's only daughter, was at this time very 
 picturesque in her appearance, with her long, thick, yellow locks, 
 which were never cut, but curled with papers — a thing which 
 seems much out of keeping with the poetic simplicity of the 
 household. I remember being asked by my father and Miss 
 Wordsworth, the poet's sister, if I did not think her very pretty. 
 " No," said I, bluntly ; for which I met a rebuff which made me 
 feel as if I was a culprit. 
 
 My father's wish it was to have me for a month with him at 
 Grasmere, where he was domesticated with the Wordsworths. 
 He insisted upon it that I became rosier and hardier during 
 my absence from mamma. She did not much like to part 
 with me, and I think my father's motive, at bottom, must have 
 been a wish to fasten my affections on him. I slept with him, 
 and he would tell me fairy stories when he came to bed at 
 twelve and one o'clock. I remember his telling me a wild 
 tale, too, in his study, and my trying to repeat it to the maids 
 afterward. 
 
 I have no doubt there was much enjoyment in my young life 
 at that time, but some of my recollections are tinged with pain. 
 I think my dear father was anxious that I should learn to love 
 him and the Wordsworths and their children, and not cling so 
 exclusively to my mother, and all around me at home. He was 
 therefore much annoyed when, on my mother's coming to Allan 
 Bank, I flew to her, and wished not to be separated from her 
 any more. I remember his showing displeasure to me, and ac- 
 cusing me of want of affection. I could not understand why. 
 The young Wordsworths came in and caressed him. I sat be- 
 numbed ; for truly nothing does so freeze affection as the breath 
 of jealousy. The sense that you have done very wrong, or at 
 least given great offense, you know not how or wh}- — that you 
 
Political Discussions. 45 
 
 are dunned for some payment of love or feeling which you know 
 not how to produce or to demonstrate on a sudden— chills the 
 heart, and fills it with perplexity and bitterness. My father re- 
 proached me, and contrasted my coldness with the childish 
 caresses of the little Wordsworths. I slunk away, and hid my- 
 self in the wood behind the house, and there my friend John, 
 whom at that time I called my future husband, came to seek me. 
 
 It was during this stay at Allan Bank that I used to see my 
 father and Mr. De Quincey pace up and down the room in con- 
 versation. I understood not, nor listened to a word they said, 
 but used to note the handkerchief hanging out of the pocket 
 behind, and long to clutch it. Mr. Wordsworth, too, must have 
 been one of the room walkers. How gravely and earnestly 
 used Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth, and 
 my Uncle Southey also, to discuss the affairs of the nation, as 
 if it all came home to their business and bosoms — as if it were 
 their private concern ! Men do not canvass these matters now- 
 adays, I think, quite in the same tone. Domestic concerns ab- 
 sorb their deeper feelings ; national ones are treated more as 
 things aloof, the speculative rather than the practical. 
 
 My father used to talk to me with much admiration and af- 
 fection of Sarah Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister, who re- 
 sided partly with the Wordsworths, partly with her own broth- 
 ers. At this time she used to act as my father's amanuensis. 
 She„wxote out great part of the " Friend" to his dictation. She 
 had fine, long, light-brown hair, I think her only beauty, except 
 a fair skin, for her features were plain and contracted, her fig- 
 ure dumpy, and devoid of grace and dignity. She was a plump 
 woman, of little more than five feet. I remember my father 
 talking to me admiringly of her long light locks, and saying 
 how mildly she bore it when the baby pulled them hard in 
 play. 
 
 Miss Wordsworth, Mr. Wordsworth's sister, of most poetic eye 
 and temper, took a great part with the children. She told us 
 once a pretty story of a primrose, I think, which she spied by 
 the way-side when she went to see me soon after my birth, 
 though that v/as at Christmas, and how this same primrose was 
 still blooming when she went back to Grasmere. 
 
 * # * My father had particular feelings and fancies about 
 dress, as had my Uncle Southey and Mr. Wordsworth also. 
 He could not abide the scarlet socks which Edith and I wore 
 
46 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 at one time. I remember going to him when mamma had just 
 dressed me in a new stuff frock. He took me up, and set me 
 down again without a caress. I thought he disUked the dress ; 
 perhaps he was in an uneasy mood. He much liked every 
 thing feminine and domestic, pretty and becoming, but not fine- 
 ladyish. My Uncle Southey was all for gay, bright, cheerful 
 colors, and even declared he had a taste for the grand, in half 
 jest. 
 
 Mr. Wordsworth loved all that was rich and picturesque, light 
 and free, in clothing. A deep Prussian blue or purple was one 
 of his favorite colors for a silk dress. He wished that white 
 dresses were banished, and that our peasantry wore blue and 
 scarlet, and other warm colors, instead of sombre, dingy black, 
 which converts a crowd that might be ornamental in the land- 
 scape into a swarm of magnified ants. I remember his saying 
 how much better young girls looked of an evening in bare arms 
 — even if the arms themselves were not very lovely; it gave 
 such a lightness to their general air. I think he was looking at 
 Dora wdien he said this. White dresses he thought cold, a blot 
 and disharmony in any picture, in-door or out-of-door. My fa- 
 ther admired white clothing, because he looked at it in reference 
 to woman, as expressive of her delicacy and purity, not merely 
 as a component part of a general picture. 
 
 My father liked my wearing a cap. He thought it looked 
 girlish and domestic. Dora and I must have been a curious 
 contrast — she with her wild eyes, impetuous movements, and 
 fine, long, floating yellow hair — I with my timid, large blue eyes, 
 slender form, and little, fair, delicate face, muffled up in lace bor- 
 der and muslin. But I thought little of looks then; only I fan- 
 cied Edith S., on first seeing her, most beautiful. 
 
 I attained my sixth year on the Christmas after this my first 
 Grasmere visit. It must have been the next summer that I 
 made my first appearance at the dancing-school, of which more 
 hereafter. All I can remember of this first entrance into pub- 
 lic is that our good-humored, able, but rustical dancing-master, 
 Mr. Yewdale, tried to make me dance a minuet with Charlie 
 Denton, the youngest of our worthy pastor's home flock, a very 
 pretty, rosy-cheeked, large-black-eyed, compact little laddikin. 
 But I was not quite up to the business. I think my beau Nvas 
 a year older. At all events, it was I who broke down, and Mr. 
 Yewdale, after a little impatience, gave the matter up. AH 
 
Visit to Allonby. 47^ 
 
 teaching is wearisome ; but to teach dancing, of all teaching the 
 wearisomest. 
 
 The last event of my earlier childhood which abides with 
 me is a visit to Allonby, when I was nine years old, with Mrs. 
 Calvert. I remember the ugliness and meanness of Allonby 
 (the town, a cluster of red-looking houses, as far as I recollect), 
 and being laughed at at home for describing it as "a pretty 
 place," which I did conventionally, according to the usual prac- 
 tice, as I conceived, of elegant letter-writers. The sands are 
 really fine in their way, so unbroken and extensive, capital for 
 galloping over on pony-back. I recollect the pleasures of these 
 sands, and of the sea-side animation and vegetation; the little 
 close, white Scotch roses ; the shells ; the crabs of every size, 
 from Liliputian to Brobdingnagian, crawling in the pools ; the 
 sea-anemones, with their flower-like appendages, which we kept 
 in jugs of salt-water, delighted to see them draw in their petals, 
 or expand them by a sudden blossoming; the sea-weed, with 
 its ugly berries, of which we made hideous necklaces. All these 
 things I recollect, but not what I should most regard now — the 
 fine forms of the Scotch hills on the opposite coast, sublime in 
 the distance, and the splendid sunsets which give to this sort 
 of landscape a gorgeous filling up. 
 
 Of the party, besides J. and R. Calvert and M., their sister, 
 were Tom and William M , two sons of Mrs. Calvert's sis- 
 ter, Mrs. M . We used to gallop up and down the wide 
 
 sands on two little ponies, a dark one called Sancho, and a 
 light one called Airey, behind the boys. M. and I sometimes 
 quarreled with the boys, and, of course, in a trial of strength, 
 got the worst of it. I remember R. and the rest bursting an- 
 grily into our bedroom and flinging a pebble at M., enraged at 
 our having dared to put crumbs into their porridge ; not con- 
 tent with which inroad and onslaught, they put mustard into 
 ours next morning, the sun having gone down upon their boy- 
 ish wrath without quenching it. One of them said it was all 
 that little vixen, Sara Coleridge; M. was quiet enough by her- 
 self. 
 
 I had a leaven of malice, I suppose, in me, for I remember 
 being on hostile terms with some little old woman, who lived 
 by herself in a hut, and who took offense at something I did, 
 as it struck me, unnecessarily. She repaired to Mrs. Calvert 
 to complainj and the head and front of her accusation was, 
 
48 Memoir and Letters of Sarah Coleridge. 
 
 "That'un (meaning me) ran up and down the mound before her 
 door." Mrs. C. thought this no heinous offense ; but it was 
 done by me, no doubt, with an air of derision. The crone was 
 one of those morose, ugly, withered, ill-conditioned, ignorant 
 creatures who in earlier times were persecuted as witches, and 
 tried to be such. Still I ought to have been gently corrected 
 for my behavior, and told the duty of bearing with the ill-tem- 
 per of the poor and ignorant and afflicted. 
 
 At this time, on coming to Allonby, I was rather delicate. I 
 remember that Mrs. Calvert gave me a glass of port wine daily, 
 which she did not give to the other children. Oh, me, how 
 
 rough these young Calverts and M s were ! and yet they 
 
 had a certain respect for me, mingled with a contrary feeling. 
 I was honored among them for my extreme agility — my power of 
 running and leaping. They called me " Cheshire cat" because 
 I "grinned," said they. " Almost as pretty as Miss Cheshire," 
 said Tom M. to me one day, of some admired little girl. 
 
 Such are the chief historical events of my little life up to nine 
 years of age. But can I in any degree retrace what being I was 
 then? — what relation my then being held to my maturer self? 
 Can I draw any useful reflection from my childish experience, 
 or found any useful maxim upon it? What was I ? In person, 
 very slender and delicate, not habitually colorless, but often 
 enough pallid and feeble looking. Strangers used to exclaim 
 about my eyes, and I remember remarks made upon their large 
 size, both by my Uncle Southey and Mr. Wordsworth. I sup- 
 pose the thinness of my face, and the smallness of the other 
 features, with the muffling close cap, increased the apparent 
 size of the eye, for only artists, since I have grown up, speak 
 of my eyes as large and full. They were bluer, too, in my early 
 years than now. My health alternated, as it has done all my 
 life, till the last ten or twelve years, when it has been unchange- 
 ably depressed, between delicacy and a very easy, comfortable 
 condition. I remember well that nervous sensitiveness and 
 morbid imaginativeness had set in with me very early. Dur- 
 ing my Grasmere visit I used to feel frightened at night on ac- 
 count of the darkness. I then was a stranger to the whole 
 host of night-agitators — ghosts, goblins, demons, burglars, elves, 
 and witches. Horrid ghastly tales and ballads, of which crowds 
 afterward came in my way, had not yet cast their shadows over 
 my mind. And yet I was terrified in the dark, and used to 
 
Night-Fears. 49 
 
 think of lions, the only form of terror which my dark-engen- 
 dered agitation would take. My next bugbear was the Ghost in 
 " Hamlet." Then the picture of Death at Hell-gate in an old 
 edition of " Paradise Lost," the delight of my girlhood. Last 
 and worst came my Uncle Southey's ballad horrors — above all, 
 the Old Woman of Berkeley. Oh, the agonies I have endured 
 between nine and twelve at night, before mamma joined me in 
 bed, in presence of that hideous assemblage of horrors — the 
 horse with eyes of flame ! I dare not, even now, rehearse these 
 particulars, for fear of calling up some of the old feeling, \yhich, 
 indeed, I have never in my life been quite free from. What 
 "made the matter worse was that, like all other nervous suffer- 
 ings, it could not be understood by the inexperienced, and con- 
 sequently subjected the sufferer to ridicule and censure. My 
 Uncle Southey laughed heartily at my agonies. I mean, at the 
 cause. He did not enter into the agonies. Even mamma 
 scolded me for creeping out of bed after an hour's torture, and 
 stealing down to her in the parlor, saying I could bear the lone- 
 liness and the night-fears no longer. But my father understood 
 the case better. He insisted that a lighted candle should be 
 left in my room, in the interval between my retiring to bed 
 and mamma's joining me. From that time forth my sufferings 
 ceased. I believe they would have destroyed my health had 
 they continued. 
 
 Yet I was a most fearless child by daylight — ever ready to 
 take the difficult mountain-path and outgo my companions' dar- 
 ing in tree-climbing. In those early days we used to spend 
 much of our summer-time in trees, greatly to the horror of some 
 ofour London visitors. 
 
 On reviewing my earlier childhood, I find the predominant 
 reflection 
 
 IL 
 
 Thus abruptly terminates, in the very middle of a sentence, 
 the narrative of Sara Coleridge's childhood. The history of 
 her wedded life and widowhood, which would have been of such 
 deep interest as told by herself, had time and strength been 
 granted, is, fortunately, to a great extent, contained in her cor- 
 
 D 
 
50 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 respondence. In order, however, to combine the scattered no- 
 tices of the letters, and put readers at once in possession of 
 the main facts ; and still more, in order to provide some par- 
 tial substitute for that chapter of her youth which would other- 
 wise remain a blank, it has seemed desirable to preface the cor- 
 respondence by a slight biographical sketch. In doing this, I 
 shall gratefully avail myself of the valuable reminiscences most 
 kindly imparted to me by friends, both of earlier and later date, as 
 well as of an interesting memoir of my mother which appeared 
 shortly after her death in an American journal,* composed by 
 one who, though personally unknown to her, was yet a highly 
 esteemed correspondent, the lamented. Professor Henry Reed, 
 of Philadelphia. 
 
 In that dear home of her childhood, remembered with such 
 loving minuteness after more than ^wenty years of absence, 
 Sara Coleridge grew up as fair and sweet as one of the exqui- 
 site wild flowers of her native vale. The childish prettiness 
 which had excited the admiration of her young play-fellows at 
 Allonby, changed first into the maidenly bloom of fifteen; at 
 which age she is mentioned by the painter William Collins, as 
 " Coleridge's elegant daughter Sara, a most interesting creat- 
 ure," of whom he made a sketch, which was greatly admired by 
 her father for its simplicity and native refinement. It repre- 
 sents her in the character of the Highland Girl, seated in rustic 
 fashion under a tree. Five years later these girlish graces had 
 matured into a perfection of womanly beauty, which is thus de- 
 scribed by Sir Henry Taylor : 
 
 " I first saw your mother," he writes in a letter which I have 
 lately had the pleasure of receiving from him, "when, in 1823, 
 I paid my first visit to Mr. Southey at Greta Hall, where she 
 and her mother were staying. I suppose she was then about 
 twenty years of age. I saw but little of her, for I think she was 
 occupied in translating some mediteval book from the Latin, 
 and she was seen only at meals, or for a very short time in the 
 evening; and, as she was almost invariably silent, I saw noth- 
 ing and knew nothing of her mind till I renewed my acquaint- 
 ance with her many years after. But I have always been glad 
 that I did see her in her girlhood, because I then saw her beau- 
 ty untouched by time^^d it was a beauty which could nof but 
 
 * "The Daughter of Coleridge," written for the Litei-ary World, July, 1852. 
 
Reminiscences of Sir He^try Taylor. 5 1 
 
 remain in one's memory for life, and which is now distinctly 
 before me as I write. The features were perfectly shaped, and 
 almost minutely delicate, and the complexion dehcate also, but 
 not wanting in color, and the general effect was that of gentle- 
 ness, indeed I may say of composure, even to stillness. Her 
 eyes were large, and they had the sort of serene lustre which I 
 remember in her father's. 
 
 "After her marriage, I think, I did not see her till the days 
 of her widowhood, in young middle hfe, when she was living in 
 Chester Place, Regent's Park. Her beauty, though not lost, 
 was impaired, and, with the same stillness and absolute sim- 
 plicity which belonged to her nature, there was some sadness 
 which I had not seen before in the expression of her face, and 
 some shyness of manner. I think I was myself shy, and this 
 perhaps made her so, and the effect was to shut me out from 
 the knowledge, by conversation, of almost any part of her mind 
 and nature, except her intellect. For whenever she was shy, 
 if she could not be silent, which was impossible when we were 
 alone together, she fled into the region where she was most at 
 home and at ease, which was that of psychology and abstract 
 thought ; and this was the region where I was by no means at 
 ease and at home. Had we met more frequently (and I never 
 cease to wish that we had), no doubt these little difficulties 
 would soon have been surmounted, and we should have got 
 into the fields of thought and sentiment which had an interest 
 common to us both. But I was a busy man in these years, 
 and not equal in health and strength to what I had to do, and 
 it was in vain for me to seek her society when I was too tired 
 to enjoy it; and then came her illness and her early death, 
 and she had passed away before I had attained to know her 
 in her inner mind and life. I only know that the admirable 
 strength and subtlety of her reasoning faculty, shown in her 
 writings and conversation, were less to me than the beauty and 
 simplicity and feminine tenderness of her face; and that one or 
 two casual and transitory expressions of her nature in her coun- 
 tenance, delightful in their poetic power, have come back to me 
 from time to time, and that they are present with me now, when 
 much of what was most to be admired in her intellectual 
 achievements or discourse have passed into somewhat of a dim 
 distance." 
 
 Of all the personal influences which had to do with the for- 
 
5 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 mation of my mother's mind and character in early life, by far the 
 most important were those exercised by the two eminent men 
 with whom she was so intimately connected by ties of kindred 
 or affection— her Uncle Southey, and her father's friend, Mr. 
 Wordsworth. In attempting to estimate the value of these va- 
 rious impressions, and trace them to their respective source, I 
 am but repeating her own remark when I say that, in matters 
 of the intellect and imagination, she owed most to Mr. Words- 
 worth. In his noble poetry she took an ever-increasing delight, 
 and his impressive discourse, often listened to on summer ram- 
 bles over the mountains, or in the winter parlors of Greta Hall 
 and Rydal Mount, served to guide her taste and cultivate her 
 understanding. But in matters of the heart and conscience, for 
 right views of duty and practical lessons of industry, truthful- 
 ness, and benevolence, she was " more, and more importantl}', 
 indebted to the daily life and example of her admirable Uncle 
 Southey," whom she long afterward emphatically declared to 
 have been, "upon the whole, the best man she had ever known." 
 There is a third province of human nature besides those of 
 the intellect and the moral sense — that of the spiritual — where 
 the pure spirit of Sara Coleridge breathed freely, as in an " am- 
 pler ether, a diviner air." In these serene and lofty regions 
 she wandered hand in hand with her father, whose guidance 
 she willingly followed, with a just confidence in his superior 
 wisdom, yet with no blind or undiscriminating submission. He, 
 like herself, was but a traveler through the heavenly countr}', 
 whose marvels they explored together ; and the sun of Reason 
 was above them both to light them on their way. In Septem- 
 ber, 1825, when not quite three-and-twent)^, she was reading the 
 "Aids to Reflection," "and delighted with all that she could 
 clearly understand," as she says in a letter of that date to Sir 
 John Taylor Coleridge. " Do you not think," she adds, with 
 modest deference to the opinion of a highly respected elder 
 cousin, "that in speaking of free will, and the other mysteries 
 of religion, my father, though he does not attempt to explain 
 what I suppose is inexplicable, puts the subject in a new and 
 comfortable point of view for sincere Christians?" The "new 
 and comfortable point of view," thus early perceived and adopt- 
 ed, was still more deeply appreciated when years of experience 
 and reflection had increased her sense of its importance. Led 
 by circumstances, as well as by natural congeniality of mind, 
 
Early Religious Views. r^ 
 
 to a study of her father's philosophy, she then devoted herself, 
 with all the fullness of matured conviction, to the task of illus- 
 trating those great principles of Christian truth which it was the 
 main object of his life to defend. If, in following this path, she 
 approached the dusty arena of controversy (though without act- 
 ually entering it), and watched the combatants with approving 
 or disapproving eye, it will yet, I believe, be acknowledged, 
 even by those who differ most widely from her conclusions, that 
 in her mode of reaching them she combined charity with can- 
 dor. Possessing, as she did, a knowledge of theology, both as 
 a history and a science, rare in any woman (perhaps in any 
 layman), she had received from heaven a still more excellent 
 gift — " even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit." 
 
 These solemn investigations were, however, the appropriate 
 employment of a more advanced stage of life than that of which 
 I am now speaking. In youthful days my mother's favorite pur- 
 suits were chiefly literary and linguistic. Before she was five- 
 and-twenty she had made herself acquainted with the leading 
 Greek and Latin classics, and was well-skilled in French, Ital- 
 ian, German, and Spanish. These acquirements were mainly 
 the result of her own efforts ; though it is needless to point out 
 the advantages she derived in her studies from the advice and 
 direction of a man like Mr. Southey, and from the use which 
 she was kindly encouraged to make of his valuable library. 
 
 Natural History, too, in all its branches, especially those of 
 botany and zoology, was a subject in which she found endless 
 attractions. The beauty of nature manifested in bird or insect, 
 flower or tree, delighted her poetical imagination ; while the 
 signs of divine wisdom and goodness, revealed in all the works 
 of creation, furnished a constant theme for the contemplations 
 of a thoughtful piety. Other advantages accompanied these 
 studies, so healthful both to mind and body. The out-door in- 
 terests which they provided, the habits of careful observation 
 which they rendered necessary, aided in the harmonious devel- 
 opment of her faculties, and served to counterbalance the sub- 
 jective tendencies of her intellect. She could turn at any time 
 from the most abstruse metaphysical speculations to inspect 
 the domestic architecture of a spider or describe the corolla of 
 a rose. 
 
 The work referred to by Sir Henry Taylor in his interesting 
 letter, as that upon which my mother was engaged at the time 
 
54 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 of his first visit to Greta Hall, was probably her translation of 
 the " Memoirs of the Chevalier Bayard, by the Loyal Servant ;" 
 which was published by Mr. Murray in 1825. The trouble of 
 rendering the accounts of battles and sieges, from the French 
 of the sixteenth century, into appropriate English, was consider- 
 able ; but was lightened by the interest inspired by the roman- 
 tic character and adventures of Bayard, the Knight " sans peur 
 et sans reproche." 
 
 This was not, however, her earliest appearance in print. Her 
 first literary production was one concerning which Professor 
 Reed gives the following particulars in the notice above refer- 
 red to. After observing that it "manifestly had its origin in 
 connection with some of Southey's labors,"* he proceeds thus : 
 "In 1822 there issued from the London press a work in three 
 octavo volumes, entitled, 'An Account of the Abipones, an 
 Equestrian People of Paraguay. From the Latin of Martin 
 Dobrizhofifer, eighteen years a Missionary in that Country.' No 
 name of translator appears, and a brief and modest preface 
 gives not the least clew to it ; even now in catalogues the work 
 is frequently ascribed to Southey. At the time of the publica- 
 tion Miss Coleridge was just twenty years of age, and therefore 
 this elaborate toil of translation must have been achieved before 
 she had reached the years of womanhood. The stout-hearted 
 perseverance needed for such a task is quite as remarkable as 
 the scholarship in a young person. Coleridge himself spoke of 
 it with fond and just admiration, when, in 1832, he said : 
 
 " ' My dear daughter's translation of this book is, in my judg- 
 ment, unsurpassed for pure mother-English by any thing I have 
 read for a long time.' 
 
 "Southey, in his 'Tale of Paraguay,' which was suggested by 
 the missionary's narrative, paid to the translator a tribute so 
 delicate, and so controlled, perhaps, by a sense of his young 
 kinswoman's modesty, that one need be in the secret to know 
 for whom it is meant. It is in the stanza which mentions Do- 
 brizhoffer's forgetfulness of his native speech during his long 
 missionary expatriation, and alludes to the favor shown him by 
 the Empress Maria Theresa." 
 
 * The work was undertaken, in the first instance, for the purpose of as- 
 sisting one of her brothers in his college expenses. The necessary means 
 were, however, supplied by his own exertions ; and the proceeds of the 
 translation (^125) were funded in Sara Coleridge's name for her own use. 
 
""Account of the AbiponesT 55 
 
 " But of his native speech because well-nigh 
 Disuse in him forgetfulness had wrought, 
 In Latin he composed his history ; 
 A garrulous but a lively tale, and fraught 
 With matter of delight and food for thought ; 
 And if he could in Merlin's glass have seen 
 By whom his tomes to speak our tongue were taught. 
 The old man would have felt as pleased, I ween. 
 As when he won the ear of that great Empress Queen." 
 
 Canto III., stanza i6. 
 
 " Charles Lamb, in an epistolary strain, eminently character- 
 istic, echoes the praise bestowed upon his friend's child, and 
 her rare achievement. Writing to Southey, in 1825, in acknowl- 
 edgment of a presentation copy of the ' Tale of Paraguay,' he 
 says : 
 
 " ' The compliment to the translatress is daintily conceived. 
 Nothing is choicer in that sort of writing than to bring in some 
 remote impossible parallel — as between the great empress and 
 the unobtrusive quiet soul, who digged her noiseless way so per-- 
 severingly through that rugged Paraguay mine. How she Do- 
 brizhoffered it all out, puzzles my slender Latinity to conject- 
 ure.' "* 
 
 There is a graceful allusion to my mother's classical attain- 
 ments in that lovely strain composed in her honor by the great 
 poet whose genius, especially in its earlier manifestations, she 
 so highly admired and reverenced : 
 
 " Last of the Three, though eldest born. 
 Reveal thyself, like pensive morn. 
 Touched by the skylark's earliest note. 
 Ere humbler gladness be afloat ; 
 But whether in the semblance drest 
 Of dawn or eve, fair vision of the west. 
 Come with each anxious hope subdued 
 By woman's gentle fortitude. 
 Each grief, through meekness, settling into rest. 
 Or I would hail thee when some high-wrought page 
 Of a closed volume lingering in thy hand. 
 Has raised thy spirit to a peaceful stand 
 Among the glories of a happier age. 
 Her brow hath opened on me, see it there 
 Brightening the umbrage of her hair. 
 So gleams the crescent moon, that loves 
 To be descried through shady groves. 
 
56 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Tenderest bloom is on her cheek. 
 
 Wish not for a richer streak, 
 
 Nor dread the depth of meditative eye, 
 
 But let thy love upon that azure field 
 
 Of thoughtfulness and beauty, yield 
 
 Its homage, offered up in purity. 
 
 What wouldst thou more ? In sunny glade, 
 
 Or under leaves of thickest shade, 
 
 Was such a stillness e're diffused 
 
 Since earth grew calm, while angels mused ? 
 
 Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth 
 
 To crush the mountain dew-drops, soon to melt 
 
 On the flower's breast ; as if she felt 
 
 That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue, 
 
 With all their fragrance, all their glistening, 
 
 Call to the heart for inward listening ; 
 
 And though for bridal wreaths and tokens true 
 
 Welcomed wisely ; though a growth 
 
 Which the careless shepherd sleeps on. 
 
 As fitly spring from turf the mourner weeps on. 
 
 And without wrong are cropped the marble tomb to strew." 
 
 My mother was once told by a poetical friend that, till he knew 
 the original, he had always taken this passage in the "Triad" 
 for a personification of the Christian grace of Faith. She 
 used to smile at her involuntary exaltation, and maintain that 
 there must be something exaggerated and unreal in a descrip- 
 tion which was liable to such misinterpretation. Yet the con- 
 jecture may have been a right one in the spirit, though not in 
 the letter. Certainly no one who knew my mother intimately, 
 and was privileged to see "the very pulse of the machine" — 
 
 " A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveler betwixt life and death ; 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill" — 
 
 could doubt that such a life as hers could only be lived "by 
 faith." 
 
 That light of faith, which shone so brightly in declining years, 
 had been early sought and found between the troubled clouds 
 of life's opening day. In 1828, when the "Triad" was written, 
 Sara Coleridge was no stranger to the most powerful emotion 
 which can agitate a woman's heart, either for joy or sorrow. 
 The "anxious hope" alluded to by the poet, with almost pa- 
 rental tenderness, was for the joyful time when she might be 
 enabled peacefully to enjoy the "dear and improving society" 
 
Marriage Prospects. 57 
 
 of him to whom she had given her affections; the "grief" that 
 settled into the "rest" which is promised to the meelc and low- 
 ly, arose not so much from the postponement of her own happi- 
 ness as from sympathy with his disappointment, and sorrow for 
 its cause, which was principally the uncertainty of health and 
 means on both sides. 
 
 In 1822, while on a visit to her father at Highgate, she had 
 first met her cousin, Henry Nelson Coleridge, a younger son of 
 James Coleridge, Esq., of Heath's Court, Ottery St. Mary, who 
 was educated at Eton College, and at King's College, Cam- 
 bridge, where his course was not unmarked by academical hon- 
 ors. He was then practicing as a Chancery barrister in Lon- 
 don, and made frequent pilgrimages to Highgate, one result of 
 which was that series of notes to which the world is indebted 
 for the " Table Talk of S. T. Coleridge." 
 
 The attachment thus formed between the two youthful cous- 
 ins, under the roof of Mr. Gillman, was never for a single mo- 
 ment regretted by my mother, in spite of the solicitudes to 
 which it exposed her, and the sorrows which in after years cast 
 a shade of sadness over the stillness which characterized her 
 gentle face. 
 
 " She was a maid," thus writes Hartley Coleridge of his only 
 sister, 
 
 " Not easily beguiled by loving words, 
 Tsfbr apt to love ; but when she loved, the fate 
 Of her affections was a stern religion, 
 Admitting nought less holy than itself." 
 
 These "seven years of patience" did not pass without bring- 
 ing forth precious fruits of piety and goodness in a heart al- 
 ready enriched with the dews of heavenly blessing. "Your 
 virtues," writes my father to his betrothed in a letter of 1827, 
 " never shone so brilliantly in my eyes as they do now ; and it 
 is a spring of deep and sacred joy in my heart to think that, 
 however weak and wavering my steps may be in the ways of re- 
 ligion, you are already a firm traveler in them, and, indeed, a 
 young saint upon earth. The trials to which our engagement 
 has exposed you have been fatiguing and painful ; but you have 
 borne them all, not only without impatience or murmuring, but 
 with a holy cheerfulness and energetic resignation, than which 
 no two states of the heart are more difficult to man or more ac- 
 ceptable to God. 
 
58 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 " I made a true remark to you once, which I feel every day 
 justified by our own correspondence, that spiritual things differ 
 from mere things of sense in this among other points, that sens- 
 ual objects, capacities, and enjoyments are all naturally bound- 
 ed, short, and fugitive, while pure love and pure intellectual 
 communion are essentially without limits, and that to the pure- 
 hearted a boundless ascent toward identity of moral being lies 
 open, and that every day fresh depths of love and thought 
 might open to the tender and assiduous sympathies of two mut- 
 ually adoring persons. I have always loved you as much as my 
 heart could feel at the time ; but my respect, my veneration for 
 you has gone on increasing as I knew you more intimately. I 
 hope I shall always have the sense to submit myself to your 
 guiding influence in all cases of moral election. The more 
 closely I imitate your habits, thoughts, and actions, the better 
 and happier man shall I become." 
 
 The noble affection thus generously expressed was as fully 
 returned by her on whom it was bestowed. In a letter written 
 on the eve of her marriage, she thus addresses the expected 
 bridegroom : " You will not, I know, grudge a few tears to my 
 dearest mother, to dear Keswick, dear Greta Hall, and its dear 
 and interesting inmates. These changes, these farewells, are 
 types of the great change, the long farewell, that awaits us all 
 hereafter. We can not but be thoughtful upon them. Yet I 
 know and feel that this change is to be infinitely for the better ; 
 and in your dear and improving society I trust I shall learn to 
 look upon that other change as a blessed one too. The sad- 
 ness of my present farewell will be tempered by the prospect 
 of meeting all here frequently again upon earth, as, I hope, all 
 dear friends will be reunited in heaven. But that speculation 
 would lead me too far. Fear not, Henry, that such specula- 
 tions, or, rather, such a tendency in my nature to speculation and 
 dreaminess, will render me an unfit wife for you. Does not 
 Wordsworth point out to us how the most excursive bird can 
 brood as long and as fondly on the nest as any of the feathered 
 race ?* This taste for the spiritual I consider a great blessing, 
 crowned by that other inexpressibly great one, the having found 
 a partner who will tolerate, approve, sympathize in all I think 
 and feel, and will allow me to sympathize with him." 
 
 * "True to the kindred points of heaven and home." — The Skylark. 
 
Henry Nelson Coleridge. co 
 
 On the 3d of September, 1829, Henry Nelson Coleridge and 
 Sara Coleridge were married at Crosthwaite Church, Keswick. 
 After a few months spent in a London lodging, they beo-an 
 their frugal housekeeping in a tiny cottage on Downshire Hill, 
 Hampstead, where their four elder children were born, of whom 
 the twins, Berkeley and Florence, died in infancy. In 1837, 
 my parents removed to a more commodious dwelling in Ches- 
 ter Place, Regent's Park, where a third daughter. Bertha Fan- 
 ny, was born in 1840, who survived her birth but a few days. 
 
 My mother's married life was, as Professor Reed has truly 
 observed, "rich in the best elements of conjugal happiness; 
 wedded to a gentleman of high moral worth, and of fine mind 
 and scholarship, one who blended literature with his profession- 
 al pursuits, she was not exposed to the perils of intellectual 
 superiority." 
 
 The compositions (chiefly on classical subjects) which occu- 
 pied his leisure, while his health lasted, and which displayed 
 the varied powers of an acute and polished intellect, and the 
 elegant taste of an accomplished scholar, formed a topic of com- 
 mon interest, and one which is frequently referred to in her let- 
 ters of that period with visible pride and pleasure. With re- 
 spect to moral and personal qualities, too, my father was, as she 
 afterward said to a friend when describing her grief at his loss, 
 "of all men whom she had ever known, best suited to her;" 
 and this quite as much by force of contrast as of resemblance. 
 Of sensitive temperament, reserved though deeply earnest feel- 
 ings, and manners which illness and suffering rendered serious, 
 though not usually sad, she was especially likely to feel the 
 charm, of the wit, gayety, and conversational brilliancy which, 
 on social occasions, made her husband the "life and soul of the 
 company," as well as of the joyous frankness and overflowing 
 affectionateness which made him the delight of his home. 
 
 In that genial atmosphere of loving appreciation, free from 
 the cares and depressing circumstances of her girlhood, she was 
 encouraged and enabled to put forth all her best powers — 
 
 "A thousand happy things that seek the light, 
 Till now in darkest shadow forced to lie,"* 
 
 began to " show their forms and hues in the all-revealing sun." 
 The imaginative genius which she inherited from her father (to- 
 
 * From a song in " Phantasmion." 
 
6o Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 gether with his turn for philosophical reflection, developed in 
 her at a later date) found its most perfect expression in her 
 romance of " Phantasmion," published in 1837. The wild and 
 beautiful scenery of her birthplace, vividly remembered and 
 fondly dwelt on in the enforced seclusion of sickness (for she 
 was now unhappily an invalid), re-appears here, idealized by im- 
 agination, to form the main subject of the picture; while groups 
 of graceful and dignified figures give animation to the landscape, 
 and fairy forms flitting above or around them, Spirits of the 
 Wind, the Woods, or the Waters, serve as a connecting link be- 
 tween humanity and nature. 
 
 " Nothing has appeared in this species of writing," says a 
 friendly American critic, " to be for one moment compared with 
 ' Phantasmion,' since Fouque produced his inimitable ' Un- 
 dine.' There is one characteristic feature in this book that will 
 render it peculiarly acceptable to all lovers of nature. We do 
 not allude to its accuracy in the delineating of the infinite phases 
 of earth and air, sea and sky, though nothing can be more per- 
 fect in this respect; but what we mean is its remarkable free- 
 dom from the conventional forms and usages of life. It has 
 the patriarchal simplicity, the beautiful truthfulness of primitive 
 ages; while it is at the same time enriched and ennobled by 
 the refinement of a more advanced period. * * * Do you ask 
 what is its grand characteristic ? It is beauty — beauty, truly 
 feminine, beauty of conception, character, and expression. It 
 is, indeed, a wilderness of sweets, illumined by the richest hues 
 of earth and heaven, and through which a stream of magic mel- 
 ody is forever flowing. * * * The ' Songs of Phantasmion !' 
 what sweetness of verse ! what breathings of a tender spirit ! 
 whose voice — who but the writer's own spirit of the flowers — 
 could do them justice ?" 
 
 This beautiful fairy tale was at first intended (though it soon 
 outgrew its original limits) as a mere child's story for the 
 amusement of her little boy, whose beauty, vivacity, and early 
 intelligence are described with maternal love and pride, in one 
 of the letters of that period, in reply to the questions of her 
 brother Hartley about his unseen nephew. The education of 
 her children was now their mother's principal object — an ob- 
 ject on which she deemed it no waste to lavish the charms of 
 her genius and the resources of her cultivated understanding. 
 Latin grammar, natural history, geography, and the " Kings of 
 
 I 
 
''Pretty Lessons^ 6i 
 
 England," were all made easy and attractive to the little learn- 
 ers by simple and appropriate verses, written on cards, in clear, 
 print-like characters. Even a set of wooden bricks, which was 
 a favorite source of amusement, was thus agreeably decorated, 
 in the hope that those tough morsels, hie, Jicbc, hoc, and their con- 
 geners, might glide gently over the youthful palate, sweetened 
 with play and pleasure. From these Sibylline leaves of the 
 nursery a selection of juvenile poetry was published in 1834, 
 by my father's desire, who wished that other children might 
 have some share in the advantages enjoyed by his own. The 
 little volume, entitled " Pretty Lessons for Good Children," 
 proved a popular work, and passed through five editions. 
 "Learning, Herbert, hath the features 
 
 Almost of an Angel's face; 
 
 Contemplate them steadfastly, 
 
 Learn by heart each speaking grace. 
 
 Truth and wisdom, high-wrought fancy, 
 
 In those lineaments we trace; 
 
 Never be your eyes averted 
 
 Long from that resplendent face !"* 
 
 Happy the boy who is permitted to see those glorious linea- 
 ments reflected in the "angel-face" of a wise and tender moth- 
 er ! It may not be uninteresting to the sympathizing reader 
 to learn that he who enjoyed the blessing of such rare guardian- 
 ship lived to appreciate and reward it, and to attest its value 
 by those public honors that are won by industry and talent.f 
 And that, when disease came to blight the hopes of his man- 
 hood, and cut short a promising career, Learning was, to him as 
 to her, a shield from the monotony of the sick-room and an ex- 
 ceeding great reward; and that as long as any thing earthly 
 could claim his attention, it was seldom " averted from that re- 
 splendent face." 
 
 But it is time to return to an earlier stage of the narrative, 
 when that domestic happiness, so patiently waited for and 
 thankfully enjoyed, was smitten by the hand of death. All that 
 
 * Fifth stanza of a poem on the Latin declensions in "Pretty Lessons" 
 . — Fades, a Face. 
 
 t My brother was the Newcastle and Baliol scholar in 1847 and 1848, 
 and took a double first class at Oxford in 1852, which latter honor his moth- 
 er did not live to witness. He was a fine Icelandic scholar; and at the 
 time of his death, which took place in 1861, he was engaged in preparations 
 for the new English dictionary projected by the Philological Society, of 
 which he was a member. 
 
62 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 was earthly of it fell to the earth, and was no more ; but there 
 remained to the desolate widow the Christian's hope of a heav- 
 enly reunion, which proved an anchor of the soul, sure and 
 steadfast, when the waves of affliction rose high. In 1841 my 
 father's health began to give way; and in January, 1843, he 
 died of spinal paralysis, after a trying illness of nine months. 
 
 In her deep distress, my mother again endeavored to act 
 upon that principle of "energetic resignation" (so different 
 from the aimless broodings of mere submission) which had 
 been early noticed in her by the discriminating eye of affection. 
 " I feel it such a duty, such a necessity," she writes to a friend 
 three months after her bereavement, "to cling fast to every 
 source of comfort, to be, for my children's sake, as happy, as 
 willing to live on in this heart-breaking world, as possible, that 
 I dwell on all the blessings which God continues to me, and 
 has raised up to me out of the depths of affliction, with an ear- 
 nestness of endeavor which is its own reward — for so long as 
 the heart and mind are full of movement, employed continually 
 in not unworthy objects, there may be sorrow, but there can 
 not be despair. The stagnation of the spirit, the dull, motion- 
 less brooding over one miserable set of thoughts, is that against 
 which, in such cases as mine, we must both strive and pray." 
 
 There is another, an equally interesting, though less personal, 
 point of view, in which this great bereavement was an impor- 
 tant turning-point in the life of Sara Coleridge. Her husband 
 was Mr. Coleridge's literary executor, and the editorial task first 
 undertaken by my father now devolved upon his widow. It has 
 been beautifully remarked by Professor Reed, as a peculiarity 
 of my mother's truly feminine authorship, that it was in no case 
 prompted by mere literary ambition, but that there was ever 
 some " moral motive " — usually some call of the affections, that 
 set her to work, and overcame her natural preference for re- 
 tirement. This helpful, loving, and unselfish spirit, which had 
 actuated her hitherto, now took a more commanding form, and 
 led her to dedicate the whole of her intellectual existence to 
 the great object of carrying out a husband's wishes — of doing 
 justice to a father's name. In the fulfillment of this sacred 
 trust, she found occasion to illustrate and adorn the works 
 which fell under her editorship with several compositions of 
 no inconsiderable extent ; and displaying powers of critical 
 analysis, and of doctrinal, political, and historical research and 
 
Editorial Duties. 63 
 
 discussion, of no common order. The most important of these 
 are the " Essay on Rationalism, with a special Application to 
 the Doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration," appended to Vol. II. 
 of the "Aids to Reflection," the "Introduction" to the "Bio- 
 graphia Literaria;" and a Preface to the collection of her fa- 
 ther's political writings, entitled, " Essays on his Own Times, 
 by S. T. Coleridge," which contains, in Professor Reed's opin- 
 ion, the most judicious and impartial comparison between Brit- 
 ish and~'American civilization, and the social and intellectual 
 conditions of the two countries, that has yet been written. "And 
 thus," continues her accomplished friend and biographer, "there 
 have been expended in the desultory form of notes and appen- 
 dices and prefaces, an amount of original thought and an afflu- 
 ence of learning, which, differently and more prominently pre- 
 sented, would have made her famous. There is not one woman 
 in a thousand, not one man in ten thousand, who would have 
 been thus prodigal of the means of celebrity." 
 
 "Father! no amaranths e'er shall wreathe my brow; 
 Enough that round thy grave they flourish now ! 
 But Love his roses 'mid my young locks braided, 
 And what cared I for flowers of richer bloom ? 
 Thbse too seemed deathless — here they never faded, 
 But, drenched and shattered, dropt into the tomb."* 
 
 This blended expression of the wife's and the daughter's af- 
 fection was recorded when she was in the midst of her pious 
 duties. Ere long she too was called upon to resign the work, 
 still unfinished, into another, but a dear and well-skilled hand.f 
 Seven years of waiting for the happiness so long expected — 
 again seven years — not always of mourning, but of faithful 
 memories and tender regrets for that which had passed away 
 forever; and then came preparations for the "great change, 
 the long farewell," to which she had learned to look forward 
 when on the very eve of bridal joys and earthly blessedness. 
 She who had once called marriage the type of death, now heard 
 the summons to the heavenly Marriage Feast with no startled 
 or reluctant ear. Solemn indeed is the darkness of the Death 
 Valley, and awful are the forms that guard its entrance — 
 
 " Fear, and trembling Hope, 
 Silence, and Foresight ;" 
 
 * From an unpublished poem by Sara Coleridge. 
 
 t Her brother, the Rev. Derwent Coleridge, the present editor. 
 
64 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 but beyond all these, and revealed to the heart (though not to 
 the eye) of the humble and believing Christian, are the blissful 
 realities of Light and Love. 
 
 After a lingering and painful illness of about a year and a 
 half, Sara Coleridge was released from much suffering, borne 
 with unfailing patience, on the 3d of May, 1852, in the fQrty- 
 ninth year of her age. In the old church-yard of Highgate (now 
 inclosed in a crypt under the school chapel) her remains lie, 
 beside those of her parents, her husband, and her son. 
 
 The following letter will be read with pleasure, not only for 
 its own sake, but as a tribute to my mother's memory, from one 
 whose friendship, correspondence, and society helped to bright- 
 en her latter years, and to whom this work owes some of the 
 most interesting portions of its contents. 
 
 "I rejoice to hear," Mr. De Vere writes to me, on the subject 
 of the present publication, "that a portion of your mother's let- 
 ters will be published so soon. To those who knew her she re- 
 mains an image of grace and intellectual beauty that time can 
 never tarnish. A larger circle will now know, in part at least, 
 what she was. Her correspondence will, to thoughtful readers, 
 convey a clearer impression than aught besides could convey 
 of one who, of course, could only be fully understood by those 
 who had known her personally and known her long. 
 
 " In their memories she will ever possess a place apart from 
 all others. With all her high literary powers she was utterly 
 unlike the mass of those who are called 'literary persons.' Few 
 have possessed such learning ; and when one calls to mind the 
 arduous character of those studies, which seemed but a refresh- 
 ment to her clear intellect, like a walk in mountain air, it seems 
 a marvel how a woman's faculties could have grappled with 
 those Greek philosophers and Greek fathers, just as no doubt 
 it seemed a marvel when her father, at the age of fourteen, awoke 
 the echoes of that famous old cloister with declamations from 
 Plato and Plotinus. But in the daughter, as in the father, the 
 real marvel was neither the accumulated knowledge nor the 
 literary power. It was the spiritual mind. 
 
 ' The rapt one of the God-like forehead, 
 The heaven-eyed creature,' 
 
 was Wordsworth's description of Coleridge, the most spiritual, 
 perhaps, of England's poets, certainly of her modern poets. Of 
 
Her spirituality of Mind. 65 
 
 her some one said, 'Her father had looked down into her eyes, 
 and left in them the light of his own.' Her great characteris- 
 tic was the radiant spirituality of her intellectual and imagina- 
 tive being. This it was that looked forth from her countenance. 
 
 " Great and various as were your mother's talents, it was not 
 from them that she derived what was special to her. It was 
 from the degree in which she had inherited the feminine por- 
 tion of genius. She had a keener appreciation of what was 
 highest and most original in thought than of subjects nearer 
 the range of ordinary intellects. She moved with the lightest 
 step when she moved over the loftiest ground. Her ' feet were 
 beautiful on the mountain-tops' of ideal thought. They were 
 her native land ; for her they were not barren ; honey came up 
 from the stony rock. In this respect I should suppose she must 
 have differed from almost all women whom we associate with 
 literature. I remember hearing her say that she hardly con- 
 sidered herself to be a woman ' of letters.' She felt herself more 
 at ease when musing on the mysteries of the soul, or discussing 
 the most arduous speculations of philosophy and theology, than 
 when dealing with the humbler topics of literature. 
 
 " As might have been expected, the department of literature 
 which interested her most was that of poetry — that is, poetry 
 of the loftiest and most spiritual order ; for to much of what is 
 now popular she would have refused the name. How well I 
 remember our discussions about Wordsworth ! She was jeal- 
 ous of my admiration for his poems, because it extended to too 
 many of them. No one could be a true Wordsworthian, she 
 maintained, who admired so much some of his later poems, his 
 poems of accomplishment, such as the 'Triad.' It implied a 
 disparagement of his earlier poems, such as 'Resolution and 
 Independence,' in which the genuine Wordsworthian inspira- 
 tion, and that alone, uttered itself! I suspect, however, that 
 she must have taken a yet more vivid delight in some of her fa- 
 ther's poems. Besides their music and their spirituality, they 
 have another quality, in which they stand almost without a ri- 
 val — their subtle sweetness. I remember Leigh Hunt once re- 
 marking to me on this characteristic of them, and observing 
 that in this respect they were unapproached. It is like distant 
 music, when the tone comes to you pure, without any coarser 
 sound of wood or of wire ; or like odor on the air, when you 
 smell the flower, without detecting in it the stalk or the earth. 
 
 E 
 
66 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 As regards this characteristic of her father's genius, as well as 
 its spirituality, there was something in hers that resembled it. 
 One is reminded of it by the fairy-like music of the songs in 
 ' Phantasmion.' 
 
 "There is a certain gentleness and a modesty which belong 
 to real genius, and which are in striking contrast with the self- 
 confidence and self-assertion so often found in persons possess- 
 ed of vigorous talents, but to whom literature is but a rough sport 
 or a coarse profession. It was these qualities that gave to her 
 manners their charm of feminine grace, self-possession, and 
 sweetness. She was one of those whose thoughts are growing 
 while they speak, and who never speak to surprise. Her in- 
 tellectual fervor was not that which runs over in excitement ; a 
 quietude belonged to it, and it was ever modulated by a wom- 
 anly instinct of reserve and dignity. She never 'thought for ef- 
 fect,' or cared to have the last word in discussion, or found it 
 difficult to conceive how others should differ from her conclu- 
 sions. She was more a woman than those who had not a tenth 
 part of her intellectual energy. The seriousness and the soft- 
 ness of her nature raised her above vanity and its contortions. 
 Her mind could move at once and be at rest. 
 
 " I fear that the type of character and intellect to which your 
 mother belonged must be expected to grow rarer in these days 
 of ' fast ' intellect. Talents rush to the market, the theatre, or 
 the arena, and genius itself becomes vulgarized for want of that 
 ' hermit heart ' which ought to belong to it, whether it be genius 
 of the creative or the susceptive order. There will always, how- 
 ever, be those whose discernment can trace in your mother's 
 correspondence and in her works the impress of what once was 
 so fair. But, alas ! how little will be known of her even by 
 such ! Something they will guess of her mind, but it is only a 
 more fortunate few who can know her yet higher gifts — those 
 that belong to the heart and moral being. If they have a loss 
 which is theirs only, they too have remembrances which none 
 can share with them. They remember the wide sympathies and 
 the high aspirations, the courageous love of knowledge, and the 
 devout submission to Revealed Truth ; the domestic affections 
 so tender, so dutiful, and so self-sacrificing, the friendships so 
 faithful and so unexacting. For her great things and little lived 
 on together through the fidelity of a heart that seemed never to 
 forget. I never walk beside the Greta or the Derwent without 
 
Her Memory. 67 
 
 hearing her describe the flowers she had gathered on their mar- 
 gin in her early girlhood. For her they seemed to preserve 
 their fragrance amid the din and the smoke of the great me- 
 tropolis." 
 
 To these high and discerning praises, any addition from me 
 would be indeed superfluous. Yet one word of confirmation 
 may here find a place : it is this, that such as Sara Coleridge 
 appeared to sympathizing friends and admiring strangers, such 
 she was known to be by those who, as her children, lived with 
 her in habits of daily intimacy, and depended on her wholly for 
 guidance, affection, and support. To such a one her memory 
 is almost a religion ; or, to speak more soberly as well as more 
 Christianly, it is prized not only out of love for herself, but as a 
 practical evidence of the truth of that Religion which made her 
 what she was. 
 
68 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1833. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, HER ELDEST BROTHER HARTLEY 
 COLERIDGE, AND MISS TREVENEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Importance of Indirect Influences in Education. — Description of her Son 
 at Three Years of Age. — A Child's First Effort at Recollection. 
 
 To Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Nab Cottage, Grasmere : 
 
 Hampstead, 1833. — I think the present hard-working, over- 
 busy. Striving age somewhat overdoes the positive part of edu- 
 cation, and forgets the efficacy of the negative. Not to make 
 children irreHgious by dosing them with religion unskillfuUy 
 administered — not to make them self-important by charging 
 them on no account to be conceited (which you used to com- 
 plain of so bitterly) — not to make them busybodies and un- 
 charitable by discussing the misdemeanors of all belonging to 
 them, whom they ought to hold in reverence, in their hearing, 
 giving them the fruit of the tree of ill knowledge (a fruit which 
 both puffs up and imparts bitterness) before their stomachs 
 have acquired firmness enough to receive it without injury (be- 
 fore the secretions of the mind are all settled, and such knowl- 
 edge can subsist without disturbing the sweet juices of charity 
 and humanity) — not to create disgust, or excite hypocrisy, by 
 attempting to pour sensibility, generosity, and such other good 
 qualities, which can not be supplied from without, but must well 
 up from within, by bucketfuls into their hearts — not to cram 
 them with knowledge which their minds are not mature enough 
 to digest (such as Political Economy), the only result of which 
 will be to make them little superficial coxcombs — in short, to 
 give natui-e elbow-room, and not to put swaths on their minds, 
 now we have left off lacing them upon their infant bodies ; to 
 trust more to happy influences, and less to direct tuition ; not 
 to defeat our own purpose by over-anxiety, and to recollect that 
 
Herbert Coleridge. 69 
 
 the powers of education are even more limited than those of 
 circumstances, that nature and God's blessing are above all 
 things, and to arm ourselves against the disappointment that 
 may attend our best directed and most earnest endeavors ; all 
 these considerations, I think, are treated too slightingly in the 
 present day. Folks are all too busy to think ; churches are 
 built in a fortnight — but not quite such as our ancestors built. 
 The only wonder is that there is so much childish innocence 
 and nature left in the world. But, as an old nurse said, " Oh, 
 Lord, ma'am, it's not very easy to kill a baby" so I think it not 
 very easy to spoil a child. Nature has a wonderful power of 
 rejecting what does not suit her; and the harangue which is 
 unfitted for juvenile hearts and understandings, often makes no 
 impression upon either. How often does a child that was cer- 
 tainly to be ruined by mismanagement disappoint all the wise 
 Jeremiahs, and turn out an amiable member of society ! 
 
 You say you can not bring before your mind's eye our little 
 Herby. A mother is qualified to draw a child's portrait, if close 
 study of the original be a qualification. High coloring may be 
 allowed for. I will try to give you some notion of our child. 
 He is too even a mixture of both father and mother to be strik- 
 ingly like either ; and this is the more natural, as Henry and I 
 have features less definite than our expressions. This may, 
 perhaps, account for that flowing softness and more than child- 
 like indefiniteness of outline which our boy's face presents ; it 
 is all color and expression — such varying expression as consists 
 with the sort of corporeal moulding which I have described ; in 
 which the vehicle is lost sight of, and the material of the veil is 
 obscured by the brightness of what shines through it — not that 
 pointed sort of fixed expression which seems more mechanically 
 formed by strong lines and angular features. To be more par- 
 ticular, he has round eyes, and a round nose, and round lips 
 and cheeks ; and he has deep blue eyes, which vary from stone 
 gray to skiey azure, according to influences of light and shade ; 
 and yellowish light-brown hair, and cheeks and lips rosy up to 
 the very deepest, brightest tint of childish rosyhood. He will 
 not be a handsome man, but he is a pretty representative of 
 
 three years old, as D was a "representative baby;" and 
 
 folks who put the glossy side of their opinions outermost for 
 the gratified eyes of mothers and nurses, and all that large 
 class with whom rosy cheeks are the beginning, middle, and 
 
yo Memoir and Letters of Sard Coleridge. 
 
 end of beauty, say enough to make me — as vain as I am. I 
 don't pretend to any exemption from the general lot of parental 
 delusion^— I mean that like most other parents I see my child 
 through an atmosphere which illuminates, magnifies, and at the 
 same time refines the object to a degree that amounts to a de- 
 lusion, at least, unless we are aware that to other eyes it appears 
 by the light of common day only. My father says that those 
 who love intensely see more clearly than indifferent persons ; 
 they see minutenesses which escape other eyes ; they see " the 
 very pulse of the machine." Doubtless ; but, then, don't they 
 magnify by looking through the medium of their partiality? 
 Don't they raise into undue relative importance by exclusive 
 gazing ; don't wishes and hopes, indulged and cherished long, 
 turn unto realities, as the rapt astronomer gazed upon the stars, 
 and mused on human knowledge, and longed for magic power, 
 till he believed that he directed the sun's course and the sweet 
 influences of the Pleiades ? 
 
 To return to our son and heir : he is an impetuous, vivacious 
 child, and the softer moments of such are particularly touching 
 (so thinks the mother of a vehement urchin). I lately asked 
 him the meaning of a word ; he turned his rosy face to the win- 
 dow, and cast up the full blue eyes, which looked liquid in the 
 light, in the short hush of childish contemplation. The inno- 
 cent thoughtfulness, contrasted with his usual noisy mirth and 
 rapidity, struck my fancy. I had never before seen him conde- 
 scend to make an effort at recollection. The word usually 
 passed from his lips like an arrow from a bow ; and if not forth- 
 coming instantly, there was an absolute unconcern as to its fate 
 in the region of memory. The necessity of brain-racking is not 
 among the number of his discoveries in the (to him) new world. 
 All wears the freshness and the glory of a dream ; and the stale, 
 flat, and unprofitable, and the improbus labor, and the sadness 
 and despondency, are all behind that visionary haze which hides 
 the dull reality, the mournful future of man's life. You may 
 well suppose that I look on our darling boy with many fears ; 
 but "fortitude and patient cheer" must recall me from such 
 "industrious folly;" and faith and piety must tell me that this 
 is not to be his home forever, and that the glories of this world 
 are lent but to spiritualize us, to incite us to look upward ; and 
 that the trials which I dread for my darling are but part of his 
 Maker's general scheme of goodness and wisdom. 
 
Mrs^ Joanna Baillie. 71 
 
 11. 
 
 Mrs. Joanna Baillie. — "An Old Age Serene and Bright." — Miss Martineau's 
 Characters of Children. — "A Little Knowledge" of Political Economy 
 " a Dangerous Thing." — Comparison of Tasso, Dante, and Milton, 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Hampstead, 1833. — Our great poetess, or rather the sensible, 
 amiable old lady that was a great poetess thirty years ago, is 
 still in full preservation as to health. Never did the flame of 
 genius more thoroughly expire than in her case ; for though, as 
 Lamb says, "Ancient Mariners," "Lyrical Ballads," and "Keha- 
 mas" are not written in the grand climacteric, the authors of 
 such flights of imagination generally give out sparkles of their 
 ancient fires in conversation ; but Mrs. Joanna Baillie is, as Mr. 
 AVordsworth observes, when quoting her non-feeling for Lycidas, 
 "dry and Scotchy ;" learning she never possessed, and some of 
 her poetry, which I think was far above that of any other woman, 
 is the worse for a few specks of bad English ; then her criticisms 
 are so surprisingly narrow and jejune, and show so slight an 
 acquaintance with fine literature in general. Yet if the author- 
 ess of "Plays on the Passions" does not now write or talk 
 like a poetess, she looks like one, and is a piece of poetry in 
 herself. Never was old age more lovely and interesting; the 
 "face, the dress, the quiet, subdued motions, the silver hair, the 
 calm in-looking eye, the pale, yet not unhealthy skin, all are in 
 harmony; this is winter with its own peculiar loveliness of 
 snows and paler sunshine ; no forced flowers or fruits to form 
 an unnatural contrast with the general air of the prospect. 
 
 I never could relish those wonderfully young-looking old la- 
 dies that are frequently pointed out to our admiration, and who 
 look like girls at a little distance; so much the greater your 
 disappointment when you come close. Why should an old per- 
 son look young? ought such a one Xo feel and think young? if 
 not, how can the mind and person be in harmony; how can 
 there be the real grace and comeliness which old age, as old 
 age, may possess, though not round cheeks and auburn ringlets? 
 
 Do you read Miss Martineau ? How well she always suc- 
 ceeds in her portraits of children, their simplicity and partially 
 developed feelings and actions; and what a pity it is that, with 
 all her knowledge of child nature, she should try to persuade 
 
'J 2 Memoir and Letters of Sarah Coleridge. 
 
 herself and others that political economy is a fit and useful 
 study for growing minds and limited capabilities — a subject of 
 all others requiring matured intellect and general information 
 as its basis ! This same political economy, which quickens the 
 sale of her works now, will, I think, prove heavy ballast for a 
 vessel that is to sail down the stream of time, as all agree that 
 it is a dead weight upon the progress of her narratives, intro- 
 ducing the most absurd incongruities and improbabilities in re- 
 gard to the dramatic propriety of character, and setting in arms 
 against the interest of the story the political opinions of a great 
 class of her readers. And she might have rivaled Miss Edge- 
 worth ! What a pity that she would stretch her genius on such 
 a Procrustes bed ! And then what practical benefit can such 
 studies have for the mass of the people, for whom it seems 
 that Miss M intends her expositions? — they are not like re- 
 ligion, which may and must mould the thoughts and acts of 
 every-day life, the true spirit of which therefore can not be too 
 much studied and explained; but how can poor people help 
 the corn-laws, except by sedition ? and what pauper will refuse 
 to marry, because his descendants may, hundreds of years hence 
 (if hundreds of things don't happen to prevent it), help among 
 millions of others to choke up the world ? Who, in short, will 
 listen to dry and doubtful themes when passion calls ? A smat- 
 tering of Greek or Latin is, in my opinion, a harmless thing; 
 nay, I think it useful and agreeable, just according to its extent; 
 a little is good, more is better, if people are aware how short a 
 way they have proceeded, and what a length of road is before 
 them, which they have more opportunity of seeing than those 
 who have never set out. But a little learning is, indeed, a dan- 
 gerous thing, when no part can be seen clearly without a view 
 of the whole, and when knowledge, or fancied knowledge, is 
 sure to incite to practice. * * * 
 
 I admire the elegant and classical Tasso, but can not agree 
 with those who call him the great poet of Italy. He borrowed 
 from the ancients, not, as Milton did, to melt down the foreign 
 with the original ore of his own mind, and to form out of the 
 mass a new creation wholly his own in shape and substance, 
 and in its effect on the minds of others. It appears to me that 
 he only produced a vigorous and highly wrought imitation of 
 former copies, into which he combined many new materials, but 
 the frame and body of which was not original. Dante'k was 
 
English Scenery. 73 
 
 the master-mind that wrought, like Homer and Milton, for itself 
 from the beginning, and which influenced the poetry of Italy 
 for ages. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Characteristics of English Scenery.— Somerset,Yorkshire,Devon, Derbyshire, 
 and the Lakes. — Visit of H. N. Coleridge to Mr. Poole at Nether Stowey. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Hampstead, October, 1833. — Henry agrees with me in think- 
 ing the Somerset landscape the ideal of rurality where nature 
 is attired in amenity rather than in grandeur. The North of 
 England is more picturesque; you are there ever thinking of 
 what might be represented on canvas; parts of Yorkshire are 
 far more romantic, especially in the mellowing lights and hues 
 of autumn, when its old ruins, and red and yellow trees, and 
 foaming streams bring you into communion with the genius of 
 Scott; Derbyshire is lovely and picturesque, but to me it is un- 
 satisfactory, as mimicking, on too small a scale, a finer thing of 
 the same sort. Dovedale may have a character of its own ; I 
 understand it is more pastoral than the English Lakeland, yet 
 with a portion of its wilder beauty; but Matlock struck me as 
 a fragment of Borodale, without the fine imaginative distance. 
 Devon is a noble county, but less distinctly charactered, I think, 
 than the sister one ; it displays specimens of variously featured 
 landscapes, here the river-scenery of Scotland, there a smiling 
 meadow-land; in one place reminding you of the North of En- 
 gland, in another a wild, desolate moor, or fine sea-view peculiar 
 to itself; still, in the general face of the country, I have felt 
 that there was the want of individuality and a due proportion 
 of the various features of the scene — in many parts the trees, 
 though superb specimens in themselves, domineer, in their giant 
 multitude, too exclusively over the land, and prevent the eye 
 from taking in a prospect where the perfection of parts is sub- 
 servient to the soul-entrancing effect of the whole. Devonshire 
 has sometimes struck me as the work-shop of nature, where 
 materials of the noblest kind and magnitude are heaped to- 
 gether. The only defect, Henry says, in Somersetshire, is the 
 fewness and unclearness of the streams. With Nether Stowey 
 he was especially delighted ; it is, indeed, an epitome of the 
 beauties of the county. He was much interested with the 
 
74 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 marked original character and gratified by the attentions of his 
 host, our old friend Mr. Poole. He visited my father's tiny 
 cottage, where my brother Hartley trotted and prattled, and 
 where my unknown baby brother Berkeley, a beautiful infant, 
 was born. The pleasant reminiscences of my father's abode in 
 the village gave Henry much pleasure. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Dodging."— Children best managed by Authority, not by Premature 
 Appeals made to their Feelings. 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Hampstead, October, \2>2,2,- — Herby begins his lessons now 
 with " Oo shan't dodge me !" but I tell him (or tell myself 
 rather) that without dodging no scholar was ever made. Short 
 instructions at a time, and thorough cross-examination of those 
 given, is the system I would go upon in teaching. Be sure that 
 the first step is really taken before you attempt to proceed, and 
 don't fancy that children will listen to lectures, either in learn- 
 ing or morality. Punish a child for hurting his sister, and he 
 will draw the inference that it is wrong, without a sermon on 
 brotherly affection. Children mark what you do much more, 
 and what you say less, than those who know them not imagine. 
 Another of my rules is, never to draw upon the sensibility of 
 children, or try to create what must be a native impulse, if gen- 
 uine ; neither would I appeal to what is so unsure a ground of 
 action. I would not tell a child to refrain from what is wrong 
 because it gwes 7ne pain. I know from experience how soon 
 that falls flat on the feelings, and how can you expect sympathy 
 where there can be no experience or conception of the evil 
 suffered ? Do you remember how poor little used to be- 
 have when told not to make his mother's head ache? Noth- 
 ing is more sure to disgust than a demand for sympathy where 
 there is a lack of all materials for its production. How can a 
 child comprehend a grown person's bodily sensations, or pa- 
 rental griefs and anxieties? You must appeal to reason and 
 conscience, not so much by argument as by such a medium as 
 is most applicable to the mind of a child. If 3'ou have reason 
 to think your motives misunderstood, in any way which may 
 affect the child's feelings or conduct, a few leading hints may 
 soon set the matter right. 
 
The Ancients on Colors. 75 
 
 V. 
 
 Xhe Ancients' Close Observation and Accurate Delineation of Nature. — 
 Names of Colors in Classic Poetry.— "The Georgics." 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead, December^ 1833. — Martin says the ancients were 
 vague in the description of colors. I doubt not, if we under- 
 stood them thoroughly, we should find that what appears vague 
 and shadowy proceeded from fineness and accuracy of discern- 
 ment. The ancients were precise in the delineation of nature. 
 They did not see it with the spirit of Wordsworth — no more, I 
 think, did Shakespeare. But they either drew and colored in 
 the open air, and conveyed forms and tints closely and vividly, 
 or they translated literally from the poets who did so, as Virgil 
 appears to have done from Homer and Theocritus. This ap- 
 plies to their poetical diction. The spirit and form of Virgil's 
 work were doubtless borrowed with modification; but the vague, 
 dreamy imagery of Shelley, Keats, etc., I believe to be a thing 
 of modern growth. The ancients did not modify and compose 
 out of floating reminiscences of other books. Purpureus, as ap- 
 plied to a swan, of course is metaphorical, red being the most 
 brilliant of colors, and a white swan gleaming in full daylight, 
 one of the most resplendent of natural objects. The passages 
 on the hyacinth, I think, are perfectly consistent, if closely ex- 
 amined, and express a peculiar shade of red belonging to one 
 of the multitudinous tribe of lilies. Glaucus, too, has a precise 
 meaning. Fallens is very expressive and true in the way it is 
 applied, meaning yellowish-white. Niger must have meant dark- 
 colored, not merely black. How exact the metaphors of the 
 peasantry are. " The Georgics " is the Rubens portrait of nat- 
 ure. How exquisite is the expression, yet nothing is idealized. 
 Herby must read that poem as soon as he has Latin enough to 
 gather the meaning through the foreign garb. It will make hini 
 look at nature, and looking at nature will make him relish that 
 sweet transcript. He has just come in from his walk, with a 
 sprig of arbutus, with its" red fruits, which, he says, are straw- 
 berries. He agrees with those who named the arbutus the 
 strawberry-tree. Virgil affirms that folks once lived on these 
 "mocking" strawberries and acorns, a thing which I make bold 
 to disbelieve. 
 
76 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 1834. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, AND TO MISS TREVENEN. 
 
 Books for the Little Ones. — " Original Poems." — Mrs. Hottjtt^_P.Qetry. — 
 Mrs^ Hannah Mor£. — Girlish View of her Literary Pretensions confirmed 
 by Maturer Judgment. — A Group of Authoresses. — Remarks on Jane 
 Austen's Novels by the Lake Poets. — Hannah More's Celebrity account- 
 ed for. — Letters of Walpole and Mrs. Barbauld. — Love of Gossip in the 
 Reading Public. 
 
 To Miss Emily Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Hanipstead, August, 1834. — Mary Howitt's book* is. a perfect 
 lovCyZS, to its external part ; the prints are really exquisite. The 
 poems I have not read through, but what I have read confirm 
 me in my previous opinion that she has a genuine vein of po- 
 etry, though not, I think, a very affluent one. Some of the puffs 
 (one of them at least) said that she had eveni surpassed the au- 
 thoressesf of the " Original Poems " in hitting off something 
 truly poetical, yet intelligible to children, in verse. To this par- 
 ticular theme of praise I can not subscribe. I think Mary How- 
 itt's verses do not contain what all children must enter into, in 
 the same degree that the "Original Poems" do ; but in this re- 
 spect I think them preferable even as regards fitness for youth- 
 ful (I mean for childish) minds, that they represent scarcely 
 any thing but what is bright and joyous. Children should dwell 
 apart from the hard and ugly realities of life as long as possible. 
 The "Original Poems" give too many revolting pictures of men- 
 tal depravity, bodily torture, and of adult sorrows ; and I think 
 the sentiments (the tirades against hunting, fishing, shooting, 
 etc., for instance) are morbid, and partially false. 
 
 * "Sketches of Natural History." 
 
 t Ann and Jane Taylor, daughters of Isaac Taylor, of Ongar, and sisters 
 of the popular author of the " Natural History of Enthusiasm." — E. C. 
 
Female Novelists. 77 
 
 When I say that Mary Hewitt's vein is not affluent, I mean 
 that she is given to heat out one fancy as a gold-beater does a 
 bit of gold — that the self-same imagination is reproduced, with 
 a little change of attire, in one poem after another. 
 
 You speak of Mrs. Hannah More. I have seen abundant ex- 
 tracts from her " Remains," and I think I could not read them 
 through if I were to meet with them. I fear you will think I 
 want a duly disciplined mind, when I confess that her writings 
 are not to my taste. I remember once disputing on this sub- 
 ject with a young chaplain, who affirmed that Mrs. Hannah 
 More was the greatest female writer of the age. " Whom," he 
 asked, "did I think superior?" I mentioned a score of author- 
 esses whose names my opponent had never even heard before. 
 I should not now dispute doggedly with a divine in a stage- 
 coach, but years of discretion have not made me alter the opin- 
 ion I then not very discreetly expressed, of the disproportion 
 between Mrs. More's celebrity and her literary genius, as com- 
 pared with that of many other female writers whose fame has 
 not extended to the Asiatic Islands. I can not see in her pro- 
 ductions aught comparable to the imaginative vigor of Mrs. J. 
 Baillie, the eloquence and (for a woman) the profundity of Ma- 
 dame de Stael, the brilliancy of Mrs. Hemans (though I think 
 her overrated), the pleasant, broad comedy of Miss Burney and 
 Miss Ferrier, the melancholy tenderness of Miss Bowles, the pa- 
 thos of Inchbald and Opie, the masterly sketching of Miss 
 Edgeworth (who, like Hogarth, paints manners as they grow 
 out of morals, and not merely as they are modified and tinct- 
 ured by fashion) ; the strong and touching, but sometimes coarse 
 pictures of Miss Martineau, who has some highly interesting 
 sketches of childhood in humble life ; and last, not least, the 
 delicate mirth, the gently hinted satire, the feminine, decorous 
 humor of Jane Austen, who, if not the greatest, is surely the 
 most faultless of female novelists. My Uncle Southey and my 
 father had an equally high opinion of her merits, but Mr,.. 
 Wordsworth used to say that though he admitted that her nov. 
 ■eTs' were an admirable copy of life, he could not be interested 
 In productions of that kind ; unless the truth of nature were 
 ^presented to him clarified, as it were, by the pervading light of 
 imagination, it had scarce any attractions in his eyes ; and for 
 ""this reason he took little pleasure in the writings of Crabbe. 
 My Uncle Southey often spoke in high terms of " Castle Rack- 
 
78 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 rent j" he thought it a work of true genius. Miss Austen's 
 works are essentially feminine, but the best part of Miss Edge- 
 worth's seem as if they had been written by a man. " Castle 
 Rackrent " contains genuine humor, a thing very rare in the 
 writings of women, and not much relished by our sex in gen- 
 eral. "Belinda" contains much that is powerful, interspersed, 
 like the fine parts of Scotland, with tracts of dreary insipidity ; 
 and what is good in this work I can not think of so high an or- 
 der as the good things in " Castle Rackrent " and " Emma." I 
 have been led to think that the exhibition of disease and bodily 
 torture is but a coarse art to "freeze the blood." Indeed, you 
 will acquit me of any affected pretense to originality of criti- 
 cism, when you recollect how early my mind was biased by the 
 strong talkers I was in the habit of listening to. The spirit of 
 what I sport on critical matters, though not always the applica- 
 tion, is generally derived from the sources that you wot of. Yet 
 I know well that we should not go by authority without finding 
 out a reason for our faith; and unless we test the opinions learn- 
 ed from others with those of the world in general, we are apt to 
 hold them in an incorrect, and, at the same time, a more strong 
 and unqualified way than those do from whom we have derived 
 them. 
 
 Though I think with the Spectator, etc., that ISIrs. More's 
 very great notoriety was more the work of circumstances, and 
 the popular turn of her mind, than owing to a strong original 
 genius, I am far from thinking her an ordinary woman. She 
 must have had great energy of character, and a sprightly, vers- 
 atile mind, which did not originate much, but which readily 
 caught the spirit of the day, and reflected all the phases of 
 opinion in the pious and well-disposed portion of society in a 
 clear and lively manner. To read Mrs. More's new book was 
 a sort of good work, which made the reader feel satisfied with 
 him or her self when performed ; and it is agreeable to have one's 
 very own opinions presented to one in handsome language, 
 and placed in a highly respectable point of view. Then Mrs. 
 More entered the field when there were few to make a figure 
 there besides, and she was set agoing by Garrick and Johnson. 
 Garrick, who pleased all the world, said that the world ought 
 to be pleased with her; and Johnson, the Great Mogul of liter- 
 ature, was gracious to a pretender whose highest ambition was 
 to follow him at a humble distance. He would have sneered 
 
Mrs. Hannah More. 79 
 
 to death a writer of far subtler intellect, and more excursive 
 imagination, who dared to deviate from the track to which he 
 pronounced good sense to be confined. He even sneered a 
 little at his dear pet, Fanny Burney; she had set up shop for 
 herself, to use a vulgarism ; she had ventured to be original. 
 I must add that Mrs. More's steady devotion to the cause of 
 piety and good morals added the stamp of respectability to her 
 works, which was a deserved passport to their reception ; though 
 such a passport can not enable any production to keep its hold 
 on the general mind if it is not characterized by power as well 
 as good intention. 
 
 I admired some of Walpole's Letters in this publication, and 
 I read a flattering one from Mrs. Barbauld, who was a very 
 acute-minded woman herself. Some of her Essays are very 
 clever indeed. I like Mrs. More's style — so neat and sprightly. 
 The Letters seem to contain a great deal of anecdote, the rage 
 of the reading public, but that is an article which I am not par- 
 ticularly fond of. 
 
 IL 
 
 Reasons why the Greek and Latin Poets ought to continue to form Part of 
 the Course of School Instruction. — Lord Byron's Peculiar Experience 
 no Argument against it. — Milton's Scheme of Education. — Conjecture 
 as to the Effect of Circumstances on the Development of Poetic Genius. 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Hanipstead, August 28, 1834. — I feel quite against the notion 
 of substituting a lower set of books for the classic poets in 
 the instruction of youth. Purity and force of language and of 
 thought are not so much learned by rule as imbibed by early 
 and long habit, so far as they are to be gained from without. 
 They acquire an interest from association with the "visionary 
 gleam " of our first years. The classic author is but dimly un- 
 derstood at first; but his various merits are developed with the 
 developing mind of the student, and in the end he possesses 
 • the charm of an old affection and a new love combined. Such 
 works present clear and pleasing images to the intellect in its 
 very first stage : and the absence of all that is false in logic and 
 corrupt in taste is a vast advantage. 
 
 Such, I think, is the effect of early classical reading in those 
 
8o Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 who possess a sensibility and aptness for literature; and those 
 who find no stimulus in the pursuit sufficient to make them re- 
 cur to it in after years are surely better furnished with a little 
 Homer, Virgil, and Horace, than with the words of an inferior 
 writer. 
 
 I can not think Lord Byron, with his perverse, fastidious 
 taste, is a fair instance in this question, great as his poetical 
 taste may have been. Horace, nine times out of ten, I should 
 conjecture, is not the occasion of flogging; faults in construing 
 are but a small part of school offenses. As to Milton, he would 
 have altered the system of Old England in many particulars; 
 but I can not think that the Republic he advocated would ever 
 produce a Miltonic mind, attired at least so gracefully as was 
 that which presented to us the "Paradise Lost." 
 
 Query — what would Milton, Shakespeare, and Walter Scott 
 have been, had they been born in the United States in the nine- 
 teenth century ? How would their genius have manifested it- 
 self? Byron, Wordsworth, and Coleridge would, I think, have 
 been less altered in the garb of their minds than the former 
 three. Shakespeare's plays are full of royal and courtly asso- 
 ciations ; Milton's style is based upon the ancient classics; 
 chivalry and antiquity are the very spirit of Scott's creations. 
 My father and Wordsworth philosophized upon man and nat- 
 ure; their writings are not strongly tinctured with any partic- 
 ular atmosphere; they wrote neither of nor for the fabrics of 
 ancient power, and the French Revolution gave their minds a 
 cosmopolitan impulse. As to Byron, the tone of his mind in 
 his most ambitious attempts was borrowed from them; and his 
 Eastern tales have little to do with European antiquity. A 
 traveled American might easily have imbibed the spirit they 
 display. 
 
 HL 
 
 Dryden and Chaucer. 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead, September, 1834. — Dryden's fables are certainly 
 an ideal of the rapid, compressed manner. Each line packs as 
 much meaning as possible. But Dryden's imagination w^as fer- 
 tile and energetic rather than grand or subtle ; and he is more 
 
Dry den and Chaucer. 8i 
 
 deficient in tenderness than any poet of his capacity that I am 
 acquainted with. His English style is animated and decorous, 
 full of picture-words, but too progressive for elaborate meta- 
 phors. 
 
 In"Palamon and Arcite" there is all Dryden's energy and 
 richness; but you feel in such a subject his want of tenderness 
 and romance. He seems ever playing with his subject, and 
 almost ready to turn the lover's devotion, and the conquering 
 Emily herself, into a jest. The sly satire of Chaucer suited his 
 genius; but there is a simple pathos at times in the old writer 
 which is alien to Dryden's mind. Chaucer jested upon women 
 like a laughing philosopher; Dryden like a disappointed hus- 
 band. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Concentration, not Versatility, the Secret of Success in Life. — Visionaries. 
 — The Passion of Envy and the Vice of Cruelty. — Is Sporting Wrong 1 
 Practical Bearings of the Question. — Cruelty of Children seldom De- 
 liberate. — Folly of Exaggerating Bird-nesting into a Crime. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead^ September, 1834. — Persons who succeed in the 
 world without moulding themselves on the world's model are 
 those who command attention by doing some particular thing 
 thoroughly well; a crowd of minor achievements pass for noth- 
 ing, or convey only the notion of a studious idler. I would not 
 give a farthing for you to be thought clever in architecture, or 
 conversant with technicalities of the arts, a fine fencer, dancer, 
 carver, or the best shot in England. Details which conduce to 
 one great point are profitable, but not if they be entirely des- 
 ultory. Would your moral and intellectual character, your 
 whole man, be a grain the more respectable and admirable ? 
 I think it would be much less so if these pursuits diverted you 
 in any degree from the main earthly objects of your life: your 
 profession as the means of an honorable livelihood, and of ben- 
 efit to others; literature as ennobling and blessing your own 
 life, and enabling you to extend those advantages to the world 
 which enhances the dignity of the pursuit ; and those duties of 
 home which love and religion impose. * * * 
 
 These writers on Natural History are quite as fanciful and 
 vague in their theories, quite as often raise a structure on a 
 
 F 
 
82 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 quaking bog, in their discussion upon facts, as those who are 
 conversant with abstract matters. To be a visionary depends 
 on the temper, not on the subject of contemplation, and none 
 are more misled by imagination than the enthusiasts of mam- 
 mon, or those who go about to establish the truth of facts in 
 which they take an interest. I knew a man of the world who 
 had a gold and silver dream about Peru, and who went thither 
 upon such uncertain information, and drew such solid inferences 
 from shadowy premises, as astonished many of his friends. 
 Over -eagerness to find particular things true leads us away 
 from the truth. 
 
 And what a visionary is the envious man ! He walketh in a 
 vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain ; he is possessed 
 and agitated and impelled by something which exists only in 
 his own fancy. The dog in the manger is an old apologue; 
 but I suppose a dog can no more be capable of envy than of 
 veneration. May not envy be defined as a debility of the im- 
 agination, the condition or proximate causes of which are want 
 of energy of mind and irritability of temperament ? Envy no 
 doubt tends to harden the heart, but it is not naturally connect- 
 ed with hard-heartedness. You will see very charitable and 
 compassionate persons extremely envious. But people eminent- 
 ly envious are never good-tempered; and though persons of 
 strong intellectual powers are not free from the feeling, it sel- 
 dom tyrannizes over minds that reflect much, and are freshened 
 and stimulated by a variety and choice of speculations. It is a 
 modification of selfishness which can only exist through a false 
 estimate of ourselves and others, and the things of this world. 
 It is allied to pride and covetousness, but more closely to the 
 former than the latter, because objects of pride are objects of 
 imagination more than those of covetousness. Envious persons 
 are always proud, but not alwaj^s grossly covetous. Envy ar- 
 gues an obliquity of the reasoning powers, and never exists in 
 any great degree in any very candid and sincere mind, but it 
 does not imply willful injustice ; candor is unconscious, or at 
 least. natural honesty, but justice is honesty of the will pursued- 
 upon principle. Envious persons are not necessarily uncon-*^ 
 scientious, though envy, like every irregular passion, tends to 
 obscure the perception of right, and to weaken the moral power. 
 I might add that envy is a weakness of human nature, not a 
 peculiarity of individuals ; and he who subdues it the most, or 
 
Cruelty. 83 
 
 naturally has the least of it, is the person to be remarked, as 
 he who is most under its influence is most noted for evil. It 
 is not like shyness or openness, which is characteristic of one 
 person, while the reverse is characteristic of another. * * * 
 In the work on Natural History, I met with some good-nat- 
 ured, commonplace observations to this effect, that the coarse 
 and ignorant are apt to be coarsely and ignorantly cruel. I 
 added this note : 
 
 " Man is lord of the creation, yet his is not an absolute mon- 
 archy. There are limitations which the demands of his own 
 heart rather than their rights insist upon ; but they are not very 
 easily defined, and the line between use and abuse has never 
 yet been strictly drawn. To take an abstract pleasure in sor- 
 row of the meanest thing that feels, is the mark of a degraded 
 nature — to indulge in such a pleasure is to degrade it willfully ; 
 but how far may we justifiably consult our pleasure or our pride, 
 regardless of such suffering ? Falconry and hare-hunting have 
 their apologists among the refined and reflective, as well as 
 angling and shooting, which, indeed, occasion less protracted 
 misery. Bird-nesting has not been defended, because peasant 
 boys care not to defend themselves from imputations on their 
 sensibility. All perceive that it is unworthy of a reasoning 
 creature to inflict pain by way of venting irritated feelings ; but 
 how far we may make it matter of amusement, or at least con- 
 nect amusement with it, the conscience does not so readily de- 
 termine. The contemplation of suffering for itself alone is, in 
 very rare instances, I believe, the source of gratification. Cru- 
 elty is said to be natural, because children tease and kill living 
 "cFeatures, but in the same breath you are told that they do it 
 out of ignorance, which no doubt is united with a pleasing sense 
 of power. No, I believe that positive cruelty is a mark of the 
 utmost corruption of our sin-prone nature, and, as in Nero and 
 Domitian, the result of sophistication. Even boys that torture 
 a mouse or a hedgehog are not delighted, I should think, with 
 the pain of the animal — they do not image that very distinctly 
 — but are amused with observing its conduct under those trying 
 circumstances. In this case the sensibilities are dormant, or, 
 put it at the worst, they are naturally torpid or obtuse, not ex- 
 cited and demonized, as in some extraordinary cases, where a 
 hard and turbulent nature has been stimulated and trained by 
 very peculiar circumstances. I think we may say that the more 
 
84 Memoir a^id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the excitement of any sport with animals proceeds from the ex- 
 hibition of suffering, and the more inconsiderable are the bene- 
 fit and pleasure arising collaterally in proportion to the suffer- 
 ing occasioned, the more it may be reprobated as cruel and de- 
 grading." 
 
 This note has swelled under my transcribing hand. I was 
 going to add that, in treating of the conduct of man toward an- 
 imals, we must not forget that they are things, as my father says, 
 and not persons. They have no rights to regulate this matter, 
 for an animal may be used in a7iy way if the needs of man re- 
 quire it. But man violates his own dignity and hardens his 
 heart if the suffering or evil is disproportioned to the necessity, 
 and, as my father would say, every unhardened heart and un- 
 perverted mind is '''■ possessed'''' by this idea. To strike an ani- 
 mal in passion is a cruel and degrading action more than an 
 unjust one. It is cruel, because it is to inflict pain without ne- 
 cessity. To strike a man would be unjust as well as cruel; he 
 has a right not to be struck, independent of all circumstances. 
 He can only forfeit his right by his own acts and deeds. I 
 can not think that slaves in the West Indies are practically 
 treated as things. It would be impossible to manage any rea- 
 soning creature with advantage to the manager in this manner. 
 There is a sort of compact between the master and slave. " If 
 you will serve me well you shall have such and such advan- 
 tages," is the strain of every prosperous slaveholder to his 
 work people. But it was a vile state of things that the contrary 
 w^as the theory which the laws of the country were regulated 
 by, though, as you and many others think, this evil was not to 
 be remedied on a sudden by Act of Parliament. However, to 
 return from this excursion to the point of practice in my mind 
 at present. It is very difficult to lay down rules for children 
 or others on a matter which can not be brought to any stand- 
 ard more fixed than the varying requirements of different men, 
 these requirements being defined by tastes, desires, and habits 
 as various as the minds and situations of the agents. Nor is 
 there any law by which you can condemn bear-baiting and up- 
 hold angling. Even if the fish are eaten, they are a mere lux- 
 ury to the angling idler and his family. I think it ill-judged 
 to lead children to look with contempt or dislike upon unedu- 
 cated boys amusing themselves with bird-nesting. What pre- 
 cept of the Gospel, or the spirit of it even, do they infrino-e ? 
 
The Drama and the Epic. 85 
 
 The sorrow of the bird is no part of the pleasure. The less 
 we teach Christianity and humanity by way of censure upon 
 others, the better. The animal suffering is very inconsiderable ; 
 the bird builds again immediately. But I would never put a 
 child in the way of bird-nesting. I would say, " Don't take the 
 eggs, it is a pity — the poor bird will miss them ;" but I would 
 not teach forbearance as a Christian duty, nor treat the matter 
 with the same solemnity that I should do the unkindness to a 
 sister or playmate, or insolence to a servant. If I saw a child 
 tease or torture an animal, I should of course say, That is cruel, 
 and I should let the child perceive that the animal feels bodily 
 pain. The absence of all forethought or anticipation in the 
 creature is not a reflection to which it would be useful to lead 
 a child's mind. But all exaggerated pictures of animal suffer- 
 ing, the investing them with human sentiments (except in an 
 apologue which the child soon understands), tirades against 
 hunting, shooting, etc., I would let alone. And the author of 
 " Hartleap Well" is as great an enemy of this false sentimental- 
 ity as any in the kingdom. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Drama and the Epic. — Painting among the Ancients. — Sense of the 
 Picturesque in Nature. a Development of Modern Taste. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Ha77ipstead, September, 1834. — In a drama the event is to dis- 
 play character ; in an epic the characters are to carry on the 
 event. Drama is biography, the Epic history. Lear, Othello, 
 are the subjects of those dramas ; the Loss of Eden, the de- 
 struction of Priam's power and domestic blessing by the anger 
 of Achilles, those of Milton's and Homer's poems. In an Epic, 
 only such a diversity of characters as the event would naturally 
 assemble, and such qualities in the hero as would bring about 
 the event, are essential to the conception of this sort of poem. 
 In the Drama, characters are chosen for the subject, because 
 their qualities are interesting and remarkable ; and the proof 
 of this is their bringing about particular events, or showing a 
 certain line of conduct in peculiar circumstances. The Epic 
 would be retarded by' the exhibition of passion in all its stages, 
 such as we have in Othello ; it would be out of proportion, 
 
86 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and would engross the whole attention from the general nar- 
 rative. * * * 
 
 There can be no doubt that Cicero had a feeling of the inter- 
 est to be derived from a copy of living objects on canvas, or 
 even of those of still life, as the scene and circumstance of ac- 
 tion. But the picturesqueness of the group may not have been 
 the source of interest (at least not to the consciousness of the 
 beholder, though no doubt it did enhance the gratification), but 
 the life portrayed in the picture. The beholder was to be in- 
 structed, animated, or soothed by the story of some event or 
 knowledge of some fact, rather than astonished, gratified, enter- 
 tained by the exhibition of art, and spectacle of abstract beauty. 
 I think this is the general distinction between the ancient and 
 modern notions in regard to painting, though there may be ex- 
 ceptions, and the times of old may have had an infusion of our 
 feelings, as we doubtless partake of that sort of interest which 
 was the chief and most defined one to them. The pleasure to 
 be derived from the power of art was by no means so decidedly 
 modern, as a sense of the picturesqueness of inanimate combi- 
 nations. The latter must belong to a people who have long 
 been refined, a people who have leisure to luxuriate in things 
 which have no being but in the imagination, and who have hit 
 upon combinations and notions of the agreeable and beautiful, 
 which were never suggested to the fancy even of sages and phi- 
 losophers of simpler ages. Don't you think that much of the 
 best modern poetry would be unintelligible to Cicero 1 — I mean 
 as to the sentiment of it. 
 
 I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Sublime and the Beautiful. — Comparative Popularity of Shakespeare, 
 Milton, and Ben Jonson. — Education of Taste by an Exclusive Study 
 of the Best Models. 
 
 To the Same: 
 
 1834. — It is perhaps more true to say that the sublime can 
 not be so long dwelt upon as the beautiful, than that it is less 
 popular. That style is, I think, as easily felt and estimated by 
 the uncultivated taste as the other. But from its own nature it 
 can not be long sustained, for awe and terror owe half of their 
 being to novelty and surprise ; yet an appeal to those feelings, 
 
Popular Poetry. 87 
 
 or rather an attack upon them, is as surely effective as any in 
 the world. Indeed, I believe far more persons can appreciate 
 the merits of "Theodore and Honoria" (the supernatural scene 
 of which is sublime in the German style, though not in the more 
 elevated one of Milton and Dante) than of " Palamon and Ar- 
 cite," which is beautiful ; or of " The Cock and the Fox," which 
 is witty and exquisite. Why and how far is Shakespeare more 
 popular than Milton ? Not (to conjecture merely) because there 
 is more of the sublime in Milton's poem, but simply because 
 persons unused to dwell upon what is abstract, who have ac- 
 quired no knowledge of literary perfections, are unable to keep 
 up their attention during the course of an epic, especially one 
 which embodies a scheme of theology, and therefore demands 
 the cognizance of the understanding throughout the main part 
 of it, to be relished at all. The only parts of Shakespeare that 
 are popular, as you have stated,* are the selections for the 
 stage, the incidents of some of his plots, and the passions ex- 
 hibited by some of his characters, though they are far from be- 
 ing understood. There is an upper surface which catches the 
 general eye, but what lies beneath, which is indicated to the re- 
 fined taste, or to the fine perception of genius, is not generally 
 caught. The verdant lawn presents a pleasing aspect to the 
 eye of the rustic, yet it is not so interesting as to that of the 
 florist, the botanist, the physiologist, who perceives a thousand 
 peculiarities in that mass of vegetation which are unseen by 
 others, and who can pierce the bosom of the earth to discover 
 how and why and whence it has arisen. "Paradise Regained" 
 is less popular than " Paradise Lost," yet it contains compara- 
 tively little of the sublime ; but it is too abstract to be generally 
 relished ; it has no merits but those which a refined taste can 
 alone appreciate. "The White Doe," the "Flower and the 
 Leaf," and many other such plays of pure imagination, can 
 never be popular, in whole or in part "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress " has a complete upper surface of popularity. How little 
 is Shakespeare's delicate, sportive dialogue now appreciated, 
 such as that between Hotspur and his wife ! Coarser copies 
 have superseded it. Ben Jonson's plays were received with 
 rapture, when plot and incident were not to be had elsewhere, 
 or not in any more popular form ; and his reputation was up- 
 
 * In his "Introduction to Homer," a second edition of which was being 
 prepared by my father in 1834.— E. C. 
 
88 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 held by the finer wits who frequented the theatre in those days. 
 But now who except bookish persons knows any thing about 
 them, or perceives that the " Fox " and the " Alchemist " are 
 works of art a thousand times finer in design, and more exqui- 
 site in execution than those of modern vulgar dramatists? 
 When good works alone were presented from the first to the 
 populace, even their taste must have been simpler and finer 
 than in times when it becomes sophisticated and yet degraded 
 by inferior trash. If a peasant were shown daily a collection 
 of Claudes and Correggios alone, he would be far more in the 
 way of learning to admire them than if such pictures were thin- 
 ly scattered among a set of glaring daubs. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Mrs. Joanna Baillie's Taste in Dress. — Opinion of the Poetess and of her 
 ' " Sister expressed by an Eminent Savant. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead, September 4, 1834. — I saw Mrs. Joanna Baillie be- 
 fore dinner. She wore a delicate lavender satin bonnet ; and 
 
 Mrs. J says she is fond of dress, and knows what every one 
 
 has on. Hei^ taste is certainly exquisite in dress, though 
 (strange to say) not, in my opinion, in poetry. I more than 
 ever admired the harmony of expression and tint, the silver 
 hair and silvery gray eye, the pale skin, and the look which 
 speaks of a mind that has had much communing with high 
 imagination, though such intercourse is only perceptible now 
 by the absence of every thing which that lofty spirit would not 
 set his seal upon. Sir John Herschel says that ISIrs. Agnes 
 Baillie is " by far the cleverer woman of the two ;" but this is 
 the speech of a clever man, a man whose acute mind can pierce 
 some of the mysteries of the world of fact, but which does 
 not sympathize with all the beings of the world of imagina- 
 tion. And then, in Mrs. Joanna Bailhe, age has slackened the 
 active part of genius, and yet is in some sort a substitute for it. 
 There is a declining of mental exercitation. She has had 
 enough of that ; and now for a calm decline, and thoughts of 
 Heaven. 
 
The Christian Spirit. 89 
 
 Miss Herschel. 
 
 Mrs. J says that Caroline Herschel, sister of the late Dr. 
 
 Herschel, is a person of uncommon attainments and abilities, 
 and is a Fellow of the Royal Society. She is now eighty-four; 
 her letters from Berlin, where she resides, are full of vigor and 
 spirit. She says : " My brother and I have sometimes stood 
 out star-gazing till two o'clock, and have been -told next day 
 that, the night before, our neighbor's pigs had died of the 
 frost." 
 
 Hard Words in the Latin Grammar Useful to Young Learners. 
 Those odd words. Genitive, Vocative, Freterpluperfect, etc., are 
 helps to the memory. They have a quaint uniform of their own, 
 and are something like one another, but unlike all other things. 
 
 Geography made Easy. 
 How much knowledge may be put into a child, by good 
 economy of instruction, without employing his mind more than 
 is perfectly wholesome ! To Herby the map is a sort of game, 
 and one that contains far more variety than any play that could 
 be devised. To find out Sumatra or Owhyhee, to trace the 
 Ganges, and follow the Equator in every different map, is a su- 
 preme amusement; and the notions of hot and cold, wet and 
 dry, icy seas and towering palm-trees, with water dashing, and 
 tigers roaming, and butterflies flitting, and his going and seeing 
 them, and getting into tossing boats, and climbing by slow de- 
 grees up the steep mountain, are occupying his little mind, and 
 give a zest to the whole affair. And then there is the pleasure 
 of preaching it all over again to Nurse ! 
 
 Right Opinions must be Held in the Right Spirit. 
 It is a fortunate thing to be induced by any circumstances to 
 adopt the most edifying opinions, whichever they may be ; but 
 of still more consequence is the manner in which we hold and 
 maintain them. Indeed, even in the most vital considerations, 
 the manner of holding it is almost more than the speculative, 
 abstract creed. I never can forget that the most (apparently) 
 Christian-spirited creature I ever knew was a Unitarian. 
 
90 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 1834 {continued). 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND AND HER ELDEST BROTHER, AND TO 
 MRS. PLUMMER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Composition of " Pretty Lessons for Good Children." 
 
 To Hartley Coleridge, Esq. : 
 
 Nab Cottage, Grasmere, , 1834. — What you say about 
 
 Natural History, dear Hartley, is quite accordant with my own 
 feelings ; but I am not studying it, or reading any thing system- 
 atically. A few pretty works with colored prints have been lent 
 to me, and I took an especial interest in the subject, not only for 
 the attractions you mention, but because I could talk to little 
 Herby about the birds and beasts, and show him the pictures. 
 
 I have also amused myself, and instructed him, with mamma's 
 assistance, by means of little rhymes, which I ink-printed upon 
 cards. Henry had a fancy for having some of them printed, as 
 a little record of some of my occupations during a season of 
 weakness and suffering, when I was shut out from almost all 
 pleasures and means of usefulness. In this view you will look 
 at the little book which I send you. It is worth nothing in any 
 other. It may amuse some other children, but it can not be to 
 any other child what these verses have been to Herby, struck 
 off as they were for the occasion, an occasion in which he was 
 specially interested. 
 
 II. 
 
 Chaucer's Poetry not that of a Primitive Age. 
 To her Husband : 
 
 It appears to me absurd to speak of Chaucer as living in the 
 "infancy of our poetry." Chaucer's metre is proved by Tyr- 
 
Chaucer s Poetry. 91 
 
 whitt to be, as old Speght declared, quite perfect, if the words 
 are pronounced as they were in his day. So says Sir W. Scott. 
 Time only has " mis-metred " him, as he himself apprehended. 
 Dryden says that numbers were in their nonage till Denham 
 and Waller appeared. This is a strange misappreciation, as 
 critics think now, of Spenser and Chaucer. And then as to the 
 matter of Chaucer, it can not be called the offspring of a rude 
 age, or even of a simple age. Much of it is satire, which is the 
 growth of an age of social institutions. As to the refinements 
 and complications of civilization, they may go on ad infinittim, 
 and poetry will gain from that a greater variety of objects, and 
 a different tone. Yet it may be perfect in kind at a very early 
 period. Wordsworth, I think, would have been as fine a poet 
 inChaucer's age as now. The garb of his mind would doubt- 
 less have been different ; perhaps some of his poetry would 
 have been less exquisite; and certainly it may be supposed 
 that certain circumstances are more congenial to certain minds 
 than to others equally powerful. But a vivid imagination, with 
 strong intellect and talent, must manifest itself, I imagine, un- 
 der any circumstances. 
 
 III. 
 
 Note on Enthusiasm. — Mischievous Effect of Wrong Names given to Moral 
 
 Qualities. 
 To the Same : 
 
 My mind misgives me about some notelets that I have pen- 
 ciled in J 's "Journal of Art." Most of them are about 
 
 facts in Natural History; but one is on the use of the word 
 "Enthusiasm." Knapp says: "He must disclaim the epithet 
 Efithusiastic. His is not an ecstasy that glows, fades, and ex- 
 pires ; but a calm, deep-rooted conviction," etc. I have said — 
 " Must enthusiasm expire ? That of Linnseus survived through 
 pain and weakness. Neither can I think that enthusiasm pre- 
 cludes calmness and rationality. That ardor which does so is 
 fanaticism. But the enthusiasm of great minds is a steady heat, 
 and though opposite, not contrary, to sobriety, as generosity is 
 opposed to prudence, not exclusive of it. Enthusiasm with 
 some persons is a synonym for extravagance. But how other- 
 wise can we designate that habit of mind which impels to the 
 
92 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 most arduous and persistent efforts in pursuit of what must be 
 its own reward, and the object of an abstract devotion ? and 
 was not this the primary meaning of enthusiasm ?" I do think 
 that words, from being used in a half wrong or wholly wrong 
 sense, reflect upon the things originally signified a portion of 
 that misapprehension. The word enthusiasm is taken for ex- 
 travagance, and thus genuine enthusiasm is looked upon as in 
 some sort extravagant. Over-strict religionists are called serious, 
 till undistinguishing worldlings connect superstition or sj^iritual 
 self-deception with staid reflective piety. Persons of warm fancy 
 and weak judgment are called romantic, through which an ele- 
 vated spiritual temper, and imaginative mode of viewing sub- 
 jects and objects, is deemed inseparable from a certain degree 
 of self-delusion and want of skill in the executive government 
 of daily life ; and people will not perceive that true poetry is 
 truth, and that fiction conveys reality, because both have been 
 falsified, and made false to their proper aim ; the vehicle itself, 
 and the thing to be conveyed, being both corrupted. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Cowper's "Iliad" and "Odyssey." — Requisites for a Successful Translation 
 
 of Homer. 
 To the Same : 
 
 I hate Cowper's slow, dry, blank verse, so utterly alien to the 
 spirit of the poem, and the minstrel mode of delivery. How 
 could it have suited any kind of recitative or melody, or the ac- 
 companiment of any music ? It is like a pursy, pompous, but 
 unpolished man moving laboriously in a stiff dress of office. 
 Those boar and lion hunting similes describing swift motion 
 are dreadfully dragging in this sort of verse. In Milton there 
 is little of this rapidity and flash to be conveyed. How medi- 
 tative are the speeches of the fallen host ? We feel conscious 
 of the scope of the poem — that they have ages of time before 
 them to work in, that they are not planning a scheme to be exe- 
 cuted in days or weeks or months. In Homer, the time of 
 action seems to be the life of individual men, and kll is meas- 
 ured according to this scale. In Milton, we are reading of su- 
 perhuman agencies, of times with which day, month, or year 
 had nothing to do. 
 
Cowpers ''Iliads 93 
 
 The only sort of translation of Homer, I think, which would 
 be thoroughly gratifying, should be on Pope's plan, but better 
 executed. There should be his brilliance and rapidity — or 
 rather that of'Dryden's in the Fables — with that thorough un- 
 derstanding of the spirit and proprieties of the whole poem, 
 which would enable the translator (he being a person of some 
 poetical genius) to give substitutes for the exact physical mean- 
 ing of certain passages, yet to preserve the spirit and to main- 
 tain the rich flow of verse, and keep the genius of the language 
 unviolated, at the same time that he transported us to ancient 
 times and distant places. Cowper's poem is like a Camera 
 Lucida portrait — far more unlike in expression and general re- 
 sult than one less closely copied as to lines and features. In a 
 different material there must be a different form to give a sim- 
 ilar effect. 
 
 V. 
 
 False Etymologies. — prjohnsprij his Mental Powers and Moral Character. 
 — Quiet Conclusion of " Paradise Lost," and of the Part of Shylock in 
 the "Merchant of Venice." — Silence of Revenge; Eloquence of Love 
 and Grief and Indignation. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead, October, 1834. — I am often provoked by the silly 
 derivations of words given in books. Two doctors (Johnson 
 and Webster) have derived butterfly from butter — one because 
 these flies come in butter season (they come from March to 
 November, and what is butter season ?), and the other because 
 a very common butterfly is yellow ! No, no ; the vox populi that 
 makes language is a much more accurate reporter of nature, 
 and of all truth, than a guessing writer of books. Butterflies 
 are better flies — larger flies, the largest sort of flies that you meet 
 with. Poor Dr. Johnson was often dead tired when he made 
 that dictionary, though it was on the whole a favorite work. 
 But he had no fine perceptions about objects of sight — that is 
 apparent in all that remains of his mind. He was, indeed, half 
 blind; but I do not agree with those who attribute his coldness 
 in regard to painting, natural landscape, etc., to that. He might 
 have seen enough«to admire, but his mind was anti-poetical ; he 
 was, as my father would have said, more keen than subtle. To 
 call his mind gigantic, if the dimensions of the mind are meant. 
 
94 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I believe is erroneous; but he used his powers with giantly 
 strength. If an ordinary scholar could bring readily into play 
 all his latent power and knowledge, he would appear a giant 
 in conversation. Johnson's written works leave no such im- 
 pression ; but he was a man of deep and strong feeling; his 
 mind was vigorous, and saw all objects clearly within a certain 
 range, and he had the power of arranging his thoughts and the 
 various parts of a subject in an effective manner, and express- 
 ing his views with clearness and energy. Amid an apparent 
 consciousness of frailty and sense of suffering, there is a strong 
 cleaving to that which is good and holy. It is this mournful 
 dignity, this religious humanity, which interest me in his writ- 
 ings, and he had just so much imagination as will enable a man 
 to picture his views and feelings thus clearly to others. * * * 
 
 I think the concluding verses of "Paradise Lost" are truly 
 sublime. There is an awful beauty about them. 
 
 "The cherubim descended; on the ground, 
 Gliding meteorous, as evening mist 
 Risen from a river o'er the marish glides, 
 And gathers groujid fast at the laborer's heel, 
 Homeward returning." 
 
 How skillfully are the points of likeness here just pointed at, 
 and then the image is abandoned, just when it has done its 
 work, and attention is drawn off to a new one : the flaming 
 sword of God, the comet, and Libyan sands. Then the pathetic 
 gentle-heartedness of the angel, hastening, j-et leading them 
 away; and they looking back once more saw their " once happy 
 seat" waved over by that threatening hand; and then the few 
 sad, subdued lines, so like human life and its submission, with 
 a sort of sad effort after reparation, to an inevitable calamity. 
 Just so quietly does Shylock go off the scene — " I am not very 
 well, I would go home." It is remarkable how devoid all Shy- 
 lock's language is of exaggeration. There is no amplifying, no 
 playing with the subject, and waving it up and down like a 
 streamer to catch different lights and display itself in various 
 fantastic attitudes, as Shakespeare's lovers expatiate and add 
 stroke after stroke to the picture of their possessed fancy. Shy- 
 lock's passion of revenge is expressed, according to the view in 
 my father's preface, by a bare, keen reiteration of certain mat- 
 ters of fact ; he seems to shrink and double himself up like a 
 crouching tiger, in order to shoot out all his energies when let 
 
Criticism. 95 
 
 loose upon their prey; when the moment patiently waited for 
 arrives, he thrusts forth his cutting blade in the face of his en- 
 emy — you did thus and thus — see, you fool, what you imagined 
 of me, and what I have made you. It is these sharp contrasts 
 of neither more nor less than the actual facts which constitute 
 all his oratory, and all his feelings of hatred are shown by hug- 
 ging the reality with a fierce intensity, saying the very thing 
 which was in every part of his heart over and over again. In- 
 dignation that breathes scorn, and believes deeply in the wrong- 
 fulness of the offender, but is not transfigured into malice; 
 strong grief that has not collapsed into despair, are almost as 
 expatiative as love ; " Oh that I were a mockery-king of snow, to 
 melt before the sun of Bolingbroke," is the language of a wan- 
 dering fancy. And the Scriptures are full of such illustrations 
 of sorrowfulness ; for grief rushes out eager for a vent, and 
 roams forth, seeking for employment, for a change from the in- 
 tolerable misery of passiveness. Anger will talk much and 
 strongly, but not so fancifully as love and grief; it stems the 
 fancy by its violence, and those passions which, like revenge, 
 impel to action, employ the energies in another way. As a 
 watery mirror shaken by the wind presents only the confused 
 fragments of a picture, the mind agitated by vehement anger 
 reflects no continuous imagery, like sorrow which is still and 
 meditative. Yet there is a sort of sullen resentment, which 
 seems to stupefy the soul, and a scorn which is unutterable ; it 
 fears to be dissipated in words, and imparts an energy which 
 facilitates restraint. Scorn argues self-possession ; a man in a 
 passion can not scorn. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Authority of Criticism. — The Judicial Faculty as much a Part of the Hu- 
 man Mind as the Inventive Faculty. — Great Art appeals to Sympathies 
 which exist in all. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 H 's position is plainly absurd ; for what but criticism is 
 
 to establish the merits of any work? Does he mean that poets 
 only can judge of poetry, and that they alone are to criticise 
 each other ? Even according to this view, how is he to prove 
 that any particular critic is not a poet potentially, whether he 
 
96 Memoir ajzd Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 have published or not ? It seems to favor his notion that poets 
 who v^rite above the age, and whose productions are of an orig- 
 inal mould, are often unjustly criticised in the beginning; but 
 they are so as much by the critical poets of the day, as by the 
 men of judgment who have no poetical power. Witness Dry- 
 den's first impressions of " Paradise Lost." By degrees it is 
 perceived that the new type may be tried on the same principle 
 as the old admired models, and that by analogy with them, 
 though not by an unfair comparison, it will stand its ground. 
 But the critical faculty must decide upon this question, be it in 
 poet or prose-man, and the only question is, " Can the faculty 
 of judging poetry be possessed apart from poetical power?" I 
 should answer, Yes, undoubtedly. Waller had no perception of 
 Milton's merits. But he was not a great poet. Neither was 
 Dryden great in comparison with Milton; and according to 
 that view none could judge of Milton but Milton himself Cer- 
 tainly no critic could so mould and refine the taste and judg- 
 ment of the age as he who afforded such models to exercise 
 them upon : but the poet does not create in others the faculty 
 of judging, though he may stimulate and direct it; that faculty 
 must decide whether they are models or not, after all. My fa- 
 ther and Wordsworth may have improved the poetical taste of 
 the age, but that does not exempt them from being amenable 
 to criticism, for unless they can touch the feelings, or win the 
 verdict of the judgment of men, they are not great poets ; I 
 mean the judgment, not of the unlearned, but that faculty where 
 it is really developed. Those poets were wronged by particu- 
 lar critics, who did not try their merits fairh', but that does not 
 prove them above criticism. The same may be said of paint- 
 ing. The great painter is to be appreciated not by painters 
 alone : he appeals to faculties latent in all, and possessed in va- 
 rious degrees by various men. They may be oftener developed 
 in painters than in others; but I believe that he who can exe- 
 cute a fine Dutch piece may be a very indifferent judge of a po- 
 etical landscape, or sublime representation from Scripture, ex- 
 cept as to the technical part. E thinks the Tidan (Bac- 
 chus and Ariadne) is only excellent for color, and^that Claude 
 has no merit different from Turner. Then all that poetry, that 
 sentiment, which others have perceived in those pictures are 
 either a mere accident or a matter of imagination in the be- 
 holder. " The critic is only to abstract rules from the poet's 
 
Botajiy. g 7 
 
 practice" — f/iaf I can not admit. If judgment be a faculty of 
 the mind, it must be innate, consequently as old as the invent- 
 ive faculty; and as soon as ever a poet wrote, a critic might 
 judge whether he had written well or ill. " The critic has only 
 to inquire whether the world has acknowledged the poet," then 
 the world is the original critic that decided the matter; and the 
 world decided that Byron was finer than Wordsworth, Camp- 
 bell than Coleridge. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Botany. — The Linnsean System quite as Natural as the Modern Classifica- 
 tion, though less Comprehensive. — Both Arrangements ought to be 
 learned by Botanical Students. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Professor S makes an attack upon the Linnsean System 
 
 of Botany, because a man on a savage island would find it of 
 no use ! Now, I think, that as the facts on which he founded 
 it are true, it ought to be learned in addition to any more phil- 
 osophical arrangement that may have been since devised. The 
 knowledge of a science is truly useful, not for any one particu- 
 lar accidental purpose to which it may be applied, but gener- 
 ally for the enlargement of the mind, the , confirmation of gen- 
 eral principles, elucidation of the natural and metaphysical 
 world, and consequently the practical good of mankind, on the 
 broad scale, and in special instances. And then the very in- 
 stance he adduces is so inconclusive. On a desert island a 
 man that sees a herb without bracts may be sure it is fit to eat, 
 because he may be sure it belongs to the cabbage tribe. Next 
 year a new sort of cabbage, that is a deadly poison, may be dis- 
 covered. Nightshade and potatoes are of the same natural fam- 
 ily; but who that first saw the one after old acquaintance with 
 the other could derive any practical benefit from the knowledge 
 of that fact "i Then, as if the new classification was more natu- 
 ral than the other ! In one system plants are classified ac- 
 cording to the number of pistils and stamens ; in another ac- 
 cording to some more general features of agreement; but in 
 both nothing more than the agreement actually specified is im- 
 plied. Both arrangements ought to be known. Certainly the 
 one called Natural is better, because it embraces a combination 
 
 G 
 
98 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 of agreements. And it may be proved that plants, like the an- 
 imal creation, may be arranged in classes, one within another, 
 till you come to the particular species. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On the Death of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.*— Details of his Last Illness. 
 — His Will, Letters, and Literary Remains. — Respect and Affection felt 
 for Him by Those with whom he Lived. — Probable Influence of his 
 Writings on the Course of Religious Thought. — Remarks on his Genius 
 and Character by Different Critics. — His Last Readings and Notes. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 Hampstead, October, 1834. — My dearest L , your affection- 
 ate and interesting letter gave me great pleasure, and gratified 
 my feelings in regard to my dear father, whose memory still oc- 
 cupies the chief place in my thoughts. Your appreciation of his 
 character and genius, my dear friend, would endear you to me 
 were there no other ties between us. In his death we mourn 
 not only the removal of one closely united to us by nature and 
 intimacy, but the extinction of a light which made earth more 
 spiritual, and heaven in some sort more visible to our appre- 
 hension. You know how long and severely he suffered in his 
 health; yet, to the last, he appeared to have such high intel- 
 lectual gratifications that we felt little impulse to pray for his 
 immediate release ; and though his infirmities had been griev- 
 ously increasing of late years, the life and vigor of his mind 
 were so great that they hardly led those around him to think 
 of his dissolution. His frail house of clay was so illumined 
 that its decaying condition was the less perceptible. His de- 
 parture, after all, seemed to come suddenly upon us. We were 
 first informed of his danger on Sunday, the 20th of July, and on 
 Friday, the 25th, he was taken from us. For several days after 
 fatal symptoms appeared, his pains were very great; they were 
 chiefly in the region of the bowels, but were at last subdued by 
 means of laudanum, administered in different ways; and for the 
 last thirty-six hours of his existence he did not suffer severely. 
 When he knew that his time was come, he said that he hoped 
 by the manner of his death to testify the sincerity of his faith; 
 
 * At Mr. Gillraan's house, the Grove, Highgate, on the 25th of July, 1834. 
 — E. C. 
 
Death of her Father. 99 
 
 and hoped that all who had heard of his name would know that 
 he died in that of the English Church. Henry saw him for the 
 last time on Sunday, and conveyed his blessing to my mother 
 and myself j but we made no attempt to see him, and my broth- 
 ers were not sent for, because the medical men apprehended 
 that the agitation of such interviews would be more than he 
 ought to encounter. Not many hours before his death he was 
 raised in his bed and wrote a precious faintly scrawled scrap, 
 which we shall ever preserve, recommending his faithful nurse, 
 Harriet, to the care of his family. Mr. Green, who had so long 
 been the partner of his literary labors, was with him at the last, 
 and to him, on the last evening of his life, he repeated a certain 
 part of his religious philosophy, which he was especially anx- 
 ious to have accurately recorded. He articulated with the ut- 
 most difficulty, but his mind was clear and powerful, and so 
 continued till he fell into a state of coma, which lasted till he 
 ceased to breathe, about six o'clock in the morning. His body 
 was opened, according to his own earnest request — the causes 
 of his death were sufficiently manifest in the state of the vital 
 parts; but that internal pain from which he suffered more or 
 less during his whole life was not to be explained, or only by 
 that which medical men call nervous sympathy. A few out of 
 his many deeply attached and revering friends attended his re- 
 mains to the grave, together with my husband and Edward;* 
 and that body which did him such " grievous wrong " was laid 
 in its final resting-place in Highgate church-yard. His exec- 
 utor, Mr. Green, after the ceremony, read aloud his will, and 
 was greatly overcome in performing his task. It is, indeed, a 
 most affecting document. What little he had to bequeath (a 
 policy of assurance worth about £2^66) is my mother's for life, 
 of course, and will come to her children equally after her time. 
 Mr. Green has the sole power over my father's literary remains, 
 and the philosophical part he will himself prepare for publica- 
 tion ; some theological treatises he has placed in the hands of 
 Mr. Julius Hare, of Cambridge, and his curate, Mr. Sterling (both 
 men of great ability). Henry will arrange literary and critical 
 pieces — notes on the margins of books, or any miscellaneous 
 productions of that kind that may be met with among his MSS., 
 and probably some letters will appear if they can be collected. 
 
 * The Rev. Edward Coleridge, his nephew. — E. C. 
 
lOO Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I fear there will be some difficulty in this; but I have under- 
 stood that many written by him at different times exhibit his 
 peculiar power of thought and expression, and ought not to be 
 lost to the world if they could be recovered. No man has been 
 more deeply beloved than my dear father; the servants at the 
 Grove wept for him as for a father, and Mr. and Mrs. Gillman 
 speak of their loss as the heaviest trial that has ever befallen 
 them, though they have had their full share of sorrow and suf- 
 fering. Mrs. Gillman's notes, written since his death, are pre- 
 cious testimonies to me of his worth and attaching qualities. In 
 one of them she speaks of " the influence of his beautiful nat- 
 ure on our domestics, so often set down by friends or neighbors 
 to my good management, his forgiving nature, his heavenly- 
 mindedness, his care not to give offense unless duty called on 
 him to tell home truth ; his sweet and cheerful temper, and so 
 many moral qualities of more or less value, and all adorned by 
 his Christian principles. His was indeed Christianity. To do 
 good was his anxious desire, his constant prayer — and all with 
 such real humility — never any kind of worldly accommodating 
 the truth to any one — yet not harsh or severe — never pretend- 
 ing to faults or failings he had not, nor denying those he thought 
 he had. But, as he himself said of a dear friend's death, 'it is 
 recovery and not death. Blessed are they that sleep in the 
 Lord — his life is hidden in Christ. In his Redeemer's life it 
 is hidden, and in His glory will it be disclosed. Physiologists 
 hold that it is during sleep chiefly that we grow; what may we 
 not hope of such a sleep in such a Bosom ? ' " jNIuch more have 
 I had from her, and formerly heard from her lips, all in the same 
 strain; and during my poor dear father's last sufferings she sent 
 a note to his room, expressing with fervency the blessings that 
 he had conferred upon her and hers, and what a happiness and 
 a benefit his residence under her roof had been to all his fel- 
 low-inmates. The letters which I have seen of many of his 
 friends respecting his lamented departure have been most ar- 
 dent ; but these testimonies from those who had him daily, hour- 
 ly, in their sight, and the deep love and reverence expressed by 
 Mr. Green, who knew him so intimately, are especially dear to 
 my heart. My dear Henry, too, was deeply sensible of his good 
 as well as his great qualities ; it was not for his genius only that 
 he reverenced him, and it has been one of many blessino-s at- 
 tendant on my marriage, that by it we were both drawn into 
 
Influence of her Father s Writings. loi 
 
 closer communion with that gifted spirit than could otherwise 
 have been the case. There was every thing in the circum- 
 stances of his death to soothe our grief, and valuable testimo- 
 nies (such as I have mentioned, with many, many others) from 
 valued persons have mingled their sweetness in the cup. 
 
 We feel happy, too, in the conviction that his writings will be 
 widely influential for good purposes. All his views may not 
 be adopted, and the effect of his posthumous works must be 
 impaired by their fragmentary condition ; but I think there is 
 reason to believe that what he has left behind him will intro- 
 duce a new and more improving mode of thinking, and teach 
 men to consider some subjects on principles more accordant to 
 reason, and to place them on a surer and wider basis than has 
 been done hitherto. It is not to be expected that speculations 
 which demand so much effort of mind and such continuous at- 
 tention to be fully understood, can ever be immediately popular 
 — the written works of master spirits are not perused by the 
 bulk of society whose feelings they tincture, and whose belief 
 they contribute to form and modify — it is through intervening 
 channels that " sublime truths, and the maxims of a pure mo- 
 rality " are diffused among persons of various age, station, and 
 capacity, so that they become "the hereditary property of pov- 
 erty and childhood, of the workshop and the hovel." Heraud, 
 in his brilliant oration on the death of my father, delivered at 
 the Russell Institution, observes that religion and philosophy 
 were first reconciled — first brought into permanent and indisso- 
 luble union — in the divine works of Coleridge ; and I believe 
 the opinion expressed by this gentleman, that my father's met- 
 aphysical theology will prove a benefit to the world, is shared 
 by many persons of refined and searching intellect both in this 
 country and in America, where he has some enthusiastic ad- 
 mirers ; and it is confidently predicted by numbers that this 
 will be more and more felt and acknowledged in course of 
 time. My dear L , I will not apologize to you for this fil- 
 ial strain ; I write unreservedly to you, knowing that you are 
 alive to my father's merits as a philosopher and a poet, and be- 
 lieving that you will be pleased to find that he who was misun- 
 derstood and misrepresented by many, and grossly calumniated 
 by some, was and is held in high honor as to moral as well as 
 intellectual qualities by good and intelligent persons. " Here- 
 after," says a writer in Blackwood, " it will be made appear 
 
I02 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 that he who was so admirable a poet was also one of the most 
 amiable of men." The periodicals have been putting out a 
 great many attempts at accounts of his life — meagre enough 
 for the most part, and all more or less incorrect as to facts. 
 We have been very much hurt with our former friend, Mr. De 
 Quincey, the opium-eater, as he chooses to be styled, for pub- 
 lishing so many personal details respecting my parents in Taifs 
 Magazine. As Henry says, " the little finger of retaliation 
 would bruise his head;" but I would not have so good a Chris- 
 tian as my father defended by any measure so unchristianlike 
 as retaliation, nor would I have those belonging to me conde- 
 scend to bandy personalities. This, however, was never in- 
 tended by my spouse ; but I believe he has some intention of 
 reckoning with the scandal-monger for the honor of those near 
 and dear to us. Some of our other friends will be as much of- 
 fended with this paper of his as we are. He has characterized 
 my father's genius and peculiar mode of discourse with great 
 eloquence and discrimination. He speaks of him as possess- 
 ing "the most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most com- 
 prehensive" (in his judgment) that ever existed among men. 
 Whatever may be decided by the world in general upon this 
 point, it is one which, from learning and ability, he is well qual- 
 ified to discuss. I can not believe that he had any enmity to 
 my father, indeed he often speaks of his kindness of heart ; but 
 " the dismal degradation of pecuniary embarrassments," as he 
 himself expresses it, has induced him to supply the depraved 
 craving of the public for personality, which his talents would 
 have enabled him in some measure to correct. 
 
 My next letter, my dear L , shall be of a more lightsome 
 
 and general nature, but this is dedicated to my dear father's mem- 
 ory ; and I could say much more on that subject if I had more 
 strength and more paper, and were not afraid of wearying even 
 you, who are a reader and lover of his works. When Mr. Poole, 
 of Nether Stowey, received his copy of the will, in which his 
 name was affectionately mentioned, he read it aloud to his niece, 
 Mrs. Sandford, who expressed her admiration with tears in her 
 eyes. One of the last books that my dear father ever perused 
 is the " Memoir and Diary of Bishop Sandford," which he great- 
 ly approved; some notes penciled on the margin are among 
 the last sentences he wrote. 
 
The English Church. 103 
 
 IX. 
 
 Attachment of Mr. Wordsworth to the Church of England. — Arguments 
 for an Establishment in Mr. Coleridge's " Church and State." 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hci7npstead, 1834. — I am always hoping, my dear L , that 
 
 the chances of life, happy ones I trust in your case, will bring 
 you to reside in the south. Of livings — of any thing connect- 
 ed with our dear, excellent, venerable Church Establishment, I 
 hardly dare to speak. I really shudder, as I turn over the 
 menacing pages of the Spectator, and that organ of destructive- 
 ness, Taifs Magazine. How well do I remember Mr. Words- K 
 worth, with one leg upon the stair, delaying his ascent till he 
 had uttered, with an emphasis which seemed to proceed from 
 the very profoundest recesses of his soul — "I would lay down 
 my LIFE for the Church !" This was the conclusion of a long 
 and eloquent harangue upon that interesting subject. 
 
 My father, in his " Constitution of the Church and State, ac- 
 cording to the Idea of each," has taken the a priori view of the 
 matter, and argued for an Establishment with reasonings which 
 none of the Destructives ever attempt to overthrow. Whatever 
 they may pretend, it is not by reasoning, but by very different 
 engines, that they are effecting their object. 
 
104 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1835- 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, TO MRS. PLUMMER, MISS TREVENEN, 
 MRS. HENRY M. JONES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Early Training. — How to Instill Right Principles of Conduct; and Teach a 
 Child the Use of his Mind. — A Little Boy's Notion of Parental Disci- 
 pline. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Hampstead, jfanuary, 1835. — I was highly interested in dear 
 Derwent's last letter. I could subscribe to every word of his 
 remarks. I have always felt that such statements of " naughty" 
 and " good," as he objects to, have no effect in averting naughti- 
 ness or producing goodness ; and I know well that you " can 
 not beguile a child to any useful purpose." But when you come 
 to practical management, a mother must say a thousand things 
 to her child which have no other use but this — they gradually 
 help to form his notions of right and wrong. " Oh, silly boy," 
 we say, " to be afraid in the dark, which is as safe as the light !" 
 This will not take away the nervous fear which the very dark- 
 ness produces ; but will it not tend to avert mistaken notions, 
 if often repeated and consistently persisted in ? " You ought to 
 give your sister your shells — you ought to like that she should 
 be pleased." I do not expect that he will act on this immedi- 
 ately ; but is it not a little preparation for " Thou shalt love thy 
 neighbor as thyself?" As to reading for children, something 
 must be set before them which they will partly understand, 
 which they will like as much as they can like any thing of the 
 kind, and which will not pervert or mislead. It seems to me that, 
 with children four or five years old, more than this can not be 
 
 effected, and it would be waste of time to attempt it. D 's 
 
 remarks are beautiful on the propriety of early habituatino- chil- 
 dren to the yoke of duty — to labor and application. I would 
 never turn all lessons into play ; but without losing sight of this 
 
" We cant take Troy by force P' 105 
 
 principle we may, perhaps, turn a child's play, to a certain de- 
 gree, into lessons. For instance, when Herby looks over a 
 book of colored prints, I never attempt to make a task of the 
 thing ; but I draw his attention to such points as are of a gen- 
 eral interest — the knowledge of which may come usefully into 
 play afterward. This flower is crimson, that is pink, that scar- 
 let ; I make him observe this difference, and his great amuse- 
 ment is to compare these different hues together. " These birds 
 have small wings and large bodies — that sort of birds the con- 
 trary." In this way I think a child may be " beguiled usefully " 
 into the habit of observation — into the use of his mind; the par- 
 ticular facts are of little consequence, or less consequence, but 
 they are not totally useless : they form a nucleus of knowledge 
 — they give an interest to other facts ; and this little knowledge 
 is gathered at a time when, if that were not done, nothing else 
 would be. I am perhaps in some danger of attaching even too 
 much importance to intellectual pursuits and to book-learning. 
 I have been forced upon such considerations by circumstances, 
 as well as led to them by natural taste, and what we dwell con- 
 stantly upon we are too apt to magnify. A dancing-master 
 thinks that the execution of a waltz, or the solo part of a qua- 
 drille, is the chief point of education. However, this is more for 
 my own mind to beware of, than likely to lead to practical er- 
 rors affecting the interests of my children. * * * 
 
 Herby and Dervy are unanimous in their views of ground- 
 rice pudding. I was telling Herby what good order his cousin 
 was in, and that he was made to do what he was bid by his 
 papa. "Does he force him?" asked the urchin. "To be sure, 
 unless he does what is right of his own accord." " It's naughty 
 to force him," was the reply. " You know Ulysses said, ' We 
 can't take Troy by force P " 
 
 II. 
 
 Her Contributions to the "Table Talk." — Taking Notes a Useful Practice. 
 — Education : a Quick Child naay be Taught a Good Deal, without any 
 Danger of Cramming. — Deaths of Charles Lamb and Edward Irving. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 Hampstead, 1835. — As to my contributions to the "Table 
 Talk," I am ashamed to say that they really amount to a mere 
 
io6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 nothing. Two or three short memorables I remember record- 
 Trigj and I often wonder now how I could have been so negli- 
 gent a listener. But there were several causes for this. In the 
 first place, my father generally discoursed on such a very ex- 
 tensive scale, that it would have been an arduous task for me to 
 attempt recording what I had heard. Henry could sometimes 
 bring him down to narrower topics, but when alone with me he 
 was almost always on the star-paved road, taking in the whole 
 heavens in his circuit. Another impediment was this : When I 
 was at Highgate (I think of it with grief and shame, for I ought, 
 perhaps, to have had my mind in better order), my heart and 
 thoughts were very much oppressed and usurped by a variety 
 of agitating personal matters ; I was anxious about my broth- 
 ers, and their prospects — about Henry's health, and upon the 
 subject of my engagement generally. The individual of this 
 year often longs for the slighted opportunities of years ago; but 
 we can not be what experience makes us, and live over again 
 the years which have been gradually forming our tastes, desires, 
 and capabilities. This may seem a truism. What I wish to 
 convey to you is, that if I could have seen years ago how use- 
 less taking thought for all those things really was, and how per- 
 manently valuable every relic of my father's mind would be 
 (which I did not then perceive to the extent that I do now, 
 though well aware of his great powers), I should have tried to 
 be an industrious gleaner, instead of loitering about the harvest- 
 field as I did. 
 
 Writing down a discourse, or a part of it, is very useful also 
 to the mind, and a good test whether you have at all compre- 
 hended what you heard. 
 
 I must not finish my letter without telling you a little about 
 my secondary selves — my children — because they are self in a 
 second edition. I am on my guard how and how much I speak 
 of them, for fear of appearing or being selfish. Both are well 
 and brisk at present. Herby is reported to be a forward child, 
 and we have many admonitions against pushing, cramming, and 
 over-refining, which are all very just and sensible, and will, I 
 hope, keep us from straying into the wrong path. But I can 
 not think we have been betrayed into it yet ; neither would our 
 admonishers think so, if they understood the whole state of the 
 case. The child in question has a show of Coleridgian quick- 
 ness, and bookishness, and Hveliness of mind. He retains what 
 
Little Herbert's Studies. iq^^ 
 
 he learns pretty well, and is mighty fond of sporting it after- 
 ward, which he does with great vehemence and animation. For 
 instance, he informs every one he meets that Chimborazo, 
 whatever Coley* may say on the subject, is not so high as Dha- 
 walaghiri, the highest of the Himalayas ; and that he is certain 
 that the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Day (domestics at his Uncle 
 Patteson's, in Bedford Square), was not nearly so grand as that 
 of Peleus and Thetis, on Mount Pelion. He is at this moment 
 bent upon making bilberry preserve at Keswick, and rosefruit- 
 jam from hips that must be gathered on Mount Caucasus. 
 Hearing him talk in this way gives some people a notion that 
 he is crammed. . I can only say that I put no food into his mind 
 which is not prepared as carefully for his childish digestion as 
 the pap and panada which are recommended for infants ; and 
 he certainly never has any more of it at a time than he has the 
 fullest appetite for. He hears certain stories about Troy and 
 other antiquities over and over again, and looks at colored 
 plates of flowers which are lent me, and gradually learns some 
 of their names ; and he is actually fond of poring over maps, 
 and tracing the course of rivers. But what is there in all this 
 {done in the way he does it) which can strain the intellect, or 
 overload the mind of a young child ? I assure you nobody can 
 be more careful than I am not to err on these points, for I am 
 fully aware of the mischief both to body and mind which may 
 be caused thereby ; but at the same time we all know that 
 there is much in habit, in the gradual training both of hand 
 and muscles. My boy will have to go through the mental la- 
 bor required in a public school, and in after-life he will have 
 to gain his bread by head-work. I can not, therefore, follow 
 the advice of those who say, " Let him run about all day, and 
 leave books entirely alone." I feel sure that such a plan 
 would not be for his welfare, either for the present or in the 
 long run. 
 
 I teach him writing too, because I think it a good thing to 
 keep a child sitting still, and paying attention for a longer time 
 than you are employing his intellect. The habit of regularity 
 and submission should be taught early. As for the art of writ- 
 ing, it may be learned more quickly at a much later age : but 
 it is a useful instrument in learning other things ; and the time 
 
 * His cousin, John Coleridge Patteson ; well-known to the Church and 
 the Country as the "Martyr-Bishop" of the Pacific Islands. — E. C. 
 
io8 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 is not altogether thrown away that is spent in teaching an ur- 
 chin of four years and three months to scribble. * 
 
 We have been much grieved lately by the death of our old 
 friend Mr. Charles Lamb, of the India House. He was a man 
 of amiable manners, and kind and liberal heart, and a rare 
 genius. His writings exhibit a rare union of pathos and hu- 
 mor, which to me is truly delightful. Very interesting short 
 memoirs of him have already appeared, and I see new editions 
 of his works advertised. So soon after my father, whom, human- 
 ly speaking, he worshiped ! Irving is also gone. He was one 
 whose good and great parts my father saw in a strong light, 
 and deeply did he lament the want of due balance in his mind, 
 which ended in what may be almost called madness. Irving 
 acknowledged that to my father, more than to any one, he owed 
 his knowledge of " the truth as it is in Jesus." 
 
 III. 
 
 " The Accomplishment of Verse." — The Delightful Duty of Improving Natu- 
 ral Talents. 
 
 To Miss Emily Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Hampstead^July 12, 1835.— I rejoice, dear Miss Trevenen, to 
 think of your versifying tastes (I am sure I have expressed 
 that sentence as humbly as you yourself would dictate !).* As 
 for poetry, in the strict sense of the word, I can not think that 
 any woman of the present day, whose productions I have seen, 
 has furnished the genuine article from her brain-warehouse, ex- 
 cept Mrs. Joanna Baillie. I have read many of Mrs. Hemans's 
 most mature productions with a due degree of attention. I 
 think them interesting, full of poetical feeling, displaying much 
 accomplishment, and a very general acquaintance with poetry, 
 
 * The lady who formed so modest an estimate of her own powers was 
 the daughter of the Rev. Thomas Trevenen, rector of Cardinham, in Corn- 
 wall, and member of a good old Cornish family. She was a woman of ac- 
 complished mind and truly Christian character, and will long be remember- 
 ed with affectionate respect by those who enjoyed the benefit of her influ- 
 ence and example. A small volume of juvenile poetry, entitled " Little 
 Derwent's Breakfast," written by her for the amusement and instruction of 
 her godson, Derwent Moultrie Coleridge, and published in 1839, was prob- 
 ably referred to by her correspondent in the present passage. — E. C. 
 
The " Table Talk'' 109 
 
 and some proficiency in the art of versifying ; but though po- 
 etry is an art, no truly excellent poem can be produced by art 
 alone, and to practice the whole art there must be high natural 
 endowments. J3_f poetical imagination, it appears to me that a 
 very small portion is to be found in the works of Mrs. Hemans. 
 Yet this lady has given delight to thousands by her verses ; 
 and they must have been the source of great delight and im- 
 provement to herself. Just as I would have any one learn mu- 
 sic who has an opportunity, though few can be composers, or 
 even performers of great merit, I would have any one, who real- 
 ly and truly has leisure and ability, make verses. I think it 
 a more refining and happy-making occupation than any other 
 pastime accomplishment. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Newspaper Criticisms on the " Table Talk." — Unreasonable Complaints 
 Answered, and False Insinuations indignantly Rejected. — Mr. Cole- 
 ridge not a Partisan either of Whigs or Tories, though he was a Friend 
 of the People and Supporter of the National Church. — Mr. Southey's 
 Opinion of the Book. 
 
 To Mrs. Henry M. Jones, Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 Downshire Place, Hampstead, yuly, 1835. — My dear Mrs. 
 Jones, we send you " Table Talk," thinking that you may like 
 to see a little more of it than the fragments given in reviews. 
 Henry desired me to tell you, with kind regards, that the Morn- 
 ing Chronicle is wrong in its conjecture respecting Lord London- 
 derry. The embassador alluded to was a "far less able man."* 
 The Pri7iting Machine and other critical publications find 
 fault with the editor of " Table Talk " for not having done what 
 they themselves admit no reporter upon earth could do. They 
 all allow that it was impossible to represent on paper the am- 
 ple sweeping current of my father's discourse. They add, how- 
 ever, that the work has preserved much valuable matter, which 
 would otherwise have perished ; that it serves in some measure 
 to confirm and elucidate my father's written works, and ought 
 always to be printed as a companion to the "Friend," etc. 
 This was all that Henry expected to do ; he dreamed not of 
 
 * "Table Talk," p. 2S6.— Note of Aug. 28, 1833. 
 
no Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 placing Coleridge the talker before his readers, but merely 
 hoped to preserve some part of his talk. 
 
 One of my father's Whig friends insinuates that if he had 
 told his own story, he would have told it more Whiggishly. 
 The spirit of party is " father to this thought ;" it is not true. 
 Henry is a man of honor, though, as some may think, an illib- 
 eral Tory. I refer such objectors to my father's little work on 
 "Church and State." Could he, who had such an "idea of 
 the constitution of Church and State," think more favorably of 
 the Reform Bill, and of the projected alienation of Church prop- 
 erty, than he appears to have done in Henry's publication ? I 
 can truly re-assert what has often been asserted before, that my 
 father was no party man. He cared for no public man or min- 
 istry, except so far as they furthered what he considered the 
 best interests of the country. "He had a vision of his own," 
 and he scrupled not to condemn and expose the acting Tories 
 if they ran counter to it. He was no lover of great and fine 
 people — the pomps and vanities of this world were distasteful 
 to him rather than otherwise. He had lived in a cottage him- 
 self, and he loved cottages, and he took a friendly interest in 
 the inhabitants of them. He thought himself a true friend to 
 the people in upholding the Church, which he considered the 
 most popular institution in the country.* If Henr}^ had wished 
 to please his own party, through thick and thin, he would not 
 have printed many of the opinions recorded in " Table Talk." 
 As to my father's having any interest in leaning to one side 
 more than another, I really believe that figment is discarded 
 by all but those who care not whether it be true or not, so that 
 it serves an unworthy purpose. 
 
 Lord Brougham made a kind offer to my father, but it would not 
 have been for his digiiity and consistency to have accepted it. 
 
 I am glad that my Uncle Southey is pleased with "Table 
 Talk." He says to Henry, "You have dealt well with De 
 Quincey and the Benthamite Reviewer," /. e., him of the West- 
 minster. 
 
 Of course, when my father was in company with Whigs, he 
 refrained from all strong expressions respecting Whig conduct, 
 and rather sought those topics on which he could sincerely 
 agree with them, than those on which they must have differed. 
 
 * See "Table Talk," pp. 159, 322. 
 
The " White Doe of Rylstoner 1 1 1 
 
 V. 
 
 Union of Thought and Feeling in the Poetry of Wordsworth. — The " White 
 Doe of Rylstone." 
 
 To Mrs. Henry M. Jones, Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 Downshire Place, Hampstead, jfuly, 1835. — ^^ ^.re expecting 
 a new set of Wordsworth's poems, including the " Excursion 3" 
 and I really think the murmuring River Warfe, the gray rocks, 
 the dusky trees and verdant sod, the ancient abbey, and the 
 solitary Doe, "white as lily of June," will be pleasant subjects 
 of contemplation in this hot, languid weather. The poetry of 
 Wordsworth will give you at least as much fervor and tender- 
 ness as you will find in Byron or Hemans ; and then, in addi- 
 tion, you will find in it a high philosophy, a strengthening and 
 elevating spirit, which must have a salutary tendency for the 
 mind. 
 
 Mr. Wordsworth opens to us a world of suffering, and no 
 writer of the present day, in my opinion, has dealt more largely 
 or more nobly with the deepest pathos and the most exquisite 
 sentiment ; but for every sorrow he presents an antidote ; he 
 Thows us how man may endure, as well as what he is doomed 
 to suffer. The poem of the " White Doe of Rylstone" is meant 
 to exhibit the power of faith in upholding the most anguish- 
 stricken soul through the severest trials, and the ultimate tri- 
 umph of the spirit, even while the frail mortal body is giving 
 
 way. 
 
 " From fair to fairer, day by day, 
 A more divine and loftier way ; 
 Even such this blessed pilgrim trod. 
 By sorrow lifted toward her God — 
 Uplifted to the purest sky 
 Of undisturbed mortality." 
 
 White Doe, Canto VII. 
 
 The first and last cantos are much superior in point of imag- 
 inative power to the others, upon the whole ; but the speech of 
 Francis to his sister in the second is beautiful. I remember 
 that it w^as greatly admired by dear Hartley. 
 
 " Hope nothing, if I thus may speak 
 To thee, a woman, and thence weak ; 
 Hope nothing, I repeat, for we 
 Are doomed to perish utterly. 
 
1 1 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Forbear all wishes, all debate, 
 
 All prayers for this cause, or for that, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Espouse thy fate at once, and cleave 
 To fortitude without reprieve." 
 Canto II. 
 
 The address of the father to Francis in the fifth canto is a 
 favorite of mine. 
 
 " Might this our enterprise* have sped. 
 Change wide and deep the land had seen, 
 A renovation from the dead, 
 A spring-tide of immortal green. 
 The darksome altars would have blazed 
 Like stars when clouds are rolled away; 
 Salvation to all eyes that gazed : 
 Once more the Rood had been upraised. 
 To spread its arms, and stand for aye !" 
 
 Canto V, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Charles Lamb, his Shyness and Tenderness. — A Life-long Friendship. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 Hamp stead, 1835. — I agree to your criticism on Lamb, and 
 sympathize most entirely in your preference of field and grove 
 and rivulet to square, garden, street, and gutter. I always feel 
 so particularly ///secure in a street. Nevertheless I can quite 
 understand Lamb's feeling. A man is more especially alone, 
 very often, in a crowd. Nowhere can an irLdividual be so iso- 
 lated, so independent, as in London. Nowhere else can he see 
 so much and be himself so little observed. This I think is the 
 "sweet security of streets "f which the eccentric old bachelor 
 delighted in. And then he had been educated at Christ's Hos- 
 pital ; all his boyish recreations, when life was new and life- 
 
 * The " enterprise" referred to was the " Rising of the North," in the 12th 
 year of Elizabeth, 1569, under the Earls of Northumberland and Westmore- 
 land, " to restore the ancient religion." — E. C. 
 
 t I care not to be carried with the tide that smoothly bears human life to 
 eternity; and reluct at the inevitable course of destiny. I am in love with 
 this green earth, the face of town and country, the unspeakable rural soli- 
 tudes, and the sweet security of streets. I would set up my tabernacle here. 
 — Lamb's Essays. Ncw-Ycar's Eve. — E. C. 
 
Charles Lamb. 1 1 3 
 
 some, had passed in streets, and we all know that the circum- 
 stances of our childhood give the prevailing hue to our invol- 
 untary tastes and feelings for the rest of our lives. I can not 
 picture to myself a Paradise without lakes and mountains. Our 
 poor friend was much affected by my father's death,* and had 
 a fanciful presentiment that he should not remain long behind. 
 He must have remembered some interesting remarks! connect- 
 ed with this subject in an old preface of my father's, the preface 
 to a volume containing united poems of Coleridge and Lamb. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Writings of Charles Wolfe in Prose and Verse.t — His Defense of Poetry 
 against the Attacks of the Utilitarians. — Wolfe with the Methodists. — 
 Wesley's Interview with Two Crazy Enthusiasts. — Political Questions 
 from a Conservative Point of View. — The Secularization of Church 
 Property. — Projected Disestablishment of the Church in Ireland cer- 
 tain to Lead to the same Measure in England. — A Sisterly Wish on 
 Behalf of the Sister Isle. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 Downs/lire Place, Hampstead, 1835. — •'^y "^^^^ Mrs. Jones, 
 the " Remains of C. Wolfe," kindly lent by Dr. Park, I return 
 
 * Mr. Lamb's visit to Highgate, shortly after my grandfather's death, is 
 thus described by Judge Talfourd : " There he asked leave to see the nurse 
 who had attended upon Coleridge ; and being struck and affected by the 
 feeling she manifested toward his friend, insisted on her receiving five guin- 
 eas from him — a gratuity which seemed almost incomprehensible to the 
 poor woman, but which Lamb could not help giving as an immediate ex- 
 pression of his own gratitude. From her he learned the effort by which 
 Coleridge had suppressed the expression of his sufferings, and the discovery 
 affected him even more than the news of his death. He would startle his 
 friends sometimes by suddenly exclaiming ' Coleridge is dead,' and then 
 pass on to common themes, having obtained the momentary relief of op- 
 pressed spirits." — Letters of Charles Lamb, vol. ii., p. 304. — E. C. 
 
 t The reference is probably to the Latin motto printed on the title-page 
 of the second edition of*' Poems by Coleridge, Lamb, and Lloyd," which 
 appeared in May, 1797 : Duplex nobis vmcuhitn, et amieitia, jimctariimqiie 
 Camceiiariini ; quod utinam neqite 7?iors solvat ; neqtie te^jiporis longinquitas. 
 Charles Lamb died on the 27th of December, 1834, five months and two 
 days after the friend whom he loved so well. — E. C. 
 
 J Collected and published in 1825 by Archdeacon Russell. The Rev. 
 Charles Wolfe (of the same family with General Wolfe) was born at Dub- 
 lin in 1 791, and died at Cork, in his thirty-second year, of consumption. He 
 was for three years curate of Donoughmore, in the Diocese of Armagh, 
 
 H 
 
1 1 4 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 with many thanks. As to the ode on Sir John Moore's Burial, 
 and the Gra-ma-chree verses * which suit the old melody to per- 
 fection, I have them almost by heart. The latter I have heard - 
 sung by Edith Southey in her tasteful way, and read aloud by I 
 Mr.Vordsworth with his deep, solemn voice, and exquisite in- ■ 
 tonation. The observations on poetry, though expressed with 1 
 enthusiasm, are, in the opinion of a poet's daughter, absolutely 
 true. When people say, Of what use is poetry ? what need is there 
 for works of imagination ? " Oh, argue not the need;' I am ready 
 to exclaim. But I think if the cause were argued, it might be 
 plainly proved that poetry and the sister arts are of use in more 
 ways than one. It is the fashion now to cry up science at the 
 expense of fine liferature, on the ground that the former is more 
 useful to mankind. The meaning of the term utihty must be 
 agreed on before the argument can proceed, but I think, unless a 
 very narrow and corporeal definition is insisted on, both will be 
 admitted highly useful in different, and also in some similar ways, 
 and neither can operate so beneficially apart, as when they play 
 into each other's hands. For poetry is truth as well as science, 
 and truth of a most ennobling, and, therefore, improving kind. 
 Your mark is also in another part of the memoir, which inter- 
 ested me no less — I mean Wolfe's explanations with the Meth- 
 odists. I have lately been employed in transcribing my father's 
 notes on Southey's " Life of Wesley." Many of them relate 
 to sanctification and the new birth; to faith and works; to free 
 grace ; free-will and election ; subjects on which there have 
 been long and bitter disputations — as my father thinks, because 
 the disputants have not gone deep enough, and started from 
 the very beginning. I could not help laughing, in the midst of 
 all this grave reasoning, at my uncle's story of " two ignorant 
 dreamers," who, thinking that Wesley's new birth had not taken 
 place in the right way, informed him from the Lord that he must 
 be "born'd again," and vowed that they would stay in his house 
 till it was done. He showed them into the Society Room, 
 
 where he won the love and respect of his parishioners by his devotion to 
 his professional duties, which he combined with literary pursuits. He is 
 best known to posterity by his beautiful poem on the Burial of Sir John 
 Moore, who fell at the Battle of Corunna, January 26th, 1809. — E. C. 
 * The lines beginning — 
 
 " If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 I might not weep for thee." — E. C. 
 
Reform and Revolution. \ 1 5 
 
 where they remained without meat, drink, and firing, till they 
 were very glad to go away and mind their own business* 
 
 Did I almost make thee a Tory? Truly thou hast almost 
 made me ashamed to call myself one ; but I believe, if you and 
 I had converted each other, and changed sides as to politics, 
 our respective wiser-halves would soon waltz us back again to 
 our former creeds. I rest content, however, with having elicited 
 from you a decided condemnation of O'Connell and such re- 
 formers as he ; and you will rest content with my assuring you 
 that the poverty of curates and incumbents of small livings, a 
 grievance not unknown in the circle of my nearest and very 
 dear friends, and the troubles of Ireland, are evils which I la- 
 ment, and should be thankful to see reformed. How far some 
 part of them are capable of a remedy at present, without bring- 
 ing on greater calamities than themselves, and what are the best 
 and safest measures which can be employed for their removal 
 or mitigation, can be the only points of controversy, I should 
 think, between disinterested liberal Conservatives and truly re- 
 ligious sane-minded Whig or Radical Reformers. The reason, 
 I believe, why the former distrust the policy of Lord Brougham 
 is because they think that, however unintentionally on his part, 
 it would betray us finally into the hands of O'Connell and his 
 band, as well as of English Church Destroyers and Revolu- 
 tionists. I have been reading the Edinburgh Review, and am 
 therefore not entirely unacquainted with the Liberal line of ar- 
 gument, and many are the long discussions which I have listened 
 to on these questions. As to the English Church, surely it is 
 apparent that there is a deficiency of funds for the spiritual 
 wants of the people — to provide for them fully at least. If she 
 enjoyed all the property originally intended for her use, this 
 would not be the case. As to the grievances of those who have 
 to help to support a Church to which they do not belong, I be- 
 lieve it is argued that the majority of the United Kingdom are 
 Protestants, and that a Church Establishment ca,n not subsist 
 long if the nation at large does not contribute to its mainte- 
 nance. This, of course, is only an argument to those who ad- 
 mit the beneficial effects of an Establishment, and have no wish 
 to see Church and State disunited. The Edinburgh says, No, 
 no; but it has yet failed to convince the Conservatives that de- 
 
 * Southey's " Life of Wesley," vol. ii., p. 273. — E. C. 
 
1 1 6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 priving the Irish Church of its property would not be the first 
 step to the ruin of the Establishment both in England and Ire- 
 land. Put in, they say, the narrow end of the wedge, and there 
 is a compact, indefatigable band of conspirators, who will drive 
 it right onward till they have brought the fabric to the ground, 
 and poor Mother Church to voluntary contributions, which many 
 of her children consider a beggarly condition. " Look at Amer- 
 ica" is the cry of both parties. "We do look at her," the Con- 
 servatives make answer, " and we can not like her as to her re- 
 ligious condition/' and the Qiiarterly endeavors to prove that 
 even were it the best in the world for her, it would not do 
 equally well in England. But let me no longer betray my own 
 cause by pleading it after my feminine fashion, nor misrepre- 
 sent the arguments on either side by attempting to repeat them. 
 When I read or hear of the mutual injuries of England and Ire- 
 land, I fancy it would have been a blessed thing had the sea 
 never flowed between the two countries. Had they been all 
 in one, surely there would have been more unity between them 
 of interests and of feelings. But let us hope that days of peace 
 and general enlightenment will arrive by ways past man's find- 
 ing out. I am sure it is the duty of the Conser\'atives to wish 
 that their opponents' cause may be the just one, for in all hu- 
 man probability it will be successful. — Believe me, my dear 
 Mrs. Jones, most truly yours, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Severity not the Right Mode of Treatment for an Obstinate Temper, in 
 Spite of its Apparent Success. — Parental Discipline has a Higher Aim, 
 and avails itself of Higher Influences. 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Hampstead, October, 1835. — Some people go on day after day 
 and month after month pursuing a method, which day after day 
 and month after month they find invariably to fail, without once 
 saying to themselves, " Since this plan works so ill, is it, or is 
 it not, the least bad that can be imagined .?" They live from 
 hand to mouth, as it were, impelled by feeling to a regular rou- 
 tine which they never correct by principle. Mr. , self- 
 flattering man, says he has but one bout with all his children — 
 imiit, videt, vincit — and yet was, up to the last time I had 
 
Treatment of Children. 1 1 7 
 
 the opportunity of observing her, a most obstinate httle animal. 
 My aim is something far beyond extorting obedience in par- 
 ticular instances. Unless the wayward will is corrected, what 
 care I for the act; unless the fount is purified, what care I for 
 an artificial cleansing of the draught which falls to my portion 
 this day or the next ? If I thought that to force compliance by 
 terror would induce a salutary habit, by which the heart might 
 be bettered, it might be my duty to take this" painful course. 
 But I do not think so. I believe the experiment to be worse 
 than dangerous ; for the improvement of our children's moral 
 nature I put my trust in no methods of discipline : these may 
 answer well for a warring prince or general who has a particu- 
 lar external object to gain, and cares not for his instruments, 
 except as instruments. I, too, have a particular object to gain — 
 that our children should acquire a certain portion of book-learn- 
 ing ; but my whole aim is their general welfare — as it must be 
 that of every truly parental heart — the growth of their souls in 
 goodness and holiness ; to promote which I put my faith in no 
 ways and means which I have power over, but the influence of 
 good example, the constant inculcation of none but sound prin- 
 ciples, and the opportunities which we can afford our children 
 of gaining worldly experience and religious knowledge and im- 
 pressions. For they must be wise as serpents and innocent as 
 doves. Of course I do not mean to undervalue the advantage 
 of sensible artificial management; I would but place it in a fair 
 light, and show that it is no enchanter's wand, but more analo- 
 gous to a doctor's drugs and diet, which may do good, but 
 which are quite inefficacious in many cases, and can effect 
 nothing unless other operatives combine to aid the work. In- 
 deed, I do not strictly/?^/ my faith in any thing but the power 
 of grace in the heart. What I mean is, that I hope more from 
 favorable influences of this kind I have mentioned than from 
 any mechanical routine; and I really think that "you shall be 
 beaten unless you do it, or you shall be mortified and annoyed 
 till you look and speak humbly," is a sort of external force 
 which does not touch the heart. 
 
1 1 8 Memoir aiid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Spiders. — Their Webs and Ways. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 This day, 5th of October, I saw a large primrose-colored but- 
 terfly, which looked the very emblem of April or May. Also, I 
 examined three or four spiders, and saw quite plainly the spin- 
 nerets in their tails, and once I clearly perceived the thread is- 
 suing from the apertures. The thread of a spider's net is com- 
 posed of such a multitude of threadlets that it gives one a good 
 notion of the infinite divisibility of matter. A spider, when ex- 
 amined, feigns death, and lies back with all his arms and legs 
 closely pinioned to his sides, so that he shrinks up into as small 
 a space as possible. In this condition he is a good symbol of 
 some wretched slave, stupefied and collapsed into stillness in 
 the presence of a mighty one. I have often marv^eled at the 
 strength of a spider's web, which offers far more resistance to 
 my finger, as I push and bend it, than a net made of silken 
 threads of the same apparent substance would do. This firm- 
 ness is procured by the multiplicity of threadlets of which every 
 thread is composed, which circumstance also hastens the dry- 
 ing of the fluid gum, so great a surface being exposed to the 
 air. While we compare natural objects or operations with arti- 
 ficial ones, we are so taken up with the likeness that we forget 
 the difference. There is no other thing in art or nature similar 
 to the spinning of spiders. Evelyn would watch spiders for 
 five hours together. 
 
 X. 
 
 Unpractical Suggestions of a Writer in the AtJienmcm on the Subject of Fe- 
 male Education.— Boarding-school Life not Unhealthy for Girls under 
 Ordinary Circumstances.— Alleged Physical Superiority of Savage over 
 Civilized Races not Founded on Fact, nor much Worth Regretting if 
 it were. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Hampstead, October, 1835. — The AthejKziim is fond of bring- 
 ing out great mouthing articles against modern female educa- 
 tion; but the huge mountain of denunciation brings forth but a 
 
Civilization and Savagery. 119 
 
 mouse of instruction in the better way. The weakliness and 
 imperfect forms of modern ladies are all laid to ignorance and 
 want of sense in their governors, pastors, and masters. This 
 seems to me by far too unqualified a charge. It may be true 
 that the squaw and the copper-colored woman of the Western 
 woods has a constitution that will bear wind and weather, and 
 a pair of shoulder-blades that are as even as a pair of dice. It 
 may be that the habits of civilized life — snug houses, warm, soft 
 beds, abundant meals, and the habit of sitting on a chair while 
 we make our complicated clothes, write numerous letters, read 
 interesting books, converse with our friends, wait during com- 
 pound meals, attend divine service, and sit under the clergy- 
 man — may be unfavorable to a certain sort of bodily vigor; but 
 our women live as long as they used to do, they go through as 
 uninterrupted a routine of duty, pleasure, and occupation (in 
 one shape or another) as the female savages do ; the whole 
 7iuoman is as much put into action among the former as the lat- 
 ter ; and if it be true, which the Athenmwi writer himself avers, 
 that mechanical causes have little to do with spinal curvature, 
 why are the employments of young girls at school so vehement- 
 ly denounced ? As to the harp or the tambour-frame, not one 
 girl in thirty or forty in the middle-classes is confined by those 
 exercises, or could be injured by them. When that old argu- 
 ment of savages is brought forward, it always seems to be for- 
 gotten that none but the strongest children ever pass the age 
 of infancy in those communities. Many are put to death, and 
 no weakly child survives the hardships of that mode of life. 
 We, by medical and 7iutrical art, preserve hundreds of delicate 
 infants, who grow up to be delicate men and women, and have 
 still more delicate children. School-mistresses are abused for 
 the mode in which they lead out their girls to take exercise ; 
 but let the writer take the poor women's place, and let us see 
 how he would manage. There must be order, regularity, in a 
 school as well as in an army. How are twenty girls to be kept 
 out of mischief, and under the eye of the mistress, if they are to 
 straggle about as they like .'' The shepherd has barking dogs 
 to help him to keep his flock in order. Like Madame de Gen- 
 lis, we may sit down and imagine a delightful scheme of educa- 
 tion, all the circumstances being made on purpose by the writ- 
 er's imagination ; but in actual life we must do the best we can 
 under such circumstances as we happen to light upon. It is 
 
1 20 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 only to a limited extent, indeed, that we can manufacture them 
 to suit us. The Athenmim writer is like a clumsy fencer : he 
 knows that something is to be hit, but he hits far too hard, and 
 hits only half of the right place. He accuses imperfect civili- 
 zation of all our evils and sufferings. Whether civilization can 
 ever be so perfect as to preserve the good things we now enjoy, 
 and divest them of their bad accompaniments, is a problem 
 which I can not solve ; but of this I feel quite sure — namely, 
 that civilization and cultivation, such as we have, are well worth 
 the price we pay for them. 
 
 \ 
 
 XI. 
 
 I 
 
 Puns. — Affectation. 
 To the Same : 
 
 October, 1835. — I can't say I should care to know Mr. , 
 
 from your account. Puns are often unacceptable to the feel- 
 ings ; they come like a spoonful of ice-cream in the midst of a 
 comfortable smoking-hot steak, or as a peppery morsel when 
 your palate was in expectation of a mild pudding. The place 
 for life was a good thing ; but the worst of a regular punster is 
 that he picks up so many poor jokes, which any one equally on 
 the look-out might have hit upon, merely because they lie in 
 his way, while other people are content to say things worth 
 hearing in themselves, but which there is no cleverness in say- 
 ing. How much more agreeable is many a piece of news, a 
 kind remark, a civil inquiry, than smart sentences which one is 
 not in the humor of listening to. * "* * 
 
 I believe G is what is commonly called affected; but the 
 
 affectation in question is perfectly natural to the individual, 
 though not natural to the occasion — /. e., not what would be 
 natural to most people on such an occasion. It is engendered 
 by vanity ; the desire to make an impression leads a vain man 
 to think that all he has to bring forward is fitted to make an 
 impression ; consequently a disproportioned manner is pro- 
 duced, the manner is too big for the matter, too earnest, too 
 portentous, or too exquisite for the occasion, according to the 
 view which other people take of the occasion. Shrewd people 
 seldom fall into these mistakes ; shrewdness prunes vanity, but 
 does not eradicate it. 
 
Plays of Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 1 2 1 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 1836. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, HER MOTHER, MRS. H. M. JONES, MISS 
 TREVENEN, MISS ARABELLA BROOKE. 
 
 " Miscellaneous Plays," by Mrs. Joanna Baillle. 
 To Miss E. Trevenen. 
 
 Hatnpstead, 1836. — Have you seen Mrs. J. Baillie's twelve 
 new dramas ?* One critique says they have the same vigor of 
 thought and felicity of language as her earlier productions, but 
 that they are not so sustained nor so well united, nor have the 
 same propriety of action and character. The passion of hatred 
 is powerfully exhibited in the comedy of " The Election." Suc- 
 cessful and admirable as Mrs. Baillie's dramas are, I can not 
 think it a good plan to announce one particular passion in the 
 title-page of a play; it leads you to expect to find the laboring 
 author, rather than a picture of life itself transmitted through 
 the author's mind and hand in the following pages. 
 
 II. 
 
 A Perfect Reticule. — Bridgewater Treatise by Dr. Roget. — Natural History 
 less Dependent on other Sciences than Astronomy — or Comparative 
 Anatomy. — Want of Reality in the Poetry of Mrs. Hemans. — Excess of 
 this Quality in Crabbe. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. JoNES,t Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 Downshire Place, Hampstead, 1836. — My dear Mrs. Jones, 
 a mock-heroical note-writer might commence a billet on the 
 
 * Published in three volumes, in 1836, nearly forty years after the appear- 
 ance of the first volume of " Plays on the Passions." It was during our res- 
 idence at Hampstead that my mother became acquainted with the aged po' 
 etess, whose genius she highly admired, and whose personal appearance and 
 manners are pleasingly described in several passages of her correspondence. 
 Mrs. Baillie died at Hampstead in February, 185 1. — E. C. 
 
 t Our kind friend and neighbor, whose amiable attentions are here grate- 
 
122 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 present occasion thus— "Oh, for the glowing language of a He- 
 mans, or the lively fancy of an L. E. L., that I might return fit- 
 ting acknowledgments for my kind neighbor's various and re- 
 fined courtesies !" In sober earnest though, I do think you 
 ought not to be thanked in a common, dry, cool manner for 
 your friendliness, and I feel doubly obliged and flattered by 
 your spending tiine upon me as well as other things. As to 
 the reticule, it is a gentlewoman^s bag — I could say nothing bet- 
 ter of it were I to study for a fortnight ; and when I consider 
 how difficult it is to produce a perfectly lady-like reticule; how 
 many would-be genteel people carry reticules, and infect every 
 reticule fashion they adopt with an air of vulgarity or shabby 
 gentility; how many laboriously wrought reticules I have seen 
 in the course of my life, none of which came up to my beau- 
 ideal of a bag; how many negative as well as positive qualities 
 a perfect bag ought to have — I really think your success in this 
 line is a triumph of art and tastefulness ; you have completely 
 embodied all my airy reticulous imaginations, and have com- 
 bined satin and velvet into a shape fit to be patronized by an 
 exclusive. This may perhaps truly be called running on about a 
 reticule, but it will at least show you, dear Mrs. Jones, that your 
 attentions give the pleasure you design : neither you nor I would 
 be in raptures with a bag, or any other elegance, which was 
 bought in a shop, and in no way connected with genial feeling. 
 If I may not saunter over " Roget " in my usual manner, will 
 you be kind enough to bid me hasten my perusal. I am 
 pleased and I hope instructed with what I have read. Dr. Ro- 
 get, in this volume* more especially, treats of many matters 
 which I am often wishing to know about. Comparative anat- 
 omy, though highly interesting, makes one often feel the want 
 of the knowledge of mechanics ; and one can not proceed far 
 in astronomy without mathematics. But there are certain por- 
 tions of physiology which I fancy maybe understood sufficient- 
 ly for a great degree of pleasure and profit without the aid of 
 other sciences. 
 
 fully though playfully acknowledged, has been for some years a resident in 
 her native country of Ireland ; where I hope she will read these memorials 
 of the happy past with feelings in which pleasure may predominate over re- 
 gret. — E. C. 
 
 * On " Animal and Vegetable Physiology j" one of the Bridgewater Treat- 
 ises, 1834.— E. C. 
 
Poetry of Mrs. Hemans. 123 
 
 I return the " Forest Sanctuary," etc. I think Lord Byron's 
 remark on Mrs. Hemans was very just : he said she was a 
 poet, but too "stiltified and apostrophical;" this you may re- 
 member in Moore's Life of Lord B. But she was a very ex- 
 traordinary woman, and had a wonderful command of language. 
 Yet, various as her subjects are, I still feel, as I did after read- 
 ing the other volume of her poems which you lent me, that 
 there is a sameness in her productions upon the whole ; the 
 spirit and tone of feeling are almost invariably the same ; she 
 keeps one so long in a sublime region of thin ether that one 
 craves to come down and breathe the common air, impregnated 
 with odors that put one in mind of real life. People say there 
 is too much real life in Crabbe, and certainly he did not ideal- 
 ize enough ; but, in spite of this defect, he is a great and per- 
 manent favorite with me. Mrs. Hemans's " Hebrew Mother " 
 struck mamma from its great likeness to my Uncle Southey's 
 style of poetry ; I thought it very beautiful. " Evening Prayer 
 at a Girls' School " is another of my favorites. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Mrs. Jones, your truly obliged friend, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 in. 
 
 Etymology of Plat and Plait. — The Plaits (or Plats) of a Lady's Hair, and 
 the Plaits of her Gown, originally the same Word, though Different in 
 Meaning and Pronunciation.* — A Social Sunbeam. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones : 
 
 Ha?npstead, 1836. — My dear Mrs. Jones, my dictionaries are 
 highly flattered by the appeal made to them from the Court in 
 John Street ; and, after some consultations together, give it as 
 their unanimous opinion that plat and plait have precisely the 
 same pedigree — Gr., TrXfcw; Latin, //d'^/^ and ///(T^/ French, 
 plisser 2iXi^ plier ; Italian, pi'egare ; and //(^y^/?, Dutch. 
 
 * The former being called ^lat, and the latter J>leat. Might not the old 
 English word pleach have been included among the derivatives of tcXskm ? 
 The " pleached bower " in which Beatrice awaited her friends, in " Much 
 Ado about Nothing," was one formed of the plaited or interwoven branches 
 of the honeysuckle, which, 
 
 " Ripened by the sun, 
 Forbid the sun to enter." — E. C. 
 
1 24 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 They have also come to the conchision that to fold, weave, 
 braid, twist, twine, plait, plat, and platt, are to a certain degree 
 synonymous, though in making minor distinctions we use them 
 in slightly different senses ; plaiting is a sort of weaving, and 
 weaving is a sort of infolding. The word platted is used in 
 Scripture, as all must recollect : " They platted a crown of 
 thorns " — they wove a garland. It was a remark of my dear fa- 
 ther's,* that we can not ascertain the precise meaning of words 
 by searching for their roots only; words that originally were 
 the same become appropriated to separate uses, as there is a 
 greater demand for language, and the knowledge and refine- 
 ment of the speakers of the language increase. To plait now, 
 with milliners and clear-starchers, means a particular way of 
 folding muslin, and to plat with smart young ladies signifies 
 nothing in the world but twisting their glossy tresses in a neat 
 and elegant manner ; and yet plat and plait both come origin- 
 ally from plecto and from plico, and both plecto and plico, ac- 
 cording to my aforesaid informants, are either derived from or 
 cognate with the Greek word pleko, which must excuse my 
 writing it in Roman character. * * * 
 
 You have a suggestive Byronic imagination, or you could 
 never have fancied that your visit injured me ; this is turning a 
 beajn into a cloud, and a lively mind like yours ought to employ 
 itself in doing; the reverse. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Clez'er" People not always 73^/«/(v;/^ People. — Serious Reflections Sug- 
 gested by the Receipt of Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying," as a Pres- 
 ent from a Friend. — Sympathy more to be Prized than Admiration. — 
 "The Boy and the Birds," and the " Story without an End." — A Crit- 
 ic's Foible. 
 
 To Miss Emily Trevenen : 
 
 Hampstead, August, i2>T,6. — Dear Miss B ! Henry and 
 
 I quite agree on her character; she is one of the ///z«/^/>?^ class, 
 which is so congenial to o.ur tastes and feelings. A merely 
 clever person, without depth of sensibility or reflection, I own 
 is not congenial to me — I mean abstractedly considered. I 
 
 * See Coleridge's " Notes on English Divines," vol. ii., p. 259. — E. C. 
 
The ""Story without an End'.' 125 
 
 might know a person in actual life to whom that description 
 applied, whom yet I might love and like from early habit, or 
 peculiar circumstances, or the predominance of other attractive 
 qualities. 
 
 I must thank you, dearest friend, for the " Holy Living and 
 Dyings" it would have pleased you to see how charmed and 
 surprised I was on opening the bundle and finding what it con- 
 tained. " Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,"* George Her- 
 bert says, are too often of little avail to sanctify the worldly 
 spirit. There are two awful thoughts which often beset my 
 mind, and must, I think, present themselves to all who dwell 
 on religious considerations. The first is, the want of oppor- 
 tunity to become spiritually minded in such a large portion of 
 the humbler classes, as well as of savage tribes and nations not 
 Christianized ; the other (its counterpart), what endless oppor- 
 tunities are either wasted or not turned to a sufficiently good 
 account by persons in our line of life, their very commonness 
 almost taking from their efficacy. 
 
 What you say of your sojourn near us is most gratifying, and 
 expressed in your own refined, feminine, yet thoughtful way. It 
 finds an echo in all our hearts, otherwise it would not be grati- 
 fying ; for I hope we are passed those years of vanity when one 
 desires to be considered exciting, even when the excitement is 
 not mutual. 
 
 Both the children enjoy "The Boy and the Birds."t As to 
 the " Story without an End,"| I admire it, but think it quite 
 unfit for juvenile readers. None but mature minds, well versed 
 in the artificialities of sentimental literature, can understand the 
 inner meanings of itj and I do not think it has that body of 
 visual imagery and adventure which renders many a tale and 
 allegory delightful to those who can not follow the author's main 
 drift. Bees and flies, and leaves and flowers are talked about, 
 but not described, so as to give the child any clearer notion of 
 them and their properties than he originally had, and all that 
 is ascribed to them, all the sentiments put into their mouths, as 
 one may say, are such as can breed naught but confusion in the 
 juvenile brain. '■^ That child is always asleep, or else dreaming," 
 
 * From a Sonnet entitled " Sin," in Herbert's " Temple." — E. C. 
 
 t By Mary Howitt— E. C. 
 
 X Translated by Mrs. Austin from the German of Carove. — E. C. 
 
1 26 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I overheard Herby say to himself, as he looked at the picture 
 with an air of contempt. * * * 
 
 Oh, reviews ! if you yourselves were reviewed, how you might 
 be cut up and exposed. A common fault of reviewers, and one 
 which makes them desert good sense, is that they are so desir- 
 ous to take a spick-and-span new view of any debated point. 
 They smell down two roads, and if both have been trodden be- 
 fore, they rush at once down the third, though it may lead to 
 nothing, like a blind alley. So it is with the Edinburgh re- 
 viewer; he perks up his nose, and tries to say some third thing, 
 which never has been said before, and which is the worst thing 
 of the three. 
 
 V. 
 
 A Visit to Devonshire. — Advantages of Frequent Intercourse among Re- 
 lations. — Forebodings of Illness, too soon Realized. — Maternal Cares 
 and Interests. — Interruption of her Journey Homeward. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone : 
 
 Manor House* Ottery St. Mary, Devon, October 8, 1836. — 
 Married relations should not live in the same house with each 
 other, perhaps not next door; but it is a mutual disadvantage 
 to be so far from each other that, unless health and purse are in 
 the most flourishing state, they must pass years without the op- 
 portunity of intercourse. Even relations that often disagree, if 
 there be any respect and affection at bottom, care more for one 
 another, and love one another's society better, than those who 
 seldom meet. 
 
 Our old acquaintance. Dr. Calvert, gave a cheerful account 
 of Greta Hall, where all were well and in very fair spirits. Aunt 
 Lovell seemed quite in good health, and tripped up to shake 
 hands like a young girl. Such are the turns and changes of 
 life. My turn of strength will perhaps come ; but at present, 
 the prospect of my health is like the prospect of lake and mount- 
 ain at Keswick, when the whole being involved in mist, one 
 might as well be in a flat unwatered country, for all the advan- 
 tage one has of scenery. Could I be sure that health and 
 strength were indeed behind the cloud ! Little H tells me 
 
 * The residence of Francis George Coleridge, Esq., one of my father's 
 elder brothers. — E. C. 
 
Health Prospects. 127, 
 
 that I " have come here for nothing," because I have only once 
 been as far as the flower-garden, and that I am a "poor dull 
 woman," who can have no enjoyment. But the pretty little 
 maid is out there, I trust. It is true I have not enlarged my 
 notions of the picturesque, nor much improved my acquaintance 
 with Devonshire ; but I have met several of my relations in a 
 sociable way, gleaned a little out of Frank's library, and become 
 better acquainted with the children than some would have been 
 in three years. Herby and Edy have derived much benefit from 
 this visit, I trust, and had their little minds ventilated by fresh 
 scenes, people, and goings-on. Herbert's nervous temperament 
 and general delicacy of frame have been placed in a clearer 
 light to me by the change than ever, and I trust I shall use this 
 knowledge aright. I listen to the advice and opinions of all 
 experienced persons — let my notion of their discernment be 
 great or small. Every kind and degree of experience on the 
 management of young people obtains a fair hearing from me; 
 but I am now fully convinced how entirely it is the duty of a 
 mother to act resolutely on her own judgment, when she has 
 once formed it with all due deliberation, and with as much clear- 
 sightedness as she has it in her power to exert. I would give 
 
 a good deal if Herbert could have little A for his constant 
 
 companion; these two are so nearly matched in age that they 
 run well together, and in temper are so well suited to each oth- 
 er, and so fitted to do one another good, that I regret the little 
 opportunity they will have of playing and studying side by side. 
 
 A is a sweet boy ; there is an innocent solemnity and a 
 
 sprightly gravity about him which are charming, and contrast 
 well with Herbert's quick, eager, mercurial temperament. Her- 
 by is excessively fond of him. It is pretty to see them play 
 dominoes together, chattering all the time with a light-hearted 
 earnestness and importance, the pomposity and intensity of 
 their words contrasting prettily with the easiness of their looks 
 and tones ; or to hear them read the Bible, verse about, with 
 Henry ; A , serious and steady, pronouncing his words dis- 
 tinctly, and proceeding smoothly to the end of the verse ; Her- 
 bert, poor fellow, more interrupted by his occasionally impeded 
 utterance, and by the thoughts which the subject suggests. He 
 does not skim the surface, but stops continually to look under 
 the ice. * * * 
 
128 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Ilchester, October 21. — Dear Miss T , you will be grieved to 
 
 find that I am stopped on my journey home by nervous illness, 
 and am here in bed under the doctor's care. All circumstances 
 are favorable. I can not now write particulars. God bless you 
 and your true S. C. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be comforted." 
 
 Note. — This affecting letter, which breathes the very spirit of Christian 
 resignation, was occasioned by an earnest desire to suggest topics of conso- 
 lation to my poor Grandmother, who was alone at home when she received 
 the news of her daughter's illness, and was thrown by it into a state of the 
 greatest anxiety and trouble. During this period of suffering and weakness, 
 my mother was, however, still able to read, and reflect on what she read, 
 as appears from the following passages of her correspondence. The books 
 which chiefly occupied her attention, while she was thus detained at Ilches- 
 ter, seem to have been her father's " Literary Remains ;" the writings of Mrs. 
 Hemans, a lady whose poetical talent gave her a good deal of pleasure, 
 though she was apt to note its deficiencies ; and several devotional works 
 by Abbott, an author of the Evangelical School, much esteemed by serious 
 persons of the last generation. — E. C. 
 
 To her Mother : 
 
 Castle-Inn, Itckester, October 24, 1836. — Dear ISIother, I en- 
 treat you to pray for cheerfulness and fortitude to the Giver of 
 all good. Be sure that the effort to pray will be useful, however 
 distracted your poor thoughts may be. Let us recollect that 
 were we enjoying all that our worldly hearts desire, how rapidly 
 does time move on ; how soon shall we arrive at the end of our 
 earthly course — then what will worldly good things avail us? 
 But these days of trial are more available for securing a happy 
 seat in the eternal kingdom than those which our unsanctified 
 hearts might deem more blessed. The merciful Saviour has 
 given us a check in the midst of our heedless career, and bids 
 us consider, ere it be too late, whither we are hastening, lest we 
 think only of the roses on the way-side, and forget the glorious 
 city in the clouds, which, would we raise our eyes, we might see 
 right before us. Dearest mother, be not grieved for this visita- 
 tion. When you go to heaven before me, if you leave your poor 
 daughter with a more serious, chastened heart (though still a 
 weak and sin-inclined one), you leave her in far better case than 
 if her frame were as free from uneasy weakness as the best in 
 
Poetic Originality. 129 
 
 the land. Look not on this as a poor consolation, only taken 
 up because no better can be had. These which I have alluded 
 to are substantial truths, which will abide to my weal or woe, 
 when all this busy and bustling world for me exists no longer. 
 I thought my business here was to teach my darling boy ; to be 
 respected, admired, beloved ; my head said otherwise, but my 
 heart felt thus. Now I feel, more feelingly, that my business 
 here is to make my soul fit for eternity, and my earthly tasks 
 are but the means by which that blessed work of my salvation 
 is to be effected. Not according to what I do here, but accord- 
 ing to the spirit in which I do it, shall I be judged hereafter. 
 Is there any thing in this reflection that tends to weaken our 
 zeal, prudence, industry, forecast, in the exercise of our earthly 
 avocations ? Our worldly things would be better done than they 
 are could we but view them only in their due relations to heav- 
 enly things ; as children are best educated when they are ac- 
 counted as children, and not treated with the state and cere- 
 mony and indulgence that rightfully belong to the mature. 
 
 God bless you, my beloved mother. — I remain, your warmly 
 affectionate Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "The ShaJ>tng Spirit of Imagination." 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Jlchester, Somerset, October 25, 1836. — Chemists say that the 
 elementary principles of a diamond and of charcoal are the 
 same ; it is the action of the sun or some other power upon 
 each that makes it what it is. Analogous to this are the prod- 
 ucts of the poet's mind ; he does not create out of nothing, but 
 his mind so acts on the things of the universe, material and im- 
 material, that each composition is in effect a new creation. 
 Many of Mrs. Heraans's poems are not even in this sense crea- 
 tions ; she takes a theme, and this she illustrates in fifty differ- 
 ent ways, the verses being like so many wafers, the same thing 
 in blue, green, red, yellow. She takes descriptions from books 
 of natural history or travel, puts them into verse, and appends 
 a sentiment or a moral, like the large red bead of a rosary at the 
 end of several white ones. But all these materials have under- 
 
 I 
 
1 30 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 gone no fusion in the crucible of imagination. We may recog- 
 nize the author's hand by a certain style of selection and ar- 
 rangement, as we might know a room furnished by Gillow or 
 Jackson, according to the same rule ; but there is no stamp of 
 an individual mind on each separate article. 
 
 1 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Speculations on Life and Organization. — Life considered as the Connecting 
 Link between Mind and Matter. — Mr. Coleridge's Application of this 
 View to the Scriptural Narratives of Demoniacal Possession;* and "to 
 the Christian Doctrine of the Resurrection. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Ilchester, October 27, 1836. — The sensorium is what we feel by; 
 if I have a blow on the back, it is not the back that feels, but 
 that organ ; if I am infor7ned that I shall have a blow on the 
 back, it is the sensorium that gives the feeling of apprehension. 
 In the one case the channel of communication is the body, in 
 the other the mind ; when the sensorium is affected through the 
 body, it may affect the mind; when affected through the mind, 
 it may affect the body ; as this inn may convey news from II- 
 minster to Wincaunton, or news from Wincaunton to Ilminster. 
 What is the sensorium ? — what constitutes it the organ of feeling? 
 surely something more than the material particles of which it 
 is composed, and which alone our material senses recognize. 
 Life, whatever that power may be ; the same principle that an- 
 imates the flower, the zoophyte, ant, elephant, man ; a some- 
 thing which is neither the soul nor the visible, tangible frame, 
 but keeps both united, or, rather, makes the human frame a fit 
 receptacle and instrument of the reasonable soul — this life it is 
 which feels by the sensorium. Now my father seems to imag- 
 ine that the " evil spirits " spoken of in Scripture may be some- 
 thing akin to the fierce spirit or life of a tiger, the treacherous 
 spirit or animating principle of a wolf, which might mysteri- 
 ously have become connected with the human frame ; and in- 
 deed we know, that when reason fails, the animating principle 
 which remains in man, the mere life, appears endowed with 
 evil, bestial qualities, malice, treachery, ferocity, unmitigable 
 
 * Coleridge's " Lectures on Shakespeare," etc., vol. ii., pp. 152-3, 155-6. 
 
Life in Man and A^tinials, 1 3 1 
 
 cruelty ; in the presence of some madmen or idiots, we feel as 
 in the presence of a wolf or a tiger, not in the presence of what 
 is called a cruel, remorseless man. But to imagine that the 
 soul of a demon, that is, a demon's identity, can inhabit the 
 body of a man, co-tenant with his soul or identity, or that the 
 two identities can be mingled together (two alls, made into a 
 double all, as if fire or water could be made doubly fire or water 
 by the addition of fresh fire and water), is surely an incredible 
 creed, a proposition contrary to that very reason which is to 
 decide on its acceptance or rejection. Equally monstrous is it 
 to suppose that the man's soul is expelled, and that the de- 
 mon's soul reigns in its stead ; then the subject of discourse is 
 not a man at all, but a demon in a man's body ; we can not 
 then say that a man is cured, but that a demon has been ex- 
 pelled from a mortal body, and the soul, which formerly dwelt 
 in it, recalled, as the soul of Lazarus was recalled to his lifeless 
 body. Is it not more reasonable to suppose that the almighty 
 Saviour, by restoring the body to the conditions of health, freed 
 the suspended soul, restored the instrument by which, in this 
 world of matter, the soul can alone be conscious of its exist- 
 ence, and, so doing, expelled that evil nature which,, in the ab- 
 sence of a higher power, reigned in the unruled realm? When 
 we speak of being inspired by the Spirit, united to Christ, hav- 
 ing our corrupt will purified by the influence of the Holy Ghost, 
 do we ever mean that our personal identity is lost, that either 
 Person of the Trinity is indisputably one with our person ? 
 
 Life is the steam of the corporeal engine ; the soul is the en- 
 gineer who makes use of the steam-quickened engine. In life 
 there is no more personal identity than in the body to which it 
 belongs ; indeed, the tangible frame and the life together con- 
 stitute the body ; it is my life, my body, not more myself than 
 my clothes, and only seeming more so because in this world in- 
 separably connected. The reason is the soul in its integrity, 
 with all its faculties awake ; the reason may be impaired, and 
 yet some of its faculties may remain capable of action, as mem- 
 ory and imagination. While the reason, as to its integrity, is 
 suspended, the evil life or nature may draw those faculties to 
 the service of evil, and make them cry aloud, " What have I to 
 do with thee, Jesus of Nazareth." Yes, the life and corporeal 
 frame together constitute the body ; therefore I have the same 
 body that I had as a child, and God may raise me up with my 
 
132 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 identical body ; for the same principle of life continues, and 
 surrounds itself with new matter according to its need, as the 
 fish forms its shell suitable to its own shape, and ever renewed 
 according to its growing wants. Thus the shell-fish is ever the 
 same, though the shell is yearly different. Thus the soul yearly 
 expands, having yearly a tenement enlarged and accommodated 
 for its expansion, till at length the conditions of the perfect soul 
 are attained. The soul can never cease to exist, but it may 
 cease to be conscious of existence, as in a trance; or as the soul 
 of Lazarus was suspended during the four days that his body 
 lay in the grave. In sleep, the soul, as to its integrity, seems 
 to be suspended, and the life plays with the memory, the fancy, 
 and the faculties of the soul ; or rather with the soul itself, then 
 capable only of exerting those partial faculties. It is plain 
 that in the case of a madman afterward restored, his reasona- 
 ble soul has been suspended, not destroyed or separated ; and 
 who knows but that the soul of an idiot exists in its integrity; 
 that the soul of an infant who dies young exists in mature per- 
 fection, though destitute in this world of an instrument by which 
 to exercise its faculties ? And if life be not the result of or- 
 ganization, but the organizer, is it not conceivable that it may 
 exist apart from the material frame, as the soul may exist apart 
 from the body? 
 
 IX. 
 
 "The Remains."* — Metaphysics like Alum. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Ilchester, November, 1836. — How delightful are the "Re- 
 mains !" I quite grieve to find the pages on my left hand such 
 a thick handful. One wants to have such a book to dip into 
 constantly, and to go on reading such discussions on such prin- 
 ciples and in such a spirit on a thousand subjects. 
 
 It does not seem as if the writer was especially conversant 
 with this or that, as Babbage with mechanics, and Mill with po- 
 litical economy; but as if there was a subtle imaginative spirit to 
 
 * Published now under the following titles : " Lectures on Shakespeare," 
 etc. ; "Notes on English Divines;" and " Notes,Theological, Political " etc. 
 —E.G. 
 
The '"'' Remains^ 133 
 
 search and illustrate all subjects that interest humanity. Sir J. 
 Mackintosh said that " S. T. C. trusted to his ingenuity to atone 
 for his ignorance." But in such subjects as my father treats of, 
 ingenuity is the best knowledge. 
 
 Like all my father's works, the " Remains " will be more sold 
 at last than at first. Like alum, these metaphysical productions 
 melt slowly into the medium of the public mind ; but when time 
 has been given for the operation, they impregnate more strongly 
 than a less dense and solid substance, which dissolves sooner, 
 has power to do. Why ? Because the closely compacted parti- 
 cles are more numerous, and have more energy in themselves. 
 By the public mind, I mean persons capable of entertaining 
 metaphysical discussions. 
 
 X. 
 
 Abbott's "Corner-Stone," and other Religious Works. — Comparison of 
 Archbishop Whately with Dr. Arnold, in their Mode of Setting Forth 
 the Evidences of Christianity. — Verbosity of Dr. Chalmers. — Value of 
 the Greek Language as an Instrument of Mental Cultivation. 
 
 To Miss Arabella Brooke : 
 
 Ilchesfer, November 8, 1836. — My dear Miss Brooke, though 
 I am under orders to write to no one except my husband and 
 mother or sister, I must thank you with my own hand for think- 
 ing so affectionately of me in my trouble, as you evidently have 
 done, and as I felt sure you would do. 
 
 ****** ** 
 
 Since I saw you, I have read with great attention, and I hum- 
 bly hope not without profit, Abbott's "Young Christian," "Cor- 
 ner-Stone," and "Way to do Good." In a literary point of 
 view, these works are open to much criticism, though their mer- 
 its in that way may be considerable ; and certainly, in several 
 points, the author is far from being what a sincere member of 
 our Church can call orthodox. For instance, his view of the 
 Atonement seems to me below the right standard ; he dwells 
 solely on the effect produced in man, entirely leaving out of 
 sio"ht the mysterious propitiation toward God ; and his illustra- 
 tion of the " Lost Hat " strikes me as inadequate and presump- 
 tuous. But notwithstanding these exceptionable points, and 
 several others — his very diffuse style, and a frequent want of 
 
1 34 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 harmony between his expressions and the deep reverential feel- 
 ings which he aims to excite — I think very highly of Abbott, as 
 an energetic, original, and fresh-minded writer ; and I think his 
 works calculated to do great good, by leading those who peruse 
 them to scrutinize their own spiritual state, and the momentous 
 themes of which he treats with zeal and fervor, if not always 
 with perfect judgment. 
 
 I wish I could put into your hand a book from which I have 
 derived great pleasure — Whately's " Essays on some Difficulties 
 in the Writings of St. Paul." The Archbishop does not seem to 
 be a profound, subtle, metaphysical writer; neither does he aim 
 at any thing of the kind. What he does aim at, he seems to 
 me to have well accomplished.. He reasons clearly to particu- 
 lar points from a general view of Revelation, not from the nat- 
 ure of things in themselves ; and his style is vigorous, simple, 
 and perspicuous. In this respect it resembles that of Dr. Ar- 
 nold, but the latter does not so exclusively address the under- 
 standing; he does more in the way of touching the heart, at the 
 same time that (when party spirit is out of the question) he rea- 
 sons forcibly and clearly — as far as I can judge, I mean. 
 
 The substance of what pleases you in Abercrombie* I have 
 lately read in Chalmers's Bridgewater Treatise;! and, oh! 
 when the wordy Doctor does get hold of an argument, what a 
 splutter does he make with it for dozens of pages. He is like 
 a child with a new wax doll; he hugs it, kisses it, holds it up to 
 be admired, makes its eyes open and shut, puts it on a pink 
 gown, puts it on a blue gown, ties it on a yellow sash ; then pre- 
 tends to take it to task, chatters at it, shakes it, and whips it; 
 tells it not to be so proud of its fine false ringlets, which can all 
 be cut off in a minute, then takes it into favor again ; and at 
 last, to the relief of all the company, puts it to bed. 
 
 I wish very much that some day or other you may have time 
 to learn Greek, because that language is an idea. Even a little 
 of it is like manure to the soil of the mind, and makes it bear 
 
 finer flowers. — My dear A , your truly affectionate friend, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 * " Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers and the Investigation of 
 Truth." By Dr. Abercrombie.— E. C. 
 
 t " On the Adaptation of External Nature to the INIoral and Intellectual 
 Constitution of Man." By the Rev. Dr. Thomas Chalmers.— E. C. 
 
Italian Poets, 135 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1837- 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND : TO MISS A. BROOKE ; MRS. PLUMMER ; 
 MRS. H. M. JONES. 
 
 Difference between the Italian Satiric Poets and their English Imitators. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen : 
 
 10 Chester Place, 1837. — I can not think that the English 
 Beppoists have any authority among the Italians for their style. 
 Ariosto conceived his subject to a certain degree lightly and 
 sportively ; and Pulci has a vein of satire ; but these ingredi- 
 ents in them are interfused so as to form a tertium ahquid — not 
 grape-juice and water, but wine. Their satire and their senti- 
 ment, their joke and their earnest, do not intersect each other 
 in distinct streaks, like the stripes of red and white in the 
 Union flag. 
 
 11. 
 
 Unsatisfactoriness of Desultory Correspondence. — " Phantasmion, a Ro- 
 mance of Fairy-land." — Defense of Fairy Tales by Five Poets. — Books 
 about Children not often Books for Children. — Incongruous Effect of 
 Scripture Lessons, intermixed with Nursery Talk and Doings. — Chris- 
 tianity best Taught by a Mother out of the Bible and Prayer-book. — 
 "Newman's .Sermons." — "Maurice's Letters to the Quakers." 
 
 To Miss Arabella Brooke: 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regenfs Park, jfuly 29, 1837. — We always 
 feel some difficulty in addressing those whom we are not in the 
 habit of addressing frequently ; we feel that the letter which is 
 to make up for long silence, and epitomize the goings on of a 
 good many months, ought to be three times as kind, satisfac- 
 tory, and newsful as if two others had preceded it. And be- 
 ing at the same time quite sure that this very circumstance will 
 
1 36 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 tend to freeze the genial current of our thoughts, and that oc- 
 currences which might have had some savor in them, if told 
 when fresh, are now grown vapid, we are apt to look on the 
 matter as a sort of task, something we would wish to perform 
 better than we have any chance of doing ; and this feeling is 
 the stronger the more we desire to stand well with the letter- 
 expectant. Letters that come seldom can not do without pre- 
 ambles ; which are always stupid things, but sometimes seem 
 necessary to prevent the appearance of abruptness. 
 
 Without extending my preamble quite over the whole first 
 page, I will commence my true epistle by begging your accept- 
 ance of a little book which is to accompany it. This little book 
 was chiefly written the winter before I last saw you, when I was 
 more confined to my couch than I am now ; and whether any 
 friends agree with my husband (the most partial of them all) in 
 thinking it worth publishing or not, they will attach some inter- 
 est to the volume as a record of some of my recumbent amuse- 
 ments ; and be glad to perceive that I often had out-of-door 
 scenes before me in a lightsome, agreeable shape, at a time 
 when I was almost wholly confined to the house, and could 
 view the face of nature only by very short glimpses.* It re- 
 quires no great face to publish nowadays ; it is not stepping 
 upon a stage where the eyes of an audience are upon you — but 
 entering a crowd, where you must be very tall, strong, and strik- 
 , ing, indeed, to obtain the slightest attention. In these days, 
 : too, to print a Fairy Tale is the very way to be not read, but 
 shoved aside with contempt. I wish, however, I were only as 
 sure that my fairy tale is worth printing, as I am that works of 
 /this class are wholesome food, by way of variety, for the child- 
 
 * L'Envoy of "Phantasmion." 
 
 Go, little book, and sing of love and beauty, 
 To tempt the worldling into fairy-land; 
 Tell him that airy dreams are sacred duty. 
 Bring better wealth than aught his toils command, — 
 Toils fraught with mickle harm. 
 
 But if thou meet some spirit high and tender. 
 On blessed works and noblest love intent, 
 Tell him that airy dreams of nature's splendor, 
 With graver thoughts and hallowed musings blent. 
 Prove no too earthly charm. — S. C. 
 
 Written in a copy of "Phantasmion" about the year 1845. — E. C. 
 
 ic- ■ 
 
Books about Children. 137 
 
 ish mind. It is curious that on this point Sir Walter Scott, and 
 Charles Lamb, my father, my Uncle Southey, and Mr. Words- 
 worth, were all agreed. Those names are not so great an au- 
 thority to all people as they are to me ; yet I think they might 
 be set against that of Miss Edgeworth, powerfully as she was 
 able to follow up her own view. Sir Walter Scott made an ex- 
 ception in her favor, when he protested against the whole gen- 
 eration of moral tales, stories of naughty and good boys and 
 girls, and how their parents, pastors, and masters did or ought 
 to have managed them. It is not to be denied that such stories 
 are exciting to children, and, indeed, spoil their taste utterly for 
 works which have less of every-day life, though not less of truth, 
 in them. But the grand secret of their sale seems to be that 
 they interest the buyers of the books, mammas and governesses, 
 who see in such productions the history of their own experience, 
 and the reflection of minds occupied with the same educational 
 cares as their own. In this way, "Grave and Gay," by Miss 
 Tytler, sister of the historian, was very interesting to me ; but I 
 would not put it into the hands of my children, excellent man- 
 ual of divinity as it is thought by some. It is not in such 
 scraps, nor with such a context, however pretty in its way, that 
 I should like to present the sublime truths of Christianity to the 
 youthful mind : " Florence put the cherry in her mouth, and 
 was going to eat it all up," etc. — just before or after extracts 
 from the Sermon on the Mount, or allusions to the third chap- 
 ter of St. John's Gospel. The Bible itself, that is, the five Books 
 of Moses and the four Gospels, with a mother's living comment- 
 ary, together with the Catechism and Liturgy, appear to me the 
 best instruments for teaching the Christian religion to young 
 children. 
 
 I have lately been reading, certainly with great interest, the 
 sermons of John Henry Newman ; and I trust they are likely 
 to do great good, by placing in so strong a light as they do the 
 indispensableness of an orthodox belief, the importance of sac- 
 raments as the main channels of Christian privileges, and the 
 povvers, gifts, and offices of Christian ministers derived by ap- 
 ostolical succession — the insufficiency of personal piety with- 
 out Catholic brotherhood — the sense that we are all members 
 of one body, and subjects of one kingdom of Christ — the dan- 
 ger of a constant craving for religious excitement, and the fatal 
 mistake of trusting in any devotional thoughts and feelings. 
 
1 38 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 which are not immediately put into act, and do not shine 
 through the goings-on of our daily life. But then these exalted 
 views are often supported, as I think, by unfair reasonings; and 
 are connected with other notions which appear to me supersti- 
 tious, unwarranted by any fair interpretation of Scripture, and 
 containing the germs of Popish errors. 
 
 The letters of Maurice to the Quakers should be taken in 
 conjunction with these discourses, to qualify them and keep 
 the mind balanced. Maurice is a profound thinker, a vigorous 
 though rough writer ; and I trust you would not like him the 
 worse for sharing my father's spirit. His divinity seems based 
 on the " Aids to Reflection ;" and, though no servile imitator, he 
 has certainly borrowed his mode of writing and turn of thought 
 very much from S. T. C. 
 
 HI. 
 
 " Mary and Florence ; or, Grave and Gay," a Tale for Children.* — Right 
 Interpretation of St. John iii., 8. — Heavenly Things should be set be- 
 fore Children, both " plainly " and " by a Parable." 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones : 
 
 I have read " Mary and Florence," and have been charmed 
 with it; the story has made me "grave" and "gay," according 
 to the writer's intention. As to the " utility " of this and other 
 such works — that is, whether or no they answer \hs\x professed 
 purpose — I could write a long sermon or essay, which my read- 
 ers would suspect to be more than half borrowed from S. T. C. 
 and H. N. C. The illustration of the nature of the soul by the 
 wind, I thought calculated, in some measure, to mislead. The 
 wind is as material a thing as the cheek it blows upon ; we can 
 not see it, but we can feel and hear it ; it is cognizable by the 
 senses, and therefore material. The verse from St. John's Gos- 
 pel does not, I think, bear upon this point at all, but has refer- 
 ence solely to the operations of divine grace. " As the wind 
 bloweth where it listeth," so grace comes by the will of God, 
 not at man's pleasure; "thou hearest the sound thereof, but 
 canst not tell how it cometh nor whither it goeth, so is every 
 man that is born of the spirit." 
 
 * By Miss Fraser-Tytler.— E. C. 
 
Descriptions of Heaven, 139 
 
 Thou knowest the existence of grace in the heart by its ef- 
 fects, but canst not understand the nature of it, nor of God's 
 working : " how it cometh nor whither it goeth." This is the 
 case with every man who has such grace given him that his 
 heart and mind are borji again — /. e., totally renewed. Such, I 
 believe, is the interpretation of this passage by good divines, 
 and surely it has no reference to the nature of spirit as op- 
 posed to matter. Nicodemus did not fancy that he could see 
 the soul of man, but he desired an explanation of our Lord's 
 expression, " Thou must be born again." Miss T. gives a ma- 
 terial description of heaven to her young catechumens. In 
 this she goes contrary to the judgment of the celebrated Abbott, 
 who, in his " Corner-Stone," declares this to be an injudicious 
 method ; but John Abbott, author of the " Child at Home " 
 (often confounded with the former), declares that young folks 
 ought to have their feelings warmed by these visual pictures. 
 To combine the two methods would be best, I should think. 
 But let me say again that, in spite of all these critical thoughts, 
 I was charmed with the book, and so much excited with the 
 gypsy story at the end (which to be sure is as wild a romance, 
 the conversion at least, as any thing in Mrs. Ratcliffe), that I 
 almost feared being kept awake by it, and for a long time could 
 think of nothing but Herby in a similar situation. He would not 
 have slept, I fear, under such circumstances, as Florence did. 
 The story of the " Mouse " is sweetly and humorously told. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Regent's Park. 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 ID Chester Place, Regenfs Park, August 26, 1837. — In re- 
 gard to our change of abode, we have great reason on the 
 whole to be satisfied. From the up-stairs apartment we have 
 really a nice look-out, which, however, I may not dignify with 
 the name of view. The foreground consists of good houses, 
 and to the right a garden with stone balustrade, and beyond, 
 the trees of the park, behind which we can see a portion of 
 many a glowing sunset. Where dark green foliage, backed 
 with buff and crimson clouds, is clearly to be seen, one ought 
 not to complain of being banished from the shows of nature. 
 
I40 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ^i 
 
 The walks, too, are invaluable in this neighborhood. At Hamp- 
 stead I always had to climb ; here a few steps brings me into 
 the park, with its acres of green turf, and flocks of country look- 
 ing (and soundmg) sheep. The grand want is the want of wa- 
 ter ;* but even at Norwood (rural as that is) we should be no 
 better off in this respect. You may imagine what a play-ground 
 the park is for our children. 
 
 V. 
 
 Dryden's Censure of Ovid on the Score of the Rhetorical Expressions at- 
 tributed to the Dying Narcissus. — His Observations not True to Nat- 
 ure, nor Applicable to the Case in Question. — Definition of "Force" 
 and '• Liveliness " in Poetry. — The Homeric Mythology not Allegorical. 
 — Symbolical Character of the Imagery of Milton and Wordsworth.— 
 Originality of Virgil. — — - ---—, 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 September 13, 1837. — Dryden's criticisms were fine for the 
 times in which he wrote, which were corrupted from the purity 
 of the Elizabethan age, and had not learned the metaphysical 
 accuracy which some in these da3's have attained to. Com- 
 paring them with the best critics of this day, I should describe 
 them as lively and distinctly expressed rather than profound. 
 He finds great fault with Ovid's poems, but I think in one pas- 
 sage on wrong grounds. " Would a man dying for love ex- 
 press his passion by such conceits as ' Inopem me copia fecit,' 
 and a dozen more of the like sort, poured on the neck of one 
 another, and meaning all the same thing ?" Shakespeare, in 
 " Romeo and Juliet," showed forth the passion of love, which 
 is so pre-eminently imaginative, venting itself in every variety 
 of metaphor ; and I can assert from experience that it is the im- 
 pulse of minds in strong emotion to eddy perpetually round 
 the one magnetic theme, and to express the same feeling in 
 twenty different forms of speech. I think " Inopem me copia 
 fecit," which is not a mere verbal contrast, but a contrast of 
 
 * This was before the adjoining estate, with its artificial lake, wooded 
 knolls, and islets, was added to Regent's Park. In after years, the walk 
 right across the new park and up Primrose Hill to see the sunset (returning 
 along the terraces) was a favorite one with my mother on fine summer even- 
 ings. — E. C. 
 
Ovid's Metamorphoses. 141 
 
 things actually existing, is perfectly natural under the circum- 
 stances. " How strange is my fate ! my very abundance causes 
 me to be in want ; possession makes me suffer the pangs of 
 unsatisfied desire." Such reflections would be perfectly natu- 
 ral to a man who could pine away in love-sickness of his imag- 
 ined self. Such a death is not to be described with the phys- 
 ical accuracy of a medical report. We are to be shown the 
 passion of love incarnate, not flesh and blood dying in conse- 
 quence of love. And surely Ovid's tone of description is to 
 be modified by the nature of his subject ; fears and sorrows 
 that brought on such catastrophes as the being changed into a 
 tree or a waterfall may be touched with a lighter hand than the 
 agonies of Lear or Othello. * * * 
 
 In regard to force and livelmess, may we not call the latter 
 one mode of the former, rather than a separate property? 
 Scott's poems afford samples of lively force, but they contain 
 little of that force which seizes the imagination, and obliges it to 
 contemplate fixedly something spiritual, which has nothing in it 
 of corporeal life. The " Leech Gatherer " is a poem which is 
 forcible but solemn ; it arrests and fixes the mind, instead of 
 "TiUffying or leading it on. Yet the illustrations of this poem 
 are as lively as the main design is far removed from bodily at- 
 Htributes. The stone is absolutely endued with motion by the 
 '^comparison with a sea-monster that had crept out upon the 
 shore to sun himself. Liveliness expresses the motion, the ac- 
 tion of life, that by which life is manifested. When the lively 
 is also sublime, as the " Battle of the Gods," we do not apply 
 to the mixed effect the term of a quality which so generally de- 
 scribes the less exalted movements and acts of life ; but Ho- 
 mer's force, as you have observed, always consists of liveliness. 
 In him there is no force like that of Dante, Milton, Wordsworth, 
 Schiller, Coleridge, where lively metaphors and life-like images 
 are but to adorn or partly represent the various realities of ab- 
 stract being. Their force results from the thing signified, to- 
 gether with the outward symbol, from the union and mutual fit- 
 ness of the two. Philosophers may fancy that the Grecian my- 
 thology was allegorical, but the force of Homer is not derived 
 at all from those inner significations. His divine and human 
 battling is sublime, from being vast, fearful, and indistinct. It 
 is anhnaied, full of animal motion ; it is a picture that strikes 
 and pleases in and for itself alone; it is conceived and executed 
 
1 
 
 142 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 with all the power of mature genius, inspired by the circumstan- 
 ces, the wants, desires, hopes, lives of a peculiar state of human 
 life — a state which precluded contemplation, and demanded 
 action. Compare Homer's poetry with Milton's first books 
 of "Paradise Lost." With what does the latter possess our 
 minds? "With greatness fallen, and the excess of glory ob- 
 scured." It is iho. force with which this subject is made to en- 
 gross our contemplations, to tinge the whole of that dark, fiery 
 region and those prostrate angel warriors with an awful sadness, 
 the aptness of that region so described to shadow out eternal 
 bale, of those vast and dimly lustrous images to represent the 
 warring evils of our spiritual part — this it is which constitutes 
 the peculiar perfection of that grand product of imagination. 
 In this it is essentially different from Homer, life and progres- 
 sion are not its characterizing spirit. They are represented by 
 the older poet with the greatest conceivable truth and power, 
 and Milton availed himself of that prototype in the embodying 
 of his conceptions. He imitated Homer in as far as he trod 
 the same ground with him, but the main scope of his poem was 
 an aboriginal of his own intellect. In regard to Virgil, whom 
 Dryden rather unfairly, as I think, contrasts with Homer, it ap- 
 pears to me that he has been rather misappreciated by being 
 constantly looked at in his aspect of an imitator, and that his 
 having cast his poem in a ready-made mould, has prevented 
 most critics from observing the peculiarities of his own genius 
 in the substance of thought, and in the external ornaments of 
 diction. A finer and more true criticism might be exerted by 
 discovering and expressing that which w^as his own, rather than 
 that which he borrowed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Parochial Sermons " by John Henry Newman. — Power and Beauty of 
 his Style. — Tendency of his Teaching to Exalt the Passive rather than 
 the Active Qualities of Humanity. — The Operation of Divine Grace on 
 the Soul is a Mystery, the Visible Effects whereof is Holiness.— But 
 Writers of the Oxford School appear to represent the Effect as no less 
 Invisible than the Cause. — The Ordinance of Preaching. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Place, September 23, 1837. — I think your expressions 
 about Newman quite well chosen. Decidedly I should say 
 
The Oxford Divines. 143 
 
 he is a writer, first, of great talent, secondly, of beauty. The 
 beauty of his writing is shown, for the most part, in the tasteful 
 simplicity, purity, and lucid propriety of his style ; but now and 
 then it is exhibited in well-chosen and brief metaphors, which 
 are always according to the spirit of the subject. Speaking of 
 children, in allusion to our Saviour's remark, that of such are 
 the kingdom of heaven, he observes that this is only meant of lit- 
 tle ones in their passive nature ; that, like water, they reflect 
 heaven best when they are still. However, it seems to be a 
 point with the Oxford writers, either for good or evil, very much 
 to represent, not children only, but men, as "Csxz passive unco-oper- 
 ating subject (or rather, in one sense, object) of divine operation. 
 They are jealous of holding up, or dwelling much upon, grace 
 as an influence on the conscious spirit, a stimulator and co-agent 
 of the human will, or enlightener of the human intellect. That 
 view, they think, is insufficient, leads to an inadequate notion 
 of Christian ordinances, and of our Christian condition, and 
 causes a confusion between God's general dealings with the hu- 
 man race, or His subordinate workings with Christians, and His 
 special communications to the members of the New Covenant. 
 " Salvation " is to be considered (exclusively) " as God's work 
 in the soul." But whether it be not just as much God's work 
 if carried on with the instrumentality of those faculties which 
 He originally conferred, may be a question. Again, the Oxford 
 writers dwell much on the necessity of a belief in mysteries not 
 level to our understanding (of which my father says that they 
 can not run counter to our reason, because they do not move 
 on any line that can come in contact with it, being beyond the 
 horizon of our earthly faculties). But the question is whether 
 our Saviour ever spoke of any operations on men, the effects of 
 which they were not enabled plainly and clearly (if their hearts 
 be well disposed) to judge of. The operations themselves are 
 not our concern, any more than the way in which God created 
 the earth, and all that is therein. The operations themselves 
 belong to that heaven which none can understand but He that 
 is in heaven, and which consequently I can not believe that God 
 ever meant us to understand, the symbols which the inspired 
 writers employ on this subject being more probably intended 
 to convey a notion of the desirability and accessibility of heaven 
 than of heaven itself Whately truly says, in relation to sub- 
 jects of this kind, that a blind man may be made to understand 
 
1 44 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge, 
 
 a great deal about objects of sight, though sight alone could re- 
 veal to him what they are. 
 
 To return to my theme. It is an undoubted truth that the 
 manner in which God operates upon man is and must be as un- 
 intelligible to man as the way in which God created him at 
 first; but does it flow from this truth, or does it appear from 
 the tenor of Scripture, that Christ, who constantly appealed to 
 the reason and the will of His hearers (as Newman himself 
 urges against the Predestinarians), ever spoke of divine opera- 
 tions on man, the effects of which he might not judge of by in- 
 telligible signs. The Syrian was commanded to bathe in a cer- 
 tain river, and how it was that bathing in that river could heal 
 his leprosy, it was not given him to know. But was he com- 
 manded to believe that he had been healed of leprosy, while to 
 all outward appearance, and by all the signs which such a thing 
 can be judged of, the leprosy remained just as before ? Surely 
 it is not from the expressions of Scripture, but from the sup- 
 posed necessary consequences of certain true doctrines, accord- 
 i?ig to a certain mode of reasoning, that the non-intelligibility of 
 the effects of God's working is contended for. Newman him- 
 self urges that baptism is scarcely ever named in Scripture with- 
 out the mention of spiritual grace ; that baptism is constantly 
 connected with regeneration. And then I would ask, is not 
 spiritual grace generally mentioned in Scripture, either with an 
 implication or a full and particular description of those good dis- 
 positions and actions which are to proceed from it, and which 
 men may judge of, as of a tree from its fruits? And is regen- 
 eration ever mentioned in Scripture in such a way as to preclude 
 the notion that it is identical with fieumess of life 1 and is not 
 newness of life, according to our Saviour and St. Paul, identical 
 with doing justice and judgment for Christ's sake, doing right- 
 eously because of feeling righteously t Are we ever led by the 
 language of Scripture to suppose that regeneration is a mystical 
 something, which, though it may, and in certain circumstances 
 must, produce goodness and holiness, yet of its own nature need 
 not absolutely do so ; which may exist in unconscious subjects, 
 as in infants, acknowledged incapable of faith and repentance, 
 which might, as to its own essence (though the contrary actu- 
 ally is the case), exist even in the worst of men ? In short, that 
 regeneration is the receiving of a new nature — a more divine, 
 and yet not better or more powerful nature. Surely here are 
 
spiritual Regeneratio7i. 145 
 
 words without thoughts. What notion have we of a divine nat- 
 ure which does not include or consist of the notions of good- 
 ness and power? Newman illustrates the subject by the case 
 of devils, who, he says, have a divine but not a good nature. 
 To elucidate the obscure doctrine of regeneration by reference 
 to evil spirits is like attempting to brighten twilight by the 
 shades of night, and is a perfect contrast to the proceeding of 
 our Saviour, who was accustomed to explain " the kingdom of 
 heaven " by parables and stories about things which His listfen- 
 ers daily saw with their eyes and handled with their hands. 
 
 In the same spirit of being mysterious above what is written, 
 Newman and his fellow-laborers in the Oxonian vineyard are 
 wont to contend that preachers are bound to preach the Gos- 
 pel, as a blind servant is bound to deliver a message about 
 things which he can never see — as a carrier-pigeon, to convey 
 a letter the contents of which it can not understand. They are 
 not to preach for the sake of saving souls, nor to select and 
 compose from the Gospel in order to produce a good effect, nor 
 to grieve if the Gospel is the savor of death to those who will 
 not hear. In short, it would be presumption and rationalism 
 in them to suppose that their intellect or zeal was even to be 
 the medium through which God's purposes were to be effected. 
 What God's purposes are in commanding the Gospel to be 
 preached, and sending His Only Son into the world, they main- 
 tain that we can not guess (as if God had not plainly revealed 
 it Himself throughout the Bible). They are merely to execute 
 a trust, to repeat all the truths of the Gospel, one as much and 
 as often as the other. For what practical result of such a prin- 
 ciple can there be, unless it be this, that a clergyman is to 
 preach as many sermons on the Trinity and the Incarnation as 
 on faith and hope and charity, and the necessity of a good life, 
 along with its details. Yet Newman is the very man who would 
 accuse such a proceeding of irreverence, and too great an exercise 
 of intellect. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Graphic Style of the Old Testament Narratives. — Greek and Roman His- 
 tory less Objective. 
 To the Same : 
 
 September 30, 1837. — I think Herby is more struck with 
 Exodus than with Genesis, for the former is even more strik- 
 
 K 
 
146 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ingly objective than the latter, and the account of the various 
 plagues arrests the attention even of the youngest mind. The 
 most objective passages in Roman and Grecian history unfor- 
 tunately are not the really important ones and the hinges of 
 great events ; they are biographical episodes or anecdotes, for 
 the most part; as the striking off the heads of the poppies, the 
 death of Regulus, and much of what relates to Alexander, the 
 Roman emperors and their private follies. But in the Old 
 Testament a great battle is won by the Israelites because Moses 
 sits upon a stone on a hill, and has his arms held up on either 
 side by Aaron and Hur. The whole history is a series of pict- 
 ures. If you make pictures of Roman history, you must imag- 
 ine postures, the accessory parts, all the detail of surrounding 
 objects; but in the Bible they are made out for you. Thus 
 you can call to mind the main course of events in Jewish his- 
 tory by means of such pictures impressed upon the memory; 
 but Roman history could not correctly be represented in any 
 such manner. A series of its most picturable scenes would not 
 recall the march of the principal events. 
 
 Married Happiness. 
 Marriage, indeed, is like the Christian course; it must either 
 advance or go backward. If you love and esteem thoroughly, 
 the more you see and do and feel and talk together, the more 
 channels are opened out for affection to run in ; and the more 
 room it has to expand, the larger it grows. Then the little dif- 
 ferences and uncongenialities that at first seemed relatively im- 
 portant, dwindle into nothing amid the mass of concord and 
 tenderness ; or if their flavor still survives, being thus subordi- 
 nate, like mustard or other condiments which would be intoler- 
 able in large proportions, it adds a zest to the whole dish. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Phantasmion" a Descriptive Piece; not an Allegory, or Moral Tale. — 
 Want of Artistic Unity in Goethe's "Faust." 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 September 29, 1837. — In regard to "Phantasmion's" want of 
 general purpose and meaning, I can only say that it does not 
 belong to that class of fictions in which a single truth or moral 
 
""Phantasmionr 1 4 7 
 
 is to be illustrated by a sequence of events, of which Miss Edge- 
 worth's and Miss Martineau's tales are instances, or in which, 
 as in the "Faery Queen" and the "Pilgrim's Progress," the 
 character and descriptions are all for the sake of an allegory, 
 which not only shines through them, but determines the gen- 
 eral form to be produced, as the osseous system of an animal 
 under the flesh. It belongs to that class of fictions of which 
 "Robinson Crusoe," "Peter Wilkins," "Faust," "Undine," 
 " Peter Schlemil," and the " Magic Ring," or the " White Cat," 
 and many other fairy tales are instances; where the ostensible 
 moral, even if there be one, is not the author's chief end and 
 aim, which rather consists in cultivating the imagination, and 
 innocently gratifying the curiosity of the reader, by exhibiting 
 the general and abstract beauty of things through the vehicle 
 of a story, which, as it treats of human hopes and fears and 
 passions and interests, and of those changeful events and va- 
 rying circumstances to which human life is liable, may lend an 
 animation to the accompanying descriptions, and in return re- 
 ceive a lustre from them. It may be a defect in " Phantasmion " 
 that one thought is not as predominant throughout the narra- 
 tive as in some of the above-mentioned tales; and I may ven- 
 ture to say (comparing little things with great) that this want 
 of unity, exhibited in a somewhat different way, is also percep- 
 tible in " Faust." There the prevailing thought at the outset 
 is quite merged in another, which arises adventitiously out of 
 the progress of the story. We begin with the hopes and fears of 
 a philosopher, with the Satanic principle of knowledge apart 
 from goodness, working only potent evil ; we end with a tale of 
 seduction, of an innocent creature coming in contact with subtle 
 and wicked beings, her beauty and goodness of heart being 
 thrown into strong relief by the gloomy and awful circumstances 
 in which she is placed ; this black, with gleams of white, being 
 Goethe's constant mode of producing effect, analogous to Mar- 
 tin's painting. The " Faust" is not a symmetrical whole, but a 
 dual consisting of two halves ; for, however the author might 
 prove logically that the evils of the latter part of the story do 
 arise out of the wrong-headedness and heartedness described 
 in the first part, still, to the feelings of the readers (and they 
 are the rightful judges in this case), the history of Margaret is 
 an episode, an independent relation, which inspires its own pe- 
 culiar thoughts, fancies, and emotions, in a superseding way, 
 
148 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and does not act upon the whole as a mere vessel to carry for- 
 ward the interests and concerns announced from the first. Com- 
 pare "Faust" with any of Shakespeare's, Jonson's, or Massin- 
 ger's fine plays, and we shall see its inferiority in regard to 
 totality of impression. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Preparations for the Study of Divinity. — Tendency to Discursiveness inher- 
 ited from her Father. 
 To the Same : 
 
 October 4, i837- — I feel the strongest bent for theological 
 topics ; and it seems to myself that I should want neither in- 
 genuity in illustration, nor clearness of conception, to a certain 
 extent ; but then I am utterly deficient in learning and knowl- 
 edge. I feel the most complete sympathy with my father in 
 his account of his literary difficulties. Whatever subject I com- 
 mence, I feel discontent unless I could pursue it in every di- 
 rection to the farthest bounds of thought, and then, when some 
 scheme is to be executed, my energies are paralyzed_with the 
 very notion of the indefinite vastness which I long to fill. This 
 was the reason that my father wrote by snatches. He could 
 not bear to complete incompletely, which every body else does. 
 
 X. 
 
 A View of Grasmere. — "Prosy" Letters preferred to Practical Ones. — In- 
 efficiency of Dames' Schools, and even of National Schools, as at that 
 Time Conducted. — Effect of Church Principles and Practices in giving 
 a Religious Tone to a School.* 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 ID Chester Place, Regent's Park, October 21, 1837. — You would 
 have been pleased could you have witnessed the reception of 
 your sweet picture in this house. It arrived the day before 
 Henry's return home, and it was quite a pleasure to take him 
 
 * It was in order to remove this acknowledged inefficiency that the first 
 Training College for National Schoolmasters was established at Chelsea 
 by the National Society, under the direction of the Rev. Derwent Coleridge, 
 in 1 84 1. — E. C. 
 
National Schools. 149 
 
 into the drawing-room, as soon as he had made himself neat 
 after the journey, and show him the new " Grasmere." The 
 view is a more characteristic one of the Lake and Vale than 
 the other which we possess ; and in it we can point to the very 
 spot* where my brother Hartley lives, which, to mamma and 
 me, is very interesting. 
 
 I can not now answer your nice full letter as it deserves, for 
 I have a good deal of epistolary work on hand ; but I must tell 
 you one thing, which is, never to apologize to me for prosing. 
 What some people call prosing, I like ; and what I do dislike 
 in letters is a long history of comings and goings, visitings and 
 being visited, allusions to Mrs. A. B., and Lady C. B., and other 
 folks whom I never saw, and do not care two-pence about. 
 
 Your remarks on National Schooling I fully accede to, as far 
 as my knowledge extends ; still, when the education of a peo- 
 ple is to be considered, even allowing the truth of them all, it 
 is hard to decide positively against institutions of the kind in 
 some shape or other. Six Dames' Schools under your super- 
 intendence, energetic body as you are, might be an excellent 
 substitute ; but I am sorry to say, in those which I have heard 
 of lately, nothing, or next to nothing, is learned, and the parents 
 merely pay for having their children kept out of harm's way. 
 Have you ever thought much about Normal Schools ? Till 
 some better S3^stem is adopted than at present generally pre- 
 vails, and the art of teaching is regularly taught, I fear the Na- 
 tional Schools will continue very inefficient. 
 
 In regard to instilling religious feeling, that, I fear, no large 
 school can ever do ; but if a foundation of correct principles 
 were laid, and the Church and her ordinances rendered more 
 prominent objects for the minds of the children than they have 
 hitherto been, this surely would be something. Feeling might 
 come in other ways, by the nameless opportunities of life; and 
 the two (what was taught at school and what accrued to the 
 learner elsewhere) might work together for good. 
 
 * Nab Cottage, on the road between Grasmere and Rydal. — E. C. 
 
1 50 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Conservative Replies to some Arguments of the Radical Party. — The 
 British Constitution not originally Popular but Paternal.— An Appeal 
 to Universal Suffrage not an Appeal to the Collective Wisdom of the 
 Age, but to its Collective Ignorance. — " The Majority will be always 
 in the Right ;" but not till it has Adopted the Views of the Minority. 
 — Despotism of the Mob in America Regretted by many Americans.— 
 English Government not a mere Machine for Registering Votes.— How 
 are the People to be Trained to a Right Exercise of their Liberties ?— . 
 ^^ Govern them, and lift them up forever." 
 
 To Mrs. H. M.Jones, in Reply to a Political Essay by Dr. Park : 
 " The British Constitution \s founded on public opinion." The 
 institutions and forms of government in which this idea is more 
 or less adequately manifested have been wrought out by public 
 opinion, yet surely the idea itself is not the result and product, 
 but rather the secret guide and groundwork, of public opinion 
 on the point in question, as embodied in definite words and 
 conceptions. But what public opinion was that which moulded 
 our admired policy, and fashioned the curious and complicated 
 mechanism of our state machine ? Did it reflect the minds and 
 intellects of the majority? Or w^as it not rather the opinions of 
 the best and wisest, to which our aristocratic forms of govern- 
 ment gave both publicity and prevalence ? 
 
 Surely we have little reason to say that public opinion, taken 
 at large, is necessarily just and wise by virtue of its being pub- 
 lic — necessarily that to which the interests of the nation may 
 be safely intrusted. If we identify it with the opinions of the 
 majority at all times and on all subjects, it can not be identified 
 with the collective wisdom of the age. Like foam on the sur- 
 face of the ocean, pure if the waters below are pure, soiled and 
 brown if they are muddy and turbid, it can but represent the 
 character of that from which it proceeds, the average under- 
 standings and morals of the community. How are the masses 
 to be purified and tranquilized ? How rendered capable of 
 judging soundly on affairs of state, as far as that is possible to 
 men of humble station .? Surely not by the introduction of a 
 vote-by-ballot system, which virtually silences the gifted few, 
 and reduces to inaction the highest wisdom of the day. Truth, 
 it is said, must ever prevail ; but unless utterance is given her 
 —nay, more, unless her voice is heard, not drowned by the 
 
Govej'ument by Majorities. 151 
 
 clamors of the crowd, what means has she of prevailing ? Pub- 
 lic opinion is consonant to reason and goodness only inasmuch 
 as it is influenced by the wise and good. It is often grossly 
 absurd, and the public opinion of one year or month is con- 
 demned by that of the next. There is some truth in the notion 
 of Miss Martineau, to which, by stress of arguments, she has 
 been driven, "that the majority will be in the right." The only 
 rational interpretation of which seems to me to be this, that, on 
 give?t points, iho. majority tdtimaiely decide in favor of the truth, 
 because, in course of time, the opinions of the wisest on those 
 particular subjects are proved, by experience and successive 
 accessions of suffrages from competent judges, to be just ; they 
 are stamped before the public eye, and in characters which 
 those who run may read (or, as Habakkuk really has it, "He may 
 run that readeth"), and in such points public opinion is in fact 
 the adoption oi private opinion by the public; the judgment 
 approved by the majority is any thing rather than that which 
 the majority would have formed by aid of their own amount of 
 sense and talent, for " nel mondo non e se non volgo." In time 
 the whole lump is leavened with that which emanated from a 
 few ; but what practical application should be made of this ax- 
 iom, "The majority will be in the right?" Ought it to be such 
 as would lead us to throw political power, without stop or stay, 
 directly into their hands, and abide all the consequences of 
 their blundering apprenticeship, while in particulars in which 
 the public interests are concerned, in which immediate action 
 is required, they are learjiijtg to be right? Will it console us 
 under the calamities which their ignorance may inflict, that they 
 will know better in the end? And when the Commonwealth is 
 in ruins, will this after-wisdom restore the shattered fabric, or 
 indemnify those who have suffered during its disorganization ? 
 This notion of a ruined Commonwealth appears no visionary 
 bugbear to those who believe the continuance of a Christian 
 and Catholic government essential to the well-being of the state. 
 Before we argue about public opinion, before we decide what 
 this great power has already done, or what it ought to do, it 
 would be as well to settle what we mean by the term. The 
 public opinion of this country, on particular points, in this age 
 of the world, is perfectly just and enlightened. On the Newto- 
 nian or Copernican system, for instance, public opinion now 
 is identical with that of the philosopher in his closet. But 
 
152 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 what was public opinion on this same system in the age of Kep- 
 ler and GaUleo? (for Newton was anticipated in some meas- 
 ure by those great men). If, however, by public opinion be 
 meant the opinions of the multitude taken collectively — the 
 general body of their opinions concerning all matters of which 
 man can take cognizance — this can no more be the best pos- 
 sible, than the mass of mankind are as able, moral, and en- 
 lightened as a certain number of individuals in every age. But 
 ought not a state to be guided by the best possible opinions.'' 
 Ought it to be swayed by the uncorrected thoughts of the mul- 
 titude 1 
 
 It is not high Tories and Churchmen alone who feel that in 
 America public opinion is a tyrant — because it is a public opin- 
 ion not sufficiently acted on by the wisest and best individuals; 
 their voice has utterance, and in time is heard, but by the forms 
 of society and of government established there — especially the 
 want of a landed gentry and influential endowed Church — they 
 do not enough prevail over the voices of the crowd ; and the 
 will of the majority is too much felt for the welfare of the ma- 
 jority themselves. Many Americans are now admitting this, 
 and it appears either implicitly or explicitly in the pages of 
 every American traveler. Miss Martineau would have helped 
 us to find it out had we needed her information. 
 
 With us, government hitherto has not been degraded in its 
 character to that of a machine, the functions of those who are 
 engaged in it being simply this, to ascertain and obey a popular 
 will, like the index of a clock worked by a pendulum. Our laws 
 and institutions have been moulded by the suggestions of a wise 
 minority, which the mechanism of our state machinery enabled 
 to come gradually into play ; so that the interests of the people 
 have been consulted rather than their blind wishes. Thus our 
 constitution, considered as an outward thing, has been formed 
 according to an idea of perfection (never in this world to be 
 more than partially realized) — an idea existing equally in the 
 minds of all our countrymen, but most distinctly and effectively 
 developed in those which are aided by an acute and powerful 
 intellect, improved to the highest point by education, study, and 
 reflective leisure. 
 
 Is it not obvious from Dr. Park's own abstract that our gov- 
 ernment has never been popular in the sense in which my father 
 denies it to have been such ? Has it not ever been " a mon- 
 
American Democracy. 153 
 
 archy at once buttressed and limited by the aristocracy?" Was 
 it ever popular as the American government is so ? If not, still 
 less has it been popular after such a sort as our modern liberals 
 — our separators of Church and State — will leave no stone un- 
 turned to make it. On the other hand, is it not clear as noon- 
 day — nay, gloried in by numbers — that, notwithstanding the 
 prolonged duration of Parliament, the remnant of lordly influ- 
 ence in the popular elections and House of Commons, the stand- 
 ing army, and national debt, the British State is more demo- 
 cratic in this nineteenth century than at any former period ?* 
 Ought it to be still more democratic ? still more the mere rep- 
 resentative of the multitude, and exponent of their will ? Are 
 we likely to fare better under the dominion of the people than 
 this country did in former times, when government had not re- 
 nounced its right to consult for the benefit of the community, 
 even independently of its inclinations ? On the answer to this 
 question depends the answer to that of Dr. Park — were the acts 
 above named constitutional .-' 
 
 The sage Whig, Hallam, is of opinion that the Reform Bill 
 went too far in establishing democratic principles ; and as to 
 such politicians as Hume, Warburton, Roebuck, and their allies, 
 I should imagine they sympathized but little in the anxiety of 
 reasoners like Dr. Park and S. T. C. for the balance of powers, 
 and so that they could but succeed in overthrowing the Church 
 and the aristocracy, would care much less than a straw for the 
 old and venerable idea of the British Constitution. 
 
 A noble national character belongs to the people of England, 
 and grieved indeed should I be to suppose that they wanted a 
 "foundation of moderation and good sense." But how are 
 those good qualities to be most efficiently improved, confirmed, 
 elicited ? How does a wise mother act in regard to the children 
 under her care — those children in whom she perceives with de- 
 light the germs and first shoots of a thousand amiable affections 
 and excellent dispositions? I need hardly say that she does 
 not trust to them solely; that she remembers of what jarring 
 elements man is a compound ; and that she takes care to keep 
 the passions and infirm tempers of her charge in due restraint, 
 
 * We can not surely imagine that more power and liberty were really 
 enjoyed by the people under the sway of the strong-headed, strong-handed 
 Cromwell, or that their interests were more attended to during the corrupt 
 reign of Charles II.— S. C. 
 
1 54 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 in order that their good feelings and reasoning habits may be 
 strengthened and increased. Just so should a paternal govern- 
 ment act toward the national family which it has to govern. 
 
 These are some of the thoughts which have been suggested 
 to me by the perusal of Dr. Park's instructive abstract. I am 
 aware that they are quite imperfect and inconclusive ; but they 
 give a notion of the way in which I have been led to look on 
 the subject of government. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Insanity. — Intermediate State of the Departed not distinctly Revealed in 
 Scripture. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger : 
 
 lo Chester Place, November 28, 1837. — In many cases of in- 
 sanity, I believe there has been a lucid interval before death; 
 
 but in such a case as that of this was perhaps hardly to 
 
 be expected. Where derangement has been brought out by 
 some mental cause, the last illness may produce a change both 
 in mind and body, which may for a short time restore reason. 
 
 But derangement in was merely a symptom of general 
 
 bodily decay, and it was not likely that an increase of that very 
 weakness which first disordered her faculties should be attend- 
 ed by any brightening of them. 
 
 It is very awful to think in how many ways the opportunity 
 of a death-bed preparation may be denied us ; it may be pre- 
 vented not only by sudden death, but also by loss of mental 
 power, only to terminate in dissolution. We may trust, however, 
 that for our friends " to die is gain," whatever may be the im- 
 mediate or intermediate state of those who thus leave us. Mr, 
 Dodsworth, Mr. J. H. Newman, and other influential writers, in- 
 sist strongly on this point, that the Resurrection, and not the 
 departure from this life, is the period on which the hope of a 
 Christian ought to be fixed ; and they say it is too common to 
 hear the bereaved enlarge on the immediate felicity of the re- 
 leased sufferer escaped from his tabernacle of clay. For my 
 part, I can not think all the texts they bring to prove their 
 points entirely conclusive ; and it does not seem clear to me 
 that Scripture has left any thing positively revealed on this sub- 
 ject. For all practical purposes, the death of every Christian 
 is to him the coming of the Lord. 
 
Letter of Condolence. 155 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1838. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, TO MRS. JOSHUA STANGER, MRS. 
 PLUMMER, MISS A. BROOKE, MISS TREVENEN. 
 
 Letter of Condolence to a Friend on the Death of a Brother.* 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Wandsworth : 
 
 10 Chester Place, jRege?ifs Park, jfanuary 16, 1838. — My dear 
 friend, by this time I conclude you are returned from your dis- 
 tressful and agitating journey ; and I will no longer delay to 
 express my grief at the melancholy termination of all your long 
 anxieties for your dear brother. But in this case there really 
 and truly is much to soothe and console your feelings, and there 
 is no difficulty in finding a topic of comfort on the subject, when 
 I have such a happy conviction that he was prepared to ex- 
 change this world for a more blessed state of existence, and 
 that you have a heart sufficiently. disciplined by thought and 
 previous trial, and that heavenly aid of which thought and trial 
 are but instruments, to take true pleasure in the contemplation 
 of his " great gain 3" and look back on his past life, not so 
 much to awaken earthly regret, as to find sources of satisfaction 
 in regard to that which we trust he now enjoys. For, indeed, a 
 more innocent and conscientious creature I really believe he 
 has not left behind him, among all his survivors, as far as I 
 know ; and purity, though no passport to heaven, is a great 
 qualification for a blessed station there. The want of it for a 
 course of many years, may be made up for by our Saviour's 
 
 * The youngest son of Dr. Calvert, of Greta Bank, Keswick, Cumberland, 
 and nephew of the Raisley Calvert who was Mr. Wordsworth's friend. His 
 only sister, Mrs. Joshua Stanger, was my mother's earliest friend and com- 
 panion in their native vale; to which she returned in 1843, after a few years 
 spent in the South ; and now dwells there in the midst of her own people, — 
 E.C. 
 
156 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 perfect righteousness. Yet, " Blessed are the pure in heart, for 
 they shall see God ;" and surely those who have been pure and 
 peaceful all their lives, as I imagine to have been the case with 
 your dear brother, must have a special enjoyment of this heav- 
 enly privilege. 
 
 Your loss, and the tears of natural sorrow which I know you 
 must shed, have made me vividly imagine what my own feelings 
 would be on the loss of either of my brothers. The wrench 
 would indeed be severe. I suffered much in parting with my 
 beloved father, but, unfortunately, I had been so little in his 
 society during my life, being separated from him by illness dur- 
 ing two or three years of our residence at Hampstead, that his 
 departure did not make so great a difference to my heart as it 
 would have done otherwise. And so accustomed had I been 
 to commune with him in his books, more than face to face, that 
 even now I never feel, while I peruse his sayings, chiefly on re- 
 ligious subjects, as if he were no more of this world. I fear it 
 will be difficult for me to learn resignation by your trials, but I 
 trust they will not be altogether lost on me for salutary admo- 
 nition ; and I can represent them more strongly to myself than 
 those of persons with whom and with whose connections I am 
 less intimate. Dear Raisley's image, indeed, is associated with 
 all my early recollections, and haunts the scenes of my child- 
 hood and girlhood, which memory presents with more warmth 
 and distinctness than those of after-life. — Believe me, my dear 
 Mary, your truly affectionate friend, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 II. 
 
 ^.Mr. Gillman's Life of her Father. — Earlier Development of Mr. Coleridge's 
 Mind in the Direction of Poetry than in that of Theological Research. 
 
 To Mrs. GiLLMAN, The Grove, Highgate : 
 
 May 8, 1838. — I must tell you how gratified I have been by 
 the perusal of the first volume of the Life.* I assure you we 
 all feel deeply cheered and pleased to think that such a record 
 of a good man's affection and respect for S. T. C. will exist for 
 the world. The work contains many new and, as I think, valu- 
 able pieces of my father's writing and conversation ; and I can 
 
 * " Life and Letters of S. T. Coleridge," by James Gillman, Esq.— E. C. 
 
Blessing of Fraternal Affectio7i. 1 5 7 
 
 not but believe that it will be read with profit and pleasure by 
 many persons less nearly interested in the subject of the Mem- 
 oir than myself. My father's life must necessarily seem de- 
 ficient in outward events to those who care for nothing but 
 story. His letters would not tell his external history as those 
 of Sir Walter Scott did his ; and many circumstances must be 
 passed over cursorily or in silence by a biographer of strictly 
 delicate feeling. But there are many meditative, reflective read- 
 ers in the world, many who appreciate my father's works and 
 admire his unworldly and deeply feeling character, and they 
 will be glad to peruse a memoir of S. T. C. such as the present, 
 undebased by the display of paltry vanity and selfish pride. I 
 am glad Mr. Gillman put a note and a comment on the letter 
 about the Trinity to Mr. Cottle. Not with such arguments did 
 my father defend the great Catholic doctrine in later years ^ but 
 it is part of the history of his mind, and shows how far it was 
 from having attained to its full growth in philosophical theology, 
 when in poetry it had come into the most perfect blossom. 
 
 III. 
 
 Blessing of Fraternal Affection. — Danger to which it is Exposed from Hu- 
 man Infirmity. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer, Gateshead : 
 
 10 Chester Place, July 20, 1838. — The longer I live the more 
 deeply I enter into the spirit of the Psalmist's animated expres- 
 sions about fraternal unity and love. But minds must be in al- 
 most a heavenly state before this unity and love can reign un- 
 interruptedly among them. The contentions and passing anger 
 of childhood are succeeded by sources of disagreement and 
 alienation in too many cases of a much deeper kind. Brothers 
 and sisters marry, and the new interests and discordant feelings 
 of the fresh family connections are often found to weaken at- 
 tachments, and all but sever fraternal friendships, which would 
 otherwise produce a great deal of happiness. All this is ex- 
 pressed in the gross ; but a something of what I allude to alloys 
 the social comfort of most family circles which I happen to 
 know intimately. There would be little use in reflecting upon 
 these unpleasant topics, to mention which I was led away, I 
 scarce know how, if the contemplation of the evil did not lead 
 
158 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 to such measures for its avoidance or mitigation as are within 
 our power ; and that there are many such, your cheerful tem- 
 per will lead you very readily to believe and affirm. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sea-side Occupations. — Bathing : Childish Timidity not to be Cured by 
 Compulsion. — Letter-writing : Friendly Letters, like Visits, not mere 
 Vehicles for News. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer, Gateshead : 
 
 Heme Bay, August 30, 1838. — You ask for a letter from 
 Heme Bay, and I take the opportunity to comply with your re- 
 quest now that papa and the children and Ann have just set 
 off on the rumble of the coach for Canterbury. I have been 
 strolling on the beach, rejoicing that the Canterbury visitors 
 have so softly brilliant a day for their excursion, yet partly re- 
 gretting that they have turned their backs on the bathing-place. 
 This is quite a day to make Herby in love with the ocean wa- 
 ters. At first he suffered much from fear when he had to enter 
 them, and he has not yet achieved the feat of going thoroughly 
 overhead ; but I think you will agree with us that no good would 
 be done by forcing him. Troy town, as he long ago observed 
 himself in reference to the treatment of children, after all was 
 not taken by force. Bathing is not like a surgical operation, 
 which does good however unwillingly submitted to ; and we can 
 not make children fearless by compelling them to undergo the 
 subject of their fears. This process, indeed, has sometimes 
 made cowards for life. There is much in habit doubtless, but 
 persons who act upon this truth, without seeing its practical 
 limitations, often commit great errors.* 
 
 I must not, however, proceed to state these limitations, and 
 see whether or no they agree with your speculations on child 
 management, seeing that my paper and my time have their lim- 
 itations too. Apj'opos to this last point, however, I must digress 
 again, to say how few people have what I consider just and clear 
 
 * It may be worth while to mention, in proof of the practical success of 
 my mother's indulgent system, that the early nervousness here alluded to 
 completely passed away. My brother learned to swim as easily as most 
 boys as soon as he went to school at Eton, where bathing and boating be- 
 came his favorite amusements. — E. C. 
 
Letter- Writing. 159 
 
 notions on the subject of letter-writing!* You are one of my 
 few cordial, genial correspondents who do not fill the first page 
 of their epistles with asseverations of how much they have to 
 do, or how little news they have to tell, and how sure you are, 
 as soon as it is at all necessary to your well-being, to hear it 
 from some other quarter. Why do these people waste time in 
 visiting their friends of an evening, or calling on them of a 
 morning? Why do they not pickle and preserve, and stitch 
 and house-keep all day long, since those and such-like are the 
 only earthly things needful ? The answer doubtless would be, 
 "Friendships must be kept up; out of sight out of mind; and, as 
 man is a social creature, he must attend to the calls of society." 
 Now it is exactly on this ground, and not, in nine cases out of 
 ten, for the sake of communicating news, that letter-writing is 
 to be advocated. It is a method of visiting our friends in their 
 absence, and one which has some advantages peculiar to itself; 
 for persons who have any seriousness of character at all en- 
 deavor to put the better part of their mind upon paper ; and 
 letter-writing is one of the many calls which life affords to put 
 our minds in order, the salutary effect of which is obvious. 
 
 V. 
 
 The History of Rome, by Dr. Arnold. — The Study of Divinity, Poetry, and 
 Physiology preferred to that of History or PoUtics. — Christian Theol- 
 ogy, as an Intellectual System, based on Metaphysics. — Importance of 
 Right Views on these Subjects. — National Education the Proper Work 
 of the Church. 
 
 To Miss Arabella Brooke : 
 
 Heme Bay, September 8, 1838. — We are reading Dr. Arnold's 
 "Rome," and feel that we now for the first time see the old 
 Romans off the stage, with their buskins laid aside, and talk- 
 ing like other men and women. They do not lose by this : 
 the force of the Roman character is as clearly brought out in 
 Dr. Arnold's easy, matter-of-fact, modern narrative, as it could 
 have been in the stilted though elegant language of their own 
 historians. People say how Whiggish it is, in spite of the 
 
 * The lady whose letter-writing style is thus pleasantly described is the 
 wife of the Rev. Matthew Plummer, Vicar of Heworth, and author of sev- 
 eral useful works on Church matters. — E. C. 
 
1 60 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 disclaimers in the preface. There is certainly a great deal of 
 anti-aristocracy in it ; but then, I imagine, if ever aristocracy 
 showed itself in odious colors, it must have been during the 
 early times of Rome ; and no faithful historian could have con- 
 cealed this, though he might have manifested less zeal and alac- 
 rity in the task of exposing it. However, I speak in ignorance : 
 politics and history are subjects in which I have less of my des- 
 ultory feminine sort of information than some others which seem 
 rather more within my compass. Divinity may be as wide a 
 field as politics ; but it is not so far out of a woman's way, and 
 you derive more benefit from partial and short excursions into 
 it. I should say the same in regard to poetry, natural history 
 in all its branches, and even metaphysics — the study of which, 
 when judiciously pursued, I can not but think highly interesting 
 and useful, and in no respect injurious. 
 
 The truth is, those w^ho undervalue this branch of philosophy, 
 or rather this root and stem of it, seem scarce aware how im- 
 possible it is for any reflective Christian to be without meta- 
 physics of one kind or other. Without being aware of it, we all 
 receive a metaphysical scheme, either partially or wholly, from 
 those who have gone before us ; and by its aid we interpret the 
 Bible. It is but few perhaps who have time to acquire any clear 
 or systematic knowledge of divinity. When the heart is right, 
 individuals may be in some respects first-rate Christians with- 
 out any speculative insight, because the little time for study 
 is caused by active exertion ; and this active exertion, pursued 
 in a religious spirit, and converted into the service of God by 
 the way of performing it, is perhaps the most effective school of 
 Christianity. But when there is time to read, then I do think 
 that, both for the sake of others and of ourselves, the cultivation 
 of the intellect, with a view to religious knowledge, is a positive 
 duty ; and I believe it to be clearly established, though not 
 cordially and generally admitted, that the study of metaphysics 
 is the best preparatory exercise for a true understanding of the 
 Bible. False metaphysics can be counteracted by true meta- 
 physics alone ; and divines who have not the one, can hardly 
 fail, I think, to have the other. * * * 
 
 My husband is warmly interested in a plan for improving 
 National Schools, and bringing them into connection with the 
 Church, on the basis of the National Society. Henry sent the 
 explanatory papers drawn up by the Committee of the National 
 
 I 
 
Literary Varieties, i6i 
 
 Society to Dr. Arnold ; but he, " with regret," declined to sign, 
 on account of the too great influence, which, in his view, the 
 clergy would have over the education machine. Perhaps you 
 will feel with him : but all must admit that it is a difficult prob- 
 lem how any education worthy of the name can be carried out 
 without religion, and how religion worthy of the name can be 
 taught without the frame-work of certain doctrines. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Literary Varieties. — Spirituality of Northern Nations, and Metaphysical 
 
 Subtlety of the Greeks. 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Chester Place, September, 1838. — The introduction to this 
 work* is an excellent piece of criticism, written in a good style, 
 with a spice of your own living individual manner in it, a sort 
 of refined downrightness ; your manner compared with my fa- 
 ther's is as short-crast to puff paste. 
 
 "A passion for descending into the depths of the spiritual 
 being of men" is ascribed to the Scandinavians and Germans; 
 true, they are more spiritual than the Southerns, and yet what 
 could exceed the metaphysical subtlety of the ancient Greeks ? 
 The feelings of the former are more imbued with a seeking of 
 the supernatural, and yet the intellect of the latter could sound 
 any depths of the spirit which are fathomable by man, as S. T. C. 
 seems to say in " The Friend," where he speaks of their great 
 advances in metaphysical lore, compared with their backward- 
 ness in science. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Miracle of the Raising of Lazarus passed over by the Synoptical Gospels. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Place, September, 1838. — The more one thinks of it, the 
 more puzzling it seems that the raising of Lazarus is only re- 
 
 * The " Introduction to Homer," by H. N. Coleridge. — E. C. 
 L 
 
1 62 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 corded in St. John's Gospel. The common way of accounting 
 for the matter can not easily be set down, but yet it does not 
 satisfy. We feel there may be something yet in the case which 
 we do not fathom, and knowing as we do from constant experi- 
 ence how much there is in most things which transcend our 
 knowledge — what unsuspected facts and truths have come to 
 light, and explained phenomena of which we had given quite 
 different explanations previously — we can not but feel that the 
 true way of accounting for this discrepancy has never yet come 
 to lieht. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Connection between the Senses and the Mind. — Poetic Genius Implies a 
 Sensitive Organization. — Early Greatness of Great Poets. — Poetic Im- 
 agination of Plato brought to bear upon Abstract Ideas. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Heme Bay, September 21, 1838. — Herbert is a most sensitive 
 child, as alive to every kind of sensation as quick in faculties. 
 Indeed, I believe that this sensitiveness does itself tend to quick- 
 en and stimulate the intellect. He will have especial need of 
 self control, and I trust in time that he will have it ; but at his 
 age the sun of true reason has but sent up its ra5'S above the 
 horizon ; its orb is not yet visible. If we are fearfully and won- 
 derfully made in body, how much more so in mind, and how 
 much less can we fathom the constitution of the latter than of 
 the former ! But considered in a large sense, they are ofie; else 
 how could the mind act on the body, the body on the mind? 
 Where the senses are active and rapid ministers to the mind, 
 supplying it abundantly and promptly with thought materials, 
 no wonder that the intellect makes speedy advances; and such 
 sensitiveness is doubtless one constituent of a poet. Still, 
 whether or no true greatness and high genius shall be discov- 
 ered must depend upon the constitution and properties of the 
 intellect in itself; and this is the reason that so many fine buds 
 prove but indifferent flowers, rather than the popular account 
 of the matter, that the sooner the plant blossoms, the sooner it 
 will fade and fall. Now teH me that Milton and Shakespeare 
 were not as wonderful children as the young Rosciuses, or any 
 other modern prodigy, and hollow pufifball ! How exquisitely 
 does Plato illustrate his subject out of his own actual history, out 
 
The ^' Odyssey r 163 
 
 of things moving, sensuous, and present, filling with life-blood the 
 dry though clear and symmetrical vein-work of his metaphysic 
 anatomy ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Treasures of English Literature. — Arnold's "Rome." 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 October 6, 1838. — I see you have Locke's works in folio, 
 and a good Addison. How the possession of these works makes 
 us feel the littleness of our reading — of what we can really mark, 
 learn, and digest. " Amid a thousand tables we stand," and 
 though we do not "want food," having access to those tables, yet 
 how sparingly can we partake ! Even as it is, what a strange, 
 superficial thing is the ordinary way of reading a book, even 
 when we fancy ourselves reading with attention. I more and 
 more grudge to bestow time on the literature of the day, and 
 the book club will not gain much of my devotion. Arnold's 
 "Rome " is no mere ephemeral : that book seems destined to fill 
 a permanent place, both as embodying Niebuhr, and from its 
 own merits, as an able, animated history and historical com- 
 mentary. I do not judge of it as to arrangement of parts, nor 
 praise it as to the minute details of style; but the style, consid- 
 ered in a large view, is its great charm, and it is certainly a 
 characteristic and vigorous work. The account of Dionysius 
 the Tyrant, and remarks on his character, and that of the Greek 
 tyrannies, are especially striking. 
 
 X. 
 
 The Homeric Ithaca.— Autobiographical Air of the " Odyssey." 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 October 2, 1838. — What an enigma the Homeric Ithaca is ! 
 It seems quite out of the question that it should be Thiaki. 
 And why should it send only twelve suitors if it were the huge 
 island Cephalonia? The vivid naturalness of the "Odyssey" 
 seems to have inspired the notion of its being an autobiography 
 into the minds of critics who differ in various particulars. No 
 doubt it was so in the same way that the " History of the 
 Plague " and other such fictions were true history. It brought 
 
1 64 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 together sundry incidents and places with which the writer or 
 writers were perfectly familiar from some means or other. 
 There is a very natural passage of this kind in " Don Juan," 
 taken from some personal narrative, and merely versified. It 
 seems as if some critics wrote hy feel. Le Chevalier had a true 
 sense of a certain characteristic of the " Odyssey," but how ab- 
 surdly, as it appears to me, has he enunciated and reasoned 
 upon it ! Bryant's anti-Asiatic theory seems to run in the face 
 of the poem. Surely he must have looked at some place in 
 Egypt, and remembered detached passages in the " Iliad," with- 
 out considering the general aspect of the whole. 
 
 I 
 
 XI. 
 
 Description of the Falls of Niagara in Miss Martineau's "Retrospect of 
 Western Travel." 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone : 
 
 October^ 1838. — Miss Martineau's "Retrospect of Western 
 Travel" I have read and enjoyed. It takes you through out- 
 door scenes, and, though the politics are overpowering now and 
 then, it freshens you up by wanderings amid woods and rivers, 
 and over mountain brows, and among tumbling waterfalls. I 
 / think Miss Martineau made one more at home with Niagara 
 )(^than any other of the American travelers. She gives one a 
 most lively tvaterfallish feeling, introduces one not only to the 
 huge mass of rushing water, but to the details of the environs, 
 the wood in which the stream runs away, etc. She takes you 
 over it and under it, before it and behind it, and seems as if 
 she were performing a duty she owed to the genius of the cat- 
 aract, by making it thoroughly well known to those at a dis- 
 tance, rather than desirous to display her own talent by writing 
 a well-rounded period or a terse paragraph about it. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Lukewarm Christians. 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Place, December, 1838. — I have no doubt that 
 
 disapproves of the Catholic party just as much as of the Evan- 
 
Lukewarm Christians. 165 
 
 gelicals, and on very' similar grounds. It is not the peculiar 
 doctrines which offend thinkers of this description. About 
 them they neither know nor care. It is the high tone, the in- 
 sisting upon principles, to ascertain the truth or unsoundness 
 of which requires more thought than they are disposed to be- 
 stow on such a subject. It is the zeal and warmth and eager- 
 ness by which tempers of this turn are offended. The blunders 
 and weaknesses of warm religionists are not the sources of their 
 distaste, but the /;'^/^.r/i' by which they justify to themselves an 
 aversion which has a very different origin. Be kind to the poor, 
 nurse the sick, perform all duties of charity and generosity, be 
 not religious overmuch — above all, keep in the background all 
 the peculiar cardinal doctrines of Christianity — avoid all vices 
 and gross sins — believe the Bible to be true, without troubling 
 yourself about particulars — behave as resignedly as you can 
 when misfortunes happen — feel grateful to God for his benefits 
 — think at times of your latter end, and try " to dread your 
 grave as little as your bed," if possible. Such will ever be — 
 more or less pronounced and professed — the sum of religion in 
 many very amiable and popular persons. Any thing more than 
 this they will throw cold water upon by bucketfuls. 
 
1 66 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 1839. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, MRS. PLUMMER, MISS A. BROOKE, 
 MISS TREVENEN. 
 
 Characteristics of the Oxford School of Divines. — Combinations, even for 
 the Best Purposes, not Favorable to Truth. — Superior Confidence in- 
 spired by an Independent Thinker. — Are Presbyterians Excluded from 
 the Visible Church .' — Authority of Hooker cited against such a Deci- 
 sion. — Defense of the Title of Protestant. — Luther : Injustice com- 
 monly done to his Character and Work. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer, Heworth Vicarage, Gateshead : 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regenfs Park, ya?iuary 17, 1839. — The 
 "Letter of a Reformed Catholic,"* and that on the " Origin of 
 Popery," I think remarkably well done — clear, able, and popu- 
 lar. Such judgment as I have on such a matter I give unto 
 you, and this need not imply any presumption on my part. But 
 though I can sincerely express my approbation of the way in 
 which these performances are executed, I must candidly confess 
 that I do not follow your husband on the O.xford road so far 
 as he seems to have proceeded. On some subjects, specially 
 handled by Newman and his school, my judgment is suspend- 
 ed. On some points I think the Apostolicals quite right, on 
 others clearly unscriptural and unreasonable, willfully and os- 
 tentatiously maintaining positions which, if carried out to their 
 full length, would overthrow the foundations of all religion. I 
 consider the party as having done great service in the religious 
 world, and that in various ways; sometimes by bringing for- 
 ward what is wholly and absolutely true; sometimes by pro- 
 moting discussion on points in which I believe their own views 
 to be partly erroneous ; sometimes by exposing gross deficien- 
 cies in doctrine in the religion of the day; sometimes by keenly 
 
 * A Controversial Pamphlet, by the Rev. Matthew Plummer. — E. C. 
 
The Economy of Truth. 167 
 
 detecting the self-flatteries and practical mistakes of religion- 
 ists. But the worst of them, in my opinion, is that they are, 
 one and 2Xi, party men; and just so far as we become absorbed 
 in a party, just so far are we in danger of parting with honesty 
 and good sense. This is why I honor Frederick Maurice, and 
 feel incimed to put trust in his writings, antecedently to an ex- 
 press knowledge of their contents, because he stands alone, and 
 looks only to God and his own conscience. Such is human 
 nature, that as soon as ever men league together, even for the 
 purest and most exalted objects, their carnal leaven begins to 
 ferment. Insensibly their aims take a less spiritual character, 
 and their means are proportionately vulgarized and debased. 
 Now, when I speak of leagiimg together, of course I do not mean 
 that Mr. Newman and his brother divines exact pledges from 
 one another like men on the hustings; but I do believe that 
 there is a tacit but efficient general compact among them all. 
 Like the Evangelicals, whom they so often condemn on this 
 very point, they use a characteristic phraseology; they have 
 their badges and party marks ; they lay great stress on trifling 
 external matters; they have a stock of arguments and topics in 
 common. No sooner has Newman blown the Gospel blast, 
 than it is repeated by Pusey, and Pusey is re-echoed from Leeds. 
 Keble privately persuades Froude, Froude spouts the doctrines 
 of Keble to Newman, and Newman publishes them as"Froude's 
 Remains." Now it seems to me that under these circumstances 
 truth has not quite a fair chance. A man has hardly time to 
 reflect on his owfi reflections, and ask himself, in the stillness of 
 his heart, whether the views he has put forth are strictly the 
 truth, and nothing more or less than the truth ; if, the moment 
 they have parted from him, they are eagerly embraced by a 
 set of prepossessed partisans, who assure him and all the rest 
 of the world that they are thoroughly excellent. (How many 
 truly great men have modified their views after publication, and 
 in subsequent works have written in a somewhat altered strain.) 
 These writers, too, hold the dangerous doctrine of the "econ- 
 omy of truth." Consistently with these views, if one of them 
 wrote ever so extravagantly, the others would refrain from ex- 
 posing him, for fear they should injure the cause, at least so 
 long as he remained with them on principal points. God, of 
 course, can bring good out of evil, and in this way I do believe 
 that the errors of the party will serve His cause in the end as 
 
1 68 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 well as their sound tenets. Yet I can not think that what I 
 have described is the truest method of promoting pure religion ; 
 and it seems to me that the most effective workmen in the 
 Lord's vineyard, those whose work tells most in the end, are they 
 who do not agree beforehand to co-operate, but who pursue 
 their own task without regard to the way in which others ex- 
 ecute theirs. 
 
 ****** ** 
 
 Well, I have looked at the " Reformed Catholic " again, and 
 think it is as well done as I did at first; but still there are 
 some points on which I am not quite of the writer's mind. 
 
 I can not yet bring myself to believe that the Kirk of Scot- 
 land in no sense belongs to the Body of Christ — in no sense 
 makes a part of the visible Christian Church. Would Hooker 
 have said so ?* One Lord, one faith, one baptism : these are 
 the only essentials, I think, which he names. A man may even 
 be a heretic, yet not altogether — nay, not at all — excluded from 
 this communion, though he can never belong to the mystical 
 invisible Church of the elect till he becomes a Christian in 
 heart and mind, as well as in outward profession. The Kirk 
 may have deprived herself of a privilege by losing the episcopal 
 succession, may have thrown away a benefit by rejecting the 
 government of bishops (if we only put the matter in the outward 
 light), yet she may still make an erring part of that Church to 
 which Christ's Spirit is promised. 
 
 This, however, is a difficult subject. I do not pretend to 
 have very decided convictions upon it. Of one thing, however, 
 I feel pretty sure, that I shall call myself a Protestant to the end 
 of my days. Yes ! a Catholic Christian, as I humbly hope — 
 and, moreover, a Protestant of the Church of England. I pro- 
 fess that " Reformed Protestant Religion " which our monarch 
 swears to defend on his coronation ; the Protestantism of Cran- 
 mer and Hooker, of Taylor, of Jackson, and of Leighton. 
 These are great names, and dear and venerable are the asso- 
 ciations with the title of Protestant in my mind. To call my- 
 self such does not make me a whit the less Christian and 
 
 * But we speak now of the visible Church, whose children are signed 
 with this mark, " One Lord, one faith, one baptism." In whomsoever these 
 things are, the Church doth acknowledge them for her children ; them only 
 she holdeth for aliens and strangers in whom these things are not found- 
 Hooker, "Eccl. Pol. Book," book iii., ch. i. — E. C. 
 
Luther. 169 
 
 Catholic, nor imply that I am so ; it does not mix me up with 
 sectarians any more than the latter term connects me with the 
 gross errors and grievous practices of Romanists, who, whether 
 they are entitled to the name or not, will always assume it. As 
 for its being a tnodern designation — that which rendered a dis- 
 tinctive appellation necessary is an event of modern times ; and 
 that, I think, is a sufficient defense of it on this score. " Re- 
 formed Catholic " savors altogether of Newman and the nine- 
 teenth century. 
 
 In regard to Luther, I do not jumble him up with our re- 
 formers as to the whole of his theology — on some points he 
 was less orthodox than they. But I can not think it altogether 
 just to say that he " left, rather than reformed the Church." It 
 is the Oxford fashion to dwell upon what he omitted, to throw 
 into shade the mighty works which he did; to hold him forth 
 as a corrupter, to forget that he was a great and wonderful re- 
 former. If there were "giants in those days," the mightiest of 
 them all was the invincible German. And how any man who 
 thinks deeply on religious subjects can bring himself to speak 
 scorn of this brave Christian warrior, or how he can divest his 
 spirit of gratitude toward so great a benefactor, to whose mag- 
 nanimity, more than to any other single instrument in God's 
 hand, it is owing that we are not blind buyers of indulgences 
 at this hour, I confess is past my comprehension. 
 
 " In our halls is hung 
 Armory of the invincible Knights of old." 
 
 Blighting breaths may tarnish the lustre of those trophies for 
 a passing moment ; but it is too late in the day to teach us 
 that Milton is not a poet, and that Luther and Wycliffe and 
 Ridley and Latimer were not worthy champions of the faith. 
 
 XL 
 
 A Little Lecturer. — Stammering a Nervous Affection, dependent on the 
 
 Imagination. 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Chester Place, September \, 1839. — Herby preached last night 
 about chemical matters like a regular lecturer ; I thought he 
 looked quite a little Correggiesque Mercury — or something be- 
 tween Hermes and Cupid — as he stood on the little chair lectur- 
 
1 70 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ing volubly, and throwing out one leg and arm, with his round 
 face glowing with childish animation, and a mixture of intelli- 
 o-ence and puerility. The conclusion was, after a list of names 
 a league long, " and the last is something like so and so ; but 
 the chemist's man had a pen in his mouth when he answered 
 my question about it, and I could not hear distinctly how he 
 pronounced the name." It is wonderful how clearly he speaks 
 when there is an impulse from within which overbears and 
 makes him forget the difficulty of articulation.* For it certainly 
 is the pre-imagination of the difficulty of pronouncing a word 
 that ties the tongue in those who stammer. F. M. could pro- 
 nounce a studied oration without stuttering. I account for the 
 fact in this way : it was the hurry of mind, excited by the an- 
 ticipation of an indefinite field of words to be uttered, which 
 paralyzed his articulating powers. With a paper before him, or 
 a set speech on the tablet of his memor}-, he said to himself: 
 thus much have I to pronounce and no more ; whereas in ex- 
 temporary speech there is an uncertainty, an unlimitedness, the 
 sense of which leads most talkers to inject 2^ plus quatn sufficit 
 oi you knows into their discourse, and which causes others to 
 hesitate. The imagination is certainly the seat of the affection, 
 or rather the source of it. The disorder may be defined as a 
 specific weakness of the nerves in connection with a particular 
 imagination, or it may arise and be generated during the in- 
 explicable reciprocal action, wechsel-wirkung, of one upon the 
 other, in which, as S. T. C. says, the cause is at the same time 
 the effect, and vice versa. The curious thing is that there is an 
 idiosyncrasy in this, as perhaps to some degree in all other 
 complaints, and every different stammerer stammers in his own 
 way, and under different circumstances. 
 
 III. 
 
 Philosophy of the " Excursion.' 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Place, September 17, 1839. — I ^"^ deep in the "Ex- 
 cursion," and am interested at finding how miich-of Kant and 
 
 * The slight impediment in his speech, to which my brother was subject 
 as a child, was never entirely outgrown, though it diminished considerably 
 in after years. — E. C. 
 
Lord Byron on the Lake Poets. 171 
 
 Coleridge is embodied in its philosophy, especially in " De- 
 spondency Corrected." I should not say that the "Excursion" 
 was as intensely poetical, as pure poetry, as ecstatic, as many 
 of the minor pieces ; it holds more of a middle place between 
 jDoetry, philgspphy, and the thoughtjul, sentimental story. But 
 it is exquisite, be it what it may. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lord Byron on the Lake Poets. 
 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Ptace, October ^, i839- — "The Lake Poets are never 
 vulgar." I often think of this remark of Lord Byron. Genius 
 is an antiseptic against vulgarity ; but still no men that I ever 
 met, except downright patricians, were so absolutely unvulgar 
 as Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth. 
 
 V. 
 
 Writing to Order. — Sunday Stories and Spanish Romances. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone : 
 
 Chester Place, 1839. — Miss 's stories are, as you observe, 
 
 "remarkably fit for their purpose." How she can contrive to 
 write so exactly as a story composer for a Society ought to 
 write; how she can -manage to be so wholly and solely under 
 the dictation of the proper sort of spirit, I can not imagine. I, 
 for my part, am neither goody enough nor good enough (and I 
 humbly admit that to submit on proper occasions to goodiness 
 of a certain kind is a part of goodness) for any thing of the 
 sort. I should feel like a dog hunting in a clog, or a cat in 
 gloves, or a gentleman's carriage forced to go upon a railroad; 
 or, to ascend a little higher, as Christian and his fellow-pilgrim 
 did when they left the narrow path and got into the fields by 
 the side of it. I should always be grudging at the Society's 
 quickset hedge on the right hand and the left. As for Herbert, 
 he is deep in " Amadis de Gaul ;" and the boy that is full of 
 the Endriago and Andandana, and Don Galaor, and the Flower 
 of Chivalry himself, and his peerless Oriana, is not quite in the 
 right mood to relish good charity school-girls, and the conver- 
 
172 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 sion of cottagers that don't go to church, which Nurse, however, 
 thinks worth all the Endriagos in the world. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pain more Bearable when its Cause is Known. — Books and Letters Com- 
 posed but never Written. — Musings on Eternity. — " We know not yet 
 what we shall be." — Descriptions of Heaven: Symbolical, Material, 
 and Spiritual. — Conjectures of Various Writers respecting the Condi- 
 tion of Departed Souls. 
 
 To Miss Arabella Brooke, Gamstone Rectory, East Retford: 
 Chester Place, i839- — It is painful to be unable to understand 
 one's suffering, to translate it into an intelligible language, and 
 bring it distinctly before the mind's eye. But it is already a 
 sign that we are no longer wholly subdued by its power when 
 we can analyze it, and make this very indefiniteness an object 
 of contemplation. This evinces a degree of mastery over that 
 which has of late been a tyrant. And if " to be weak is miser- 
 able " (oh, how often have I thanked Milton for that line !), to 
 exercise any kind of power, or have any kind of strength, is so 
 far an abatement of misery. To be sure, the explanation which 
 my father gives of this mental fact, the uneasiness felt at the 
 unintelligibility of an affection, when we can not tell whence it 
 arises nor whither it tends, is not a little abstruse, and what is 
 popularly called transcendental. " There is always a consola- 
 tory feeling that accompanies the sense of a proportion between 
 antecedents and consequents. It is eternity revealing itself in 
 the form of time." 
 
 Dear Miss Brooke, there are not many persons to whom I 
 should quote a metaphysical passage of S. T. C. in a letter ; but 
 I see you are one who like to be what the world calls idle — 
 that is, outwardly still from the inward activity of thought — to 
 pause and look down into the deep stream, instead of hasten- 
 ing on in view of the shallow, sparkling runiiel. Dear me 1 
 some people thinJz more over the first page of an essay than 
 others do while they write a volume. Thinking too much, and 
 trying to dive deeper and deeper into every subject that pre- 
 sents itself, is rather an obstacle to much writing. It drags the 
 wheels of composition ; for before a book can be written, there 
 is a great deal to be done: contemplation is not the whole busi- 
 
Weak Health. 173 
 
 ness. I am convinced that the Cherubim do not write books, 
 much less publish them, or make bargains with booksellers, or 
 submit to the ordeal of disgusting puffery and silly censure. I 
 am convinced they do nothing but think; while the Seraphim 
 are equally given up to the business of loving. 
 
 But I must consider the limits of this letter, and the observa- 
 tions which it ought to contain, and my letter-writing strength, 
 which is at present but small. I am truly grieved that I can 
 not give a proper answer to your last, or its interesting prede- 
 cessor, which came with " Abercrombie's Essay." If I could 
 but put on paper, without too much bodily fatigue, half the 
 thoughts which your reflective epistles suggested to me, little as 
 they might be worth your reading, you would see that your let- 
 ters had done their work, and were not like winds passing 
 across the Vale of Stones, but like those gales which put a 
 whole forest in motion. That reminds me of another advantage 
 enjoyed by the Cherubim and Seraphim. I am sure they do 
 not write letters with pen, ink, or paper, nor put them into the 
 post, nor stop to consider whether they are worth postage, nor 
 look about for franks and private conveyances. They have a 
 quintessence of our earthly enjoyments and privileges; the husk 
 for them drops off, and all is pure spirit and intelligence. 
 
 All this nonsense is excusable in me, because I am poorly, 
 out of humor with those activities in which I can not share, and 
 quite cross and splenetic because I am not as free from fleshly 
 ills and earthly fetters as the angels in heaven. Apropos to 
 which, I have not read Mr. Taylor's book, and from your ac- 
 count of it am afraid I should not be such a reader as he would 
 wish to have, unless, indeed, he confines himself to the state- 
 ment of a few principles which may guide our views respecting 
 the life to come, instead of attempting to describe it particular- 
 ly, like Dr. Watts and others. It seems to me so obvious, both 
 from the reason of the thing and the manner in which Scripture 
 deals with it, that " if one came from the dead " to tell us all 
 about it, he would leave us as wise as he found us. In what 
 language could he express himself.'' In a language of symbols ? 
 But that we have already in the Bible ; and we want to trans- 
 late it literally, or at least into literal expressions. We know 
 that they who have pleased God shall be eternally blessed ; 
 that they who have sinned against the light will suffer from a 
 worm that never dies ; and what more can we know while we 
 
1 74 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 are roofed over by our house of clay ? A true account of the 
 other world would surely be to the inhabitants of earth as a 
 theory of music to the deaf, or the geometry of light to the 
 blind. 
 
 Inquirers into the future state are all either Irvingites or 
 Swedenborgians, horrified as most of them might be to be com- 
 pared either with Irving or Swedenborg. They either give us 
 earth newly done up and furnished by way of our final inherit- 
 ance, observing that man is essentially finite, and must there- 
 fore have a material dwelling-place; or they talk of a spiritual 
 heaven, while the description they give of it is only a refined 
 edition of the things and goings-on of this world. What else 
 ca7i it be.^ All conjecturers may not talk of " wax-candles in 
 heaven," but the spirit which dictated the thought is in every 
 one of them. 
 
 I think I shall never read another sermon on the Intermedi- 
 ate State. Newman has no Catholic consent to show for his 
 views on that subject, though doubtless they come in great 
 measure from the Fathers. The supposition that blessedness 
 and misery hereafter may both arise from increased powers, re- 
 minds me of an oft-quoted passage in a work of S. T. C, in 
 which he conjectures that an infinite memory may be the Book 
 of Judgment in which all our past life is written, and every idle 
 word recorded in characters from which our eyes can never be 
 averted. It was a fine thought in Swedenborg to represent the 
 unblest spirits in the other world as mad. His visions are 
 founded on many deep truths of religion. Had he given them 
 as an allegorical fiction like the " Pilgrim's Progress," it would 
 have been well. 
 
 I 
 
Love of Books. 175 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1840. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, HER ELDEST BROTHER, MRS. J. STAN- 
 GER, MRS. H. M. JONES. 
 
 Love of Books a Source of Happiness, and likely to be Increased by Clas- 
 sical Studies. 
 To her Eldest Brother : 
 
 jfanuary, 1840. — I have a stror^g opinion that a genuine love 
 of books is one of the greatest blessings of life for man or wom- 
 anTancT I can not help thinking that by persons in our middle 
 Station it may be enjoyed (more at one time, less at another, 
 but certainly during the course of life to a great extent enjoyed) 
 without neglect of any duty. A woman ?nay house-keep, if she 
 chooses, from morning to night, or she may be constantly at 
 her needle, or she may be always either receiving or preparing 
 for company, but whatever those who practice these things may 
 say, it is not necessary in most cases for a woman to spend her 
 whole time in this manner. Now I can not but think that the 
 knowledge of the ancient languages very greatly enhances the 
 pleasure taken in literature — that it gives depth and variety to 
 reading, and makes almost every book, in whatever language, 
 more thoroughly understood. I observe that music and draw- 
 ing are seldom pursued after marriage. In many cases of weak 
 health they can not be pursued, and they do not tell in the in- 
 tercourse of society and in conversation as this sort of informa- 
 tion does, even when not a word of Greek or Latin is either ut- 
 tered or alluded to. 
 
 11. 
 
 Lord Byron's "Mazeppa" and "Manfred." — His Success in Satire and in 
 Sensational Writing. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones : 
 
 January 14, 1840. — I have had great pleasure in refreshing 
 my girlish recollections of the " Lament of Tasso " and " Ma- 
 
1 76 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 zeppa." The latter is the only poem of Byron's which reminds 
 me of Scott. I think it most spirited and impressive in its line. 
 Byron is excellent in painting intense emotion and strong sen- 
 sation of body or mind ; he is also good in satire and sarcasm, 
 though not very amiable ; but I do not like him when he at- 
 tempts the philosophic, invading the province of Goethe and 
 Wordsworth, or when he tries his hand at the wild and super- 
 natural, in which line I think him a mere imitator, and far out- 
 done by Scott, Shelley, and many others. " Manfred," I think, 
 has been greatly overrated, as, indeed, the public seems now 
 beginning to see — the poetical public at least. Still there are 
 fine things in it; but the graphic descriptions in the journal are 
 better, I think, than the corresponding passages in verse. 
 
 III. 
 
 Practical View of the Duties of God-parents. — Sponsorship Nowadays 
 chiefly a Social Obligation. 
 To the Same : 
 
 1840. — Though writing even the shortest note exhausts and 
 pains me in my present very weak and irritable state, yet I can 
 not feel satisfied, dear friend, without expressing to you with 
 my own hand how much I am pleased by your kind acceptance 
 of the office which Henry and I both wish to put upon you, 
 and the very kind words which you made use of on the occa- 
 sion. In regard to responsibility, if I had thought that it in- 
 volved any, I should have scrupled to attempt imposing such a 
 burden on you, as, indeed, I should have scrupled, in regard to 
 myself, to take upon me the name of godmother to six different 
 children, as I unhesitatingly have done; for whatever the the- 
 ory of sponsorship may be (and I never yet met one who seemed 
 to me to have a very intelligible and satisfactory theory on the 
 subject, when one comes to examine the words which are usu- 
 ally uttered in this matter by rote), yet the fact is, and, as the 
 world is regulated at present, must be, that the religious educa- 
 tion of children rests almost wholly and solely with those who 
 have the bringing of them up in other respects, together with 
 the spiritual pastors and masters whom the Church appoints. 
 "The duties of a sponsor," says a correspondent of mine, "are 
 not very well defined;" but those which I look for from you 
 
On the Death of an Infant Daughter. 177 
 
 for my now expected little one, are clearly defined in my own 
 mind, and are such as I am bold enough to reckon upon fi-om 
 your kindness. The truth is, you have ever shown such a special 
 friendship toward me and mine, something so much more than 
 mere lip-civility, or even slight though genuine good-will, such 
 as the majority of our pleasant friends and acquaintances afford 
 us, that I flatter myself you will view a child of mine with a 
 certain degree of favor and partiality for my sake (indeed, I 
 perhaps may add for its father's and grandmother's sakes), and 
 the value of a real partiality from a person of worth, in this 
 world of professions, of much speaking and less feeling, I am 
 deeply sensible of. This kindness and interest of feeling is 
 what I would fain secure from you, not merely a little nominal 
 formal religious examination, which, as matters now stand in 
 the world, is all in that way that sponsors ever do or can per- 
 form for their font-children. This interest I really believe you 
 do feel for my H. and E. (it has ever been a pleasure to me to 
 think so), and for their future brother or sister, if the dear hope 
 is ever to be realized, I flatter myself you would feel, whether 
 you were called the little Coleridge's godmamma, or simply its 
 mother's friend. Only it is pleasant to link a name which im- 
 plies kindliness and interest with the thing itself, though per- 
 haps the latter would exist in almost equal degree independently 
 of the former. 
 
 IV. 
 
 On the Death of an Infant Daughter. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Wandsworth : 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regent's Park, August 10, 1840. — My dear 
 friend, your last kind note was written in a strain which har- 
 monized well with my feelings. Would that those feelings 
 which a trial such as we have lately sustained must needs bring 
 with it, to all who have learned, in any degree however insuffi- 
 cient, to trust in Heaven, whether for temporary consolation or 
 for eternal happiness — would that those feelings could be more 
 lasting than they are ; that they could leave strong and per- 
 manent traces ; that they could become " the very habit of our 
 souls," not a mere mood or passing state without any settled 
 foundation. My thoughts had turned the same way as yours, 
 where all mourners and friends of those that mourn will natu- 
 
 M 
 
1 78 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 rally go for sure and certain hope and ground of rejoicing, to 
 that most divine chapter of the raising of Lazarus. "Thy 
 brother shall rise again." This indeed is spoken plainly; this 
 is " no parable," no metaphor or figure of speech. But in the 
 next chapter we see the same blessed promise illustrated by a 
 very plain metaphor. " Except a corn of wheat fall into the 
 ground and die, it abideth alone ; but if it die, it beareth much 
 fruit." 
 
 Our loss, indeed, has been a great disappointment, and even 
 a sorrow; for, strange as it may seem, these little speechless 
 creatures, with their wandering, unspeaking eyes, do twine them- 
 selves around a parent's heart from the hour of their birth. 
 Henry suffered more than I could have imagined, and I was 
 sorry to see him watch the poor babe so closely, when it was 
 plain that the little darling was not for this world, and that all 
 our visions of a "dark-eyed Bertha," a third joy and comfort 
 of the remainder of our own pilgrimage, must be exchanged for 
 better hopes, and thoughts more entirely accordant with such 
 a religious frame of mind as it is our best interest to attain. I 
 had great pleasure in anticipating the added interest that you 
 would take in her as your godchild. But this is among the 
 dreams to be relinquished. Her remains rest at Hampstead, 
 beside those of my little frail and delicate twins. — God bless 
 you, my dear Mary, and your truly attached friend, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Note. — Bertha Fanny Coleridge was born on the 13th of Jul}', 1S40, and 
 died eleven days afterward. — E. C. 
 
 V. 
 
 " They sin who tell us Love can die." 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 The Green, Hampstead, September 13, 1840. — Will death at 
 one blow crush into endless ruin all our mental growths as an 
 autumnal tempest prostrates the frail summer-house, along with 
 its whole complexity of interwoven boughs and tendrils, which 
 had gradually grown up during a long season of quiet and seren- 
 ity ? Surely there will be a second spring when these firm and 
 profuse growths shall flourish again, but with Elysian verdure, 
 and all around them the celestial mead shall bloom with plants 
 
The True Art of Life. 179 
 
 of various sizes, down to the tenderest and smallest shrublet 
 that ever pushed up its infant leaves in this earthly soil. Sure- 
 ly every one who has a heart must feel how easily he could part 
 with earth, water, and skies, and all the outward glories of nat- 
 ure ; but how utterly impossible it is to reconcile the mind to 
 the prospect of the extinction of our earthly affections, that such 
 a heart-annihilation has all the gloom of an eternal ceasing 
 to be. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Sunset Landscape. 
 To the Same : 
 
 October 14, 1840. — I was thinking lately of my days spent in 
 the prime of childhood at Greta Hall. How differently all 
 things then looked from what they now do ! This world more 
 substantial, more bright, and clothed in seemingly ya^/ colors; 
 and yet, though these colors have waxed cold and watery, and 
 have a flitting, evanescent hue upon them, to change my pres- 
 ent mind-scene for that one, rich as it was, would be a sinking 
 into a lower stage of existence ; for now, while that which was 
 so bright is dimmer, wholly new features have come forth in 
 the landscape, features that connect this earth " with the quiet 
 of the sky," and are invested in a solid splendor which more 
 "evidently joins in with the glories of the heavens. The softened 
 and subdued appearance of earth, with its pensive evening sad- 
 ness, harmonizes well with the richer part of the prospect, and, 
 though in itself less joyous and radiant than it once was, now 
 forms a fitting and lovely portion of the whole view, and throws 
 the rest into relief as it steals more and more into shadow. 
 
 VH. 
 
 The True Art of Life, 
 To the Same : 
 
 10 Chester Place, October 20, 1840. — We ought, indeed, my be- 
 loved husband, to be conscious of our blessings, for we are bet- 
 ter off than all below us, perhaps than almost all above us. The 
 great art in life, especially for persons of our age, who are leav- 
 ing the vale of youth behind us, just lingering still perhaps in 
 
I So Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the latter stage of it, and seeing tlie bright golden fields at the 
 entrance of it more distinctly than those nearer to our present 
 station, is to cultivate the love of doing good and promoting 
 the interests of others, avoiding at the same time the error of 
 those who make a worldly business and a matter of pride of 
 pursuits which originated in pure intentions, and bustle away 
 ill this secular religious path, with as little real thought of the 
 high prize at which they should aim, and as little growth in 
 heavenliness and change from glory to glory, as if they served 
 mammon more directly. Any thing rather than undergo the 
 mental labor of real self-examination, of the study, not of indi- 
 vidual self, but of the characters of our higher being which we 
 share with all men. For one m.an that thinks, with a view to 
 practical excellence, we may find fifty who are ready to act on 
 what they call their own thoughts, but which they have uncon- 
 sciously received from others. 
 
Patience and Hope. 1 8 1 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1841, 1842. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER HUSBAND, MRS. PLUMMER, MRS. THOMAS FARRER, 
 
 MISS TREVENEN, MRS. H. M. JONES, THE REV. HENRY 
 
 MOORE, THE HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Necessity of Patience and Hope in Education. 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 April, 1841. — Patience is the most important of all qualifica- 
 tions for a teacher ; and the longer one has to do with man- 
 aging young persons, or, indeed, persons of any sort or kind, 
 the more one feels its value and indispensability. It is that 
 resource which we constantly have to fall back upon when 
 all else seems to fail, and our various devices and ways and 
 means and ingenuities give way one after another, and seem 
 almost good for nothing but to preach about. By patience I 
 do not mean that worthless substitute for it which hirelings (in 
 temper, for a paid governess is often a much better instructor 
 than a mamma) sometimes make use of, a compound of oil and 
 white-lead, as like putty as possible. With patience, hop^ too 
 must keep company, and the most effective of teachers are 
 those who possess most of the arts of encouraging and inspirit- 
 ing — spurring onward and sustaining at the same time — both 
 lightening the load as much as may be, and stimulating the 
 youngsters to trot on with it gallantly. 
 
 11. 
 
 The Lake Poets on Sport— The Life of Wesley a Wonderful Book. 
 
 To her Husband : 
 
 Chester Place, October 13, 1841. — Southey and Wordsworth 
 loved scenery, and took an interest in animals of all sorts ; but 
 
1 82 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 not one could they have borne to kill ; and S. T. C. was much 
 of the same mind, though he would have made more allowance 
 for the spirit of the chase than the other two. W 's " Hart- 
 leap Well" displays feelings of high refinement. Doubtless 
 there is a sort of barbarism in this love of massacre which still 
 keeps a corner even in cultivated minds, but which the progress 
 of cultivation must tend to dissipate, and perhaps with it some 
 habits that for some persons are more good than evil. Not- 
 withstanding " Hartleap Well," Wordsworth always defended 
 angling, and so did Dora ; but the Southeys, from the great- 
 est to the least, gave no quarter to any slaughterous amuse- 
 ment. ^ * * 
 
 What a biography the life of Wesley is ! What wonders of 
 the human mind does it reveal, more especially in the mental 
 histories of Wesley's friends and coadjutors ! 
 
 I 
 
 HI. 
 
 Coolness of Unimaginative People. — Imagination, like Religion, "requires 
 
 looking after." 
 To the Same : 
 
 October i8, 1841. — There is a great coolness about the rtiinds 
 
 of the C 's, though they have a quantum suff. of heart about 
 
 them. The reason of this calmness of theirs is, that, though 
 persons of good sense, they have no vividness or activity of 
 imagination j things are not multiplied, heightened, and deep- 
 ened* to them by this mirror in the back part of the mind. "A 
 great deal of religion," said old Fisher, of Borodale, " requires 
 a great deal of looking after." There is so much acuteness and 
 keen truth in this observation that I do not believe it original, 
 but a popular saying. So we may say of imagination — the more 
 a man has, the more sense and firmness he needs to keep it in 
 order. An excitable imagination, united with a weak intellect 
 and a want of force of character, is a plague both to the pos- 
 sessor and his friends. 
 
The French Language. 183 
 
 IV. 
 
 Inflexibility of the French Language. — The Second Part of " Faust :" its Beau- 
 ties and Defects. — Visionary Hopes. 
 To the Same : 
 
 Chester Place, October 19, 1841. — I feel more than ever the in- 
 flexibility and fixedness of the French language, which will not 
 give like English and German. It has few words for sounds — 
 such as clattering, clanking, hanging, etc. — whereas the Ger- 
 mans are still richer than we in such. Derwent wanted, when 
 here, to point out to me some of the beauties of the fifth act of 
 the second part of " Faust," which, in point of vocabulary, and 
 metrical variety and power, is, I do suppose, a most wonderful 
 phenomenon. Goethe, with the German language, is like a 
 first-rate musician with a musical instrument, which, under his 
 hand, reveals a treasure of sound such as an ordinary person 
 
 might play forever without discovering. D has a most 
 
 keen sense of this sort of power and merit in a poet, and his 
 remarks were interesting, and would have been more so if the 
 book had been at hand. He gives up the general mtentio?i of 
 the piece, which he considers a failure — the philosophy con- 
 fused, unsound, and not truly profound. The execution of parts 
 he thinks marvelous ; and as the pouring forth of an old man 
 of eighty-four, a psychological curiosity. * * * 
 
 Your delightful letter and the after-written note both arrived 
 at once. Your account of yourself is not worse, and that is the 
 best that can be said of it. The lane is long, indeed ; we could 
 little have thought of all its turnings and windings when we 
 first entered it ; but I still trust that it will issue out into Beau- 
 tiful Meadows at last. 
 
 V. 
 
 Reminiscences of a Tour in Belgium. — Hemling's " Marriage of St. Catha- 
 rine" at Bruges, and Van Eyck's "Adoration of the Lamb" at Ghent. 
 Devotional Gravity of the Early Flemish Painters, and Human Pa- 
 thos of Rubens. — Works of that Master at Antwerp and Mechlin. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone : 
 
 Chester Place, October 27, 1841.— Ostend is interesting merely 
 from old recollections, especially military ones, and because it 
 is foreign ; not so Bruges, which I think the most perfect jewel 
 
1 84 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 of a town I ever saw, and how completely is the spirit of the 
 place transfused into my Uncle Southey's interesting poem— 
 "The Pilgrimage to Waterloo." Here we visited the Hospital 
 of St. John, saw the sisters tending the sick, and studied the 
 beautiful and curious works of Hemling in the adjoining parlor. 
 Do you remember the " Marriage of St. Catharine," with its 
 beautiful background of vivid light green, and that exquisitely 
 delicate and youthful neck of the bride Saint, shaded with such 
 transparent gauze. Mr. Milnes (whom we met at Ghent on our 
 return) specially admired Herodias's Daughter in the shutter of 
 this picture. He said she looked at the bloody head in the 
 charger so expressively, just as if she could not turn her fasci- 
 nated eyes from it, and yet shuddered at it. The cathedral is 
 large and impressive, and contains a noble statue of Moses — 
 more like a Jupiter Tonans, however, than the Hebrew Legis- 
 lator. At Ghent I visited St. Bavon's : what a superb cathe- 
 dral it is, with its numerous chapels clustered round the nave ! 
 I do indeed remember that paradisiacal picture of the "Adora- 
 tion of the Lamb," with its velvety green lawn and hillocks, 
 and luxuriant rose-bushes. It is said that these old masters 
 first opened the way to the Italian school of landscape-paint- 
 ing by the backgrounds of their pictures. There is a very pe- 
 culiar air about them, an imaginativeness combined with life- 
 like every-day reality, and a minuteness of detail which inter- 
 feres with any thing like intense passion, but not with a sober, 
 musing sort of emotion. A deeply religious character is im- 
 pressed upon these pictures, and there is a mild and chastened 
 wildness about them (if the seeming contradiction may be vent- 
 ured on) which is very interesting, and specially suits some 
 moods of the devotional mind. I think it is well, however, that 
 the traveler for the most part sees these old paintings before he 
 is introduced to those of Rubens ; the fire, life, movement, and 
 abandon of his pictures quite unfit one, for a time, for the se- 
 dater excellences of Hemling and Van Eyck. The " Descent 
 from the Cross " is, perhaps, the finest and most leautiful of all 
 that great master's performances ; but no picture that I have 
 ever seen (except in another line, the Sebastiano in our Nation- 
 al Gallery) ever affected me so strongly as Rubens's " Chnst 
 Crucified betwixt the Thieves," in the Antwerp Museum. That 
 is really a tremendous picture ; in the expression of vehement 
 emotion, in passion, life, and movement, I think it exceeds any 
 
Prayer for the Dead. 185 
 
 other piece I ever beheld. How tame and over-fine Van Dyck 
 shows beside Rubens ! I can not greatly admire him as an 
 historical painter, especially on sacred subjects. He should al- 
 ways have been employed on delicate fine gentlemen and la- 
 dies, and folks about court. Some of his Marys and Magda- 
 lens are most graceful and elegant creatures ; but Rubens's 
 youthful Magdalen at the foot of the Cross, imploring the sol- 
 dier not to pierce the Saviour's side, moves one a thousand 
 times more than all his lady-like beauties. However, I do not 
 maintain, deep as is my admiration of Rubens, that his pictures 
 thoroughly satisfy a religious mood of mind. They are some- 
 what over-bold ; they almost unhallow the subject by bringing 
 it so home, and exciting such strong earthly passion in connec- 
 tion with it. No sacred picture ever thoroughly satisfied me ex- 
 cept the " Raising of Lazarus," by Sebastian del Piombo and 
 Michael Angelo. The pictures at the Antwerp Museum, I be- 
 lieve, you did not see ; but were you not charmed with those at 
 Mechlin ? What a delicately brilliant piece is the " Adoration 
 of the Magi," at St. John's Church, with its beautiful shutters 
 especially ! and " St. John at Patmos," with that noblest of eagles 
 over his head. Rubens ranked this among his finest produc- 
 tions. " The Miraculous Draught," too, in the Church of Notre 
 Dame, painted for the Fisherman's Company, how splendid it 
 is ! And that %wlet a droite, " Tobias and the Angel," is the 
 loveliest of all Rubens's shutter-pictures. What " colors of the 
 showery arch " are there ! What delicate aerial lilacs and yel- 
 lows, softening off the scarlet and crimson glow of the centre- 
 piece ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Prayer for the Dead. 
 To Mrs. J. Stanger : 
 
 Chester Place, January 12, 1842.— Some long to pray for their 
 departed friends. How far better is it to feel that they need 
 not our prayers ; that we had best pray for ourselves and our 
 survivino- dear ones, that we may be where we humbly trust they 
 are! 
 
1 86 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Visit to Oxford. 
 
 To Mrs. Thomas Farrer, 3 Gloucester Terrace, Regent's Park : 
 Chester Place, Easter, 1842. — Yesterday Mr. Coleridge and I 
 returned from a very interesting excursion to Oxford. When I 
 was in the midst of those venerable structures, I longed for 
 strength to enter every chapel and explore the whole assemblage 
 of antique buildings thoroughly. As it is, I have filled up the 
 indistinct outline of imagined but unseen Oxford most richly. 
 Magdalen Chapel, as a single object, is what pleased me the 
 most; but the merit of Oxford, and its power over the feelings, 
 lies in what it presents to the visitor collectively, the vast num- 
 ber of antique buildings which it presents to the eye, and of 
 interesting associations which it brings into the mind. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Illness of her Husband, and Death of his only Sister. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer : 
 
 10 Chester Place, December 7, 1842. — ]\Iy dearest Louisa, lit- 
 tle did I think when I received your last but one letter that 
 I should be thus long ere I communicated with the writer, and 
 little did I think (and this was in mercy) what trials were to 
 come upon me before I renewed my intercourse with you. I 
 well remember beginning a letter to you soon after I received 
 yours — explaining some of my theological views about Romish 
 saints, or something of the sort — (you may remember our old 
 theological discussions). Something prevented me from finish- 
 ing it and sending it off; week after week went on, and the be- 
 gun letter remained a beginning. Then commenced a new era 
 with me of sorrow, and I humbly trust of purification. When 
 these troubles began, I became reserved in writing to my friends, 
 not from closeness of heart, but because I could not afford to 
 expend my mental strength and spirits in giving accounts to 
 them of my anxieties and troubles ; it was a prime necessity to 
 keep all my stock within me. It is a bad plan, however, to put 
 off writing to a friend from month to month, till we feel that only 
 a very long and excellent letter can be fit to make up for such 
 
Her Husband 's Ilhiess. 187 
 
 a silence. You must excuse a very poor one from me now, dear 
 friend, not proportioned, I assure you, to my interest in you, 
 and wish that you should continue to feel an interest in me and 
 mine. But to my present epistolary powers. I heard with great 
 
 pleasure from dear E that you had been thinking much of 
 
 my husband's prostration, and with friendly sympathy ; on the 
 whole, he has throughout this trying dispensation been wonder- 
 fully supported in mind. He has ever been as hopeful as any 
 one under the circumstances could be, and he is quiet and re- 
 signed, and derives great comfort from devotional reading, from 
 prayer, and religious ministrations. Our eldest brother has been 
 a great soother and supporter to him during the most alarming 
 and suffering part of his illness. J.'s company and conversation 
 have been a constant blessing, and, indeed, all his family have 
 shown him the tenderest affection during his illness. The bonds 
 that unite us have been drawn closer by this trial of ours than 
 ever before. Alas ! one of our circle, who has for years been 
 the centre of it, to which all our hearts were most strongly drawn, 
 
 is removed. Oh, L ! hers was the death-bed of a Christian 
 
 indeed. No one could die as she did who had not made long 
 and ample preparation beforehand. She foresaw the present 
 termination of her illness, when the rest of us were flattering 
 ourselves with vain hopes that she would live down her wasting 
 malady and see a green old age. Keenly sensible as she was 
 of the blessing of her lot in this world, and no one could enjoy 
 more than she did those temporal blessings — a good husband, 
 honored among men, very promising, affectionate children, easy 
 circumstances, and, if least, yet to her not little, a charming 
 country residence in her beloved native county — she yet cast 
 not one longing, lingering look behind when called to quit all 
 and go to the Saviour. So strong was her wish to depart and 
 be with Christ, that she even was not diverted from it by her 
 tender love for her husband and children — which to me, who 
 know her heart toward them, is really marvelous. Great must 
 have been her faith to realize, as she did, the unseen world.* 
 Her death-bed reminds me of the last days of one — a very dif- 
 
 * This lamented relative, both cousin and sister-in-law, between whom 
 and my mother there always existed a most tender affection, was the daugh- 
 ter of James Coleridge, Esq., of Heath's Court, Ottery St. Mary, and wife 
 of the Hon. Mr. Justice Patteson. She died in November, 1842, at Feniton 
 Court, near Honiton.— E. C. 
 
1 88 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ferent person from her in many respects — my dear father. He 
 had just the same strong, steadfast faith — the same longing to 
 leave this world for a better, the same collectedness of mind dur- 
 ing his last illness. He retained his intellectual powers to the last 
 moment of his waking existence, but was in a coma for some hours 
 before life was extinct. She was unconscious during the last two 
 hours, and for some time previously it was only conjectured 
 that she heard and joined in the prayers offered at her bedside. 
 
 IX. 
 
 On the same Topics. — Religious Bigotry. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore,* Eccleshall Vicarage, Staffordshire: 
 ID Chester Place, December, 1842. — My dear Mr. Moore, I in- 
 close to you my brother James's account of the last days and 
 hours of our most beloved sister Fanny. Her call hence to 
 what we can not doubt will be to her an unspeakably better 
 world has left a blank in our circle which I can not describe. 
 The event has long been anticipated. She herself has looked 
 forward to it for some time; but there is a gulf between the real, 
 actual things and these kinds of conjectural anticipations, the 
 depth of which we find when all is over. She was a most im- 
 pressive, influencive person. There was a strength of mind 
 (not intellect, though she was clever) in her which would have 
 approached to sternness but for her loving, tender disposition. 
 She was the deepest-hearted cr&'aXm-& ! Henry has not been wors- 
 ened in body by this affliction. Invalids often bear these shocks 
 better than persons in health. * * * 
 
 We were amused by your account of the Puritanical Arch- 
 deacon. Religious bigotry is a dull fire — hot enough to roast 
 an ox, but with no lambent, luminous flame shooting up from 
 it. The bigots of one school condemn and, what is far worse, 
 mutilate Shakespeare; those of another would, if they could, ex- 
 tinguish Milton. Thus the twin tops of our Parnassus \vould be 
 hidden in clouds forever had these men their way. — Believe 
 me, ever faithfully yours, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Henry desires his kindest regards to you, and wished this 
 letter to be written. 
 
 * At present Archdeacon of Stafford.— E. C. 
 
''Hope Deferred^ 189 
 
 X. 
 
 " Hope Deferred." — Her Son at Eton. 
 
 To Mrs. Henry M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 December, 1842. — I try to think of that better abode, in which 
 we may meet each other free from those ills which flesh is heir to. 
 We have a special need to look and long for the time when we 
 may be clothed upon " with our house which is from heaven ;" 
 for in this tabernacle we do indeed groan, "being burdened." 
 Bodily weakness and disorder have been the great (and only) 
 drawbacks, ever since we met twenty years ago, to our happi- 
 ness in each other. It will seem chimerical to you that I have 
 not yet abandoned all hope. But this faint hope, which per- 
 haps, however, is stronger than I imagine, does not render me 
 unprepared for what all around me expect. The Lord has 
 given; and when He takes away, I can resign him to his Father 
 in heaven ; and looking in that direction in which he will have 
 gone, I shall be able to have that peace and comfort which in 
 no shape then will the world be able to give me. 
 
 To-day I attended the Holy Communion. To be away so 
 long from my beloved husband was a great trial to me (of course 
 I did not attend the morning service) ; but I knew he greatly 
 wished it, and I made an effort to satisfy him. It requires no 
 great preparation for one who leaves the room of severe sick- 
 ness, where all things point to a spiritual world — partly here 
 around us, partly to come. 
 
 *.U. .U. .At. ,U, ^ jr. jf, 
 
 ■^ -TT TV- -A~ -vr -TT rf" 
 
 You will be pleased, dear friend, to learn that Herbert has 
 taken a good place in "trials " at Eton. Out of seventy boys, 
 he had a 12th place assigned him in the 5th form — the highest 
 but one, boys much older being down at 32, 39, and so forth. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Resignation. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge,* 4 Montague Place, London : 
 
 jFanuary, 1843. — I now feel quite happy, or, at least, satisfied. 
 
 Could I arrest his progress to a better sphere of existence by a 
 
 * My father's elder brother, now Right Honorable Sir John T. Coleridge, 
 Member of the Privy Council. — E. C. 
 
1 90 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 prayer, I would not utter it. When I once know that it is God's 
 will, I- can feel that it is right, even if there were no such defi- 
 nite assurances of rest and felicity beyond this world. I can 
 not be too thankful to God, so far as my own best interests are 
 concerned, that He is thus removing from earth to heaven my 
 greatest treasure, while I have strength and probably time to 
 benefit by the measure, and learn to look habitually above; 
 which now will not be the spirit against the flesh, but both pull- 
 ing one way, for the heart will follow the treasure. Thus gra- 
 ciously does the blessed Jesus condescend to our infirmities, by 
 earthly things leading us to heavenly ones. 
 
Her Husbarid 's Death, 191 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 1843. 
 
 LETTERS TO HER SON, HER ELDEST BROTHER, MRS. GILLMAN, 
 
 MRS. J. STANGER, HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE, REV. HENRY 
 
 MOORE, EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ., MRS. THOMAS 
 
 FARRER, MISS MORRIS, MRS. H. M. JONES. 
 
 I. 
 
 To her Son :* 
 
 yanuary 26, 1843. — ^Y ^^'^'^ boy, my most beloved and 
 honored husband, your excellent father, is no more in this 
 world, but I humbly trust in a far better. May we all go where 
 he is, prepared to meet him as he would have us ! God bless 
 you ! Live as your beloved father would have you live ! Put 
 your trust in God, and think of heaven, as he would wish you. 
 
 May we all meet above ! May we all join with him the 
 Communion of Saints, and be forever with the blessed Jesus ! 
 Your good Uncle James was with me at the last. 
 
 I make an effort to write to you, my dear boy, from beside 
 the remains of the dear, blessed, departed one. For you alone 
 could I do this ; but it is due to his son, our child. — Your lov- 
 ing mother, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 II. 
 
 Her Husband's Death. — First Meeting with him at Highgate. 
 
 To Mrs, GiLLMAN : 
 
 February, 1843. — My dearest Mrs. Gillman, you have ere 
 now, I trust, received an announcement of my loss, of which I 
 can not now speak. My sorrow is not greater than I can bear, 
 for God has mercifully fitted it to my strength. While I was 
 
 * Written by my mother to my brother at Eton, on the day of my father's 
 death.— E. C. 
 
192 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 losing my great earthly happiness, I was gradually enabled to 
 see heaven more and more clearly, to be content to part with 
 earthly happiness, and to receive, as a more than substitute, a 
 stronger sense of that which is permanent. I should have de- 
 ferred writing thus to you, dear friend, till I was stronger ; but 
 I think it right to tell you that, at my strong desire, the remains 
 of my beloved husband are to be deposited in Highgate 
 church-yard, in the same precinct with those of my revered 
 father. 
 
 It was at Highgate, at your house, that I first saw my beloved 
 Henry. Since then, now twenty years ago, no two beings could 
 be more intimately united in heart and thoughts than we have 
 been, or could have been more intermingled with each other in 
 daily and hourly life. He concerned himself in all my feminine 
 domestic occupations, and admitted me into close intercourse 
 with him in all his higher spiritual and intellectual life. It has 
 pleased God to dissolve this close tie, to cut it gradually and 
 painfully asunder, and yet, till the last fatal stroke, to draw it 
 even closer in some respects than before. — God bless you, my 
 dear friend. I am ever your truly affectionate and respectful 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 III. 
 
 On the same Subject. — Trial of a Mourner's Faith, and How it was Met. 
 
 To the Rev. H. Moore : 
 
 Chester Flace, February 13, 1843. — ^^7 dear friend, letter- 
 writing is improper for me now, but I must pen two or three 
 lines to thank you for your last letter, and to tell you that I ac- 
 cept, from my heart, all your offers of friendship to me and 
 mine. When I call your letter "most brotherly," with such 
 brothers as I have, it is the strongest epithet I can use. You 
 loved, you still love and understand and value my departed 
 Henry ; this would forever make me a friend to you, even if 
 you had not expressed yourself so kindly, as you have ever 
 done, to me, and if we had not another thought or interest or 
 sympathy in common. 
 
 I must add but a line or two more, for I am suffering very 
 sadly from a nervous cough, which scarce leaves me a minute's 
 peace night or day, except for a few hours in the middle of the 
 
Trial of a Mourners Faith. 193 
 
 twenty-four, when I am least weak. I caught a violent cold in 
 attending on my husband on the Sunday and Wednesday nights 
 of his final trial ; but the weak and relaxed state into which I 
 immediately sank as soon as the last call for exertion was over 
 has more to do with my present suffering (the medical man 
 thinks) than this exposure. Had I strength, I could tell you 
 much that would interest you deeply of Henry's last days and 
 months. His energy, while his poor, dear, outward man was 
 half dead, was one of the most striking instances of the mind's 
 independence of the body that can well be imagined. But oh ! 
 dear Mr. Moore, when I backward cast my eye, or rather when 
 it reverts of itself, to the various scenes of his last illness, I feel 
 that I have an ocean of natural tears yet to shed. At the time 
 (except during the last fortnight) I but half felt the deep sad- 
 ness, because I looked upon all his bitter sufferings as painful 
 steps in the way to comparatively easy health, and felt as if 
 every one of them was so much misery out of the way. Now 
 that delirium, stupor, death are at the end of them, they have a 
 different aspect. There is a comfort (I am speaking now of 
 mere human feelings) in thinking that the anguish I have gone 
 through, which will be merged, I humbly trust, before I go hence, 
 in that peace which the world can not give, is probably the 
 heaviest part of my earthly portion, or that it must have sea- 
 soned me to bear well what remains behind. 
 
 But in this mingled cup there are other sorrows of a still 
 deeper kind ; for physical evil is not evil in the most real sense. 
 The separation is a fearful wrench from one for whom, and in 
 expectation of whose smile, I might almost say, I have done all 
 things, even to the choice of the least articles of my outward 
 apparel, for twenty years. But even that is not the heaviest 
 side of the dispensation. It is to feel, not merely that he is 
 taken away from me, but that, as appears, though it is but ap- 
 pearance, he is not — that the sun rises in the morning, and he 
 does not see it. The higher and better and enduring mind 
 within us has no concern with these sensations, but they will 
 arise, and have a certain force. While we remain in the taber- 
 nacle of the flesh, they are the miserable, cloggy vapors that 
 from time to time keep steaming up from the floor and the walls, 
 and obscure the prospect of the clear empyrean which may be 
 seen from the windows. The most effective relief from them 
 which I have found is the reminding myself that he who is passed 
 
 N 
 
1 94 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 from my sight is gone whither I myself look to go in a few years 
 (not to mention all those of whom the world was not worthy, 
 before the publication of the Gospel and since), and that if I 
 can contemplate my own removal, not with mere calmness, but 
 with a cheerfulness which no other thought bestows, why should 
 I feel sad that he is there before me ? But these of which I 
 have spoken are only the sensations of the natural man and 
 woman. I well know in my heart of hearts and better mind 
 that if he is not now in the bosom of God, who is not the God 
 of the dead, but of the living, or if all these hopes are but 
 dreams, I can have but little wish to bring him back to earth 
 again, or to care about any thing either in earth or heaven. In 
 my weakest moments, indeed, I have never wished that it were 
 possible to recall him, or to prevent his departure hence. I 
 thank God and the power of His grace, there has been no agony 
 in my grief, there has been no struggle of my soul with Him. I 
 have always had such a strong sense and conviction that if this 
 sorrow was to he, and was appointed by God, it was entirely 
 right, and that it was mere senselessness to wish any thing 
 otherwise than as Infinite Goodness and Infinite Wisdom had or- 
 dained it. Forgive so much about my own feelings. Give my 
 very kind regards to Mrs. M., and respects to Miss H., and be- 
 lieve me ever your affectionate friend, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Affectionate Kindness of Relatives and Friends. — Special Gifts of a Chris- 
 tian Minister in his Attendance upon the Sick and Dying. 
 
 To Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Grasmere : 
 
 ID Chester Place, March 9, 1843. — My dear brother, I have 
 long been wishing to renew my suspended intercourse with you. 
 To do this requires some resolution, after all that has passed 
 since I last wrote to you. When I have thought of taking up 
 my pen to address you, a crowd of strong emotions and deeply 
 concerning thoughts and remembrances have rushed upon me, 
 pressing for utterance, and my spirits have sunk under the ea- 
 gerness and intenseness of their requisitions. It is not because 
 I anticipated an inadequate sympathy from j'ou that I have 
 felt thus, but from the very contrary. I have been answering 
 kind and tender letters from persons less near and dear to me, 
 
Her Bereavement. 195 
 
 who could not and ought not to feel for me as I am sure you 
 have done, with comparative — I will not say calmness (for 
 since all uncertainty was removed, and my loss presented itself 
 to me as fixed and inevitable, I have been more deeply calm 
 in spirit than ever I was before in my life) — but with compara- 
 tive lightness of feeling. Now, however, I take the first step 
 of renewing a correspondence with you, which I hope will be 
 cheerfully continued with pleasure and benefit to us both (if I 
 may so far assume and presume) to the end of our lives. It 
 is better to write little and often than much at a time, and in 
 this way, without formally asking your advice, which in a wom- 
 an of my years is for the most part a mere form, I shall learn 
 your views and feelings on many interesting subjects, and be, I 
 humbly trust, improved and strengthened thereby. The great 
 moulder of my mind, who was, perhaps, more especially fitted 
 to strengthen my weak points and supply my deficiencies, and 
 altogether to keep my mind straight and even, than any other 
 man or woman living, is gone where I can not come — rremoved 
 out of the sphere of my human understanding — though not, I 
 trust, out of spiritual communion both with me and all who 
 are, or seek to be, in any vital sense Christians. On this ac- 
 count I have the more need to make much of the friendship of 
 my brothers ; and no widow, I think, when withdrawn from the 
 arms of a husband, can ever have been more affectionately sus- 
 tained by those of brothers than I have been. The sadder my 
 prospect grew, the more closely they circled round me ; but a 
 thousand times dearer to my heart than their kindness to me 
 were the proofs they gave of affection, respect, and admiration 
 for him who was soon to be taken away from our mortal sight. 
 The expressions of dear John and of Frank were especially af- 
 fecting. Of James* you have doubtless heard what he was to 
 me through all the last scenes of my trial. Upon this so im- 
 portant occasion, I found a brother — I may say an individual 
 man — in him whom before I knew not. I now saw for the 
 first time what was the secret of his influence and popularity 
 in his own pastoral sphere. He appears by the bed of sickness 
 and coming death (and he could not so appear unless his heart 
 were interested) entirely forgetful of self, absorbed in what is 
 before him. His own opinions, habits of mind, private inter- 
 * Dr. Coleridge, Vicar of Thorverton, near Exeter, was my father's eldest 
 brother. — E. C. 
 
1 96 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ests, seem gone, to a degree which strikes a by-stander like my- 
 self as unusual. Then, in performing his professional part, he 
 is the more effective from the absence of the intellectual in his 
 mode of thought. There is nothing theological about James. 
 From him you have the pure spirit of Gospel consolation and 
 assurance — conditionally expressed — as it is in the Bible itself, 
 with as little mixture of foreign matter as possible. This is not 
 art in him, or knowledge. It is the result of the simple though 
 not weak character of his intellect. He does not reason on 
 one side or the other, but lets the moral and spiritual content 
 of the inspired Book produce its own effect upon his mind, and 
 find its own suitable utterance. His countenance and tone of 
 voice are highly affecting and impressive, when he is thus seen 
 in his best attitude of mind. Frank seemed gratified by my 
 evident appreciation of his brother. But I can not thus speak 
 of them without mentioning dear Edward* and Derwent too. 
 Both in their several ways have been most soothing and help- 
 ful to me. * * * My children are both going on well. Her- 
 bert is very well reported of from school, where his character 
 for general cleverness continues ; though he fails in verse com- 
 position, and in other more essential points, I feel hopeful and 
 happy about him. His letters to his sister are an amusing mixt- 
 ure of pure childishness, childish pedantry, and affectionate 
 ruffianism. * * * — Believe me, my dear Hartley, your much at- 
 tached sister, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 V. 
 
 Memoir of Nicholas Ferrer. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 March II, 1843. — I am reading a very interesting Memoir 
 of Nicholas Ferrer,! who lived in the times of James I. and 
 Charles I. Were it not for certain expressions on the subject 
 of grace, which clearly show that the writer is no disciple of 
 
 * The Rev. Edward Coleridge, Rector of Mapledurham, my father's young- 
 er brother. — E. C. 
 
 t The friend of George Herbert, and editor of his Poems. Izaak Walton, 
 in his Life of Herbert, gives a striking account of this remarkable man, who 
 founded a Christian Society at Giddon Hall, Huntingdon, for purposes of de- 
 votion and charity, in accordance with the principles of the Church. E. C. 
 
A Quiet Heart. 197 
 
 Pusey, one might suppose it a publication of the Oxford School 
 — the sentiments, and some of the principles which it illustrates, 
 being just such as Paget seeks to recommend by his amusing 
 Tales. Without intended disparagement to Paget, how great 
 is the superiority of the narrative to the fiction as a vehicle of 
 truth ! — the one bears something the same relation to the other, 
 when carefully criticised, as the piece of linen or lace, viewed 
 through a microscope, to the natural leaf or slip of wood exam- 
 ined in the same way. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Quiet Heart. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 March 22, 1843. — * * * I chat away thus to you, my dear 
 brother, as if I had a light, gay heart, but I have only a quiet 
 one. When I go out of doors from the incessant occupation 
 of mind and hands, the full sense of my widowhood comes 
 upon me, and the sunshine only seems to draw it out into vivid- 
 ness. Hampstead is a sadder place to me than Highgate. 
 Yet sadness is not quite the word for my feelings — that seems 
 too near to unhappiness. When I hear of happy marriages 
 now, I do not feel that wretched sense of contrast with my own 
 solitary state which I should once have felt. I rather feel a 
 sort of compassionate tenderness for those who are entering on 
 a career of earthly enjoyment, the transitoriness of which they 
 must sooner or later be brought to a sense of But for them, 
 as for myself, there is a better communion beyond this present 
 world, which, if begun here, will in the end supersede all other 
 blessedness arising from union with objects of love. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Monument of Robert Southey. — Recumbent Statues. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 March 28, 1843. — I scarce know what is finally settled about 
 my uncle's monument. A modification of Lough's design seems 
 most approved. The recumbent figure is all right in theoiy, 
 but awkward in practice. Do what you will, it looks deathy, 
 
1 98 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 with too real and actual a deathiness. This is one of the in- 
 stances, I think, of the difficulty of reviving old fashions; if 
 you alter them at all, or even take them from amid the circum- 
 stances and states of feeling among which they were originated, 
 you have a spectre of the past rather than the living past itself 
 — a kind of resurrection. The recumbent figures on the old 
 tombs are rather death idealized than death itself The armor 
 veiled from view the lifelessness of the limbs, and brought the 
 body, as by a medium, into harmony with the sepulchral stone. 
 The full robe of the dame by the warrior's side did the same 
 thing in another way, and contrasted well with the male attire; 
 and that one attitude of the hands crossed upon the breast, or 
 pressed together in prayer, alone perfectly agrees with the whole 
 design. The brasses are not open to these remarks, because 
 they are much farther removed from life, and therefore can not 
 offend by the semblance of death. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 On her Loss. — Injury Done to the Mind by Brooding over Grief. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer, Gateshead : 
 
 10 Chester Place, April 27, 1843. — Your letter was very wel- 
 come to me, and I will thank you for it at once, though I can not 
 now write at all as I wish, either as to matter or manner, so much 
 am I occupied, and so unequal am I to getting much done in a 
 short time, from bodily weakness and sensitiveness of nerves. 
 
 What you say, dearest, of your own particular grief in the loss 
 that bears so heavily upon me, that but for very special mercy 
 it must have crushed me to the earth, is extremely gratifying to 
 me. Nothing soothes me so much as to hear his deserved 
 praises, and to have assurances from his friends of the esteem 
 and affection he excited. Few men have been ever more gen- 
 erally liked, or more dearly loved in a narrower sphere. Never 
 before his illness did I fully know what a holy, what a blessed 
 thing is the love of brothers and sisters to each other. By my 
 bereavement all my relations seem to be brought closer to me 
 than before, for pity excites affection, and gratitude for kindness 
 and sympathy has the same effect. But my beloved Henry's 
 brothers are twice as much to me as in his precious lifetime. 
 John is such a friend and supporter as few widows I think are 
 
An Active Mind. 199 
 
 blessed with. You will not, I am sure, dear friend, think me 
 boastful, but grateful for saying all this, I feel it now such a 
 duty, such a necessity, to cling fast to every source of comfort — to 
 be for my children's sake as happy, as willing to live on in this 
 heart-breaking world as possible — that I dwell on all the bless- 
 ings which God continues to me, and has raised up to me out 
 of the depths of affliction, with an earnestness of endeavor which 
 is its own reward ; for so long as the heart and mind are full 
 of movement, employed continually on not unworthy objects, 
 there may be sorrow, but there can not be despair. The stag- 
 nation of the spirit, the dull, motionless brooding on one mis- 
 erable set of thoughts, is that against which in such cases as 
 mine we must both strive and pray. After all, it would be im- 
 possible for one bereaved like me to care for the goings-on of 
 this world but for the blessed prospect of another; and it is 
 a most thankworthy circumstance that the more agitating our 
 trials become, the brighter that prospect, after a little while, 
 beams forth, through the reaction of the mind when strongly 
 excited. The heaviest hours come on after the subsidence of 
 that excitement, when we come out again from the chamber of 
 death and mourning into all the common ways of life. All the 
 social intellectual enjoyments — new books, the sight of sculp- 
 ture, painting, the conversation of pleasant friends— are full of 
 trial to me. I turn away from what excites any lively emotion 
 of admiration or pleasure, now that I can no longer share it with 
 him who for twenty years shared all my happiest thoughts. 
 
 IX. 
 
 God's Will the Best Consolation. 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer : 
 
 May 8, 1843. — My dear Mrs. Farrer, this morning I re- 
 ceived your letter, of the kindness of which I have not time to 
 speak adequately. I feel very glad to be able to avail myself 
 of your offer. Broadstairs I have often wished to visit. I was 
 to have visited it with my beloved invalid, but God ordered 
 thino-s otherwise, doubtless better for us* both. As my friend, 
 Mr. Frederick Maurice, truly says, in answer to some remarks 
 of mine, there is more calmness in the thought, " It is God's 
 will," than in all other consolations. I had been saying to him 
 
200 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 how impossible it is for any religious, reflective person to look 
 back upon the bitterest dispensations of the Almighty Hand 
 with a serious wish that they had never been awarded, that the 
 web which Providence has woven could be unraveled, and all 
 the good though trying gifts which our Father in heaven has 
 bestowed taken back again. Sorrow makes us very egotistic, 
 and, to those that understand not the house of mourning, very 
 tedious and commonplace. But to those who are feeling deep- 
 ly, or sympathizing with those who feel, the sense of reality in 
 the oft-expressed sentiment lends it freshness and force. 
 
 X. 
 
 New Friends. — A Happy Pair. 
 
 To her Eldest Brother : 
 
 Broadstairs, May 30, 1843. — My dear brother, this is my last 
 day at Broadstairs. To-morrow I depart for Chester Place, 
 after a fortnight spent here with my little Edith and our maid 
 Elizabeth, at the temporary abode of Mrs. Thomas Farrer, a 
 lady whom I must rank among my friends, though not among 
 my old acquaintances. My first introduction to her, not two 
 years ago, was through her sons, favorite pupils of Edward 
 
 C , whom I met at Eton, and who thereupon felt desirous 
 
 that their family and mine should be on visiting terms, as we 
 were already neighbors in Regent's Park. To this wish I ac- 
 ceded, though a little dismayed at that time at the way in which 
 the circle of our acquaintances was beginning to widen. I have 
 since, however, rejoiced that I did not withstand the proposal, 
 
 having been greatly pleased with the clan of the F s, a large 
 
 and very united one, so far as I have seen and come to know 
 
 them. Mrs. F 's eldest daughter, a very sweet and pretty 
 
 girl of nineteen, is to be married next August to the heir of the 
 
 N 's, a most amiable and promising young man ; and I have 
 
 taken pleasure in resting my eyes on the smooth true-love 
 course of this young couple, which appears to my fancy at pres- 
 ent like the quietest of rivulets gliding along in the sun, with 
 pretty wild flowers upon its banks. How will it run in that 
 part of the region which is not yet in sight ? May it not break 
 over rough stones, or become suddenly lost under-ground, as 
 mine has been ? These are questions which the sight naturally 
 
Dryness of Controversial Sermojis. 201 
 
 suggests, and which cast an air of melancholy over it, in spite 
 of all its sunshiny brightness, to the mind of the widow in her 
 weeds. But the young pair, and even their friends at large, ap- 
 pear to see only the present sunshine. C 's lids are un- 
 sullied by a tear; and long may the brown orbs under them (I 
 have seen few so beautiful) beam darkly forth as now, full of 
 calm happiness undimmed and unclouded. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Dryness of Controversial Sermons. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Heath's Court, Ottery St. 
 Mary : 
 yune 27, 1843. — Dr. Arnold's sermon is all you described it. 
 Would that of this sort, so practical, and appealing to the heart 
 and religious mind, were at least the majority oi preached ser- 
 mons ! Some doctrinizing from the pulpit may be necessary. 
 But surely it ought to be subservient and subordinate to the 
 practical ; whereas, nine times out of ten, the practical point 
 merely serves as an introduction or a pretext for a setting up 
 the opinions of one school of thinkers, and a pulling down the 
 opinions of another, with charges against the latter almost al- 
 ways one-sided and unfair. This sermon of Dr. A 's, and 
 
 one which I heard from Dr. Hodgson at Broadstairs on Death 
 and Judgment, are quite oases in the hot, sandy wilderness of 
 sermons which my mind's reverted eye beholds. I do not mean 
 that many of them were not good; but, when they are viewed 
 altogether, a character of heat and barrenness seems to per- 
 vade them. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Preliminary Essay to the "Aids to Reflection," by the Rev. James Marsh. 
 — Her "Essay on Rationalism."* — Consolation and Instruction derived 
 from Theological Studies. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, July, 1843 — I am glad that you think Marsh's 
 essay very good. My dear husband read it during his illness, 
 
 * Appendix C to the Second Volume of the " Aids to Reflection," Sixth 
 Edition.— E. C. 
 
202 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and was confirmed in his high opinion of it. As to my own 
 production {much as I admire it myself! ), I do not expect that 
 it will be admired by any one else. It makes larger demands 
 on the attention of readers than I, with my powers, have per- 
 haps any right to make or can repay. Even if the thinking 
 were sound or important, the arrangement is bad. If bad ar- 
 rangement in S. T. C. is injurious to readability, in S. C. it will 
 be destructive. Moreover, I have made to myself no friends. 
 A follower out of the principles of S. T. C. myself, whitherso- 
 ever they lead me, because they seem to me the very truth, I 
 can not join hands with any of his half or quarter disciples. I 
 praise and admire and applaud all the combatants on the the- 
 ological arena, even the hearty opponents of my father, but I 
 can not entirely agree with any one of them ; and some of his 
 friends have done him more harm, if such ephemeral harm 
 were worth talking of, than his foes. Yet I should never re- 
 gret the time spent on this little composition, though I should 
 be rather out of pocket and not into reputation by it, as will 
 certainly be the case ; for it has sometimes brought one part 
 of my mind into activity, when the other part, if active, could 
 only have been alive to anguish ; and it has given me a more 
 animated intercourse with some great minds now passed from our 
 nether sphere than I could have had from merely reading their 
 thoughts, without thinking them over again myself. 
 
 I 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A Visit to Margate. — Domestic Economy in its Right Place. — An Eton 
 School-boy. — Reading under Difficulties. — High Moral Aim of Carlyle's 
 " Hero-worship." — Joy of a True Christian. — The Logic of the Heart 
 and the Logic of the Head. 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer : 
 
 12 Cliff Terrace, Margate, September 5, 1S43. — My dear friend, 
 here we are — my children and nurse and self — on the East 
 Cliff at Margate, a few miles from the spot where I sojourn- 
 ed with you in June. That fortnight is marked among the 
 fortnights of this my first year of widowhood with a compar- 
 ative whiteness, in the midst of such deep (though never, I must 
 thankfully acknowledge — never, even at the earliest period 
 of my loss — quite unrelieved) blackness. I fixed upon this 
 
Sea-side Housekeeping. 203 
 
 place, instead of Broadstairs or Ramsgate, on account of its 
 greater cheapness, and because it could be reached with rather 
 less exertion. Lodgings certainly are cheaper than I could 
 have got them in an equally good situation at more genteel 
 sea-bathing places ; but provisions are dear enough — lamb 
 Z\d., and beef 9^. / I am so often twitted with my devotion to 
 intellectual things, that I am always glad of an opportunity of 
 sporting a little beef and mutton erudition, though I can not 
 help thinking that, as society is now constituted in the profes- 
 sional middle rank of life — still more in a higher one — women 
 may get on and make their families comfortable, and manage 
 with tolerable economy — by which I mean economy that does 
 not cost more than it is worth of time and devotion of spirit — 
 with less knowledge of details respecting what we are to eat, 
 and what to put on, than used to be thought essential to the 
 wise and worthy matron. I dare say your dear C. will make 
 her loved and honored S. as comfortable as if she had been 
 studying butchers' and bakers' bills, and mantua-making, and 
 upholstery in a little way, for the last seven years, instead of 
 reading Dante and Goethe and Richter and Wordsworth and 
 Tennyson. But to return to this place : it is a contrast to 
 Broadstairs as looked out upon from the White Hart, where we 
 took up our abode the first night ; but the East Cliff, where, by 
 medical recommendation, we have settled ourselves for a fort- 
 night or three weeks, is neither more nor less than the Broad- 
 stairs Cliffery continued ; and as we return from the gully lead- 
 ing down to the sands (the very brother to that which I so oft- 
 en went down and up with you), Edy and I might almost fancy 
 that we were returning to the Albion Street lodgings, if it were 
 not for the tower of the handsome new church, where we at- 
 tended morning service last Sunday, which reminds us that we 
 are at Margate. 
 
 We were delayed in coming hither for some days by Her- 
 bert's prolonged stay at Rickmansworth, where he spent nearly 
 three weeks in a sort of boys' paradise, bathing two or three 
 
 times a day. Both Baron and Lady A wrote about him 
 
 to me in very gratifying terms. It is perhaps not right to re- 
 peat things honorable to our children without being equally 
 communicative about their faults and ill-successes. But you 
 have been so specially friendly with me, and shown such kind 
 interest about all that concerns me, that I think I should with- 
 
204 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 hold a pleasure from you in not telling you what has very much 
 pleased me. H. thinks this place very seedy, and despises the 
 bathing. The tide seems never in a state to please him; but 
 the truth is, he wants companions, and does not like to be a 
 solitary Triton among the minnows, or rather, as those are 
 fresh-water fish, among the crabs and sea-weed. However, he 
 has got "Japhet in Search of a Father," from the circulating 
 library, reads a portion daily of Euripides, and has begun learning 
 French ; and it is quite right that a little seediness should come in 
 its turn after "jollity," and quietness and plain fare after "splen- 
 did lark," with " sock" of all sorts, that he may learn to cut out 
 interests and amusements for himself out of home materials. 
 
 I must tell tales of the vessel that brought us hither, in order 
 to deter you, dear friend, from ever trusting yourself to it in 
 future. The " Prince of Wales " does certainly make its way 
 fast over the water, but the vibration of its disproportionately 
 small frame under the energy of its strong steam-engine is such 
 that it fatigued me much more than a slower voyage would have 
 done, and gave both nurse and me a headache. The motion al- 
 most prevented me too from reading. Carlyle's " Hero-worship " 
 trembled in my hand like a culprit before a judge ; and as the 
 book is very full of paradoxes, and has some questionable mat- 
 ter in it, this shaking seemed rather symbolical. But, oh ! it is 
 a book fit rather to shake (take it all in all) than to be shaken. 
 It is very full of noble sentiments and wise reflections, and 
 throws out many a suggestion which will not waste itself like a 
 blast blown in a wilderness, but will surely rouse many a heart 
 and mind to a right, Christian-like way of acting and of dealing 
 with the gifted and godlike in man and of men. Miss Farrer 
 lent me the work, and many others. Very pleasant to me was 
 her stay at Gloucester Terrace, ii pleasant is a fit word for an 
 intercourse which awakened thoughts and feelings of " higher 
 gladne'ss " than are commonly so described. She is one who 
 loves to reveal her mind, with all its " open secrets," to those 
 who care at all for the one thing which is, and which she hap- 
 pily has found to be, needful ; and few indeed are the minds 
 which will so well bear such inspection as she invites ; few can 
 display such a pure depth of sunny blue without a cloud, such 
 love for all men, and Christ above all— ascending from them 
 whom she has seen to God whom she has not seen, and again 
 honoring them and doing good to them, on principle, for His 
 
Ttmbridge Wells. 205 
 
 sake. My doctrinal differences from her (and some doctrine 
 we all must have in this world) are considerable ; but I could 
 alrnost say that, were all men like her, no Christian doctrine 
 would be needed. She has much knowledge, too, of men and 
 things — has read and seen much ; and pray tell your T. H. 
 that I learned to thread the at first bewildering labyrinth of her 
 discourse after a while much better than at first. Even to the 
 last her rapid transitions confounded me very often, and some 
 of her replies to objections are rather appeals to the imagina- 
 tion and affections than properly answers. But she has a logic 
 of her own ; and though I do maintain that Christendom would 
 fall abroad if it were not knit together by a logic of another sort, 
 the want of which would be felt sorely, if it were possible that 
 it cowld ever be wholly wanting, which the nature of man pre- 
 vents, yet this logic of the heart and spiritual nature is more 
 than sufficient to guide every individual aright that possesses it 
 in such high measure as she does. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Beauty of Sussex Scenery. — Congenial Society. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Fieldside, Keswick, Cumberland : 
 
 Tunbridge Wells, September 26, 1843. — I am having every ad- 
 vantage here which a most agreeable family circle and daily 
 drives in an easy carriage, in the most inspiriting air, through 
 a lovely country, can give me; and I do fully believe that I 
 shall be better in the end for having made the effort to come 
 hither, and to mix myself up with my neighbors' concerns. I 
 seek to take an interest in all their little belongings, and cultivate 
 cheerfulness as much as possible. Enough of melancholy re- 
 membrance and deep irremovable regret is sure to remain, let me 
 do what I may to enter thankfully and genially into the present. 
 The landscape here, which I believe you are well acquainted 
 with continually puts me in mind of Milton's description of 
 Paradise — the slopes are so emerald-velvety, and the clumps 
 and clusters of trees so varied and beautiful. But there is an 
 imperfection in the prospect from the want of water. I long to 
 introduce dancing rills and fairy waterfalls and lucid pools 
 into the midst of these basin-like valleys, and to people the 
 glades with deer and the villages with a freer, finer peasantry. 
 
2o6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 There is a great want of water generally in the South of England. 
 Devonshire has plenty of it; but the climate of Devon is to me 
 a drawback for which nothing can compensate. 
 
 The family party here consists of Judge E , his wife, two 
 
 daughters, and eldest son : the youngest is at Eton. The vis- 
 itors are Miss M , a charming young woman, most animated 
 
 and intelligent, a niece of Judge E , and myself. Judge 
 
 E is one of the most agreeable men in the family circle 
 
 that I have ever known. He has the indescribable air and way 
 of a man of high birth about him ; and there is in his conversa- 
 tion that happy mixture of seriousness, with light sportiveness 
 and arch remark, which every body likes, and which is never 
 jarring or oppressive, whatever mood one may be in. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Friendly Recollections and Anticipations. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 October, 1843. — You can not think what pleasure I have in 
 looking back upon my late visit. The verdurous, soft, quiet 
 beauty of the country at Tunbridge Wells seems to form a very 
 harmonious ground for the more prominent remembrances with 
 which it has furnished me. Your relatives of the honorable and 
 
 honored name of E , like glow-worms, shine in the shade; 
 
 they come out most brightly in family life, as indeed do all char- 
 acters who have much in them. How can that much be shown 
 in company ? That part of my recollections in which you figure, 
 dear Miss Morris, of the character of that I do not now speak 
 to you, but I trust it will appear more and more in our future 
 lives, as a suitable beginning of a happy and fruitful friendship. 
 — Believe me, affectionately yours, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 On her Loss. — Cheerfulness instead of Happiness. — Visits to Eton and 
 Tunbridge Wells. 
 
 To Mrs. Henry M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 Eton, October 13, 1843. — Of course I am not up to the mark 
 of easy, quiet enjoyment ; yet I feel that, for a time, it is good 
 
Cheerfulness and Happiness. 207 
 
 for me to be here. I can not withdraw myself from the world ; 
 I must live on in this outward scene (though it continually seems 
 most stran-ge to my feelings that I should yet be mixed up in it, 
 and Henry gone from it forever). But since I have been doomed 
 to outlive my husband, I must, for my children's sake as well 
 as my own, endeavor to enter, with as much spirit as I can, into 
 the interests and movements of the sphere to which it is God's 
 will that I should yet belong. Ever since my widowhood I have 
 cultivated cheerfulness as I never did before. During my time 
 of union I possessed happiness ; mere cheerfulness I looked upon 
 as a weed, the natural wild produce of the soil, which must spring 
 up of itself Now I crave to see fine works of art, or the still 
 more mind-occupying displays of nature. I try to take an in- 
 terest in the concerns of my friends, to enter into the controver- 
 sies of the day, to become intimate with the mood of mind and 
 character of various persons, who are nothing to me (/ being 
 nothing to them) except as studies ; just as a lichen or a curious 
 moss may be, only in a higher manner and degree. All this 
 with an earnestness unfelt in former times. To a certain extent 
 I find my account in this; my mind is restless, and rather full 
 of desultory activity than, what is far better, concentrated en- 
 ergy ; but it does not stagnate. I do not brood miserably over 
 my loss, or sink into an aimless, inert despondency ; I have 
 even an upper stratum of cheerfulness in my mind, more fixed 
 than in my happy married days, but then it is only an upper 
 stratum; beneath it, unmoved and unmodified, is the sense of 
 my loss. 
 
 I have been interrupted, to see Dr. Hawtrey. He was such 
 an intimate friend of my beloved Henry. I shall always, on 
 this account, feel a special interest in him. And he is in him- 
 self much to be liked and approved, most amiable in his domes- 
 tic character, as son and brother, and full of intellectual refine- 
 ment; a good scholar, and an accomplished modern linguist. 
 
 I came hither for a holiday, but I assure you I have no com- 
 plete one. Herbert makes me read Euripides with him, and 
 hear his Latin theme, I being as good a judge of Latin compo- 
 sition as a Great Cham of Tartary is of English. 
 
 My visit at Tunbridge Wells was a very agreeable one. I 
 was quite astonished at the picturesque beauty and great variety 
 
 of the country there, and found the family of Judge E quite 
 
 charming in every-day, familiar life. Miss M , who was my 
 
2o8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 fellow-visitant, I found more than an agreeable companion, 
 though she is that in a high degree ; her brilliancy and amusing 
 humor is the mere sparkling, polished surface of a genuine jewel, 
 in which the ground is invaluable. I can not but add her to my 
 list oi friends made since marriage, in which list you, dear friend, 
 are so prominent. Mamma is looking anxiously for a sight of 
 you. Your affectionate conduct towards her, dear Mrs. Jones, 
 gives me more comfort than I can well express. I do not think 
 she fails at all in mind, and in body her declension is very gentle 
 and gradual. 
 
 I must get ready to drive out and see the oak forests of Wind- 
 sor, in all the charming drapery of autumnal gleam and shadow. 
 — I remain your truly attached friend, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Excuse the egotism of this letter. Sorrow makes one ego- 
 tistical. 
 
 . XVII. 
 
 Sympathy Inspired by the Sorrows of Childhood and Youth. 
 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq. :* 
 
 Eton, October 24, 1843. — I scarce know why it is that I feel 
 far more moved by the griefs of childhood and of youth than 
 those of middle-age. One has a sense, I suppose, that the 
 young have a sort of right to happiness, or rather to gladsome- 
 ness and enjoyment ; that if they ever are to be gay and pretty, 
 then is the time. Sorrow and sallow cheeks come to me at my 
 time of life not unnaturally. Reflection has preceded them, 
 and ought at least to have enabled the fading mourner to look 
 beyond them, to see a new world wherein dwelleth righteous- 
 ness, and to drown in its lustre, superinduced over the worsen- 
 ing remnant of our earthly life, all its own melancholy hues. 
 The comparative health and beauty of those who have fairly 
 parted with youth is but a poor thing at the best But you will 
 laugh at my moralizing on the subject of beauty, at least if you 
 do not bear in mind that I am not thinking of that which we 
 ascribe to a beauty, the admired of the ball-room, the celebrated 
 
 * The son-in-law of Mr. Wordsworth. Mr. QuiUinan was well acquaint- 
 ed with the Portuguese language and literature, and has left a translation 
 of the first five cantos of the " Lusiad of Camoens." — E. C. 
 
Restoration of the yews. 209 
 
 toast, but rather of that general attribute which the Psalmist 
 must have referred to when he complained so heavily that his 
 "beauty was wasted for very trouble." We all have, or have 
 had beauty, though we are not all " beauties." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Restoration of the Jews. — Literal Fulfillment of the Promise apparently In- 
 dicated by Old Testament Prophecy, and' by the Words of St. Paul in 
 his Epistle to the Romans. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Keswick : 
 
 10 Chester Place, December 18, 1843. — The passage which has 
 always seemed to me very strong for the restoration of the 
 Jews, or at least very remarkable, and seemingly hitherto un- 
 fulfilled, is Jeremiah xxiii., 5-8.* Ben Ezra and Mr. Dodsworth, 
 take great pains to show that this can not be understood of 
 any restoration of the Jews to their own land that has already 
 taken place. I never read any argument against the opinion 
 of the restoration of the Jews ; and should like to know how 
 Mr. Myers and others, who have a positive belief that Script- 
 ure is not to be so understood, interpret that passage. My 
 own mind has hitherto been quite suspended on the subject, 
 which I have but very cursorily examined ; I have no positive 
 formed belief against this view, as I own I have against the 
 doctrine of the Millennarians. 
 
 Zechariah xiv., 4, 5, " And his feet shall stand upon the 
 Mount of Olives," has more apparent reference to the restora- 
 tion of the Jews than to the Millennium. 
 
 There seems, too, to my mind to be a sort of internal proba- 
 bility — or rather, I mean, a sort of fitness and propriety in the 
 thing; it looks like a completion of a design of which two parts 
 were already accomplished — I mean the setting apart of the 
 chosen nation, then the dispersion among the Gentiles. Does 
 it not seem as if their restoration were the proper last act of the 
 
 * " Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a 
 righteous branch," etc. " Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, 
 that they shall no more say. The Lord liveth which brought up the children 
 of Israel out of the land of Egypt ; but the Lord liveth which brought up 
 and which led the seed of the house of Israel out of the north country," etc. 
 (Jer. xxiii., 5-8). 
 
 O 
 
2IO Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 great drama ? Of course, I speak of this only as an auxiliary 
 argument ; and then the latter part of Romans, chapter xi.,* 
 seems to favor this view not a little. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Readings in Aristophanes. — Cheerfulness and Simplicity of Early Poetry. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, December 26, 1843. — As to Aristophanes, I quite 
 accede to the justice of your representations of his not alto- 
 gether fitness for the joint perusal of Herby and me. I had 
 clean forgotten the uncleanness, till my boy discreetly observed 
 that there was a word in the next line which would not do to be 
 voiced aloud. We shall only read the " Frogs 3" but Herby is 
 so delighted with this play that it would be a pity for him not 
 to finish it, as I believe, from what Frere says, that there is but 
 little, after the first scene, to object to in it. The spirit of the 
 humor of Aristophanes a boy like Herbert may well enter into, 
 when the material is once cleared out of its concealing husk 
 and set before him. The temptation to read Aristophanes is 
 that his plays are mirthful, and " as there's naught but care on 
 every hand," I am glad of every scrap of cheerfulness which I 
 can lay before my children, now in their spring season, when 
 they can enjoy it. I feel sadly for them that this is a widowed 
 home. But they appear as glad as others of their age, and the 
 great change to me bears lightly upon them in comparison. 
 
 ****** ** 
 
 We have been laughing heartily at the " Frogs " again. It 
 would be a lounge to read Homer with Herby ; but I feel a 
 wish to get him through some of the harder, more troublesome 
 parts of the classical task that lies before him. It is wonderful 
 — not wonderful so much as noticeable— how fitted the ancient 
 classics are in general for the youthful mind. They contain, 
 indeed, the youthful mind of our human race, are less abstract 
 and subjective than modern compositions. 
 
 * " For I would not, brethren, that ye should be ignorant of this mystery, 
 lest ye should be blind in your own conceits : that blindness in part is hap- 
 pened to Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles be come in. 
 
 "And so all Israel shall be saved : as it is written, There shall come out 
 of Sion the Deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from Jacob" (Romans 
 xi., 25, 26). 
 
""Travelmg Onward^ 211 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LETTERS TO MISS MORRIS, JOHN KENYON, ESQ., MRS. EDWARD 
 COLERIDGE, MRS. FARRER, MRS. J. STANGER. 
 
 " Traveling Onward." — Differences of Mental Perspective in the Contem- 
 plation of Truth. — Doctrine of the Millennium. — Symbolism in the 
 Bible. — "Messiah's Kingdom" and the "Reign of the Saints" both 
 signify the Establishment of Christianity. — Literal Explanation of the 
 latter Prophecy by some of the Fathers not Founded on Tradition. 
 
 To Miss Morris, Mecklenburg Square : 
 
 Chester Place, J^anuary, 1844. — "Geneva!" and "Rome!" 
 My hope and trust is that we are traveling onward, and shall in 
 time leave these names, these badges of division, behind us. 
 So far I understand and sympathize with Mr. Maurice, that I 
 think there has been much of " notionalism " among all parties ; 
 by which I take him to mean, in general, a losing sight, or at 
 least a steady view, of spiritual substance, through the perplexing 
 and deluding atmospheric medium of the mere understanding, 
 its refractions and distorting reflections ; so that differences 
 have arisen, not from pure perversity of heart, as believers are 
 so apt to say of those who disagree with them, nor from an ab- 
 solute blindness to truth, but from difference of position and a 
 variableness and uncertainty in the medium itself I sympa- 
 thize with him, too, in this, that from being very strongly pos- 
 sessed with the thought which I have just mentioned, I am a 
 good deal isolated from all the conflicting parties now on the 
 arena, and can not agree wholly either with Tractarians or 
 Anti-Tractarians. For Maurice is at bottom quite as unlike 
 zny party in his views as I have been led to be, though his lan- 
 guage would put him into the class of High Churchmen, some- 
 where between the old section and the new, with those who read 
 him but cursorily, without asking him and themselves very strictly 
 what that language in his mouth means. 
 
2 1 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 If you will soon be addressing Mr. Bickersteth, pray convey 
 my best thanks to him for his last gift. I think I have read all 
 that he says on the Promised Glory, and know the texts which 
 he brings to the service of his view. Certainly, looked at in 
 one way, they serve it effectively. I can not, however, help see- 
 ing them in another. The more we look back to the develop- 
 ment and expression of thought in past ages, the more, I think, 
 we find that great spiritual and moral truths were in the earlier 
 times continually presented in the form of the fable or myth. 
 Instead of sermons and scientific treatises, they had allegories 
 and symbolical representations: all doctrines — moral, religious, 
 or metaphysical — were embodied and clad in sensuous forms. 
 To speak of this, and draw inferences from it in the interpreta- 
 tion of that old book, the Bible, is considered a modern refine- 
 ment, a piece of rationalism. But rationalism did not invent 
 the mythical mode of writing ; it does but point it out, and 
 compare what it presumes to be instances of it in Scripture 
 with countless others out of Scripture. I seem to myself to see 
 plainly that the descriptions of the Messiah's kingdom in the 
 Prophets are descriptions of Christianity itself, in all the glory 
 and gladness and purity of the idea, under the guise of actual 
 history, and with all the pomp of sensuous imager}^ to render 
 the symbol significant. In the same way I read the Revela- 
 tions; and it seems to me that on this plan an interpretation 
 may be given, which, though at first it seems bold, yet is in truth 
 more consistent with itself, and more accordant with the lan- 
 guage of Scripture, when that is tried by the proper rules, than 
 any other. I can not but think that the whole theory of the 
 earthly millennial kingdom stands on an insecure foundation, 
 because I always find from writers on the subject that at bottom 
 it rests with every one of them on Rev. xx., 4, as it did from the 
 first ; and I do verily believe that the language of that text will 
 not admit of the interpretation which their theor)' gives to it. 
 The early Fathers, some of them, understood it so ; but such 
 symbolical texts they made sad work with, I believe, for the 
 most part. We should not, any of us, like to accept their Bibli- 
 cal criticism all through ; and criticism it w^as plainly enough, 
 not traditional knowledge of any clear description. 
 
Elizabeth Barrett 's Poems. 213 
 
 11. 
 
 Critique on the Early Poems of Elizabeth Barrett (Mrs. Browning).— Favor- 
 ite Pieces.— Exuberance of her Style Inappropriate to Solemn Themes. 
 
 —Hasty Objections made by Miss B to the Ideal Philosophy of 
 
 Berkeley, and to the Wolfian Theory of Homer. 
 
 To John Kenyon, Esq.:* 
 
 Regenfs Park, 1844.— MyjJ^ear Mr. Kenyon, at last I return 
 with thanks the Poems of Mfss Barrett, which I now always 
 mention in high terms to any of my acquaintances, when the 
 conversation affords an opportunity. I think my favorites are 
 the "Poet's Vow," "A Romance of the Ganges," "Isobel's 
 Child" (so like " Christabel " in manner, as mamma and I both 
 thought), " The Island," " The Deserted Garden," and " Cow- 
 
 per's Grave." But my conception of Miss B 's poetical 
 
 merit is formed from lines and stanzas occurring here and there 
 in most of the poems — from the general impression produced 
 by the whole collection, rather than from any number of entire 
 pieces. "The Seraphim" contains very fine passages; and per- 
 haps no other single poem in the volume has impressed me so 
 strongly with the writer's power ; and yet, taken as a whole, 
 with reference not to what others could produce, but with what 
 it ought to be, I confess it does not altogether please me. If 
 there be a subject throughout the range of human thought 
 which demands to be treated (if treated at all as the prominent 
 theme of any metrical composition) with a sober Miltonic maj- 
 esty of style, rather than with a wild modernism and fantastic 
 rapture, surely that subject is the Crucifixion of a Saviour and 
 the Redemption of a fallen world. Even in that clever transla- 
 tion of the " Prometheus Bound " (for very clever it is), there 
 occur some phrases which want the Hebraic simplicity of the 
 original. " The faded white flower of the Titanic brow " — do 
 
 * A friend of Mr. Southey's, and relative of the gifted lady whose earlier 
 works form the subject of this letter. It is proper to add that the two con- 
 cluding paragraphs are only inserted here for the sake of the interesting re- 
 marks which they contain on Berkeley's system and the Homeric question, 
 since the notes which originally called them forth were withdrawn in subse- 
 quent editions. In Mrs. Browning's later publication, my mother particular- 
 ly admired the "Drama of Exile" (the subject of which she thought "more 
 within the sphere of poetic art" than that of the "Seraphim"), "Lady Ger- 
 aldine's Courtship," " The Cry of the Children," the " Rhyme of the Duch- 
 ess May," and the "lovely sonnet" called "Irreparableness." — E. C. 
 
214 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 you think that quite comes up to the manly broadness and 
 boldness of the Greek Dramatist, or suits the awful circum- 
 stances of the Titan fixed upon his rock ? There is a flower in 
 both cases, to be sure ; but yEschylus meant that the whole out- 
 ward man of Prometheus would be parched and discolored by 
 the sun's heat ; and this he expressed by a plain but untrans- 
 latable Graecism. I think that your cousin should study a no- 
 ble simplicity, especially as her poetical aims are so high, lest 
 she should be obhged to finish the lofty temples of imagination 
 with brass instead of gold. You see how easy it is to preach 
 even for those who can not practice ; but Miss Barrett can prac- 
 tice, and will benefit, I trust, by preaching of more authority than 
 mine, the presumption of which will never reach her ears. 
 
 I can not make an end of my preaching, however, without 
 venturing a remark or two on her summary manner of dealing 
 with the Homeric question, and with the opinions of Berkeley. 
 Surely no one who understands what Berkeley's scheme of 
 Idealism really was would suppose that the poor bishop was 
 bound, in consistency with his metaphysical principles, to let a 
 cart run over him ! He tells us plainly that if by material sub- 
 stance he meant only that which is seen and felt, then is he 
 "more sensible of matter's existence than any other philoso- 
 pher." I question whether Miss B did not confound Ideal- 
 ism with unreality, as persons new to the subject invariably do. 
 Few metaphysicians would ratify her sentence that Berkeley 
 was " out of his senses ;" though none now perhaps believe his 
 system true in fact, or look upon it as other than a platform on 
 which a certain number of pregnant truths were exhibited in a 
 strong point of view. Channing observes how it has influenced 
 the modes of thinking among metaphysicians. 
 
 Then, again, Miss B 's censure of all who believe in the 
 
 " Homeric speculation " is sweeping indeed. It sweeps away, 
 like chaff" before the wind, not only almost all the great schol- 
 ars and fine critics of learned Germany — not only "the eloquent 
 Villemain," and numbers of French savans — not only men of 
 genius and learning, such as Wolf and Heyne, and the Italian 
 Vico — but those of the highest poetic feeling, who, both in this 
 and other countries, are converts to the system. 
 
 Before I conclude, however, let me add that I do not quarrel 
 with any one for sticking resolutely to the " blind old man of 
 Scio's rocky isle," nor pretend to have formed a decided opin- 
 
Gladsomeness of Children. 215 
 
 ion on this puzzling point upon which great doctors have agreed 
 to differ ; though I incline to the belief that, if Homer ever ex- 
 isted, he no more wrote all the books of the " IHad," than one 
 Hercules performed the twelve labors ascribed to him. The 
 books, to.be sure, are extant, the labors fabulous; but I mean 
 that the one, as the other, may have been a nucleus around 
 whose works those of others were collected, but whose name re- 
 mained to the whole. 
 
 P. S. — Since writing the above, I have again read the " Sera- 
 phim," and am more impressed with its merit than at first. It 
 is /z^// of beauty. 
 
 in. 
 
 Gladsomeness a Natural Gift of Childhood. — Severe Discipline not Suited 
 to the Period of Early Youth. 
 
 To her Eldest Brother : 
 
 Chester Place, 1844. — There is a gladsomeness generally found 
 in children happily circumstanced and managed by those who 
 understand and will to act upon the simple rules, by observance 
 of which these little ones are made and kept as happy as they 
 can be — keeping black care quite out of their sight, addressing 
 them with cheerful looks and tones, never keeping them long at 
 any one task, yet enforcing a certain amount of work, with oc- 
 casional half and some whole holidays regularly — never letting 
 any trouble remain as a weight and grinding pressure upon 
 their minds — but inflicting at once whatever is absolutely neces- 
 sary, and then diverting their minds to what is easy and pleas- 
 ant. A child must also have a certain amount of health and 
 _ of intellectual activity, imaginativeness, and so forth, to be per- 
 jpetually gladsome; but with the positives and negatives that I 
 have named, we shall find any child in a country or town cot- 
 tage not only cheerful, but joyous. 
 
 Of course, I am not implying that to produce and maintain 
 this gladness is the great work of education ; but I feel assured 
 that it is a true part of education, and that amid this ease from 
 without, and consequent happiness from within, the affections, 
 temper, and understanding expand and grow more favorably, 
 and take a better and more generous form, than under other cir- 
 
2i6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 cumstances. What I am now saying, however, applies to chil- 
 dren as such ; this I think the best preparatory state, because 
 it best enables the native powers to develop themselves; but 
 trial and hardship are proper to exercise and consolidate them 
 from time to time as soon as they have gained a certain meas- 
 ure of strength ; and, to put the matter practically, I think that 
 parents should make their children as easy and happy as ever 
 they can without indulging them in what is wrong, leaving dis- 
 cipline to be supplied by the ordinary and inevitable course of 
 events, the sorrow, difficulty, and suffering which life in this 
 world brings to every individual. The young people that are 
 spoiled by an indulgent home are spoiled, I think, not by over- 
 happiness, but from having been encouraged in selfishness, 
 never made to understand and led to practice Christian duty. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Temple Church. — Color in Architecture. 
 
 To Mrs. Edward Coleridge, Eton : 
 
 jfiine, 1844. — Yesterday I saw with delight for the first time 
 the restored Temple Church. The restoration seems to me to 
 be in excellent taste, with the exception of the altar. No doubt 
 the great beauty of this interior consists in what it always had, 
 its general form, with the clustered pillars, and exquisite inter- 
 lacing of arches. But the decorative part brings out and il- 
 luminates this original and essential beauty, as I have so often 
 seen the rich colors of sunset illuminate the fine forms of my 
 native hills. 
 
 V. 
 
 Use of Metrical Rules in Poetry.— Versification of "Christabel" and "The 
 Ancient Mariner."— Artiticial Character of some of the Greek Metres. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 June ID, 1844. — Have you been poetizing of late? Mind, 
 I do not tie you down to those longs and shorts ; but, depend 
 upon it, there is much use in them. The more our ear can di- 
 rect us, the better; but rules help and educate the ear. ..Poetry 
 is more of an art than people in general think. They know 
 
Metrical Rules. 217 
 
 that Music and Painting are arts ; but they imagine that Po- 
 etry must flow forth spontaneously, Hke the breath which we 
 breathe, without vohtion or consciousness. All our finest me- 
 trists knew these rules : how far they went by them, I can not 
 say ; but I know that my father, whose versification has been 
 greatly admired by critics, was fond of talking about anapaests 
 and iambuses ; and if people admired " Christabel," as it were, 
 by nature, he was never easy till he had put them in the way of 
 admiring it more scientifically. Dr. Carlyle says he never suc- 
 ceeded in making him admire " The Ancient Mariner " proper- 
 ly. He was obliged, after all, to go back to his own first rude 
 impressions, and rely upon them. 
 
 The manner in which the ancient verse was constructed is a 
 curious problem. It seems as if those very artificial metres, 
 dependent on syllabic quantity, could never in any degree have 
 been -written by ear, or otherwise than as such verse is written 
 now. All critics, however, agree that the best and seemingly 
 most easy and natural styles, both in prose and verse, are those 
 that have been most artfully written and carefully elaborated. 
 Art alone will do nothing, but it improves and educes the 
 natural gift. Cobbett taught wrong doctrine on this head ; and 
 so, I believe, did my Uncle Southey. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The " Life of Arnold " a Book to be " Gloried in." — The Visible Church not 
 to be Identified with any Single System. — Dr. Arnold's Opinion that 
 there ought to be no Distinction between the Clergy and the Laity. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 July, 1844. — I can not tell you in one short day, or the long- 
 est summer day that ever shone, what I feel and think about 
 the " Life of Arnold " — how I rejoice over it, how I glory in it, 
 what good I augur from it. Not that I can see my way through 
 the whole of Arnold's view, or perceive the justice of all his 
 practical conclusions. I can not but think with him that the 
 visible Church is a human institution, sanctioned and blessed by 
 God, and rendered'the vehicle of His grace, just so far as it is 
 really an efficient instrument of the preservation and propaga- 
 tion of true Christianity. I can see no sufficient reason to be- 
 lieve that it was supernaturally ordained by Him in detail — 
 
2 1 8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 that it is not in this respect essentially different from its Jewish 
 predecessor. I can not doubt that it was full of error from the 
 first, the Apostles during their life repressing, but not radical- 
 ly removing, wrong notions of the faith. I imagine that the 
 Church, as a spiritual power co-ordinate with the Word and the 
 Spirit, is certainly realized through a visible machinery and 
 system of outward ordinances, but by no means confined to one 
 alone, and that one prescribed by Christ himself; so far as 
 any one answers its great end better than another, so far it is a 
 more divine and a fuller organ of the Spirit. But putting the 
 question on the grounds upon which Arnold himself would 
 have placed it — moral evidence, reason, and the plain speaking 
 of Scripture — I can not but infer that religion and affairs of 
 policy ought to have distinct functionaries ; and certainly the 
 general judgment of mankind, and not a mere sect and party 
 of Christians, has inclined to this view rather than the other. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Nothing to Do." — Isaac Taylor's Suggestion that there will be Work as 
 well as Rest in Heaven. — Sea-side Views and Walks. — Fellow- Lodgers. 
 — Idleness and Extravagance of London Shop-keepers. — Two Sorts 
 of Diffuseness. — Lord Eldon. — Reflections on his Character and 
 Portrait. 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer : 
 
 5 Nelson Place, Broadstairs, August 27, 1844. — Dearest Mrs. 
 Farrer, I will not defer writing to you till I have " nothing else 
 to do ;" for I hope that time will never come. IMr. Taylor, of 
 Ongar, in his " History of Enthusiasm," takes pains to show 
 that we shall have a great deal to do in heaven, and even have 
 to work hard there. My remark, however, is quite limited to 
 the time of this mortal life ; for I think we are scarcely quali- 
 fied as yet to cut out our work in the world to come, or deter- 
 mine upon the manner in which we shall spend eternity. Prob- 
 ably our present ideas of labor and rest will not be among 
 the things which we shall carry along with us into the other 
 state ; and I can not think Mr. Taylor is justified in accusing 
 other Christians of having indolent notions of heaven, because 
 they have not exactly his view of the exertions that are to be 
 made there. Be that as it may, however, the main part of my 
 
Broadstairs. 2 1 9 
 
 business here at Broadstairs is to scribble on scraps of paper, 
 sometimes on sheets ; and I am sure that after all your great 
 kindness to me, and concern shown for my comfort, I ought to 
 fill one of these little sheets as well as I can to you, little in- 
 deed as I have to put into it. 
 
 I know you will be pleased to hear how very satisfactory I 
 find these lodgings. I never before had a bedroom with an in- 
 teresting prospect, and I undervalued to you what I had scarce 
 learned to prize. But nothing can be more charming than the 
 view which I have before me now. The cornfield betwixt me 
 and the sea takes off the sense of dreariness, and occasional 
 bleak chilliness, which a full view of the " unfruitful ocean," 
 and that alone, relieved only by the not more fruitful or lifesome 
 shore, has always inspired me with. The sea thus viewed has 
 something of a lake-like aspect ; but that soft green hue was 
 never seen upon any of my native lakes, although their calm 
 bosoms used to exhibit a great variety of hues. I take short 
 walks sometimes two or three times a day ; yesterday I walked 
 out between seven and eight in the evening in hopes to see 
 the moonlight shining on the sea. But the moon, which had 
 bathed the landscape in tender light the night before, was hid- 
 den in clouds ; still I had a pleasant walk toward Dampton 
 Stairs, and saw the mr/^-stars — the lights on Goodwin sands, 
 and others — to advantage. For a day and a half after your de- 
 parture, I felt low and unequal to walking ; but since then my 
 mercury has risen a little, and I feel as if the sea was (or 
 '■^wereV no, was, in this case, I think) doing me that kind and 
 degree of good which it generally has done, whenever I have 
 tried it under tolerably favorable circumstances. The only 
 drawback has been the noisiness of the children. Yesterday 
 afternoon I began to think it went quite beyond bounds, and 
 all my self-remindings that I had loud-voiced chatterers of my 
 own did not bring me to feel complacently on the subject of so 
 much rattling up and down stairs, incessant slamming of doors, 
 and squeaking and squabbling. They say there is no lane so 
 long but it comes to an end at last. I find, however, that my 
 lane is a very short one, for the noise-makers depart in a day 
 or two ; indeed, they have been very bearable ever since yes- 
 terday. Their "pa" and " ma" keep a shop in Oxford Street; 
 and now that I am able to make some calm, disinterested phil- 
 osophic reflections on all that I have observed in this family. 
 
2 20 Me7noir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I am confirmed in my old opinion tliat the inferior London 
 shop-keepers are an ill-managing class. I stispect, at least (I 
 will not venture to say more), that they have more luxury with 
 less in proportion of real respectability, that they partake more 
 of the civilization of their times with less of the cultivation, than 
 almost any other portion of the community. These children 
 live on the stairs or in the kitchen, and never take a book or 
 needle in their hands, and yet their parents are overburdening 
 Mrs. Smith with cooking attendance, dressing well, and living 
 for many weeks by the sea in commodious lodgings. The ex- 
 travagance and recklessness that go on in the families of trades- 
 men in London is beyond what the rank above them even 
 dream of No wonder they hate the Church, and band against 
 her. The farmers may be still worse in grudging their money ; 
 but shop-keepers turn against the Church, I think, because they 
 are better fed than taught, and because they hate regularity, 
 and all that is stern and strict. Methodism and Quakerism 
 have their own strictness ; but they, many of them, stick to 
 no sect, but go after this or that preacher. They represent 
 the bad spirit of this age more completely than almost any 
 other large class among us ; but I believe they are to be 
 pitied more than blamed, having great temptations to all they 
 do amiss. 
 
 I heard Dr. H again last Sunda}-, and continued to like 
 
 his manner of preaching, for its earnestness and practicability, 
 and aiming at the one thing needful. The fault of his style is 
 a verbosity and dififuseness : he gives you five branches of illus- 
 tration where one good solid bough would be quite enough. It 
 is well to be reminded that we are better than the beasts that 
 perish, and can give greater glory to God ; but the various par- 
 ticulars of our superiority, beginning with our erect posture, etc., 
 etc., might be left to our own minds to suggest. This is very 
 different from such diffuseness as that of Lord Eldon, who had 
 not, I conjecture, more words than matter, but more matter of 
 various kinds than he could arrange to perfection ; the minor 
 matters overlaid the ma^or, as the muffling ivy prevents the fine 
 figure of a noble oak, with its well-proportioned trunk and 
 branches, from being clearly discerned. He was perspicuous 
 in thought, but not equally perspicuous in expression. I read 
 to the end of this last volume of his life with very great interest 
 of various kinds. The concluding portion, containing the vin- 
 
Religious Discussion. 221 
 
 dication of his professional character, appeared to me very ably 
 written, and, upon the whole, more than triumphant, and the re- 
 marks on Chancery business, and the legal anecdotes inter- 
 spersed, are very good also. The perusal brought home to me, 
 what I have long felt, how impossible it is that any eminently 
 good and great and useful man should go through life without 
 being perseveringly and violently misrepresented and ill-used. 
 
 That review by Justice W is such a specimen of able but 
 
 untruthful and unfair writing ! The portrait of Lord Eldon, the 
 more I look at it, the more it seems to be the very man — mild 
 sensibility and weight of intellect and moral firmness and sound 
 judgment are all marked in that countenance. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Religious Discussion Necessary to the Church ; and Useful, under Certain 
 Conditions, to the Individual Christian. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Keswick : 
 
 10 Chester Place, November 7, 1844. — You spoke in your 'last 
 to me of controversy and its spiritual inutility. I quite agree 
 with you that it is of no direct benefit to the soul, and that it 
 may be pursued injuriously to ourselves and others. But still 
 I think it has its use even in a religious point of view, and that 
 it may be used without being abused. I would exchange the 
 term controversy (which gives a notion of quarrelmg to many) 
 for the milder one of discussion. This surely is necessary for 
 the Church at large, if it is to be preserved from error, while 
 the human understanding is so prone as it is to self-deception. 
 But I own I should be disposed to go further ; and to say that, 
 in reason and in season, it is useful for the individual. We can 
 not have clear, definite views, or know well what our professed 
 tenets really are, or why we ought to hold them, unless we re- 
 flect upon them, and compare them with the opposite ones 
 which we reject. Persons who never do this (such persons, I 
 believe, are very few, even among those who disclaim contro- 
 versy) are apt, I think, to become narrow, superstitious, and 
 bigoted ; to think their own belief the only one that any wise 
 and good person can hold, yet all the time not to know what 
 that belief really is, or how far it substantially (not in words 
 only) differs from that of other Christians, with whom they dis- 
 
2 2 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 agree. Such, I mean, is the tendency, in my opinion, of an un- 
 discussing, taking-for-granted frame of mind, though I fully 
 believe that practical Christianity is found both among those 
 who discuss and those who leave alone discussion ; and where 
 that is, nothing else can be deeply amiss. 
 
Memories. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 1845. 
 
 LETTERS TO THE HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE, HARTLEY COLE- 
 RIDGE, ESQ., AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., MISS MORRIS, 
 MISS ERSKINE, MRS. FARRER, THE HON. 
 MRS. HENRY TAYLOR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Memories of her Native Vale. — The Quarterly Review a greater Au- 
 thority on Practical than on Poetical Matters.— Dr. Arnold as a Man 
 and a Writer.— His Peculiar Theory of Church and State. — Definition 
 of Humility and Modesty, suggested by a Note in the "Northern 
 Worthies." 
 
 To Hartley Coleridge, Esq., Nab Cottage, Grasmere : 
 
 Chester Place, January 20, 1845. — Your communications and 
 comments are ever most interesting to me, partly because they 
 are upon persons and things in my native land, to which I 
 have turned since my loss with renewed love and longing — to 
 thoughts of the hills and the lakes, and still more of the rivers and 
 streamlets ; my dearly beloved Greta, rushing over the stones 
 by the Cardingmill Field, or sweeping past, swollen with rains ; 
 and all the lovely flowers, especially the yellow globe flower, 
 which fringe the banks, or lurk in the woods, or crowd and 
 cluster in the open glades. But then my remembrance of all 
 these things is inseparably associated with the feelings of early 
 youth, which lends a glow to them. Now, if I were at the Blue- 
 bell Bog, or on the slope of Goosey Green, I should be sinking 
 with fatigue, not knowing how I should get back again. Even 
 an easy saunter by Greta's side would be a very different thing, 
 now that life, or the best part of it, is all behind me, from what 
 it was when this same life was before me — a vision often broken 
 and obscured indeed by fear and anxiety, but yet with the Sun 
 of Hope burning in its centre. This thought prevents me from 
 lamenting, as I otherwise might, that I can not look to spend 
 
2 24 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 my latter years in the lovely country of my youth. Yet I never 
 take a solitary walk in the Park without longing that I could 
 turn my steps toward dear old Friar's Crag. I think, in spite 
 of middle -age and sickness and sorrow, I should still have 
 much enjoyment in looking on the Lake, every day differently 
 complexioned from the last, in gazing on the hills lit up by sun- 
 set, and all the manifold shows of nature among my native hills. 
 
 Herbert H seems to miss the richness and variety of the 
 
 lake-land exceedingly. In his last letter he observed how flat 
 countries lose all their attractions in winter, which does but 
 interestingly vary those of a mountainous district. Do not 
 think, however, from ray speaking of having left the best part 
 of life behind me, that I am unhappy. I do not in the least 
 wish to be happier, in the sense of having more satisfaction and 
 animated enjoyment in the things of this world. It is best for 
 me as it is. * * * 
 
 It is remarkable how strong the Quarterly Review is in 
 dealing with matters of fact: various as the writers in it must be, 
 they always shine in that department. In abstract reasonings 
 this Review is not great, and in aesthetics it is generally poor 
 enough. Its poetical criticism is arbitrarily vague, without the 
 slightest attempt at principle, and in a sneering, contemptuous 
 spirit. Its treatment of Keats and Tennyson was ultrazoilian. 
 I admire Keats excessively. Mr. Wordsworth used to say of 
 Shelley and Keats that they would ever be great favorites with 
 the young, but would not satisfy men of all ages. There is a 
 truth in this saying, though I should say thaf it is not literally 
 true, for I myself and many other medicevals can read their pro- 
 ductions with unabated pleasure. But yet I feel that there is 
 in those writers a want of solidity: they do not embody in their 
 poems much of that with which the deeper and the universal 
 heart and mind of man can S3mipathize. To be always reading 
 Shelley and Keats would be like living on quince-marmalade. 
 Milton and Wordsworth are substantial diet for all times and 
 seasons. 
 
 Your admiration of Arnold I fully share. I admire, and, 
 what is more, deeply honor him as a man, and as a writer so 
 far as the man appears in his writings. As a reasoner and 
 speculator I surmise that he was not great, though what he 
 does see clearly he expresses with great energy and hfesome- 
 ness. It seems to me that he arrived at much truth which sub- 
 
Dr. Arnold. — Modesty. 225 
 
 tier men miss through sheer honesty and singleness of heart and 
 mind, through sheer impatience and imprudence, not through 
 philosophy. His views of Church and State I can not well un- 
 derstand (I have not seen his fragment on the Church) : so far 
 as I can understand them, I imagine (it seems presumptuous 
 for such as I to opine positively on such a subject) that they 
 are incorrect and inadequate. He was a great historian; yet 
 I would fain see how he reconciled them with history, let alone 
 philosophy. By unifying the State with the Church, does he 
 not nullify and destroy the latter as a spiritual power, the an- 
 tagonist of the world, and confer privileges and functions on 
 the former incompatible with its proper and peculiar ones ? I 
 should say, in my ignorance, that this is after all but Romanism 
 in disguise, at least practically. But perhaps I do not appre- 
 hend his scheme. He was and is a burning and a shining 
 light in this country. His "Life and Letters" seem to have 
 made a greater impression on the public mind than any book 
 that has been published for many a day. =* * * 
 
 Reading your " Life of Mason " lately (during the height of 
 my illness I read the " Doctor " and your " Worthies :" I did 
 not want new books, but soothing ones in which I took a spe- 
 cial interest), I noticed that you said in a note, " Modesty and 
 vanity are only different phenomena of one and the same dis- 
 position, viz., an extreme consciousness and apprehensiveness 
 of being observed."* But this degrades modesty, methinks, 
 into mere bashfulness, which belongs to the physical tempera- 
 ment, and is but modesty's shadow. Many a youth has both 
 modesty and vanity; for modesty is directly opposed, not to 
 vanity, but to impudence. Still, modesty is surely something 
 more than the fear of being observed, which is, indeed, but a 
 phase or mood of vanity, when it is not mere nervous bashful- 
 ness. 
 
 How shall we define Modesty? Surely it is an important 
 virtue, and a grace to boot. Is it not nioderatio?i, viewed in its 
 moral rather than its prudential aspect — ingenuous shame, and 
 keen sensibility to all that is unseemly, unfitting, disproportion- 
 ate in reference to self .'' It is closely allied to Justice, for he 
 who does not overrate himself is the less likely to arrogate to 
 himself more than is his due : it borders upon Humility and 
 
 * "Lives of Northern Worthies," by Hartley Coleridge, vol. ii., p. 256. 
 — E. C. 
 
 P 
 
2 26 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Piety, for he who is not disposed to exalt his own merits in his 
 own eyes or in those of others, though not necessarily humble 
 on that account, is yet far more in the way of being so than if 
 he had a high notion of his relative excellence, and a desire to 
 parade and proclaim it. Humility is not the mere conscious- 
 ness of our low estate, but the disposition to act and suffer as 
 if we had no high claims ; and this is different from modesty, 
 yet, I think, akin to it. Humility, perhaps, is the being content 
 with the low place and scant portion ; Modesty, a sense of the 
 impropriety of claiming a higher and a better. 
 
 1 
 
 hi'c ■ 
 
 II. 
 
 The Hoyal Academy of 1845. — Turner's Painting^^^ 
 
 To Miss Erskine : 
 
 May 18, 1845. — It is commonly said that this is not a strik- 
 ing Exhibition, simply, I think, because there is in it no great 
 glaring Maclise, nor the usual number of fine animal pieces, 
 with fur which one longs to stroke, by Landseer. I should say, 
 as some others say too, that it is upon the whole a very inter- 
 esting collection of specimens of our modern English school 
 of painting: it contains so many sweet landscapes by Stanfield 
 (no Callcotts, alas !), by Collins, Creswick, Lee (one of whose 
 pictures is almost a Gainsborough), Leitch, Harding, and Rob- 
 erts, though about the productions of this last there is rather a 
 tiring sameness. 
 
 In this list I have not included Turner, because I can find 
 but few persons who agree with me that he is to be admired; 
 but I had the comfort of an accordant voice with mine in dear 
 
 Lady P 's. I do not like Turner's Venetian views, of which 
 
 he has four in the present Exhibition, so much as two pictures 
 called " Whalers," in which sea and sky are mixed up together 
 '^ in most (by me) admired confusion. No other man gives me 
 \any notion of that infinity of hues and tints and gradations of 
 Mght and shade which Nature displays to those who have eyes 
 for such sights, except Turner: no one else gives me such a 
 sense of the power of the elements, no one else lifts up the veil 
 and discloses the. penetralia of Nature, as this painter does. The 
 liquid look of his ocean and its lifesomeness, and that wonder- 
 ful steam that is rising up and hoverifig over the agitated ves- 
 
Academy Pictures. 227 
 
 sel, are what one might look for in vain in any but the Tur- 
 nerian quarter. 
 
 On the other hand, I can not admire Landseer's " Shepherd 
 in Prayer" so much as it is the fashion to do. In this picture 
 he aims at something in a higher line than he has attempted 
 before ; and, to my mind, in this higher line he wants power. 
 There is doubtless a sweet feeling about the picture : the shep- 
 herd is good, and he kneels before a most picturesquely rural 
 crucifix; but the sheep are de trop — such a quantity of dead 
 fleece scattered around, and continued on to the very horizon, 
 I can not away with, or, rather, I wish it away. Neither can I 
 
 satisfy D in the amount of admiration which he demands 
 
 for Eastlake's " Comus." It is very pure and harmonious, and 
 finely colored, but it wants intensity and meaning and spirit. 
 The " Heiress," by Leslie, is a most lovely girl ; and Clater's 
 " Bride " as fair and vernal as the hawthorn wreath with which 
 she is encircling her head, in contempt of Fashion with her 
 orange-flowers. Etty has seven or eight pictures, all of which 
 have his usual merits, more or less, and some of them are beau- 
 tiful. Y^AS flesh is first-rate j but one may look in vain in him 
 for the spirit — that is, the spiritual and refined. 
 
 III. 
 
 Visitors before Luncheon. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 Chester Place, 1845. — First, I must reply to your proposal of 
 coming to see me between twelve and one o'clock. My rule 
 is, not to let my friends visit me at that early hour when the^ 
 can with no great difficulty come at a later one ; because the 
 two hours before my mid-day meal are with me the most un- 
 easy in the whole twenty-four. Still I do not wish to be more 
 subjected to my bodily weakness than is unavoidable, and every 
 now and then I am called down to some old friend whom I do 
 not like to send away unseen. Old gentlemen especially will 
 take their own way in such matters, and look in when it suits 
 them rather than when it suits me. At first I feel faint and 
 cross ; but when they begin laying down the law about this and 
 that — the Church and the Tract doctrines, and other such sub- 
 jects — as if there was but one opinion in the world that was 
 
2 28 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 really worth a straw, and that their own — all other reasoners 
 and thinkers dancing about after vain shadows and will-o'-the- 
 wisps — I am provoked into a sort of enraged strength — my 
 controversial muscles begin to plump up — I lose sight of lunch- 
 eon (a vision of which had been floating before my dull eyes 
 "before), and as soon as a pause occurs, I fill it up with my voice, 
 and, whether listened to or not, improve by exercise my small 
 powers of expressing opinion. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Interpretations of Scripture Prophecies by Writers of the Evangehcal 
 School. — Antichristian Character of the Papacy supposed to be Pre- 
 dicted by the " Little Horn" in the Book of Daniel, the " Man of Sin" 
 in the Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, and " Babylon the Great" 
 in the Revelations. — Contents of the Sixth Vial. — Shelley's Atheism. — 
 Not Papal, but Pagan Rome the Real Object of the Apocalyptic Denun- 
 ciations. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 ID Chester Place, yune 21, 1845. — I have felt that I ought to 
 have been conversing with you of late on a subject upon which 
 I have been venturing to write (I mean a letter only) — the sub- 
 ject of prophecy. 
 
 I told Mr. B the impression which the different passages 
 
 in Scripture, most important in the Antichrist controversy, and 
 most dwelt upon by each party, as proving their own particular 
 views, make upon me, when I read them without the medium of 
 note or comment, and with no theory intervening betwixt my 
 mind's eye and the text. The "little horn" of Daniel presents 
 to me a staring likeness of the Pope. That it was intended for 
 him, and for none other than he, I will not venture to say. I 
 do not feel sure of that, all things considered, so far as I can 
 consider them. But I say it is awfully like him — that he is a 
 little horn that speaks great things, and has eyes, such eyes as no 
 other power in this world possesses, that he changes times and 
 laws presumptuously and iniquitously, and has worn out a great 
 many saints of God with persecutions. But when I read the 
 language of the New Testament on the Man of Sin and Anti- 
 christ, instead of seeing this picture enlarged and rendered 
 more distinct, on the contrary, I see only a generalization. The 
 mystery of iniquity is in the Papacy; but that Popery, and Popery 
 
The Pope and Antichrist. 229 
 
 alone, is the mystery of iniquity, I can not persuade myself. 
 Here, I think, Horsley, Palmer, and a hundred others, who op- 
 pose the theory which identifies Antichrist with the Pope or 
 Popery, are strong. That "wicked that is to be consumed by 
 the spirit of the Lord's mouth, and destroyed by the brightness 
 of His coming," is certainly no popery that has existed yet. 
 But it is said there is to be another manifestation of popery 
 and its corruption, and this it is which is to be destroyed. Now 
 it is just this way of interpreting Scripture, this putting into the 
 sacred text ad libitum^ and filling up ever so great a gulf and 
 gap with supposition, which seems to me so unwarrantable, and 
 a method, too, which never leads to any conclusion, because ev- 
 ery different theorist can resort to the same expedient to justify 
 his opinions. See the tracts on Antichrist, and the use they 
 make of this argument. If all the abominations, persecutions, 
 presumptions, and impious pretensions of the Papacy, which 
 history records, are the characters of the Man of Sin, then sure- 
 ly he has been already revealed, as he was not revealed in St. 
 Paul's own day. To say that we have already witnessed these 
 things, and that they constitute the wickedness of the wicked 
 one, and yet that he is still to he revealed close before the ad- 
 vent of the Lord, and His reign upon earth, is not, in my opin- 
 ion, to submit our minds to the text of Scripture, but to make 
 it say what we like. The "powers and signs and lying won- 
 ders" of Romanism have been manifested at full. It is highly 
 improbable that they can ever deceive the world again as they 
 have done. AVhat a crafty priesthood can contrive in one part 
 of the civilized world, an active press and an irrepressible spirit 
 of inquiry and opposition to superstitious falsity exposes and 
 counteracts in another part. The passage in Timothy, on for- 
 bidding to marry, does not, to my mind, describe Romanistic 
 errors, but religious notions of a somewhat different kind. 
 
 If such are my impressions from the Epistles, still more 
 strongly do I feel on going on to the Apocalypse that Popery 
 was not the object of the apostolic predictions and denuncia- 
 tions, except so far as all falsehood and corruption is so. I 
 can not pretend to assign the meaning of all the various sym- 
 bols — I never have seen them to my mind satisfactorily ex- 
 plained. The " vials" are filled, to every man's fancy, with just 
 those exhibitions of evil which most strongly have excited his 
 aversion and alarmed his fears. INIr. B notices Shelley's 
 
230 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 " Revolt of Islam," under the sixth vial. Alas ! poor Shelley ! 
 "I'se wae to think of him," as Burns was to think of old Nick 
 and his gloomy fate. He had a religious element in his nature, 
 but it was sadly overborne by an impetuous temper, and a cer- 
 tain presumption, which made him cast aside all the teaching 
 of other men that did not approve itself at once to his judg- 
 ment. But to mention him under the sixth vial is to give him 
 an infamous sort of fame which he scarcely, I think, deserved. 
 As an unbeliever, he was utterly insignificant — made no prose- 
 lytes, had no school, nor belonged to any school. He had 
 ceased to be an atheist before he died, and never had any 
 power, or excited any great attention, I think, except as a poet. 
 In that line he has a station from which he can not be moved, 
 while any genuine taste for poetry, as such, exists. 
 
 To conclude my impressions of prophecy, not from commen- 
 taries, but from the text : I own I can see nothing but Imperial 
 and Pagan Rome in the Revelations, as the great object of the 
 prophet's denunciations, from beginning to end. It should be 
 borne in mind, I think, that the persecutions under the Roman 
 Empire were the only warfare that ever has been carried on 
 against Christianity as such — against the religion itself under 
 any form. The martyrs during that warfare were the only suf- 
 ferers who could properly be said to have died " for the testi- 
 mony of Jesus." There have been anti-Papal martyrs enough 
 for the purity of the faith ; but is it not putting the less before 
 the greater to imagine that these, and not the thousands that 
 were put to death and tortured for professing Christianity at 
 all, are those of whom the apocalypt wrote with such a pen of 
 fire ? But the whole description of this Babylon the Great, and 
 her downfall, this city on seven hills, to my mind, is expressive 
 of the great Roman Empire, of which Rome itself was the rep- 
 resentative, and not Papal Rome, which never sat upon seven 
 hills ; and to convert those seven hills into seven Electors of 
 Ge;-many, seems to me a more incredible transformation than 
 any in Ovid's " Metamorphoses." Nothing can exceed the bold- 
 ness of Scriptural metaphor; but this boldness has its own laws, 
 and the same figure which fits one sentence fits not another. 
 
Milleniiial Preachings. ' 231 
 
 V. 
 
 Occasional Recurrence of Millennial Preachings. — Unpractical Nature of 
 the Doctrine. — Bearing of the Parable of the Ten Virgins on this Sub- 
 ject. — Various Styles of Contemporary Divines. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 1845. — I find that there has been a very general preaching 
 of the Millennium in various parts of the country of late years. 
 So it will continue to be, I think, ever and anon, till some vic- 
 torious arm shall arise, or some victorious pen shall write some 
 book in which a real advance shall be made in the elucidation 
 of the subject. Hitherto there has been nothing more than a 
 repeated eddying round a certain number of arguments, which 
 contain a certain quantity of force, and are especially striking 
 when first presented to the unprepared mind, but which, as I 
 have been led to think, are not strong enough to bring the mat- 
 ter to a conclusion with the majority of the reflective and judi- 
 cious. Hence the subject is often brought forward, eagerly en- 
 forced, makes a number of converts — some few permanent ones, 
 others only for a season; but then it dies away again, without 
 taking any deep hold of the Church at large. I know how your 
 brother disposes of this fact in that judicious sermon of his on 
 the " Actual Neglect," etc., which shows a clearer insight into 
 the difficulties of the question, I think, than most Millennial dis- 
 courses do. He observes that the wise virgins slumbered as 
 well as the foolish while the Bridegroom tarried. But if the 
 wise as well as the foolish neglect this doctrine, what are they 
 that attend to it? Our Lord leaves no room for them in His 
 parable at all. Looking at the structure of it, I can hardly per- 
 suade myself that He meant by this slumber to indicate a blam- 
 able inattention to His coming again ; for what more could the 
 wise virgins have done, had they kept awake the whole night, 
 than provide oil for their lamps ? what would they have gained 
 more than admission to the marriage-feast ? * * * 
 
 I agree with you quite about Mr. B 's sermon and its 
 
 "dry brilliancy." It reminds me of those bright, burnished in- 
 sects whose juiceless bodies clink and rattle as they whisk glit- 
 tering along. His style wants oiling. 
 
 Newman's sermon, " Faith against Sight," one of those ad- 
 dressed to the University, is an admirable specimen of his mind 
 
232 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and manner. I think he is the finest writer, upon the whole, 
 that we have at present ; but, with all his power, he will never 
 be able, as I believe, to establish more than one half of his 
 body of opinion in this land. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dr. Pusey's Preaching. 
 
 To Miss Morris, Mecklenburg Square : 
 
 Chester Place, jfuly 7, 1845. — We have had Pusey and Man- 
 ning preaching here lately, the former three times. Pusey's 
 middle sermon, preached in the evening, was the perfection of 
 his style. But it is wrong to talk of style in respect of a preach- 
 er whose very merit consists in his aiming at no style at all. He 
 is certainly, to my feelings, more impressive than any one else 
 in the pulpit, though he has not one of the graces of oratory. 
 His discourse is generally a rhapsody, describing, with infinite 
 repetition and accumulativeness, the wickedness of sin, the 
 worthlessness of earth, and the blessedness of heaven. He is 
 as still as a statue all the time he is uttering it, looks as white 
 as a sheet, and is as monotonous in delivery as possible. While 
 listening to him, you do not seem to see and hear a preacher, 
 but to have visible before you a most earnest and devout spirit, 
 striving to carry out in this world a high religious theory. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sunset over the Sea. 
 To Mrs. Farrer : 
 
 Heme Bay, August 9, 1845. — Yesterday evening the soft blue 
 of sea and sky, illumined with windows of bright rose-color, 
 which seemed like windows of heaven indeed, with the Apoca- 
 lyptical City stretched out in gemmy splendor on the other 
 side, as fancy suggested, was most lovely and tranquilizing. 
 
The Church of Rome. 233 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Canterbury Cathedral and St. Augustine's College. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Heath's Court, Ottery St. 
 Mary: 
 Heme Bay, August 10, 1845. — Last Wednesday we went to 
 Canterbury to see the Cathedral and St. Augustine's. The 
 
 former I admired more than ever; and D 's architectural 
 
 lore made our excursion all round the outside, and through the 
 inside of this more beautiful than sublime structure, all the more 
 rememberable and interesting. Some of the old painted glass 
 is the very ideal of that sort of thing, rich and gemmy with mi- 
 nute designs, and far removed from the modern picture style 
 of painted window. We visited the precincts of St. Augustine's 
 with very great interest, and were pleased to see with our own 
 eyes how considerable a part of the ancient structure will be 
 
 woven into the view, and what a physical continuity, as D 
 
 says, there will be of the one with the other. The new dining- 
 hall takes in the wood-work, to a great extent, of the old refec- 
 tory for strangers ; and the antique architectural forms (in the 
 middle-pointed style) will be carefully reproduced. The old 
 gateway will form a very imposing entrance to the modern col- 
 lege. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Reunion of Christendom. — The Romish Clergy and the Roman Church. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, Atigust 26, 1845. — As for desire for reunion 
 with the Church of Rome — I verily think that no one can ex- 
 ceed me in desire for the union of all Christendom, that all who 
 call upon the name of the Lord, and acknowledge the moral 
 law of the New Testament, and the necessity of obeying it, 
 should be in communion with each other — the millions of Meth- 
 odists, Baptists, Congregationalists in America, as well as the 
 Romanists of Italy and Spain. But such a union can not be 
 without concessions on one side or the other, if not on both, 
 unless the parties were to change their minds to a great extent, 
 in which case the debate and the difficulty would be at an end ; 
 and I for one could never give up or adopt what would satisfy 
 
2 34 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 either body. I suppose, however, that you have a desire for 
 a reunion with Rome of a very different kind from any you 
 may entertain for union with all Christians; you look upon 
 Rome as a branch of the true Church, and the others above 
 named as out of the pale of the true Church. With this feeling 
 I can not pretend to have much sympathy, though it may be 
 my error and misfortune not to have it. I think that the Con- 
 gregationalists belong to the Church of Christ as well as the 
 others. The Church of Rome I am accustomed to regard, not 
 as the aggregate of Christians professing Romish doctrine, but 
 as the body of the Romish clergy, together with the system of 
 religious administration upon which they proceed. For the 
 former, the multitude of Romish individuals, I have no feelings 
 of dislike or disrespect whatever — I believe that numbers of 
 them are full of true religion and virtue, and worship God in 
 spirit and in truth. The Romish clergy, considered in their 
 corporate capacity, I can not but look upon as full of worldly 
 wisdom and worldly iniquity, and I think, as you do of the Ref- 
 ormation, that Old Nick contemplates it — i. e., this body — with 
 great satisfaction, the cockles of his heart leaping up with de- 
 light at the view. My Uncle Southey was abused for calling 
 the system of the Romish Church " a monstrous structure of 
 imposture and wickedness ;" yet I think he did a good deal to 
 substantiate the charge ; he certainly had far more vifonnation 
 on the subject than our young inamoratos of the modern Rom- 
 ish Church can any of them boast, and he had no sort of sym- 
 pathy with Dissenters and Low Churchmen to inspire him with 
 enmity against the opposite quarter of Christendom. Still I 
 am endeavoring to get rid of Protestant prejudice — of all feel- 
 ings and views merely founded on habit, apart from reflection 
 and genuine spiritual perception — and to consider quietly 
 whether or no there be not some good even in the Romish ec- 
 clesiastical system ; and some good I do believe there is, espe- 
 cially for the lower orders, as I also think there is some good in 
 the Methodist system, with which, as well as with the religious 
 practices of the strict Evangelicals, Blanco White is always 
 comparing the system in which he, to his misery, was brought 
 up. But I own it seems to me that the good, whatever it may 
 be, is inextricable from the evil, both from the nature of the 
 thing, and also because the Romish body has never been 
 known to make any real concession of any kind or sort — none 
 
''Philonous to Hylasiar 235 
 
 that was not meant as a mere temporary expedient, to be with- 
 drawn on the earliest opportunity ; and looking upon it as I 
 do, as a power of this world, aiming at political domination, and 
 not inspired, as a body, with any pure zeal for the furtherance 
 of the truth, be it what it may, I can not believe it ever will. 
 
 X. 
 
 " New Heavens and a New Earth." 
 
 The following lines may fitly be inserted here, as a poetical expression 
 of the writer's sentiments on these high subjects. — E. C. 
 
 To A Fair Friend arguing in Support of the Renovation, in a 
 Literal Sense, of the Material System. 
 
 Philonous to Hylasia. 
 I. 
 Keep, oh ! keep those eyes on me. 
 
 If thou wouldst my soul persuade, 
 Soul of reasoner, bold and free, 
 "Who with pinions undismayed 
 Soars to realms of higher worth 
 Than aught like these poor heavens and earth. 
 
 IL 
 Talk no more of Scripture text, 
 
 Tract and note of deep divine : 
 These but leave the mind perplexed — 
 
 More effectual means are thine : 
 Through that face, so fair and dear, 
 The doctrine shines as noonday clear. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Who that sees the radiant smile 
 
 Dawn upon thy features bright, 
 And thy soft, full eyes the while 
 
 Spreading beams of tender light. 
 But must long those looks to greet. 
 When perfect souls in joyance meet .'' 
 
 IV 
 Who that round some verdant home 
 
 Day by day with thee hath strayed. 
 Through its pathways loved to roam. 
 
 Sat beneath its pleasant shade. 
 But must hope that heavenly bowers 
 May wear such hues as these of ours ? 
 
236 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ^ 
 
 O ye fair and pleasant places, 
 Where the eye delighted ranges ; 
 
 O ye dear and friendly faces, 
 
 Loved through all your mortal changes ; 
 
 Are ye but stars, to shine through this life's night, 
 
 Destined, in Heaven's great Day, to vanish from our sight ? 
 
 S. C, 1845. 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 Eton, September 8, 1845. — ^ have often spoken of you to Mr. 
 De Vere ; and yesterday I told him that the views which he 
 was setting forth in regard to the future world, the glorified 
 body, and the new heavens and earth, were in spirit, and to a 
 great degree in form, extremely similar to those I had heard you 
 express and warmly enlarge upon, /am much more dry, alas ! 
 on these subjects ; at least, I am aware that my belief must ap- 
 pear very dry and cold to all but those who entertain it. We 
 somehow fancy that we are to have a quintessence of all that 
 is exalted and glowing and beautiful in your new-world creed 
 hereafter, only not in the same way. ]\Ir. De Vere can not bear 
 to part with our human body altogether, nor with this beautiful 
 earth with its glorious canopy. He wants to keep these things, 
 but to have them unimaginably raised and purified and glo- 
 rified ! / think that they must go, but that all the loveliness 
 and majesty and exquisiteness are to be unimaginably extract- 
 ed and enshrined in a new, unimaginable form, in another, and 
 to us now, inconceivable state of existence. He said (so like 
 you), " But I want this earth to have a fair trial, to have it show 
 what it can be at the best, in the highest perfection of which 
 it is capable, which never has been yet manifested." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Poetry of Keats : its Beauties and Defects. — " The Grecian Urn " and 
 " Endymion." 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Ireland : 
 
 Eton, September, 1845. — I admire Keats extremely, but I 
 think that he wants solidity. His path is all flowers, and leads 
 to nothing but flowers. The end of the " Endymion " is no point : 
 when we arrive there, it is looking down a land of flowers, 
 stretching on ad infinitum, the separate parts indistinguishable. 
 
''''Ode on a Grecian Urn.'' 237 
 
 I admire all the minor poems which you have marked, three of 
 them especially. In the "Grecian Urn" I dislike the third 
 stanza : it drags out the substance of the preceding stanzas, 
 which, after all, is stuff of fancy, not of the higher imagination, 
 to weariness ; and it ends with an unpleasant image, expressed 
 in no very good EngHsh. " High sorrowful" is Keats' English, 
 if English at all. 
 
 I must say that, spite of the beautiful poetry, as far as words 
 and images go, I've no patience with that Adonis lying asleep 
 on a couch, with his " white arm " and " faint damask mouth," 
 like a " dew-lipped j^ose," with lilies above him, and Cupids all 
 round him. If Venus was in love with such a girl-man as that, 
 she was a greater fool than the world has ever known yet, and 
 didn't know what a handsome man is, or what sort of a gentle- 
 man is " worthy a lady's eye," even as far as the mere outward 
 man is concerned. I do think it rather effeminate in a young 
 man to have even dreamed such a dream, or presented his own 
 sex to himself in such a pretty-girl form. And where is the 
 sense or the beauty of setting one woman opposite another, for 
 a pair of lovers, instead of an Apollo and a Venus ? This ef- 
 feminacy is the weak part of Keats. Shelley has none of it. 
 There is no greater stickler than I am for the rights of woman 
 — not the right of speaking in Parliament and voting at elec- 
 tions, but of having her own sex to herself, and all the homage 
 due to its attractions. There is one merit in Byron : he is al- 
 ways manly. The weaknesses he has are weaknesses of an im- 
 perfect man, not a want of manliness. 
 
 You will perhaps tell me that the Greek poets have some- 
 times ascribed a delicate beauty to Adonis. But I say those 
 poets must have been thinking of their own lady-loves all the 
 while, and that Venus herself would have admired a very differ- 
 ent swain. It is not the possession of any beauty of form or 
 hue that will make a man effeminate ; but it is the presence of 
 such beauty apart from something else to which it is subordi- 
 nated. It is the absence of this something else, and the presen- 
 tation without it, of that which in woman is characteristic and 
 prominent, which makes this picture of Keats' so disagreeably 
 feminine, at least to my taste. I think I have a right to preach 
 on this theme, just because I am a woman myself. Men in 
 general are frights, especially before and after five-and-twenty. 
 Nothing provokes ladies more than to hear men admiring one 
 
238 Memoir and Letters of $ara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 another's beauty. It is less afifronting for each man to admire 
 his own ; they fancy that is for their sakes ! 
 
 I must take another half-sheet to quarrel with you about the 
 " Endymion." How could you possibly, after making so many 
 marks, pass over that powerful description of Circe torturing 
 the metamorphosed wretches in the forest, one of the most 
 striking passages in the whole poem. I am afraid you like 
 nothing that is horrid, that you are too fond of the "roses and 
 the thistle-down," and find such things " too flinty hard for your 
 nice touch." To me it is refreshing, after the sugar upon honey 
 and butter upon cream of much that precedes. It is fine, too, 
 as an allegory. And is not that an energetic expression ? — 
 
 " Disgust and hate, 
 And terrors manifold, divided me 
 A spoil among themT 
 
 Especially powerful is that part beginning — 
 
 " Avenging, slow. 
 Anon she took a branch of mistletoe." 
 
 The deliberate way in which she does the thing is so fine, 
 and their anticipation of agony, and the poor elephant's pathetic 
 prayer ! One feels the cumbrous weight of flesh weighing one 
 down in reading it. 
 
 Again, you take no notice of Cynthia's speech to her lover, 
 so Beaumont and Fletchery — 
 
 " O that the dreadful smiles 
 Had waned from Olympus' solemn height. 
 And from all serious gods !" 
 
 Brimful of love-sick silliness, no doubt, but so is the whole 
 poem ; and, instead of flattering the fellow in that way, she 
 ought to have given him a sharp dig with her keenest arrow 
 for having the abominable bad taste to call her lunar lips "slip- 
 pery blisses." By the bye, what think you of " nectaro'us camel- 
 draughts ?" Is it not enough to horrify the very genius of os- 
 culation into a fit? Surely, after a camel-dratighf of nectar, 
 Glaucus might have found the contents of the "black, dull, 
 gurgling phial" an agreeable change, and after such a drench 
 of roses and ambrosia, who would not cry aloud for camomile 
 and wormwood ? 
 
 These are your omissions. Then, in the way of commission, 
 you put a stroke of approval at these lines — 
 
Diction of Keats. 239 
 
 " Old GEolus thy foe 
 Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the grttff complaint 
 Of all his rebel tempests. 
 
 * * * " Dark clouds faint 
 "When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam 
 Slants over blue dommiony 
 
 Gruff is a ludicrous word ; and if we may talk about blue 
 dominion, I know not what classes of words there are that may 
 not intermarry with every other class. 
 
 You approve also this — 
 
 " While ocean's tide 
 Hung swollen at their backs, z.w^ jeweVd sands 
 Took silently their foot-prints." 
 
 Ocean's tide hangs swollen from a dike, which keeps it back ; 
 but does it ever thus hang from a sandy beach, and how should 
 sands be jeweled, and why should it be noticed that they took 
 foot-prints silently ? 
 
 It seems to me that Keats not only falsifies language very 
 frequently, besides making words, such as orby, serpenting, etc., 
 "nd libitum, but that he also falsifies nature sometimes in his im- 
 agery. He turns the outer world into a sort of raree-show, 
 and combines shapes and colors as fantastically and lawlessly 
 as -the kaleidoscope. The kaleidoscope certainly has a law of 
 its own, and so has the young poet, but it is not nature's law, 
 nor in harmony with it. The old masters, in all their vagrancy 
 of fancy and invention, never did thus. They always placed 
 their wild inventions in the real world, and while we wander in 
 their realms of faery, we have the same solid earth and blue sky 
 over our heads as when we take a walk in the fields to see 
 Cicely milking the cow. This I think is occasionally the fault 
 of Keats, and another is that sameness of sweetness and over- 
 lusciousness of which I have already spoken. Reading the 
 " Endymion" is like roaming in a forest of giant jonquils. Nev- 
 ertheless, I take great delight in his volume, and thank you 
 much for putting it into my hands. 
 
240 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Sudden Death of her Mother.*— Reflections on the Event 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, September 26, 1845.— My dearest John, thank 
 you for your most kind letter. My soul is indeed very sorrow- 
 ful. The death-silence is awful. I had to think of her every 
 minute of the day, to be alvi^ays on my guard against noise ; and 
 she was one that made herself/^//, dear creature, every hour in 
 the day. I shall never be so missed by any one, my life is so 
 much stiller, and more to myself 
 
 I feel more than ever the longing to go and join them that 
 are gone — but for my children. But the greatest tie to earth is 
 gone from me, for even the children could do better without 
 me than she could have done. 
 
 All that Nurse tells me of her last days is soothing. She 
 wrote contentedly, thankful for Nurse's devotion to her, and 
 speaking even of Caroline's desire to please her. She had said 
 to me, as I was going away, " This is the last time you must 
 leave me." I said, " If you are in the least ill, let me know, 
 and I will return directly." I knew it would only vex her to 
 give up the visit the?t. 
 
 I always looked forward to nursing her through a long last 
 illness. I know not how it was, I could never help looking for- 
 ward to it with a sort of satisfaction. I day-dreamed about it 
 — according to the usual way of my mind — and cut it out in 
 fancy all in my own way. She was to waste away gradually, 
 without much suffering, and to become more and more placid 
 in spirit, and filled with the anticipation of heavenly things. I 
 thought, too, that this would help to prepare me for my change. 
 Now I seem as if a long-cherished prospect had been snatched 
 away from me. I thank God I was not thus suddenly sepa- 
 rated from Henry. — Ever your very affectionate sister, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 * At Chester Place, on the 24th of September, during my mother's ab- 
 sence on a visit to the Rev, Edward Coleridge at Eton. — E, C. 
 
Loss of her Mother. 241 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Peculiar Sense of Solitude arising from the Loss of a Parent. — Editorial 
 Labors on the "Biographia Literaria." — Mr. Coleridge's Immense 
 Reading, and Striking Quotations made from Obscure Authors. 
 
 To the Hon. Mrs. Henry Taylor : 
 
 10 Chester Place, December 8, 1845. — Your kind invitation I 
 feel quite grieved to decline, but I must decline it, as I have 
 done many others that have lately been made me. I do not feel 
 sufficiently equable in spirits to leave home now, and can not 
 agree with my friends in general that I should regain this quie- 
 tude better elsewhere than at home. But I hope to see more of 
 you, dear Mrs. Taylor, some time hence. The death of my 
 mother permanently affects my happiness, more even than I 
 should have anticipated, though I always knew that I must feel 
 the separation at first as a severe wrench. But I did not ap- 
 prehend, during her life, to what a degree she prevented me 
 from feeling heart-solitude, and the full forlornness of a widow's 
 state. Her age and infirmities, though they caused me great 
 uneasiness, had not made any sensible alteration in her mind 
 or heart. I lost in her as apprehensive a companion, and one 
 who entered as fully into life, as if she had died at fifty. She 
 had a host of common remembrances with me, and interests, 
 which my children are strangers to. They can not connect me, 
 as conversation with her so constantly did, with all my early 
 life. But the worst is the loss of cares and duties, due to her, 
 which gave additional interest to my existence, and made me 
 feel of use and important. 
 
 I am not, however, brooding over grief from want of employ- 
 ment. I am just now, indeed, absurdly busy. I have to edit 
 my father's fragmentary work, the " Biographia Literaria," or at 
 least to continue the preparations already made for a new edi- 
 tion. To carry on these upon the plan on which they were com- 
 menced, and to do for the " Biographia " what has been done 
 for " The Friend," and other works of my father, I have found, 
 as I advanced into the first volume, for me, exceedingly trouble- 
 some. A clever literary man, who reads and writes on a lalrge 
 scale, would make nothing of the business, but it makes me feel 
 as if I had no rest for the soles of my feet, and must be contin- 
 ually starting up to look into this or that volume, or find it out 
 
 Q 
 
242 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 in some part of Europe. As little boys at school do so wish 
 that Virgil and Livy would but have written easily, so I am 
 sometimes tempted to wish that my father would just have read 
 more com?nonplace-ishly, and not quoted from such a number of 
 out-of-the-way books, which not five persons in England but 
 himself would ever look into. The trouble I take is so ridicu- 
 lously disproportioned to any effect that can be produced, and 
 we are so apt to measure our importance by the efforts we 
 make, rather than the good we do, that I am obliged to keep 
 reminding myself of this very truth, in order not to become a 
 mighty person in my own eyes, while I remain as small as ever 
 in the eyes of every one else. 
 
 Then my father had such a way of seizing upon the one 
 bright thing, out of long tracts of (to most persons) dull and te- 
 dious matter. I remember a great campanula which grew in a 
 wood at Keswick — two or three such I found in my native vale, 
 during the course of my flower-seeking days. As well might we 
 present one of these as a sample of the blue-bells of bonny 
 Cumberland, or the one or two oxlips which may generally be 
 found among a multitude of cowslips in a Somersetshire mead- 
 ow, as specimens of the flowerhood of the field, as give these 
 extracts for proof of what the writer was generally wont to pro- 
 duce. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " S. T. C. on the Body." — The Essential Principle of Life not Dependent on 
 the Material Organism. — Teaching of St. Paul on this Point. — The Glo- 
 rified Humanity of Christ. — Disembodied Souls. — Natural Regrets aris- 
 ing from the Thought of our Great Change. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 " What did Luther mean by a body ? For to me the word 
 seemeth capable of two senses, universal and special; first, a 
 form indicating to A, B, C, etc., the existence and finiteness of 
 some one other being, demonstrative as hie, and disjunetive ?iS hie 
 et non ilk, and in this sense God alone can be without body; 
 secondly, that which is not merely hie distinctive, but divisive; 
 yea, a product divisible from the producent as a snake from its 
 skin, a precipitate and death of living power, and in this sense 
 the body is proper to mortality, and to be denied of spirits 
 made perfect, as well as of the spirits that never fell from per- 
 
''A Spiritual Body'' 243 
 
 fection, and perhaps of those who fell below mortality, namely 
 the devils."* ^' 
 
 What did S. T. C. mean by a form not material ? A material 
 form is here divisive as well as disjunctive, and this he denies of 
 the essential body or bodily principle. Did he conceive the 
 body in essence to be supersensuous, not an object of sense, 
 not colored or extended in space ? Of the bodily principle we 
 know only this, that it is the power in us which constructs our 
 outward material organism, builds up our earthly tenement of 
 flesh and blood. Can this power, independently of the organ- 
 ism in and by which it is manifested, be conceived of as a form 
 indicating the existence and finiteness of some one being to an- 
 other ? I believe that with our present faculties we are inca- 
 pable of conceiving how a soul can be embodied otherwise 
 than in a sensuous frame ; but knowing, as we do, that our flesh- 
 ly case is not a part of ourselves, but that there is a something 
 in ourselves which thus clothes us in matter, I think we may in- 
 fer that the human body, in the deepest sense, is independent of 
 matter, and that it may, in another sphere of existence, be our 
 form, that which indicates to other beings our finite distinct in- 
 dividual being, in a way which now we are not able to know or 
 imagine. 
 
 But what did St. Paul mean when he declared so emphatic- 
 ally, "Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood can not 
 inherit the kingdom of God." Is he not to be understood liter- 
 ally .? Must we suppose him to have meant only this : the car- 
 nal mind, or the man in whom the lower animal nature has the 
 upper hand, can not inherit the kingdom ? But how will such 
 an interpretation suit the context ? St. Paul has been speaking 
 not of holiness and unholiness, but of soul and body, and the 
 state after death, when this mortal tabernacle shall have been 
 dissolved. In reference to this subject, he affirms that as we 
 have borne the if?tage of the earthy, that is, a material body, we 
 shall also bear the image of the heavenly, and then straightway 
 adds that flesh and blood shall not inherit the divine kingdom. 
 To this, indeed, he adds again, "Neither doth corruption inherit 
 incorruption," evidently identifying flesh and blood with the cor- 
 ruptible, not introducing the alien topic of spiritual corruption. 
 Jeremy Taylor affirms, in reference to this passage in Corinthi- 
 
 ■* Coleridge's " Notes, Theological, Political," etc., p. 49. — E. C. 
 
244 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ans, that "in the resurrection our bodies are said to be spirit- 
 ual, not in substance, but in effect and operation ;" upon which 
 my father observes, " This is, in the first place, a willful interpre- 
 tation; and, secondly, it is absurd, for what sort of flesh and 
 blood would incorruptible flesh and blood be ? As well might 
 we speak of marble flesh and blood. In the sense of St. Paul, 
 as of Plato and all other dynamic philosophers, flesh and blood 
 is ipso facio corruption, that is, the spirit of life in the mid or 
 balancing state between fixation and reviviscence. 'Who shall 
 deliver me from the body of this death' is a Hebraism for ' this 
 death which the body is.' For matter itself is but spiritus hi 
 coagulo, and organized matter the coagulum in the act of being 
 restored : it is then repotentiating. Stop its self-destruction as 
 matter, and you stop its self-reproduction as a vital organ."* 
 
 St. Paul declares that in the resurrection we are to be clothed 
 w'ith a spiritual body, and to leave behind the natural body 
 which we had from Adam. Now what is a spiritual as opposed 
 to a 7iaiural body ? Surely the latter is a material and fleshly 
 body, and no body of flesh and blood can be otherwise than 
 natural, or can be properly spiritual. Make the flesh and blood 
 ever so thin, fine, and aerial, still the difference betwixt that and 
 any other flesh and blood will be one of degree, not of kind. 
 But the Apostle does not promise us a body of refined flesh and 
 blood, such as, according to some theologians, Adam had be- 
 fore the fall, but sets aside our Adamite body altogether; and 
 seems, indeed, to imply that the first man had no spirituality at 
 any time, for he is opposed to the second man as being of the 
 earth, earthy, as if in his character of the first man, and not as 
 fallen man, he was the source of earthiness, the Lord from 
 Heaven alone being the foundation of the spiritual. 
 
 There are some who believe that the Lord from Heaven is 
 now sitting at the right hand of the Father in a material and 
 fleshly body, such as He wore upon earth, and appeared in aft- 
 er the Resurrection — a metaphorical right hand, as Pearson ex- 
 plains it, but the body of Him who sits thereat of flesh and 
 blood. It is quite natural for such believers to expect that the 
 bodies of the saints in the resurrection will be fleshly too. As 
 the first fruits, so they must think will be all that follow. This 
 argument, however, seems to prove too much for those who con- 
 
 * "Notes on English Divines," vol. ii., p. 284. — E. C. 
 
''At the Right Hand of God!' 245 
 
 tend that our bodies in the future world are to be of flesh and 
 blood, but refined and glorified, and no longer natural ; for 
 the body in which our Lord ascended was the same as that 
 which He had before He rose from the dead. It was certainly 
 a natural body, that could be felt as well as seen, and which 
 ate and drank. 
 
 But my father believed that there will be a resurrection of 
 the body, which .mil have nothing to do with flesh and blood ; 
 he speaks of a noumefial body, as opposed to our present phe- 
 nomenal one, which appears to the senses, " no visible, tangible, 
 accidental body — that is, a cycle of images and sensations in 
 the imagination of the beholders — but a supersensual body, the 
 7ioumenon of the human nature."* In truth, he considered this 
 body inseparable from the being of man, indispensable to the 
 actual existence of finite spirits; the notion of disembodied souls 
 floating about in some unknown region in the intermediate 
 state, after the dissolution of the material organism, and before 
 the union of the soul with a celestial, incorruptible flesh-and- 
 blood body, he looked upon as a mere dream, a chimera suited 
 only to the times when men were wont to convert abstractions 
 into persons, and to ascribe objective reality to creatures which 
 the intellectual and imaginative faculty engendered within it- 
 self He laughed at the notion of the separability of the real 
 body from the soul — the arbitrary notion of man as a mixture 
 of heterogeneous components. " On this doctrine," he says, 
 "the man is a mere phenomenal result, a sort of brandy-sop, a 
 toddy-punch, a doctrine unsanctioned by, indeed inconsistent 
 with, the Scriptures. It is not true that body plus soul makes 
 man. Man is not the syntheton or composition of body and 
 soul, as the two component units. No — man is the unit, the 
 prothesis, and body and soul are the two poles, the positive and 
 negative, the thesis and antithesis of the man, even as attrac- 
 tion and repulsion are the two poles in and by which one and 
 the same magnet manifests itself"! 
 
 I continually feel sorrowful at the thought of never again be- 
 holding the faces of my friends, or, rather, about to be sorrow- 
 ful. I come up to the verge of the thought ever and anon, but 
 before I can enter into it am met by the reflection, "O vain and 
 causeless melancholy !" — whatever satisfaction or happiness I 
 
 * " Notes on English Divines," vol. ii., p. 52. — E. C. 
 t Ibid., vol. ii., p. 96.— E. C. 
 
246 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 can conceive as accruing to me in this way, can not the Om- 
 nipotent bestow it upon me in some other way, if this is not in 
 harmony with His divine plan? The loss, the want, is in this 
 life only, for whatever that other sphere of existence may be, I 
 shall be adjusted to it. Still in this life it is a loss and a trial 
 to feel that we can not image or represent to ourselves veri- 
 tably the state and happiness. We long to see again the very 
 faces of our friends, and can not raise ourselves to the thought 
 that in the other world there may be no seeing with the visual 
 eye, but something better than such seeing, something by which 
 it is absorbed and superseded. The belief that the future 
 world for man is this world reformed, exalted, and purified, is 
 one which I can not reconcile with reason. 
 
 J 
 
The Conviction of Sin. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1846. — yanuary-yuly. 
 
 LETTERS TO AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., REV. FREDERICK D. MAU- 
 RICE, HENRY TAYLOR, ESQ., MISS MORRIS, MRS. H. M. 
 JONES, MRS. RICHARD TOWNSEND. 
 
 The Conviction of Sin. — Exaggerated Self-Accusations of tlie Religious. — 
 Substantial Agreement among Christians of all Denominations. 
 
 To Miss Morris, Mecklenburg Square : 
 
 10 Chester Place, January 14, 1846. — I will at once tell yoia 
 the thought or two that occupied my mind as I read your letter 
 on the subject of the comparative sense of sin. I quite agree 
 with you that the sentiment, the feeling, is natural, and perhaps 
 necessary, in an awakened or awakening state of mind, respect- 
 ing sin, its odiousness and its danger. But, then, I think it is 
 capable of being modified or balanced by the representations 
 of the reasoning mind. This latter must tell most sinners, 
 whose overt acts are not of the most flagrant description, that, 
 in all probability, if they saw the hearts of others as they see 
 their own, they would behold a very similar train of goings-on 
 to that which they discern by inward inspection. And when 
 they hear so many of those who appear to be trying to please 
 God express this opinion of their own superior wickedness in 
 terms equally strong — as strong as human language will admit 
 — how can they, without suspending the use of reason, avoid 
 drawing the inference that it is no more to be relied on as ab- 
 solute truth than the una\^kened Pharisee's notion that he is 
 holier than other men ? 
 
 The feeling in itself I believe to be a good one ; but I do 
 think it is plainly the intention ofour Maker that man should 
 not I3e guided by feeling alone, or by his intellect alone, but 
 Ihat he should be kept in the right path by the alternate or min- 
 gled action of the two. The sense of being worse than any 
 
248 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 one else, if thus kept in its sphere by reason, will be nothing 
 more than a keen spiritual sensibility ; if it went further, and 
 clouded that inward eye which makes us acquainted with truth, 
 we know not what perversions might follow, what evil reactions 
 and corruptions, even of the spiritual mind by means of the 
 understanding. How often has it appeared as if excessive spir- 
 itual humility passed over into spiritual pride, and the very man 
 who was calling himself a worm, and really fancying himself 
 such, has shown by his acts and words that he considered ev- 
 ery soul alive that did not embrace his notions of election, jus- 
 tification, and such parts of theology, as far beneath himself, in 
 the eye of God, as a soul that is and is to be cast out forever, 
 is beneath a soul that is to be saved. Yet this same self-de- 
 cel^er, as he referred to feeling alone, felt sure that he was real- 
 ly humble. Had he tried himself by all the different criteria 
 whereby we may arrive at a knowledge of ourselves — by the 
 state of his heart and by his outward course of action, by the 
 conclusions of his judging and comparing faculty, as well as by 
 his emotions — he could hardly have been thus ignorant what 
 spirit he was of 
 
 My clergyman friend, who is to spend this evening with me, 
 speaks strongly and sadly of the mutual misunderstandings that 
 prevail among Christians, and I own I daily more and more la- 
 ment these dogmatic differences. I know the parties on both 
 sides insist that they are substantial and not merely logical {ens 
 logimni) differences ; but I do believe that most persons who 
 have gone between various parties as I have done, not merely 
 read on both sides — that is by no means enough — but eat and 
 drunk and slept, and talked confidentially, and interchanged, 
 not only courtesies, but heart kindnesses on both or all sides, 
 would have very much the same impression with myself, that 
 though logical truth is one, and can not belong equally to those 
 who logically differ, yet that the life and soul and substance of 
 Christianity may be pretty equally partaken by those who log- 
 ically differ. And, to confess the touth, my own belief is that 
 the whole logical truth is not the possession of any one party; 
 that it exists in fragments among the several parties, and that 
 much of it is yet to be developed. 
 
Grace in Baptism. 249 
 
 II. 
 
 Grace in Baptism. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 1846. — People talk about a seed of grace sown in the heart 
 remaining latent, then springing up, bearing fruit, etc., in all 
 which, I think, they deceive themselves by material analogies, 
 and forget the true nature of that which they speak of. The 
 use of those metaphors in Scripture is quite different. I think 
 that error and confusion have arisen on the subject from con- 
 fused notions of the nature and predicates oi spirit. Men think 
 of the " heart " as if it really were a fleshy receptacle. They do 
 not consider that the heart means the mind considered as feel- 
 ing, and that the mind is essentially action. The very passivity 
 of the mind is an act of suffering. Again, men sophisticate the 
 doctrine of regeneration by departing from the idea involved in 
 the word, and presented in Scripture. It is nearly the same 
 with recreation, and must therefore be a general and inaliena- 
 ble change. The gift in baptism is regeneration (as I believe) 
 in a secondary sense. It is a power unto regeneration, sur- 
 rounding the soul as with an atmosphere, and influencing it 
 perpetually with the subordinate co-operation of the will. 
 
 III. 
 
 Cefeiise of Mr. Coleridge's View of Baptism. — Regeneration, in its Primary 
 Sense, means the Work of God upon the Soul, which leads to Sanctifi- 
 cation. — Baptism effects a Change of State (not of Nature) by giving 
 the Promise of the Holy Spirit. — " The Gospel of the'Poor." — Use of 
 Rationalism in rectifying Popular Theology. — Negative Character of 
 German Philosophy. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 Chester Place, jfaniiary 23, 1846. — By actual regeneration, I 
 mean that change of the soul from evil to good by the Spirit of 
 the Redeemer, which fits it for eternal bliss. This is the idea 
 of regeneration contained in Scripture, where to be a son of 
 God and to be freed from sin are identified. Regeneration in 
 this sense is very fully described by South and Taylor, and many 
 other (not merely evangelical) divines. Dr. Pusey calls it the 
 secondary regeneration, and has sometimes described it quite 
 
250 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 scripturally. St. Paul speaks of the same thing when he talks 
 of the " new creature," which is the soul of man renewed by the 
 Spirit, its dispositions raised and purified, grace and goodness 
 predominating within it, and sin being put down. Now no di- 
 vine ever has said, or can say, that regeneration in this (which 
 I must own I consider its proper and primary) sense is pro- 
 duced in the moment of baptism. The spirit of man and spir- 
 itual action, as it is in itself, considered apart from our repre- 
 sentations, has no real relation to time, at least according to the 
 philosophy adopted by my father, whose views of baptism in my 
 essay I attempted to set forth and defend (a lady to-day told me 
 that Mr. Newman wondered that the said essay was not more 
 read). But regeneration, which I suppose to be the under-side 
 or co-extensive ground of justification and of sanctification (un- 
 less we take it as including them), phenomenally viewed, is a 
 gradual process. What, then, is M/ZzV-wa/ regeneration ? Sure- 
 ly it must be neither more nor less than a power given to the 
 soul of the baptized for the production of the actual regeneration. 
 So far divines are agreed. All worth speaking of admit that 
 the regeneration I have described is required in Scripture, and 
 that it can not take place in a moment in the soul of an infant. 
 They differ when they come to define the power unto regenera- 
 tion granted in baptism, or rather how this power belongs to the 
 soul. Newman, in his desire to adhere to the primitive doc- 
 trine, or at least that which the early Christian writers most in- 
 clined to (for I believe their conceptions to have been vague 
 and unsettled), and which the Council of Trent adopted, de- 
 scribed it to be within the soul, to constitute an entire change 
 and spiritualization of its nature. Now this my father consid- 
 ered to be utterly irrational, and I must add that I consider it, 
 though not so meant, in itself most irreverential and profane. 
 According to this view, the very same soul which is given to all 
 evil is an abiding-place of the Spirit of God. Indeed, Keble 
 affirmed this in express terms : " almost in all evil," were his 
 words. I can not believe that any human being, whose soul 
 had been spiritualized and recreated in the image of God, ever 
 grew up a "scandal to the Church." I hope it may be suffi- 
 cient to say, with Waterland, Bethel, and, as I understand him, 
 Thorndyke, that baptism consigns the regenerative Spirit to the 
 soul, or, to adopt your expression, intivduces it into spiritual cir- 
 cumstances^ which is a very different thing from merely giving it 
 
''''The New Creahirer 251 
 
 outward means and opportunities. In virtue of baptism we 
 have the Spirit, as it were, at our right hand, ever ready to lead 
 us into all goodness and truth, and make means and opportuni- 
 ties available to our welfare. It is not within us from the first, 
 but ever coming within us as fast as we admit it, and operating 
 upon us from without, so that we can not help admitting it, ex- 
 cept by an act of resistance, an exertion of the rebellious will. 
 Does not this doctrine secure all the same spiritual results as 
 the other, without, as the other does, bringing us into conflict 
 with Scripture and experience and the spiritual sense ? One 
 who has received the baptismal gift may indeed grow up a 
 scandal to the Church, because he may continually resist the 
 Spirit. But holding fast by the idea of regeneration given by 
 reason and Revelation, I hold it right to say that no really re- 
 generate person ever became reprobate and ungodly, or ever 
 ceased to be a true follower of Christ. If a man .falls away from 
 grace, as the Epistle to the Hebrews affirms that men may, it 
 is because he never received grace more than partially; he did 
 not so receive it as to prevent the sinful principle, though la- 
 tent, from being the master-principle of his spirit. So far, I 
 own, my doctrine coincides with that of Calvin, and I think 
 that our Saviour's words plainly affirm what I have just ex- 
 pressed. If there is no such thing as a state of the soul as pre- 
 clusive of a final fall and general corruption, as the state of a 
 butterfly is preclusive of a relapse into the caterpillar, how 
 should Christ so positively have predicted that His sheep should 
 never perish, and that no one should pluck them out of His 
 hand ? St. Augustine, that sophisticator of theology (of whom 
 the late Bishop Butler said that, if he and Pelagius had been 
 hung upon two cross-sticks, it would have been all the better 
 for the Church), was the first, I believe, who brought in the no- 
 tion of the possible fall of the regenerate. 
 
 With a very deep sigh, my dear friend, I partly admit what 
 you said about Rationalism, that it can not be the religion of 
 the poor and simple. But, then, I believe that every refined 
 view of Christianity is more or less a rationalistic system. 
 What, think you, do the poor make of correct Anglicanism, or 
 of Newmanic Romanism ? A philosophic Christianity main- 
 tains all the spiritual ideas of the Catholic faith ; neither does 
 it preclude the belief in an outward and visible system, but con- 
 tinually tends to rectify, purify, and explain it. The spirit and 
 
252 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the principle have been at work in the Church from the begin- 
 ning. But then I am not prepared to say that a perfect scheme 
 of philosophic Christianity has ever yet been developed, or that 
 it is the possession of one party or any individual. The Ra- 
 tionalists of Germany have shown their philosophy for the most 
 part destructively and negatively, more than in any other way. 
 But this is not true of Neander, or, as far as I know, of Schleier- 
 macher. They have a body of substantive belief in their minds, 
 not a world of unbelief on one hand, and a chaos of uncertainty 
 and somethinfT-undetermined-ness on the other. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Moral Effects the Test of Spiritual Operations."* — Dream-Verses.— Mil- 
 ton's Beauty. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 10 Chester Place, jfanuary 17, 1846. — I find that two clergy- 
 man-friends of mine, who attacked my little essay on Rational- 
 ism, hold, after all, precisely the same opinion of baptismal effi- 
 cacy which I have endeavored to set forth in that essay, name- 
 ly, that it is not, as Newman teaches, an internal, total, instan- 
 taneous, spiritual, non-moral change, giving a power unto right- 
 eousness, but a consignment of the regenerative spirit, made in- 
 stantaneously, for the purpose of producing a total spiritual and 
 moral change gradually realized, an introduction of the soul, as 
 it were, into a new spiritual atmosphere, or, as my father some- 
 where expresses it, " the periphery of graces belonging to the 
 Church of Christ." This is Waterland's doctrine, and, I be- 
 lieve, that of Arthur Thorndyke. I found that they disliked, as 
 much as I do, the severance in Newman's theory of the spirit- 
 ual and the moral (which he continually tries to cloak over, but 
 is obliged to reveal, when he comes to display the root part of 
 his doctrine), " the notion that a soul, in spite of being actually 
 spiritually regenerate, may grow up a scandal to the Church !" 
 This is a notion which common-sense and common feeling pro- 
 test against at the outset, and which the subtlest metaphysical 
 sense, as I imagine, condemns, as an empty phantom, at the 
 end of reflection's career. * * * 
 
 * "Aids to Reflection," vol. ii.,p.66. — Essay on Rationalism, by Sara Cole- 
 ridce. 
 
Descriptions of Nature in Milton. 253 
 
 Your sister's verses are very sweet and lovely. Thank you 
 for sending them. Sir W. H.'s are mighty good ones to be 
 written in a dream. My Uncle Southey had some good stories 
 of dream verse-making. He was a skeptic on the subject. He 
 thought that, on these occasions, men either dreamed that they 
 composed in a dream (if the poem was good for any thing, like 
 " Kubla Khan" ), or dreamed that their dream verses were good 
 poetry. He used to repeat some most inane verses which a 
 'certain poet composed in his sleep, and kept repeating in the 
 hearing of his wife. He assured her, when he awoke, that he 
 had produced, while under the dominion of Morpheus, the finest 
 poem in the world — if he could but recollect it. He was rath- 
 er crestfallen when she repeated to him the nonsensical coup- 
 let which he had voiced aloud over and over again, while he 
 supposed himself to be rivaling Milton. 
 
 Speaking of Milton, do you think that the human face divine 
 ever fell into a finer form than his ? It has all the beauty 
 which Italian painters give to St. John, and is infinitely more 
 manl}^, meaning, and intellectual. 
 
 V. 
 
 Originality of Milton's Genius.— Love of Nature Displayed in his Poetry. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 1846. — Milton "not characteristically one of nature's great 
 men .?" Every great man is characteristically nature's great 
 man. When did art or learning ever make the most distant 
 approximation to a Milton ? Learning may be the form of 
 Milton's poetry, but nature is its matter — or, at most, learning 
 is the body, while nature inspires the soul. Book-knowledge 
 was more to Milton, world-knowledge to Shakespeare ; but I 
 believe that the latter owed as much to what he acquired, what 
 he took into his mind from without, as the former. But book- 
 knowledge, after all, was less to Milton than observation of ex- 
 ternal nature. It is this lore surely which forms the master- 
 charm of "Comus," "Lycidas," the "Allegro," and "Penseroso," 
 the descriptions of Eden, which are the most perfect part of the 
 " Paradise Lost." Wordsworth has humanized nature ; but Mil- 
 ton glorified it, out of itself, in showing how divine a thing it is, 
 in its own, and none but its own loveliness, how evidently the 
 
2 54 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 work of God. Here he is, as you, and Wordsworth before you, 
 say, essentially Hebraic, so far as the Hebraic mind appears in 
 the Old Testament, Hence his sublimity — his simplicity and 
 grandeur, as to the nature of his theme, which the classical or- 
 nature by no means injures or misfits. He never is so orna- 
 mental as not to be " sensuous and impassioned," for his orna- 
 ments are all, in themselves, the fresh products of nature, and 
 the use that has been made of them, since they were first gath- 
 ered, has deadened, in no least imaginable degree, their ever- 
 lasting verdure. Milton is more ' profusely, more thickly and 
 richly poetic than Wordsworth ; his felicities of diction and brill- 
 iancies of imagination are more uniformly spread over the mass 
 of his productions. As for the Homeric poetry, it is perfection 
 in its way; but in regard to thought, the work of the intellect- 
 evolving reason and the spirit, it displays the childhood of the 
 human race, and that under an imperfect, obscured, and broken 
 Revelation. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Blanco White. — Comparison between his State of Mind and that of Cowper 
 and Shelley. 
 
 To the Rev. Frederick D. Maurice, Chaplain's Lodge, Guy's 
 Hospital : 
 Chester Place, February 4, 1846. — I was disappointed with the 
 review of Blanco White's* life in the Quarterly, which I had 
 heard highly praised for liberality and beautiful feeling. To 
 my mind it by no means does justice to Blanco White's head 
 or heart. It does not set in a strong point of view that in B. W.'s 
 character in which he was superior, as it strikes me, to the mass 
 of even good men — a determined, far-going, all-sacrificing truth- 
 fulness. Neither does it render justice to the powers of thought 
 in Blanco White. It is easy to point out vacillations, incon- 
 sistencies. The more a man thinks for himself and looks into 
 things, the more will be his apparent inconsistencies. There is 
 an external superficial consistency with which the masses of 
 
 * The Rev. Joseph Blanco White, author of " Letters on Spain, by Don 
 Leucadio Doblado," was born at Seville, of a Roman Catholic family, in 
 1775. He came to England, and joined the English Church about 1817. 
 After passing through various phases of belief and skepticism, he died a 
 Deist, in 1841. — E. C. 
 
Mrs. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 255 
 
 men are contented. And the review does no justice to the 
 faith Blanco White evidenced in his last illness ; nor does it 
 fairly compare Cowper's state of mind with his, though the 
 comparison is in one point instituted. Cowper was quite as 
 unhappy as B. White — far more so than Shelley. A great deal 
 of Shelley's misery was merely poetry; and he, too, had wretch- 
 ed health, and suffered habitual pain. It is also to be taken 
 into account that men who have separated from the Christian 
 world do not conceal their heart-wretchedness, nor affect to 
 receive comfort as others are apt to do. 
 
 I hope and believe that the Christian has the more consola- 
 tion for being such. But the dearer this hope is, the less can 
 one bear to hear half-truths and make-believes pressed into the 
 service of it. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Character of her Mother. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 February 21, 1846. — I really feel more and more that your 
 appreciation of my mother was just and clear-sighted. Her 
 character rises upon me now as I look back upon it, and com- 
 pare her ^£rfect simplicity and honesty, her union of steady, 
 deep affection for those she was connected with by blood or 
 friendship, her earnest gratitude, with an artless way of dealing 
 respecting them, and dispassionate views. Hasty she was at 
 the moment of provocation, but never was any one more just 
 to all mankind, as far as her knowledge and insight extended, 
 less swayed by peevish resentment in her deliberate judgments. 
 There are same more devout in temper, more exalted in the 
 world's eye, who are far inferior to her in those Christian tem- 
 pers, who are perpetually on the watch to set tip those they love 
 by studied representations, while negatively or positively they 
 are depreciating and unjust to those whom they love less, and 
 whose praise seems to them so much taken from their own dear 
 ones. She never disparaged others that those she loved might 
 shine the more, though she sometimes too bluntly and straight- 
 forwardly commended her loved ones. 
 
256 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Unfair Criticism of Mr. Coleridge's Religious Opinions.— His MS. Notes. 
 — Care taken of them by Mr. Southey. 
 
 To Henry Taylor, Esq., Mortlake :* 
 
 February 26, 1846. — I would always invite and welcome for 
 my father, as he did for himself, the closest examination of the 
 character and merit of his writings. The sooner they are clear- 
 ly understood, both for praise and for usefulness, or for detec- 
 tion of delusive appearances of truth and excellence, the better. 
 His complaint always was that nobody would question his views 
 m particidars—\\i2,X. nobody would fight with him hand to hand, 
 but that random missiles were discharged at him from a dis- 
 tance, by men who fled away while they fought. 
 
 I do not know how any of the Notes came to be effaced, 
 never having seen the copy of the "Life of Wesley" in which 
 they were written by my father himself. He did sometimes 
 forget to finish a note, in some instances most tantalizingly. 
 Perhaps he broke off to think, and then either did not satisfy 
 himself, or forgot to record his conclusions. Some of his mar- 
 ginalia have been cruelly docked by binders, some rubbed out. 
 My Uncle Southey used to ink over his penciled notes, " that 
 nothing be lost," as he said, with his usual diligence. When 
 shall we see such diligence again, such regularity, ^vith such 
 genius and versatility? I think if he had not been a poet, he 
 would have been called a plodder, and have become a respect- 
 able and useful writer by sheer industry. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Beauties of Crabbe. 
 
 To Mrs. Richard Townsend, Springfield, Norwood : 
 
 Chester Place, June 17, 1S46. — I am glad that you enjoy 
 Crabbe. Sir Francis Palgrave praised him most warmly, and 
 was pleased and rather surprised to have a warm response from 
 me the other day at Mr. Murray's. The "Tales of the Hall" 
 are what I now like the best of all his sets of poems. In my 
 
Reflections of a7i Invalid, 257 
 
 earlier days I did not perceive half their merits, the fine ob- 
 servation of life, the tender sympathy with human sorrow, the 
 gentle smile at human weakness, the humor, the pathos, the 
 firm, almost stern morality, the excellent, clear, pure diction, 
 and the touches of beauty (as I think) interspersed here and 
 there. The Songs I much admire : the descriptions of Nature 
 are decidedly poetical, in my opinion, though they bear the 
 jame relation to Milton's and Wordsworth's descriptions as 
 the expression of Murillo's pictures does to that of Raphael's 
 and Leonardo's. 
 
 X. 
 
 Reflections of an Invalid. — Defense of Luther. — Charges of Irreverence 
 often Unjustly Made. — Ludicrous Illustration found in a Sermon of 
 Bishop Andrews'.— Education : how far it may be Secular without be- 
 ing Irreligious. — Mr. Keble's " Lyra Innocentium." — Religious Poetry. 
 
 To Miss Erskine : 
 
 jfuly 23, 1846. — My dear A , I thought to have answered 
 
 your letter very soon; but I have been ever falling from one 
 poorliness into another, each slight in itself, but producing a 
 general weakness in me which is no slight evil, or rather it is 
 the general weakliness which rendered me liable to those little 
 attacks, and the attacks make it worse. But I am making the 
 vestibule of my letter a doleful sick-room, in which the most 
 interesting and refreshing objects that present themselves are 
 bottles from the apothecary's shop full of tonics, sedatives, lini- 
 ments, gargles, and so forth. Your letter, on the contrary, was 
 full of fresh air, and made me think of you, both when I read it 
 and from time to time ever since, riding away on a spirited pony, 
 with most countrified cheeks and eyes and a very light heart, 
 and mind less light than ever. I could wish your heart and 
 mind to be like two buckets, the latter to be ever filling, fuller 
 and fuller, with the streams of sacred and all other lore, pure 
 as water and rich as wine — while the former grows constantly 
 more and more empty of earthly cares and troubles. I hope 
 that your dear mother continues well and does not walk too 
 much... She is rather apt, I believe, not to think of herself when 
 others are concerned. There are so many depots, of the largest 
 possible extent, where selfishness and self-preservativeness may 
 
 R 
 
258 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 be borrowed to any amount, that if she can but be persuaded 
 of the necessity, she might readily furnish herself with a little 
 of the needful article. But this I have said, as it were, with 
 one eye open and the other shut, for, though there are in every 
 street and lane and country village such vast stocks of selfish- 
 ness to be found, yet those who are in want of the article never 
 know how to get at any of it. Every particle clings to its na- 
 tive place like petrifactions in marble. But all this moral re- 
 flection is enough io petrify you by its stupidity, and, in order to 
 put a little life into both of us, I must e'en turn for a while to 
 controversy. 
 
 How say you, my A , that you are not growing in love for 
 
 Luther, but rather becoming hardened in a Tracts for the Times-y 
 view of that great and good man, the noblest divine instrument, 
 in my opinron, which the world has seen after the Prophets and 
 Apostles ? Coarse ? What is coarseness in such a man, of 
 such dimensions, of such mental and spiritual thews and sinews, 
 with such a heart and soul and spirit, and such a mighty life- 
 long work as he had to perform, and performed most heroical- 
 ly ? If Luther had been a " nice man for a small tea-party," 
 if to write a few tracts for the times, or publish a few volumes 
 of sermons, or to put a church in proper ecclesiastical order, 
 after a modernized-primitive fashion, had been all his vocation 
 upon earth, then truly a little coarseness would have quite 
 spoiled him. But he was, as Julius Hare says, " a Titan ;" and 
 " when a Titan walks abroad among the pigmies, the earth 
 seems to rock beneath his tread." It is vain to tell me that 
 Luther could not have been spiritual-minded, because he used 
 rough, coarse, homely expressions. His whole life, public and 
 private, the general character of his writings, so far as I know 
 them, prove to me that he was a spiritual-minded man, and the 
 most deeply convinced of sin that ever lived. That Luther 
 was profane I can not admit. I have always thought that the 
 language of the Oxford theologians respecting profaneness in 
 religion had much in it that was both narrow and uncharitable. 
 They confound want of good taste with want of piety, homely 
 breeding with that irreverence which springs from the heart ; 
 in the mean time they are teaching doctrines and expressing 
 opinions which appear to many earnest and thoughtfully re- 
 ligious minds in the highest degree derogatory to God and 
 Christ and Christianity. Every one is profane who does not 
 
National Education. 259 
 
 adopt their peculiar ceremoniousness in religion, who can not 
 specially revere all that they have made up their minds to think 
 worthy of reverence. 
 
 Think of this comparison from the pen of Bishop Andrewes, 
 one of their highest favorites among our Anglican divines : 
 "Are they like to buckets 1 one can not go down unless the 
 other go up." The " buckets " are the Saviour and the Com- 
 forter ! Now would not this be pronounced highly profane by 
 the Luther-haters, had it been found in a book of Luther's ? 
 Yet Andrewes is considered the beau ideal of a reverential 
 spirit by the Oxford writers, and I have no doubt that he never 
 for a moment lost the feeling of reverence out of his heart. 
 Yet with all Luther's occasional scurrility and violence, I doubt 
 whether an example so unworthy of the highest of all subjects 
 could be found in his works. That instance from Andrewes is 
 brought forward in a long note in the new work of Archdeacon 
 Hare, "The Mission of the Comforter, and other Sermons." 
 The second volume is twice as long as the other, and full of 
 notes. Note W contains a most warm, thorough, searching, 
 resolute defense of Luther against all his modern censors. It 
 is not to be expected, indeed, that they who dislike the work 
 which Luther did, can ever like the workman ; still they should 
 not bring up again the refuted slanders of Romanists, and quote 
 his writings out of the books of his Romish adversaries instead 
 of out of his own. 
 
 Yesterday I discussed with Mr. M , or, rather, he with 
 
 me. Dr. Hook's remarkable pamphlet on National Education. 
 
 M contends that no part of education should be dissociated 
 
 from religious education, that we ought not to divide our life or 
 our teaching into secular and religious, and that such a plan as 
 the one proposed would clamp and rivet a wrong principle of 
 education, and prevent the arising of a higher and more deeply 
 religious system. 
 
 I think certainly that no man could teach History in an ef- 
 fective, living manner, without infusing into it the tone and 
 principle either of Socinianism or Trinitarianism. But I believe 
 that in the routine of the National School, except where religion 
 is formally introduced, the spirit of Christianity is not felt at all. 
 And certainly a man may teach reading, writing, spelling, and 
 arithmetic without letting it appear whether he is a Mohamme- 
 dan or a Christian — nay, more, I do not see how he could keep 
 
26o Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 steadily to his business in teaching these branches without 
 keeping his pecuHar form of religion in the background. Still 
 
 I believe that M is right, and that we who embrace with 
 
 our hearts the Divinity of Christ, should not allow a disbeliever 
 even to teach our children to cipher ; though I would by no 
 means admit that we ought to keep out of all intercourse with 
 such disbelievers, and that is another point on which I think 
 the Oxford teaching injurious. 
 
 I meant to talk with you a little abo^t the " Lyra Innocentium," 
 but have hardly left myself room. I am doing it all possible 
 justice, for I read it slowly, two or three poems a day, and some 
 two or three times over. I like best " Sleeping on the Waters" 
 and the "Lich-gate." Still it would be quite insincere to say 
 that I either like or approve of it, upon the whole, either as re- 
 ligion or poetry, though there are beautiful passages. I hope 
 you do not wholly approve of it as religion. Surely the Mari- 
 anism is far more than our best and greatest divines would 
 approve. The article in the Quarterly is the article of a friend, 
 and in the main a partisan ; the reviewer mentions some im- 
 portant faults in the volume as poetry, but to my mind there is 
 a deeper fault than any he mentions, namely, want of truth and 
 substance, and not only of doctrine, but of human child-nature. 
 The incidents recorded are quite insignificant in themselves: 
 they add nothing to our knowledge, no richness to our store of 
 reflections. They are used as mere symbols, suggestive of an- 
 alogies. They are just so many pegs and hooks on which Mr. 
 Keble can hang his web of religious sentiment. The reviewer 
 says that to excel as a poet is not Mr. Keble's aim. This seems 
 to me something like goodyism. He who writes poetry surely 
 should aim to excel as a poet, and the more if his theme is re- 
 ligion, and his object to spiritualize and exalt. Every great 
 poet has a higher aim, of course, than that of merely obtaining 
 ^admiration for his poetic power and skill. Wordsworth's aim 
 was to elevate the thoughts of his readers, to enrich and purify 
 their hearts, but he sought to excel as a poet in order that he 
 might do this the more effectually. I believe that Isaiah and 
 Ezekiel sought to excel as poets, all the more that their poetry 
 was the vehicle of divine truth — of truth awakened in their souls 
 by inspiration. 
 
'•''Phantasmionr 261 
 
 XI. 
 
 Composition of " Phantasmion." — Love in Fairy-land. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Before writing "Phantasmion," I thought that for the account 
 of Fairy-land Nature I need invoke no other muse than Memory; 
 my native vale, seen through a sunny mist of dreamery, would 
 supply all the materials I should want, and all the inspiration ; 
 but for the love part, and the descriptions of personal beauty, I 
 invoked Venus to aid me. On my application, she told me that 
 Fairy-land love was such weak, sirupy stuff, and so little in de- 
 mand, that it was hardly worth her while to keep any in store. 
 She would send out Cupid as soon as she could catch him, to 
 gather cowslips and primroses enough to make a few small bot- 
 tles, that to ferment it she would use a little sea-foam which he 
 might whisk off the surface of the waves after bathing, and that 
 I should have it, fresh and fresh, as I wanted it in the progress 
 of the story. In the mean time, though she could by no means 
 lend me any of her swans or golden-breasted pigeons, she had 
 a sick dove, which had broken its leg, and lost its health for 
 want of exercise, which was at my service for any use I could 
 put it to. These handsome offers I was glad to accept, seeing 
 that they were the best I could obtain, and so, if the love-poetry 
 of the volume is rather mawkish and soporific, or if some of it 
 tastes a little brackish, as if tears had trickled into the liquor, 
 you must bear in mind what poor wild flowers and froth I had 
 to brew it of; and if the story is but a lame affair, and the whole 
 piece a faint and sickly piece of painting, you must lay it all to 
 the account of the broken-legged dove, and the shabbiness of 
 Venus in lending me no better help. Coarse-minded thing ! 
 she can't endure Fairy -land, where the lovers are as fine as 
 mists, and the ladies evanescent as rainbows. She admires 
 heavy hulks, downright, visible, tangible wretches, and would 
 have the very ladies perceptible to the mere unpurged visual 
 orb ! There was Venus Coelestis, but I dared not apply to her, 
 she was too exalted for me. There ought to be a Venus Fairy- 
 landensis, abiding between earth and heaven, to assist writers 
 of fairy tales. 
 
 Since you desired to know particularly what I did and where 
 I was when I wrote the book, and all the circumstances at- 
 
262 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 tending its composition, I must further inform you that Cupid 
 behaved abominably about the cowslips. He wove them into 
 tisty-tosty-balls, and tossed them up in the sun, so that they 
 were absolute hay before he brought them to make the love- 
 small-beer. I begged Venus (who, by the bye, is just like her 
 picture by Correggio in the National Gallery) to take him by 
 the wing and give him a good shake, but she merely snatched 
 up one of the cowslip balls and flung it in his face, which he 
 took as a signal for a game of romps, threw a whole handful at 
 her, then let fall his basket and ran away, screaming and laugh- 
 ing. Foreseeing how vapid the beer would be when the flow- 
 ers were thus banged about, I grew very cross, and reproached 
 Venus for taking the matter so lightly. But she only laughed, 
 and told me that I should have done just the same with my 
 urchin ; just at that moment Herby came in, and began to be 
 as naughty as Cupid, looking all the time equally pretty, so that 
 I thought it as well not to push the dispute any further just 
 then. 
 
 Another misfortune to me was this, that Mercury-, at my re- 
 quest, put off" Cupid's reading-lesson, in order that he might 
 have full time to gather the cowslips in the morning; conse- 
 quently he came cross and tired to his master in the afternoon, 
 and at last fell asleep over his book. This put Mercury out 
 of humor, and he was heard to say that, since I had made a 
 dunce of his pupil, I might appear like a dunce myself, for all 
 the help he would give me toward the invention of my tale. 
 However, I have since heard that he has taken the book into 
 favor, so far as to teach Cupid to read out of it, and that the 
 little fellow is well pleased with the descriptions of the butter- 
 flies and bees, and other creatures with wings, insect and hu- 
 man, and both his mother and his uncle think that Hermillian 
 was intended as a portrait of him. 
 
 • A Character. 
 
 To the Same 
 
 * * His manner is not shy or taciturn, yet is essentially 
 reserved ; all that is said seems meted out beforehand : so far 
 it is to go, and no farther; and the smile is sweet, yet seems 
 too intentional. I like more overflow and self-abandonment to 
 the subject of discourse ; but then I was bred up among poets, 
 who are enthusiastic, overflowing people for the most part, and 
 
Wordsworth. — Burns. 263 
 
 let their thoughts run away with them now and then, as the 
 
 dish ran away with the spoon. F. N talks in a very finished 
 
 way, but his talk is all finished when it is presented to you : it 
 is stereotyped, as it were — not to be modified or enlarged by 
 alien suggestions. Thus it is as perfect as he can make it — 
 that is, very perfect on its own scale : you are to take it, and 
 be thankful. He has a Latin sort of intellect. 
 December 30, 1846. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Comparative Merits of the Earlier and Later Poems of Wordsworth. — 
 
 Burns. 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 1846. — Your scheme of a critique on Wordsworth would be 
 very noble and comprehensive, if adequately executed. The 
 difficulty would be to avoid obscurity and vagueness. I agree 
 to all your characteristics, so far as I understand them, except 
 those of the later poetry, of which I take a wholly different 
 view from that expressed In your prospectus. You have brought 
 me to see more beauty in them than I once did ; but when you 
 "[^ay they have more latent imagination, are more mellow, exhibit 
 "faculties more perfectly equipoised," you seem to me to have 
 framed a theory apart from the facts. They have mox& fancy, ^ 
 but surely not more imagination, latent or patent. They can 
 hardly be mellower, for they have not the same body ; their 
 substance is thinner ; and some of the author's poetic faculties 
 are, to my mind, not there to be equipoised. What ! are any 
 of the later poems, in the blending and equipoise of faculties, 
 beyond " Tintern Abbey," "The Leech-gatherer," "The Broth- 
 ers," "Ruth?" Did the instrument become mellower than in 
 "Three Years She Grew," "The Highland Girl," "The White 
 Doe?" Surely there is far more real strength in the " Sonnets 
 to Liberty," " Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle," " Platon- 
 ic Ode," " Rob Roy's Grave," than in any thing the author has 
 produced during the last twenty years. 
 
 That is a good distinction of meditative and contemplative. 
 
 Your characteristics of Burns are excellent. I agree to them 
 all heartily. I am glad you are not too genteel to like Burns. 
 
264 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Classification of Mr. Wordsworth's Poems, with a View to Proving the Su- 
 periority of the Earlier Ones over the Later. — Earlier Poems : Medi- 
 tative ; Lyrical. — Poems of Incidents : Reflective and Pathetic. — Poems 
 of Sentiment : Reflective and Imaginative ; Descriptive. — Ballad Poems. 
 — Homely Strains. — Sonnets. — Later Poems. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 SCALE OF MR. WORDSWORTH'S POETRY. 
 
 The poems are arranged in classes according to the charac- 
 ter of the composition, but in a loose, inexact manner, as such 
 classes are apt to run into one another, some poems having the 
 characteristics of more than one. 
 
 The degrees of excellence are marked by the letters of the 
 alphabet — a being the highest, and so on. 
 
 Meditative strains, sedate in character, and in which solem- 
 nity and tenderness mutually succeed or flow into each other : 
 
 The Old Cumberland Beggar, a^ a, a. 
 
 Tintern Abbey, a, a, a. 
 
 Address to my Infant Daughter, a. 
 
 The Happy Warrior, a. 
 
 Lines on the French Revolution, a. 
 
 When to the Attractions. 
 
 Nutting. 
 
 To M. M. 
 
 There was a Boy. 
 
 The Yew-tree Seat. 
 
 A Little Onward. 
 
 Certain passages of " The Excursion." See further on. (The 
 excellences of " The Excursion " are of a diffusive kind : 
 you must gather them from a large surface. The most 
 condensed passage is in the 4th book, "Within the soul 
 a faculty abides.") 
 
 Lyrical compositions, more rapt and fervid than the former, 
 and equally exalted in spirit : 
 
 Intimations of Immortality. Ode sublimely imaginative. 
 
 Thorough Wordsworthians think this poem transcendent, 
 
 and that its merits baffle description. 
 Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle, a, a, a. 
 
Wordsworth's Poems. 265 
 
 Ode to Duty, a, a. ^ ' 
 
 Rob Roy's Grave, a, a. 
 
 Elegaic, but with a solemn fervor which connects them with 
 the two former classes : 
 Peel Castle, a, a. 
 Laodamia. a, a. " Laodamia " partly belongs to the next. 
 
 Poems containing some history or incident, dignified and 
 solenfn in tone, or, when less elevated, full of a deep, reflective 
 pathos : 
 
 T/ie Leech-gatherer, a, a, a. (A title I prefer to the new one, 
 "Resolution and Independence." Derwent says, "The 
 Old Cumberland Beggar " might, in the same spirit, have 
 been changed into " Advantages of Mendicancy.") 
 
 The Female Vagrant, a, a. 
 
 The Brothers, a, a. 
 
 Ruth, a, a, 
 
 Michael, a. 
 
 The Matron of Jedburgh, a. There is a lyrical air about 
 this poem. 
 
 The Thorn. l>. Fine in parts, but unequal. 
 
 The White Doe. First and last cantos, especially the for- 
 mer ; interview of Francis and Emily, in the second ; and 
 speech of the Father, in the fifth, a, a. 
 
 Peter Bell. Unequal, but striking and impressive in general 
 conception, with passages of deep passion and potent im- 
 agination. 
 
 The Wagoner. Humbler in its aim and general conception, 
 
 but more equal in execution, more tender and harmonious 
 
 _ in tone, more truly in keeping, if lower in tint, and with less 
 
 depth and brilliancy of coloring. The Epilogue I prefer 
 
 to the Prologue of Peter Bell. 
 
 Poems, reflective and pathetic, in which the habit of grief is 
 more impressively described than any particular acts or accesses 
 of the passion : 
 
 The Affliction of Margaret, a. 
 
 The Emigrant Mother, a. Pleasing, but not powerful. 
 
 The Two April Mornings, a, a. 
 
 The Fountain. <2, a. 
 
266 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 'Tis said that Some have Died for Love. a. 
 
 Vaudracour and Julia. 
 
 History of Margaret, in " The Excursion ;" of the Solitary's 
 Wife, and of Ellen. 
 
 Song for the Wandering Jew. Not improved by the new stan- 
 zas. 
 
 The Mad Mother. 
 
 The Complaint. 
 
 The Complaint of the Forsaken Indian Woman. This poem 
 describes grief, not as the attendant on a permanent state, 
 but arising from sudden misfortune. Schiller has a poem 
 of the same sort, " Nadowessische Todtenklage," but less 
 intense in feeling. 
 
 Poems of sentiment, imaginatively presented, distinguished by 
 exquisiteness of expression, in which the language seems more 
 especially one with the thought, or inseparably incorporated 
 with it. — h, not so great as the two first classes. 
 
 Three Years She Lived in Sun and Shower, a, a, a. 
 "^The Highland Girl. 
 
 She was a Phantom of Delight. 
 
 To H. C, Six Years Old. 
 
 Farewell, thou Little Nook. 
 
 Yarrow Unvisited. 
 
 Castle of Indolence. 
 
 A Poet's Epitaph. 
 
 All these first six are almost equally excellent ; the two last 
 very good, but less sweet perhaps. 
 
 Less perfect in execution, or lighter and humbler in the tone 
 of feeling : 
 The Cuckoo. 
 To a Skylark. 
 
 I Traveled among Unknown Ways. (Last stanza exquisite.) 
 She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways. 
 If Nature for a Favorite Child. 
 A Slumber did my Spirit Seal. 
 The Green Linnet. 
 The Sparrow's Nest. 
 
 ^Vandered Lonely as a Cloud. (Unequal ] second stanza 
 "beautiful.) 
 
 .jidl 
 
" Beggars:'—'' Gypsies ^ ^ 267 
 
 I met Louisa in the Shade. 
 The Solitary Reaper, 
 To the Daisy. 
 To the Same Flower. 
 
 Nightingale, thou surely art. 
 
 Inferior, but of the same class : 
 To a Butterfly. 
 Stepping Westward. 
 Glen Almain. 
 
 Of this set, some are as perfect in their wa}', having as much 
 unity of execution, as those of the first set ; and some, as the 
 verses on Matthew, " If Nature," etc., are as deep in feeling. 
 But none of them so finely unite harmony of expression with a 
 high poetic spirit. 
 
 "Beggars" belongs to this class, and has some power about 
 it. But, though thoroughly Wordsworthian, it is to my mind 
 unsuccessful. 
 
 Poems of reflection imaginatively conceived : 
 Gypsies. 
 
 1 can not yet feel quite satisfied with this poem. I wish that 
 such fine language had a more clearly justifying subject. Mr. 
 De Vere alleges that though, if the reality of the case be con- 
 sidered, the " tawny wanderers " were quite in the right to take 
 their rest, yet the poet, looking at the matter poetically, did 
 very well to be indignant at them, and to express his indigna- 
 tion in the most magnificent manner. Now I know that the 
 poetical aspect of things, and the common-sense, unadorned 
 aspect of them, are very different; but can it be right to make 
 them clean cojitrary, the one to the other, on any occasion? 
 The poet may add to truth of fact " the light that never was on 
 sea or land " — but this light ought surely to exalt and glorify, 
 not to reverse or misrepresent it. The actual ought to underlie 
 the whole fabric, and even regulate its form, though it be not 
 itself immediately visible. Otherwise we convert poetry, which 
 ought to be truth of a peculiar kind, into falsehood. The great 
 merit of Mr. Wordsworth's best poems is that they present re- 
 "aTities of the heart and mind of man and of external nature in 
 the grandest forms, and under the most glowing and glorifying 
 
268 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 lights wherein they can possibly appear. Some deny that these 
 lights are glowing. They have seldom, indeed, any such glow 
 as is opposed to purity and solemnity. But in his finest poems 
 they are intense, and transfigure the objects, not changing the 
 form and lineaments so as to render them unrecognizable, but 
 exalting, refining, illuminating them. 
 
 The small Celandine — There is a Flower, the lesser Celan- 
 dine. Last stanza is in the pithy manner of some of the 
 old poets. 
 
 Fidelity. Last four lines fine. 
 
 My Heart Leaps up. 
 
 The Kitten and the Falling Leaves. 
 
 Yes, full surely 'twas the Echo. 
 
 It is no Spirit. 
 
 Preface to the White Doe. 
 
 Animal Tranquillity and Decay. A prosy didactic title. 
 
 ■ Descriptive pieces highly imaginative, and pervaded with a 
 sentiment inspired by the objects of the description, the outward 
 forms of nature, not arising from other sources, and arbitrarily 
 arrayed therein : 
 
 Yew Trees. Sublime. 
 
 To Joanna. Containing the fine passage finely imitated by 
 Lord Byron in " Childe Harold," about the echo among the 
 mountains. 
 The Danish Boy. A fragment. 
 
 Here I might have placed — 
 
 There was a Boy. 
 
 To M. H. 
 
 When to the Attractions. 
 
 Nutting. 
 
 The " Evening Walk " and " Descriptive Sketches " are en- 
 ergetic, but seem to want a point to seize the heart and fancy. 
 They want unity of aim. 
 
 Passages in the Blind Highland Boy. 
 Idle Shepherd Boys. 
 Description of Skating at Sunset. 
 
''Elle7i Irwinr—''The Idiot Boy': 269 
 
 Night Piece. 
 
 Emma's Dell. " There is an Eminence." 
 
 The Haunted Tree. 
 
 Influence of Natural Objects. 
 
 There are fine descriptive passages in " The Excursion," es- 
 pecially that beginning, "Such was the boy ; but for the grow- 
 ing youth^ What soul was his," p. 10, ist book ; and the descrip- 
 tion of the cloud city, at the end of the 2d book, p. 71. 
 
 " Characteristics of a Child Three Years Old" is pretty and 
 graceful, like a woman's writing. 
 
 Poems of the ballad character — serious and pathetic : 
 
 The Horn of Egremont Castle. 
 
 The Last of the Flock. 
 
 The Force of Prayer. 
 
 The Childless Father. "Up, Timothy." Very affecting and 
 pleasing. 
 
 Poor Susan. Still better in the same line. 
 
 Ellen Irwin. My old friend Mr. Calvert wore me out with 
 this poem. I have pleasing juvenile associations with it, 
 but not poetical ones. He was always half-admiring, half- 
 quizzing his friend's muse. 
 
 The Seven Sisters. 
 
 Lucy Gray. 
 
 Repentance. 
 
 More homely, and with an occasional sportiveness not suffi- 
 ciently distinguished from the ludicrous. Mr. Wordsworth's 
 utter want of all sense of the humorous seems to me connected 
 with his mistakes on this hea<3. 
 
 — Tiie Idiot Boy. Admired by Charles James Fox. I think 
 that none but a poet and a man of power could have 
 written, or dared have written, " The Idiot Boy;" but, like 
 " Peter Bell " and " The Thorn," and, in less degree, some 
 of his other poems, it has in it a radical defect in the 
 original cast and conception. 
 The Two Thieves. 
 The Farmer of Tilbury Vale. 
 The Pet Lamb. 
 The morality of the first two of these poems is dubious. It 
 
2 JO Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 is not well to be so figurative and poetic in a matter of morals, 
 that the wrong sense is the more obvious. But I do not see 
 that there is any humility of thought and diction in these poems 
 which is not within the rules of taste, rightly and liberally un- 
 derstood. 
 
 Lower again, but still not without power and marks of an 
 individual mind, which to me are pleasing : 
 
 Goody Blake. That is surely a stanza which has some effi- 
 cacy toward freezing the blood — " She prayed, her with- 
 ered hand uprearing." 
 
 We are Seven. 
 
 Written in Germany. "A fig for your languages." 
 
 Homely strains, not ballads : 
 
 To a Sexton. "Let thy wheelbarrow alone." Quaint, but 
 with a sort of vivid realizing of the country church-yard 
 which used to please me, as Tennyson's vivid realizations 
 of cottage gardens, old country mansions, reedy swamps 
 where swans expire, and spots about the country village, 
 please me. 
 
 A Character. 
 
 Sonnets. The finer sonnets belong to the first class of se- 
 date, meditative strains, i; or the less elevated sentimental 
 class, 2; some are imaginatively descriptive, 3. 
 
 With how sad steps. 3. 
 
 Surprised by joy. 2. 
 
 Among the Mountains. 
 
 I watch, and long have watched. 
 
 I am not one. The series of four Sonnets beginning thus. i. 
 
 Three Sonnets on Sleep. 2. 
 
 Earth has not any thing, i. 
 
 Lady, the songs of Spring, i. 
 
 The world is too much with us. i. 
 
 Once did she hold. 
 
 Toussaint. 
 
 Inland, within a hollow vale. 
 
 Two voices are there. 
 
 Milton, thou shouldst be living. 
 
 It is not to be thought of 
 
The Excursion^ 271 
 
 When I have borne in memory. 
 These times touch monied worldlings. 
 Shout, for a mighty victory. 
 Another year, another deadly blow. 
 Clarkson, it was an obstinate hill. 
 Hail ! Zaragoza. 
 Brave Schill. 
 Ah ! where is Palafox ? 
 The power of armies. 
 What need of clamorous bells. 
 From the dark chambers. 
 Calvert, it must not be unheard. 
 Pure element of waters. 
 Calm is all nature. 
 With ships the sea. 
 It is a beauteous evening. 
 Praised be the art. 
 The fairest, brightest hues. 
 Methought I saw. 
 The Imperial Consort. 
 Fallen and diffused. 
 Grief, thou hast lost. 
 As the cold aspect. 
 While not a leaf 
 Ye sacred nurseries. 
 Shame on the faithless heart. 
 Ward of the Law. 
 Etc., etc., etc. 
 
 "THE EXCURSION." ^ 
 
 y 
 
 Such was the boy, p. 10 of 6th vol. of last edition. 
 
 Story of Margaret, p. 36. 
 
 Cloud City, p. 71. - 
 
 Voiceless the stream, p. 96. 
 
 Description of the Solitary's married life and mental history 
 
 after his bereavement. 
 His wife's death, p. 101-113. 
 
 How beautiful this dome of sky, p. 116. Miltonic. ^ 
 Religion of the Ancients, p. 138, 139, 140. 
 A Curious Child — passage that Landor quarreled about, p. t 55. 
 
272 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Of the later poems, those that have pleased me best are- 
 Lines on a Portrait.* 
 Dion. 
 
 On the Longest Day.* 
 The Triad.* 
 Evening Ode. 
 Ode to Licoris. 
 The Minstrels Played. f 
 Ethereal Minstrel. 
 Yarrow Visited. 
 
 Yarrow Revisited. Inferior, but elegant. 
 Remembrance of Collins. 
 Lines in a Boat. 
 The Pass of Kirkstone. 
 
 Some of the Duddon Sonnets. My father said the best of 
 them were written early. 
 
 Of these poems, I like best those that I have marked 
 with a *. 
 
 I have purposely exhibited the earlier poems by themselves, 
 in order to make it appear whether or no the author's fame 
 rests principally on them — whether any thing approaching to 
 the like amount of poetic stuff czxi be produced from the later 
 productions, which almost equal them in bulk. How compara- 
 tively few of the former could lovers of his poetry afford to part 
 with ! Perhaps my great preference of the earlier set may not 
 be defensible by aesthetic rules : I might not be able to prove 
 that there is a difference of kind, more than of mere degree, 
 between the first and the last; that the former are poetry and 
 works of genius in a higher sense than the latter ; that the lat- 
 ter are produced willfully by the author's poetic skill and tal- 
 ent, while the former were effluxes of the poetic spirit, and re- 
 sults of inspiration ; that the latter are imitations and elaborate 
 reproductions of what was produced /// substance before, rather 
 than fresh products of thought and feeling. But so it is, that I 
 feel they never can have any great hold on my mind. I have 
 heard some of them to the greatest advantage ; for if any thing 
 can teach one to love poetry, it is to see that it is loved, and 
 
 t " Laodamia" and the " White Doe" are mtermediate in style between 
 the early and later poems, and mark the transitional state of the Words- 
 worthian genius. — S. C. 
 
"■Laodamia'' 273 
 
 hear it repeated in tones of love and admiration by tliose who 
 are themselves poetical. And I shall read it through again, and 
 see much more in it than I have ever yet done, though nothing, 
 I fear, comparable to two thirds at least of the old set. 
 
 My notion of the superiority of such poems as "Tintern Ab- 
 bey," " The Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle," " The Fe- 
 male Vagrant," etc., over such as " Dion," " The Triad," " The 
 Ode to Lycoris," I might partly illustrate by referring to the 
 
 difference betwixt such a face and countenance as that of J 
 
 H , or of B — — N , at the same age, with the face and 
 
 countenance of Schiller, or any of the handsomer of the an- 
 cient Greeks. The former are graceful, refined, and elegant; 
 but they want breadth, mass, and expansion. There may be all, 
 and more than all, their elegance, with greater breadth ; for 
 where the features are more solid and on a bolder scale, the 
 face may be altogether wider, with no loss of beauty, but the 
 contrary, and with an infinite gain in grandeur and force. So, 
 too, the expression may be as refined, yet far more impressive 
 and energetic. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Critique on "Laodamia." — Want of Truth and Delicacy in the Senti- 
 ments attributed to the Wife in that Poem. — No Moral Lesson of 
 any Value to be Drawn from such a Misrepresentation. — Superior 
 Beauty and Fidelity of a Portrait taken from the Life. — Leading Idea 
 of Shelley's " Sensitive Plant." 
 
 REASON FOR NOT PLACING "LAODAMIA" IN THE FIRST 
 RANK OF WORDSWORTHIAN POETRY. 
 
 " Laodamia " is, in my opinion, as a whole, neither powerfully 
 conceived nor perfectly executed. I venture to say that there 
 i^ both a coarseness and a puerility in the design and the sen- 
 timents. I see a want of feeling, of delicacy, and of truthful- 
 ness in the representation of Laodamia herself. The speech 
 put into her mouth is as low in tone as it is pompous and in- 
 flated in manner. Would even a Pagan poet — would Homer 
 have ascribed such an address to Andromache or Penelope ? 
 Would he have made any virtuous matron and deeply loving 
 wife address her lord returned from the dead so in the style of 
 a Medea or a Phaedra? Surely in Ovid's "Epistle of Lao- 
 damia to Protesilaus" there is nothing so unmatronly and un- 
 
 S 
 
2 74 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 wifely, bold and unfeminine. Not only does the poet make 
 Laodamia speak thus — he clenches the imputation by a com- 
 mentary. He ascribes to her passions unworthy of a pure 
 abode, raptures such as Erebus disdains — implies that her feel- 
 ings belong to mere sense, the lowest part of our nature. By 
 what right does he impute to the spouse of Protesilaus such 
 grossness of character, and how can he do so without repre- 
 senting her as quite unworthy of that deep sympathy and com- 
 passion which yet he seems to claim for her? "Oh, judge her 
 gently who so deeply loved." Deep love is utterly incompati- 
 ble with such passions and raptures as Erebus can have any 
 pretense to disdain. Even where they existed, they would be 
 consumed, burned up as a scroll, in the strong, steady fire of 
 conjugal affection. After all, what is the moral of this much- 
 pretending, lofty-sounding poem 1 What is it that the poet 
 means to condemn and to warn against? To judge by his 
 words, we must suppose him to be declaiming against subjuga- 
 tion to the senses, because these things earth is ever destroy- 
 ing and Erebus disdaining. Now if Laodamia really longed to 
 be reunited with her husband only for the sake of his "roseate 
 lips" and blooming cheeks, she would deserve censure and con- 
 tempt too ; but the true reason of her sorrow and reluctance to 
 part with him is this, that she is chained to the sphere of out- 
 ward and visible things, while he is gone. Heaven knows whith- 
 er, and that, except through a sensuous medium, she can have 
 no communion with him — none of which she can be conscious, 
 not the highest and most spiritual. Love can havejng_ other 
 fruition than that of union. The fervent apostle longs to be 
 dissolved and to be with Christ. The poet's machinery, too, is 
 extremely ill-adapted for bringing out any deep or fine thoughts 
 on such a subject. His heaven itself is a heaven oi sense, Elys- 
 ian fields, with purling brooks and lilied banks, "purpureal 
 gleams," and all that we have here on a brighter and larger 
 scale, where the pride of the eye, by far the strongest and most 
 seductive of all the senses, is to be oceanically gratified. But 
 is submission to the will of God, and a patient waiting to be 
 made happy in his way, true faith and trust in the Author of our 
 being, that He who gave us our hearts and the objects of them, 
 can and will give us the feelings and the fruitions best adapted 
 to our eternal well-being, if we rely upon Him with an energy 
 of self-abandonment and patience, what the poet meant to in- 
 
''She was a Phantom of Delight y 275 
 
 culcate ? I can only say that, if this be the case, nothing can 
 be more circuitous and misleading than the way which he takes 
 to arrive at his point ; all along, if he aims that way, he shoots 
 another. 
 
 In this poem Mr. Wordsworth willfally divested himself of 
 every tender and delicate feeling, in the contemplation of the 
 wife and the woman, for the sake of a few grand declamatory 
 stanzas, which he knew not else how to make occasion for. 
 Of course a poor woman is glad to see the external form of her 
 husband after a long and perilous absence ; right glad, too, to 
 see him with a ruddy cheek, thankful under such circumstances 
 to receive ever so dislocating a squeeze — a thing to the mere 
 sense unluxurious, nay painful, but comfortable to the heart 
 within, as making assurance doubly sure that there he is, the 
 good man himself; no vision or spectre like to vanish away, but 
 a being, confined like herself within the bounds of space, and 
 likely for many a day to be perceptible within that portion of 
 space which is their common home ; proof also, or, at least, a 
 strong sign, that whether or no he be as glad to rejoin her as 
 she is to have him back, at all events he is more glad than 
 words can express. 
 
 Why did Mr. Wordsworth write in this hard, forced, falsetto 
 style"of " Laodamia ?" Was this a sketch taken from very nature ? 
 Was'it drawn by the light of the sun in heaven, or by real 
 rnobrilight in all its purity and freshness? No — but by the 
 beams of a purple-tinted lamp in his study, a lamp gaudily col- 
 "ored, but dimmed with particles of smoke and fumes of the can- 
 dle. Compare with this the thoughts and feelings embodied 
 in that exquisite sketch, " She was a Phantom of Delight," the 
 fine and delicate interweaving of the outward and sensuous 
 with the things of the heart and higher mind in that poem. 
 Can we not see in a moment that the poet had been gazing on 
 the deep and manifold countenance of Nature herself, of Truth 
 and Reality, when he threw forth those verses — that he had been 
 seeing, not inventing ? Yet is it not far more finely imaginative 
 than the other ? Would any but a great poet have so seen the 
 face of Nature, or so portrayed it ? Mrs. Wordsworth lies, in 
 essence, at the bottom of that poem. How angry would the 
 bard be to have her connected in any way with the other, and 
 "its broad, coarse abstractions ! So long as sense is divorced 
 from our higher being, it is, indeed, a low thing, but may it not 
 
276 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 be redeemed, and by becoming the minister and exponent of 
 the other, be purified and exahed? I have ever thought those 
 doctrines that seek to sever the sensuous from our humanity, 
 instead of retaining and merging it in the sentimental, the in- 
 tellectual, and the spiritual, " a vaulting ambition that o'erleaps 
 itself and falls on the other side." 
 
 I have received more consolation from Mr. Wordsworth's po- 
 etry than from any sermons or works of devotion at different 
 times of my life, but I must have more truth and freshness than 
 there is in " Laodamia" to be either highly gratified or consoled, 
 I would not have poetry always dwell in the common world, but 
 still it must always have truth at the bottom. I admire, for in- 
 stance, and see great truth in Shelley's " Sensitive Plant." It 
 is wild, but there is nothing unreal or forced about it. I look 
 upon it as a sort of apologue, intended, or at least fitted, to ex- 
 hibit the relations of the perceptive and imaginative mind, as 
 modified by the heart, with external nature. 
 
'Modern PaintersT 
 
 277 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1846. — y Illy- December. 
 
 LETTERS TO AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., REV. HENRY MOORE, MISS 
 FENWICK, MRS. FARRER, MISS MORRIS. 
 
 Mr. Ruskin's " Modern Painters." 
 
 To Miss Morris: 
 
 1846. — A book which has interested me much of late is a 
 thick volume by a graduate of Oxford, whose name is Ruskin, 
 on the superiority of the modern landscape-painters to the old 
 masters in that line. The author has not converted, and yet he 
 has delighted me. I think him a heretic as regards Claude, 
 Cuyp, G. Poussin, and Salvator Rosa ; but his admiration of 
 Turner, whom he exalts above all other landscape-painters that 
 ever lived, I can go a great way with ; and his descriptions of 
 nature, in reference to art, are delightful — clouds, rocks, earth, 
 water, foliage, he examines and describes in a manner which 
 shows him to be quite a man of genius, full of knowledge, and 
 that fineness of observation which genius produces. 
 
 II. 
 
 A Talk with Mr. Carlyle. — Money as the Reward of Virtue. — Different Ef- 
 fects of Sorrow on Different Minds. — Miss Fenwick. — Milton, Good as 
 well as Great. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Carlyle, I think, too much depreciates money as an instru- 
 ment. I battled with him a little on this point when I saw him 
 last. He is always smiling and good-natured when I contra- 
 dict him, perhaps because he sees that I admire him all the 
 while. I fought in defense of the Mammonites, and brought 
 him at least to own that the laborer is worthy of his hire. Now 
 this contains the pith of the whole matter. The man who de- 
 
278 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 votes himself to gain riches deserves to have riches, and, like 
 Hudson, to have a monument set up to him by those whom he 
 has enriched ; and if he strives for riches to spend them nobly 
 or kindly, then he deserves to have the luxury of that sort of 
 doing good. A Burns or a Berkeley aims at, and works for, and 
 ought to find his reward in, other harvests. But Carlyle seems 
 angry because the Burns or the Johnson or the Milton has not 
 the same honors, or from the same men, as millionaires and 
 fashionists ; because the whole world — unphilosophical and un- 
 poetical as the main part of it is — does not fall down and wor- 
 ship them, and cast forthwith into the sea or some Curtius gulf 
 all the gauds and playthings which they do not care about. 
 This is overbearing and unfair. Let him teach the world to be 
 philosophical and poetical as fast as he can ; but till it is so, let 
 him not grudge it the rattles and sugar-plums and hobby-horses 
 of its infancy. * * * 
 
 Your last letter, received at Heme Bay, gave a delightful ac- 
 count of your mother and her consolations. Soon after reading 
 it, I saw a fine appearance in the sky — for then I was always 
 watching sky and sea and atmosphere spectacles — the sun and 
 moon in a mist, the latter pallid and sickly, while the former 
 burned through the veil, and converted all the vapor around it 
 into a vehicle of golden radiance. This seemed to me an apt 
 image of the diverse effect of sorrow on different minds. To 
 a warm and deeply benevolent spirit it becomes the means of 
 a more diffusive charity and kindliness ; the sorrow itself is 
 pierced through and overpowered, yet serves to spread abroad 
 and augment the benevolence which it can not damn or ex- 
 tinguish ; while to those who have but a comparatively scanty 
 stock of love belonging to them it is the extinguisher of all so- 
 cial amiability, it renders them dull and cold, the mere ghosts 
 of their former selves. * * * 
 
 I take great delight in Miss Fenwick and in her conversa- 
 tion. Well should I like to have her constantly in this drawing- 
 room to come down to from my little study up stairs — her mind 
 is such a noble compound of heart and intelligence, of spiritual 
 feeling and moral strength, and the most perfect feminineness. 
 She is intellectual, but — what is a great excellence — never talks 
 for effect, never keeps possession of the floor, as clever women 
 are so apt to do. She converses for the interchange of thought 
 and feeling, no matter how, so she gets at your mind, and lets 
 
Milton^ Good as well as Great. 279 
 
 you into hers. A more generous and a tenderer heart I never 
 knew. I differ from her on many points of religious faitli, but 
 "on the whole prefer her views to those of most others who differ 
 from her. Once she said something against Milton, which made 
 me feel for the moment as Oliver Newman did when Randolph 
 denounced the "blind old traitor" — 
 
 " With that his eyes 
 Flashed, and a wanner feeling flushed his cheek." 
 
 " Time will bring down the Pyramids," he said, and so forth. 
 Randolph's respondent did but defend Milton on the score of 
 his poetry. But I think he was great as a man and a patriot, 
 very noble in the whole cast of his character, and very far from 
 being what she thinks him — for his writings against that weak, 
 wily (or at least z/;z-straightforward, not ingrainedly honest) des- 
 pot King Charles I. — "malicious." It is seldom that so brave, 
 so public-spirited a man as Milton harbors malice in his heart; 
 he, too, who had " never spoken against a man, that his skin 
 should be grazed." So, like Oliver, though I kept "self-pos- 
 session as a mind subdued," yet was I " a little moved." 
 
 III. 
 
 A Picture. 
 To the Same : 
 
 Her features are not Grecian, but a most graceful contour of 
 figure, head, neck, and arms, having that yapic, evfxopcjxjjv KoXoaawy 
 — \}a.2A. grace of well'forjned statues — of which ^schylus speaks; a 
 camellia-japonica complexion and gazelle-like eyes go far to- 
 ward making a pretty girl. You must stand off a little to see 
 her beauty, and look at her as you would at a tree, a weeping 
 birch or delicate ash, the lady of the woods or the princess, as 
 Mr. Wordsworth used to callit. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Danger of Exclusiveness in Parental Affection. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr, Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, August 5, 1846. — It is certainly right that par- 
 ents should form, as much as possible, a friendship with their 
 
28o Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 children, and seek mental association with them ; but it seems 
 to me that their desire for this, and endeavor after it, should 
 not be without limits. Parents and children can not be to each 
 other as husbands with wives, and wives with husbands. Nat- 
 ure has separated them by an almost impassable barrier of 
 time J the mind and the heart are in quite a different state at fif- 
 teen and at forty. 
 
 Then, too, we must consider that, though so many difficulties 
 attend the comfortable marriage of young people in our rank 
 of life, yet marriage, somewhere between seventeen and thirty, 
 is what we should look to for them, as a possible and, upon the 
 whole, desirable event for them in ordinary cases. This proba- 
 bility alone must interfere with our forming such habits of con- 
 tinual intercourse with them, and dependence upon them for 
 hourly comfort and amusement, as it would be very painful to 
 break off in case of their doing what it is certainly most for 
 their life-long happiness that they should do — forming a mar- 
 riage connection which may endure when we are gone to our 
 rest. Whatever is most natural, so that it be not of the nature 
 of sin, is in all ordinary cases the best and safest. I have seen 
 and heard of a great deal of distress and misery arising from 
 parents setting their hearts too much on the society and exclu- 
 sive or paramount love of their children ; and have always felt, 
 especially since I have been a widow, that this was a rock which 
 I had to avoid. 
 
 V. 
 
 St. Augustine's College. — Holiday Tasks. — The Evening Gray and the 
 
 IMorning Red. 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 St. George's Terrace, Heme Bay, August 20, 1846. — One day 
 last week we drove to Canterbury to visit the rising Missionary 
 College of St. Augustine, which will be completed and set 
 agoing — made alive, as it were — before the end of next spring, 
 as is now expected. I was much struck with the true collegiate 
 air of the pile of buildings, and the solid handsomeness and 
 appropriate beauty of the separate parts. I was particularly 
 pleased with a long gallery running between the two ranges of 
 fifty students' rooms : it will be such an excellent walk for the 
 meditative student in bad weather, and at all times when he 
 
Her Son and Nephew. 281 
 
 wishes to relieve his sitting posture. There he may untie many 
 a knot occurring in his studies, which has stuck him up, as the 
 boys say, while he was sitting on his chair. There he may cast 
 his eye over his future prospects — though, perhaps, as to some 
 part of them, it may be as well not to "proticipate," to use Mrs. 
 Gamp's expression, for hardships seem still harder at a dis- 
 tance, I think, than close at hand. 
 
 D. and M., and their sweet chattering C , who looks, when 
 
 in a madcap willful mood, even prettier than when she is good 
 — like a little wild cat of the woods, or kitten ocelot in a playful 
 
 fury — returned to St. M some days ago. They left their 
 
 son for some time longer to be Herbert's companion. I can 
 not say that I have an absolute holiday even here, as I am 
 bound to read Homer and yEschylus with these youths (of whom 
 my son is to be sixteen, my nephew eighteen, in October) every 
 day ; and though their lessons at present are not long — yet to 
 rein them in when they are galloping on, leaving sense and con- 
 nection of thought in the far distance, and to have my own way 
 about the disputed passage when I am in the right, and let 
 them have theirs and their little triumph when Ma has proved 
 to be a "verdant creature," as my boy has the coolness to call 
 me when I have betrayed an ignorance of something that he 
 knows — is to me some little exertion ; but not too much, for I 
 see very little good in entire holidays, especially when there are 
 so many sad remembrances in the background of the mind as 
 there are in mine, ever ready to come forward when the fore- 
 ground is not well filled up. Sad, indeed, they are not, by this 
 time — at least, not always and wholly. They begin to lose their 
 blacker hue, and to be tinged with the soft though sober gray 
 of thought and meditation on things to come, with which they 
 blend, and in which they seem to sink, and at times almost to 
 be absorbed. Still I am glad to have my eyes turned for a 
 while toward brighter objects, and the rosy dawn of youth and 
 health and gladness. These young ones are as hoity-toity and 
 fantastical and crest-perky as boys who have never known care 
 or want, and are full of health and strength (if not naturally of 
 very sedate dispositions), usually are. They are fond of chat- 
 tering about the pretty girls they meet and fascinate. M. and 
 I make a point of thinking the young ladies they admire partic- 
 ularly plain and vulgar, and assuring them, on our own early 
 life experience, that young ladies seldom have any eyes for the 
 
282 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 charms of gentlemen, but are solely intent on the degree of ad- 
 miration which their own charms excite. Well, this is a very 
 motherly and auntly tale ; you will think that these young beaux 
 have one admirer at least, their own mamma and aunt. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Saintism." — Untrustworthiness of Religious Autobiographers. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 Heme Bay, August 22, 1846. — Dear friend, I have read a part 
 of the memoir of the " Sisters," and have been much interested 
 by it; but I think I do not feel about it quite as you do. It 
 seems to me to present a mixture of real, pure Christianity and 
 of Saintism, that spurious or semi-spurious piety which is to be 
 found, not among Methodists alone, but among Christians of 
 all names, and sometimes leavens the religion even of the truly 
 religious. But why do I feel thus ? What is there in the book 
 
 that is otherwise than pure and holy ? Dear Miss M , you 
 
 will perhaps think me very wrong and over-captious, but it is 
 just this absence of every thing that is not presentable in the 
 record that makes me distrust it, as not being the whole truth, 
 and nothing but the truth. So far as my reflection and expe- 
 rience, and knowledge of life, and knowledge of biography go 
 (I do not say they go far, but by such as I have I must judge), 
 souls seen as they are, without a glorifying mist, do not look quite 
 as those souls do in that book — scarcely ever, if ever. Yet if 
 Papistical and Methodistical and other religious biography be 
 absolutely trustworthy, and to be taken literally, there must be 
 thousands upon thousands of such white lambs in every countr}^ 
 The very same sort of things which I read there are to be read 
 in so many other volumes. There is too little individuality about 
 them ; they do not read (like poor Blanco White's Memoirs) like 
 actual life, with all its peculiarities ; for if every leaf is unlike 
 every other leaf, how much more is every soul unlike every other 
 soul ! True it is that religion, like love, levels many distinctions; 
 but yet in every portrait of a living face we recognize a thou- 
 sand lines and expressions peculiar to itself. These girls call 
 themselves worms, poor sinners, as in reference to their God, to 
 Infinite Perfection. There is not much humility in making this 
 avowal. But see, after all, what a fine character, what a noble, 
 
Self -Deception. 283 
 
 elevated character, with none but noile faults, is traced of each 
 of them in those pages ! And by whose hands is that character 
 traced ? By any other than their own, and that of their memo- 
 rialist, partial and proud, as their biographer, and as their own 
 sister ? I can not, and I never could, feel deeply impressed by 
 such representations as these. I always feel that there may be, 
 that there probably is, much of unconscious self-deception about 
 them. A man's own journal, his own book of private confession, 
 so far as it reports well of him, is not to be entirely trusted ; for 
 we can not help drawing flattering pictures of ourselves even 
 for ourselves ; we do not give an exact copy of our own hearts — 
 we involuntarily soften it off. We say we are evil, but we do 
 not show it and prove it. I admire, and am often deeply af- 
 fected by the goodness of many of my fellow-Christians, but 
 then it is such as I have had the means of witnessing myself in 
 their daily acts and course of life, or such as is attested by per- 
 sons not interested on their behalf, or from some record that 
 has that life-like air about it, that natural light and shade, those 
 vera, and not ficta peccata, of one kind or another, which I be- 
 lieve that every real life, faithfully and fully drawn, would exhibit. 
 Still I think that Anne and Emma must have been girls of a 
 
 very high stamp ; the whole family of the M s appear to me 
 
 to be very superior. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Human Sorrow and Heavenly Rest.— "The Golden Manual."— Blue and 
 White in Sky, Sea, and Land.— Landor's " Pentameron."— Comparative 
 Rank of Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, and Dante. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 Heme Bay, August 31, 1846.— Of all the thoughts that press 
 upon us on the loss of nearest friends, that which presses hard- 
 est and strongest is the self-question, " How have I done my 
 part toward him that is gone ? Is he now or has he been the 
 worse through any fault of mine ?" Then how earnestly we pray, 
 when he is in the hands of his Heavenly Father alone, in the 
 bosom of Infinite Mercy, that he may have that perfect kindness 
 and boundless compassion shown him which we failed to show 
 him here, even humanly and as far as we might. For then the 
 double-faced glass is reversed : it magnifies all our trespasses 
 
284 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 against him, and exaggerates our shortcomings, while it reduces 
 our efforts to serve and please, our bearings and forbearings, to 
 narrow room, or at least takes the color out of them, and makes 
 them look as wan as the dear face that used to smile and glow 
 in our sight. But I meant to have said something different from 
 this, more calm and soothing. I was going to speak of the re- 
 ligious peace and firmness of your father's dying hours, the sure 
 and certain hope he seemed to feel of mercy through the " Merits 
 and Death of his Redeemer." These are remembrances on 
 which the mind may repose as on a bed of balm — more lasting 
 in their fragrance than any balm that ever grew in Arabia, for 
 they will yield fresh odors from time to time as long as they are 
 pressed upon. As those dying hours of our dearest ones can 
 never be far out of mind, it is a blessing, indeed, when they have 
 more of the rest of heaven in them than of the sting of the grave. 
 Those you spoke of to me remind me of my own father's. He, 
 too, was calm and clear to the last, till he fell into the coma 
 that so often precedes death, and neither afraid nor grieved to 
 depart; and he was thoughtful for others still struggling with the 
 world when he was leaving it. Perhaps it is easier to die at 
 sixty (he was near sixty-three) than at forty. It ought to be so, 
 if we make use of our time. A man who reaches that age may 
 feel that he has done a day's work; and then life, as it runs on, 
 changes its color and aspect, just as the natural day changes 
 from meridian light to afternoon mellowness, and then to even- 
 ing gray. It seems right and fit to go hence in that evening 
 gray, when the shadows are falling on all things here to our 
 altered eyes — not to leave the sun full behind us when we enter 
 the darkness of the tomb. It is true that this darkness exists 
 but in our imagination; we transfer to the state of the departed 
 the obscurity of our minds respecting it, or, at least, our incapa- 
 bility of beholding it visually as we behold this present world ; 
 still it has a real influence upon our feelings, although by ef- 
 forts of thought we can dispel those shades of Hades, and bring 
 before us that place where there is neither sun nor moon — no 
 need of them, for the glory of God will lighten it, and the Lamb 
 be the light thereof May we more and more dwell upon that 
 place and state, remembering that, whatever be the form and 
 outwardness of it, whatever be its relation to the beauty of this 
 world in which we now dwell, it is to be a spiritual state more 
 fully than that which we abide in here, and yet that here we 
 
 I 
 
Sea-side Flowers. 285 
 
 must be prepared for it, and, in part, conformed to it. I am at 
 this time reading a little book of mystic divinity, the " Theologica 
 Germanica," or little " Golden Manual," a great favorite with the 
 Platonist divine, Dr. Henry More. It contains very high spir- 
 itual doctrine, and dwells on the necessity of setting aside all 
 " selfness and egoity," and serving God purely for love's sake 
 alone, without respect to even a heavenly reward. 
 
 We are just come in from a sea-side walk, driven home by 
 tlie glaring sun. Scarce a breath is stirring, sea and sky are 
 all one hue, and the air is heavy. The sunniest day in last 
 week was fresher than this; then there was one light wreath 
 of white but shaded clouds rolled along the horizon, and to 
 match it there was a fringe of still whiter foam along the edge 
 of the retiring sea — all else of sea and sky was brightly blue. 
 Herbert reminded me of Homer's expressive phrase about 
 spirting off the divine sea, which sounds low in English, but is 
 not so felt in the Greek aTfoirrvEi aXa dJav. The sea-side plants 
 and insects, too, all do their part of brightness on these sunny 
 days, none more than that shiny blue flower, which grows upon 
 a shrubby stem and emulates the sky so boldly.* Veronicas 
 make a fine show of azure in the mass, as they creep over a 
 bank, and beds of harebells are earth-skies in the clear spaces 
 of the wood, but the single blossoms of this plant are each a 
 little sky in itself Quite as lovely and as lustrous in its way 
 is the foam-white convolvulus, which looks so exquisitely soft 
 and innocent, as it gleams amid the brambles and nettles which 
 its lithe stem embraces. Critics have made a "mighty stir" 
 to find out what Virgil meant by his ligustrtini: 
 
 " Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur." 
 
 Surely he must have meant this snowy-blossomed bind-weed. 
 Privet is out of the question. It is neither very white nor very 
 caducous. The flowers of the bind-weed are especially so ; 
 they soon sink into a twisted roll, and fall to the ground, though 
 not wafted away so early as the petals of the anemone and 
 gum-cistus. Then near the sea there are always blue and 
 white butterflies hovering over these blue and white flowers. 
 
 I have just finished reading Lander's " Pentameron." It is full 
 of interest for the critical and poetical mind, but is sullied by 
 some Landorisms, which are less like weeds in a fine fiower- 
 
 *• Centaurea Cyanus (Corn blue-bottle). — E. C. 
 
286 Memoir and Letters of Sa7'a Coleridge. 
 
 bed than some evil ingredient in the soil, revealing itself here 
 and there by rankish odors, or stains and blotches on leaf and 
 petal. The remarks on Dante, severe as they are, I can not 
 but agree with in the main. I believe you expressed some dis- 
 sent from them. I think that Dante holds the next rank in po- 
 etic power and substance after Homer, Shakespeare, and Mil- 
 ton, perhaps above Virgil, Ariosto, and Spenser ; but there is 
 much in his mind and frame of thought which I exceedingly 
 dislike — and I have ever _/d?// much of what Landor expresses 
 on the subject, though without speaking it all out even to my- 
 self. It happened that just after I had been declaring to Der- 
 went my opinion of Milton's superiority to Homer, and he had 
 been upholding the paramountcy of the latter, I came upon 
 Landor's sentence on the subject. He pronounces Homer and 
 Dante both together only equivalent to Milton "shorn of his 
 ' Sonnets ' and ' Allegro ' and ' Penseroso.' " I suppose he thinks 
 that the objectivity of the one and subjectivity of the other 
 (which, however, is not equal to that of still later poets), blend- 
 ed into one, might come up to the epic poetry of INIilton ; and 
 truly, in poetic matter and stuff of the imagination, they might 
 even surpass it ; but there is to my mind, in the latter, a tender 
 modern grace, a fusion of sentiment and reflection into the sen- 
 suous and outward, which is more exquisite in kind than any 
 thing you would obtain from Homer and Dante melted togeth- 
 er. I must tell you, however, that Mr. Wordsworth considers 
 Homer second only to Shakespeare, deeply as he venerates 
 Milton. 
 
 VHI. 
 
 Age and Ugliness. — "Expensive Blessings." — ^schylus. — Principle of Pin- 
 daric Metre, and Spirit of Pindaric Poetry. — Physical and Intellectual 
 Arts of Greece. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage, Staffordshire : 
 Heme Bay, September 5, 1S46. — You kindly renew your invita- 
 tion, and put it in a new shape. I can only thank you for it, 
 alas ! and try to keep alive a hope that I may enjoy your hos- 
 pitality some future autumn. We read much in books, among 
 other things about women which to many of our sex are alto- 
 gether new and surprising, that the softer sex are apt to tough- 
 en as they lose the graces of youth. Really, if this were the 
 
Pindar. 287 
 
 case, it would be such a set-off against gray hairs, and withering 
 roses and lilies, and all those ugly, unflourishing dells which 
 time gradually introduces into our face-territory, that we might 
 behold those changes with at least half-satisfaction ; but I should 
 say from experience that, on the contrary, we grow weaker and 
 more sensitive in advancing life, quite as fast as we grow ug- 
 lier. Then women who are so unfortunate as to have a boy 
 and girl growing up under their eyes, are reminded of their age 
 and weakness continually. It is a miserable thing to be sure ! 
 and then how much money it costs ! Why, if it wasn't for these 
 plagues, I should be quite rich, and should not have to cast an 
 anxious eye toward railways, or be tossed up and down in soul 
 and spirit with the fluctuations of the money-market. I need 
 never care whether I got 5 per cent, or only 2A- I '^<^^ rather 
 pleased, certainly, when my fellow-lodgers expressed their as- 
 tonishment that I should be the mamma of " that fine boy." 
 They expected to see a buxom dame, after seeing him first. 
 But matters are not always ordered so; and, even in this 
 way, the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the 
 strong. 
 
 During Herbert's stay here, before he left us to return to 
 Eton, he read with me the " Eumenides " of ^Eschylus, and great 
 part of the '•' Choephorae," and the " Olympics " of Pindar. The 
 drawback to pleasure in reading the former is the corruptness 
 of so many of the choruses. You may read Latin, German, 
 French, English translations of those compositions, all different 
 and all unsatisfactory. Pindar is much easier : one can make 
 him all out at last — bring him back from his long excursions to 
 the spot whence he started — though not without some trouble. 
 But the drawback to pleasure in reading him, for me, is the im- 
 possibility of realizing to my ear his strange metre, so strictly 
 regular, yet of a regularity so varied and complex, that it seems 
 like lawlessness and wild extravagance to those who can not 
 feel, though they may understand the law of it. To judge from 
 the eye, I should say that its flow somewhat resembled the sea 
 with its waves, growing ampler and ampler for a while, then 
 sinking back again; and that this suits well with his style of 
 thought and imagery, that combination of impetuosity with a 
 majestic gravity — a tempered enthusiasm, controlled and regu- 
 lated by the law of reason, and a deep spirit of reverence for 
 the Supreme and the Invisible — the things that are above us, 
 
288 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and at the same time are lying at the very depths and founda- 
 tions of our nature. 
 
 What a high rank bodily exercises held in those ancient 
 days ! A man's feet or fists, or skill in horsemanship or driv- 
 ing, lifted him to renown and wreathed his brow with laurel — 
 and yet, in those same days, the intellectual arts had reached a 
 point in some respects (in execution, certainly) unsurpassed. 
 The celebrated race-hero now lives in memory of man only in 
 virtue of the poetry devoted to his celebration. Pindar seems 
 but half to have foreseen this when he intimates that the mighty 
 man of feet or of fists would have had but a brief guerdon but 
 for his glowing strains. It is some exertion for me to keep 
 pace with Herbert's Greek now ; his eye is rapid, more so than 
 mine ever was — I wish he would unite with this a litde more 
 of my pondering propensities and love of digging down as far 
 as ever one can go into the meaning of an author — though this 
 is sometimes unfavorable to getting a given thing done for im- 
 mediate use — it takes one off into such wide and many-branch- 
 ed excursions. As long, however, as I can keep pace with the 
 youth, I shall be able, in virtue of my years and experience, at 
 least for some time, to shoot ahead oi him when we come to any 
 really hard passage, in which it is not so much the knowledge 
 of one particular language, but of thought in general, that is re- 
 quired for the elucidation. John often exhorts me to let ray 
 mind go to grass ; but who can do this while their mind can do 
 any sort of good in harness ? After all, it is a gain, even for 
 our own mental enjoyment, to be led back to these evergreen 
 haunts of the Muses, which, but for the sake of accompanying 
 our children, we might never revisit ; and I am thankful that 
 the limbs of my mind are still agile enough for these excursions, 
 and that I am not aged for rambling in those literary fields, or 
 for enjoying myself there, which in some respects I am able to 
 do far more than when I first entered them. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Miss Farrer. 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer : 
 
 lo Chester Place, September 21, 1846. — My dearest Mrs. Far- 
 rer, since I read the last pages of your kind and interesting 
 
Miss Farrer. 28t 
 
 letter, I Jiave been thinking almost continually of dear Miss 
 Farrer.* I feel as yet as if I could scarcely understand or rec- 
 oncile myself to her death. The event is so unexpected, as 
 well as unwelcome. When I first saw her, she struck me as 
 one full of firmness and vigor, in rich and undeclining autumn. 
 To say I shall never forget her is nothing. I might remember 
 a far less impressive person ; but she will remain in my mind 
 as one of the most marked and interesting persons whom I 
 have met with in my walk through life — one of those who most 
 made me feel that religion is an actual reality — not merely a 
 system, but a vital influencive truth, which, even in this world, 
 can give such happiness as the world can not give. I am un- 
 able to remember many of her sayings, but I well retain the 
 spirit of her discoursings, and her deep, glad, earnest voice will 
 often sound in my ears. How graceful and persuasive, too, she 
 was in her gestures ! These are the outward things, and it 
 seems wronging her who had such riches within, such a depth 
 of heart and spirit, to speak of them ; but they were a part of 
 her here, and they bring her vividly to mind, such as she was 
 altogether, outwardly and inwardly ; and never was any one's 
 outward part — countenance, carriage, and even bodily form — 
 more expressive of the soul within than hers was. 
 
 How many must there be, and in what distant quarters of the 
 world, that will truly mourn her death ! I am sure she must 
 have a large interest in the heavenly habitations. How many 
 years she was doing good, and how steadily she trod the path 
 of Christian charity and bounty ! I think she was not clear- 
 sighted on some points, and that she fixed her eyes too ex- 
 clusively on one side of truth, though she sought so earnestly 
 to look upon all who call on the name of Christ as belonging 
 to one fold under one Shepherd, let them shut themselves up 
 within walls and hedges of partition as much as they might. 
 She would have embraced all believers with the arms of lier 
 charity, but did not always do full justice, I think, to the belief. 
 She was, however, a sincere and bountiful Christian. Her ex- 
 ample has been a burning and shining light, and will, I trust, 
 be remembered for good long after the tears are dried that will 
 be shed for her. What attracted me so to her was to see her, 
 
 * This lady, whose acquaintance my mother made in the autumn of 1843, 
 is mentioned in one of the letters of that date, in which her interesting and 
 remarkable character is dwelt upon with cordial admiration. — E. C. 
 
 T 
 
290 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 wide as her charities were, so warm and liberal and loving in 
 her own family. I mean by liberal, so full of sympathy, so ready 
 to see all things in the best light, and to promote all that is gay 
 and gladsome and beautiful. There have been philanthropists, 
 and sincere and noble ones too, who have been oppressive and 
 inconsiderate and morose in their own families. Some who do 
 good abroad, from ambitious motives, are selfish and even cruel 
 at home. But she was so faithful and tender and affectionate ! 
 
 X. 
 
 On the Establishment. — The Church Supported by the State, not in its 
 Catholic, but in its National Character. — Bishops in Parliament. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 What Dr. Hook says on the Establishment in his pamphlet 
 on the Education of the People, I rather admire. A correspond- 
 ent of mine exclaims with indignation, " Conceive his asserting 
 that the State is no more bound to the Church than to Method- 
 ists, etc., and asking, if it is, by what Act of Parliament ? As 
 if the Church were not an estate of the realm, as much as the 
 monarch is, or either House of Parliament." I can not quite 
 understand what my friend means by this. Our Church, with 
 the sovereign at its head, and with its present formularies, dates 
 only from the sixteenth century. Dissolve its present connec- 
 tion with the State, and merge it in the Church of Rome, still 
 the State remains essentially the same ; but take away the 
 monarch, or either House of Parliament, and you, at least or- 
 ganically, derange the State. It will remain, but as a different 
 thing, with its character quite altered. Dr. Hook seems to mean 
 only this, which seems to me undeniable, that the British naticn 
 is not of one form of Christianity, but of several, and that the 
 State, which surely must conform itself to the nation, acting 
 through Parliament, does not, and must not, protect, support, 
 and, so far, help to establish one form alone, but as many as the 
 nation embraces. It is true that the Church of England has 
 some special relations to the State, which other bodies of 
 Christians have not. But how has she obtained these ? Is it 
 simply from her being spiritually the Church of Christ, apostol- 
 ically descended, while those other bodies are not the Church 
 of Christ, or any part of it ? It seems to me chimerical to say 
 
Status of the Church of Engla7id. 291 
 
 so. The special relations of the Church of England to the 
 State, as I understand the matter, are of a temporal character, 
 derived from her having once been the Church of the whole 
 nation, still being the Church of the majority, and consequently 
 having a greater amount of property than other religious com- 
 munities, and that in a more imposing and dignified form. 
 The Council of the nation may be filled with Dissenters and 
 Papists. It never, therefore, can be the duty of that Council, as 
 such, to support the Church of England more than other religious 
 bodies, except in proportion to numbers. The bishops do not 
 represent that Church in Parliament, for they sit there as tem- 
 poral peers. I believe that Christianity, religion in its deepest 
 form, is interwoven with the State, and every State, in a vital 
 and intricate manner. We know of no civilized State that was 
 not in alliance with religion ; but I can not think that one par- 
 ticular form of Christianity, though it be the truest form, is a 
 component and essential part of the State, while the large body 
 of Methodists, with Quakers, Independents, and others, are in a 
 totally different predicament. I can not think Dr. Hook so far 
 wrong for asking in what real, substantial sense is the Church 
 of England established here, or how has it a right to peculiar 
 State support and protection, to be supported as the Church 
 of England, not merely as a part of the Christianity of the land. 
 Of course it is still formally the Established Church, and long 
 may it be. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The "Divina Commedia." — Barbarous Conception of the World of Fallen 
 Spirits exhibited in the "Inferno." — Dante compared with Milton, 
 Lucretius, and Goethe. — Dante as Poet, Philosopher, and Politician. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 October, 1846. — I can not quite agree with you {yet, at least) 
 on the superlative merits of Dante, whom you seem to me to 
 view through a glorifying glass bigger than that with which 
 Herschel inspected the sun ; but your reflections on the state 
 of your country are full of that heart-poetry and spiritual wis- 
 dom which, methinks, you "half-create," and do but half, or 
 scarcely half, " find," in the great Epic Poem of the Middle 
 Ages. What you say of hungry people, that they should not 
 be convened in multitudes, is a part of this wisdom. The 
 
292 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 clamors of the Twjes, and the mingled yells and hisses of the 
 Dublin Review, are — a disgrace to a Christian country. This 
 is quite a bathos. I had something in my mind much more 
 energetic, which I forbore to utter, lest you should think that I 
 had had a little bite of Cerberus myself, and that my preference 
 of the " Inferno " to the other parts of Dante's poem arises 
 from a fellow-feeling with those amiable gentlemen in the City 
 of Dis, who shut the gates in the face of Virgil. 
 
 How graphic all that is ! How one can enter into the spite- 
 fulness (if Dante had not been spiteful, he couldn't have writ- 
 ten it) with which they proposed that Virgil should stay with 
 them, and Dante find his way home by himself; how one can 
 see them tearing off as hard as they could go to bar the en- 
 trance ! Milton could not have conceived this intensity of nar- 
 row malice ; he could not have brought his rich and genial 
 mind, his noble imagination, down to it. It may truly be said 
 that Dante brings the violence and turbulence of the infernal 
 world into heaven — witness his 27th canto of the "Paradise," 
 which is all denunciation after the splendid introduction, yet 
 comprises, to my mind, with slight exceptions, almost the whole 
 power of the " Paradiso," on the merits of which, as at present 
 advised, I quite agree with Landor; while Milton invests even 
 the realms below and their fallen inhabitants wdth a touch of 
 heavenly beauty and splendor. And is this in an irreligious 
 spirit ? Oh ! far from it. This is consonant with religious truth 
 and with the Bible, which leads us to look upon the world of 
 moral evil as a wreck, a ruin, rather than a mere mass and con- 
 geries of hideous abominations. It is this which renders Mil- 
 ton's descriptions so pathetic: sympathy with human nature, with 
 fallen, finite nature, pervades the whole. If this be "cotton- 
 wool," then cotton-wool forever, say I. But this cotton-wool I 
 believe to be a part of the substance of Christianity. For pure, 
 unmixed wickedness, we can have no feeling ; we can but shud- 
 der and turn away. Dante utterly wants this genial, expansive 
 tenderness of soul ; wherever he is touching, it is in the remem- 
 brance of something personal — his own exile, or his love for 
 _ little Beatrice Portinari, or the sorrows of his patron's daugh- 
 ter, Francesca. Let him loose from these personal bandages, 
 and he is perpetually raging and scorning, or else lecturing, as 
 in the " Paradiso." How ferociously does he insult the suffer- 
 ers in the " Inferno" — actual, individual men ! You say this is 
 
 I 
 
Hardness of Dante s Character. 293 
 
 but imagination. Truly, if it were not, the author would have 
 been worthy of the maniac's cell, chains, and darkness ; but 
 surely the heart tinctures the imagination. I know my father's 
 remark upon this very point, and admit its truth as a general 
 remark; but I think it is not strictly applicable to Dante. His 
 pictures are like the visions of heart-anger and scorn, not mere 
 extravagant flights of merry petulance, or pure, high-flown ab- 
 stractions, but have something in them deep, earnest, real, and 
 individualizing. It is a hard turn of mind, to say the best of 
 it. Carlyle does Dante more than justice— rather say gener- 
 ous z;?justice— on this point, when he tells us of his softness, 
 tenderness, and pitifulness, at the same time extolling his rigor. 
 Rigor is all very well in the right place ; but such rigor as 
 Dante's could scarce be approved by Him who said, " Judge 
 ■not, lest ye be judged." It is well enough to be rigid against 
 the passion of anger, but not to stick a certain Filippo Argenti 
 up to the neck in a lake of such foulness as few men could 
 have conceived or described, and then to express a " fearful 
 joy" — or what is fearful to the reader, rather than himself^in 
 seeing the other condemned ones fall furiously upon him, and 
 duck him in it all but to suffocation ! And he makes Virgil (who 
 would have been above such school-boy savagery) hug and kiss 
 him for it, and apply to him the words spoken of our Blessed 
 Saviour — Luke ii., 27 ! Dante ought to have looked upon the 
 tortures of the lower kingdom with awe and a sorrowful shudder- 
 ing, not with triumphant delight and horrid mirth. But the 
 whole conception was barbarous, though powerfully executed. 
 
 You must not think that I am wholly an armadillo or rhino- 
 cerean, insensible to the merits of Dante, from what I have said. 
 I think that his "Divina Commedia" is one of the great poems 
 'of the world ; but of all the great poems of the world, I think 
 ^it the least abounding in grace and loveliness and splendor. 
 There is no strain in it so fine as the address to Venus at the 
 beginning of Lucretius's great poem; scarce any thing so bright- 
 ly beautiful as passages in Goethe's great drama. I think, cer- 
 tainly, that the religious spirit displayed in it, especially in the 
 " Purgatorio," is earnest and deep, but far from pure or thor- 
 oughly elevated. If you set up a claim for Dante, that his is 
 the great Catholic Christian mind, then a^tora/iat — I am off, 
 and to a great distance. The following description of Carlyle 
 seems to me to point at what is Dante's characteristic power : 
 
294 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 " The very movements in Dante have something brief, swift, de- 
 cisive — ahnost military. The fiery, swift ItaHan nature of the 
 man — so silent, passionate — with its quick, abrupt movements, 
 its silent, pale rages — speaks itself in these things." Yes ; it 
 is in this fiery energy, these " pale rages," that Dante's chief 
 power shows itself, as it seems to me, not in genial beauty and 
 lovingness, not in a wide, rich spirit of philosophy. You com- 
 pare a passage in the "Aids to Reflection" to the conclusion 
 of Canto I. of the " Paradiso." They are, indeed, in a neighbor- 
 ing region of thought ; but as neighbors often quarrel violently 
 when they come into close contact, so I think would these if 
 strictly compared. S. T. C. in this passage speaks of the scale 
 of the creation — how each rank of creatures exhibits in a lower 
 form what is more fully and nobly manifested in the rank above. 
 Of this Dante says not a word. How should he ? The thought 
 is founded on facts of natural history unknown in his day, and 
 a knowledge of zoology in particular, to which his age had paid 
 no attention. The chief beauty of my father's aphorism con- 
 sists, I think, in the striking manner in which instances of his 
 remark are particularized, and the poetic elegance with which 
 they are described. Then he proceeds to a concluding reflec- 
 tion, which is spiritual indeed — no mere fancy, but a solid truth. 
 But Dante's passage ends with that confusion of the material 
 and the spiritual which my father made it his business to drive 
 out of the realms of thought as far as his eloquence could drive 
 it. The next canto — the Beatrician lecture on the spots in the 
 moon — I think now, as I thought when I first read it, the very 
 stiffest oatmeal porridge that ever a great poet put before his 
 readers, instead of the water of Helicon. If it were ever such 
 sound physics, it would be out of place in a poem ; and its be- 
 ing all vain reasoning and false philosophy makes it hardly 
 more objectionable than it is on another score. 
 
 October 29. — For saying that Dante's spots-of-the-moon doc- 
 trine is, as the commentators say, a mere fandonia and gar- 
 buglio, we have no less authority than Newton. Canto HI. you 
 put your own opinions into. But I must not enter the field of 
 Spirit versus Matter. I only beseech your attention to this 
 point. God is a Spirit, and yet He is Substance, and the Head 
 and Fountain of all Substance, and the Son is of one Substance 
 with the Father. If the tendency of the whole creation, when 
 not dragged down by sin, is upward to the Creator, then surely 
 
Milto7is Satan. 295 
 
 there is a progress away from matter into spirit. Tliis I believe 
 to be Platonism, and this Platonism Schelling, Coleridge, and 
 others, have tried to revive. You oppose to them Mediseval- 
 ism, or the semi-Pagan doctrine of the primitive Christians, con- 
 verts from Paganism, and both parties appeal to Scripture. We 
 think the Bible plainly teaches that flesh and blood, however 
 smartened up, can not enter into the kingdom of Heaven, but 
 that things, such as eye of man hath not seen, nor ear heard, are 
 prepared by God for them that love Him. It is true we can 
 not here, in this life, ifnage to ourselves that kingdom. God 
 himself tells us that we can not, both in Gospel and Epistle. 
 However, few new books would give me so great delight as a 
 full, wide, particular criticism from your pen of Dante, Milton 
 (yes, I would trust you with him ; you could not but do him glory 
 and honor, in spite of yourself, when 3'ou took him up, though 
 you might have thought you were going to depreciate him), and 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 ^'Tlerbert keeps me busy. He writes continually about his 
 studies, asking for explanations, advice, and so forth. He is 
 learning Icelandic, of which he brags greatly, and is reading 
 Dante, Tasso, and Ariosto. I sent him a sheet of Dantian in- 
 terpretations lately. I take the political view of the beasts in 
 the first canto, instead of the merely moral. Dante's politics 
 are very remarkable. Born a Guelph, he became the most in- 
 tense and vehement Ghibelline. It was Ghibellinism that per- 
 verted his mind into that strange judgment of Brutus and Cas- 
 sius. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Dante's Lucifer and Milton's Satan. — The Anthropomorphism of Milton 
 an Inheritance of the Past. — Personality of the Evil Spirit. — Confusion 
 between the Spiritual and the Material in the "Divina Commedia." — 
 Poetic Merits of Dante. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 December 24, 1846. — I am sorry that you differ so toto ccelo 
 from S. T. C. in your estimate of Milton's Satan. He, the poor 
 old " silly bard," thought the character deeply philosophical, as 
 well as poetically sublime in the very highest degree, "the height 
 of poetic sublimity," and the passage* in which he expatiates 
 
 * Coleridge's " Lay Sermons," p. 69. — E. C. 
 
296 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 on its excellences, Mr. Hallam, in his " History of Literature," 
 has cited as a proof of the great advance of the present age 
 over Addison's in deep and thoughtful criticism. My father was 
 looking at this creation of genius poetically and dramatically. 
 Yoic seem to be looking at it religiously, and in reference to a 
 high, pure, philosophical Christianity ; the objections to it in 
 that point of view no one saw more strongly than my father, no 
 one was less disposed to "bind up his Milton with his Bible." 
 He had a right to condemn Milton's anthropomorphism, if ob- 
 truded upon us for religious truth ; but I can not think that the 
 Antiquarian High Churchman has the least right to look down 
 upon it, and I hail the sentiments you utter on the subject as a 
 sign that your hold on that antiquarian system is beginning a 
 little to relax. The Christian of antiquarian views can not re- 
 ject the legend of the Fall of the Angels, because a sacred 
 writer refers to it as if he believed in it. The passage in Jude 
 plainly refers to the Book of Enoch ; now that book contains 
 an account of the Fall and Apostasy in Heaven substanti- 
 ally the same as Milton's, and certainly involving all the ab- 
 surdity which you and others find in " Paradise Lost." The 
 passage in Isaiah about Lucifer is supposed by oiihodox divines 
 of this school to refer to the same subject. And look, I pray 
 you, at the preamble of the Book of Job. Do you think it right 
 to take that as literal verity? If you saw that account expand- 
 ed in a modern poem, and did not know it to be in the Bible, 
 would you not apply very much the same language to it that 
 you now apply to Milton's "War in Heaven?" And just con- 
 sider the common High-Church view of the Atonement. Is not 
 that as derogatory to the Supreme Being, does it not bring 
 Him to a level with weak, erring mortals, and their blind, self- 
 ish acts, fully as much as Milton's representation ? Yet for 
 pointing this out, and for other such anti-anthropomorphisms, 
 my father has been set a mark against, as an tinsafe and un- 
 soimd writer, by the Antiquarian High-Church School, even by 
 men who admitted him to be rather above his fellow^s in genius 
 and intellect, than below them ; strange, as Carlyle said, if he 
 be a man of genius, with rather more wit than the common 
 herd, instead of less, that on these deeply concerning points he 
 should know less than the multitude, and this without one mo- 
 tive on the face of the earth to bias his mind ; whereas to hold 
 fast by the old system, every man has some inducement, clergy- 
 
Anthropomorphism. 297 
 
 men the greatest inducement that it is possible to conceive. 
 You think that Dante would have been above such a concep- 
 tion as Milton's. I think he would have been right thankful 
 for such a conception, but that nothing so refined and sublime 
 ever entered his pate. What is Dante's Lucifer ? Has he not 
 all that contrariety to reason which you find in Milton's Satan, 
 without one particle of the sublimity ? He is a fallen angel, too, 
 but every bit of the angel is well done out of him, and how he 
 ever could have been aught of the kind is inconceivable. After 
 all, is not the irrationality of which you speak contained in the 
 very idea of a personal evil Being, the adversary of God ? What 
 better account of such a Being can you give, what better con- 
 ception of him can you frame, than Milton's, or rather, I should 
 say, how can you avoid some such conceptions as his, if you ad- 
 mit the idea at all ? If he be a personal agent, he must be pow- 
 erful, he ftiust be proud and rebellious, he must be capable of 
 assuming splendid and alluring aspects ; and if he be a personal 
 being and have a personal history, how can the symbol be real- 
 ized more finely than as Milton has done it? The fault is not 
 in the poet, but in the gross idolistic system to which he ad- 
 hered, which system writers of the Tractarian School have en- 
 deavored to bring back whole in all its self-consistent absurd- 
 ity, but, as I believe, in vain, for as soon as men forget their 
 theology, they fly out against such notions as you do against 
 "Paradise Lost." Of course I do not mean that "God the Fa- 
 ther talks like a school divine" in the Book of Enoch, but I be- 
 have that the author of that book would have made Him talk 
 so, had divinity been the fashion of his day. What I mean is 
 that the ancient writers were all anthropomorphic in their con- 
 ceptions of God, and some things are found fault with in Mil- 
 ton that are actually in the Bible, or just like things that are 
 in the Bible, as God's laughing at the vain thoughts of men. 
 
 M 's sermon last Sunday was all against Rationalists who 
 
 oppose anthropomorphism, and consider "7 shall behold his 
 face" as symbolical. I do not think that any mere Pantheist, 
 who does not believe in a moral, intelligent Creator, cares for 
 the Bible at all. No Rationalist that does hold to the Bible 
 would say that these words did not express something deep and 
 spiritual. The literal meaning is not deep and spiritual. 
 
 The offenses in the "Divina Commedia" against a pure, 
 philosophical Christianity seem to me as great as possible. I 
 
298 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 pass by his " Regina Coeli," and the prayer addressed to her, 
 versified from St. Bernard, though / hold it a fearful giving of 
 God's glory to another ; but think of the ridiculous jumble of 
 Pagan mythology with the Christian religion which runs through 
 the " Inferno," and think of this absurdity which stares you in 
 the face from beginning to end — the poem treats of disembodied 
 spirits, not angelic beings that may have a kind of bodies mere- 
 ly, but souls divested of their bodies ; yet to these Dante assigns 
 corporeal pains, and every attribute of matter. I admit that in 
 the " Paradise " his representations of the Supreme, and of 
 • heavenly things in general, are not so derogatory as Milton's — 
 they are not so broad and bold — but to my mind they are most 
 insipid and fatiguing. 
 
 You do not exceed me in admiration of Dante, any more than 
 / in admiration of Wordsworth, though you admire some things in 
 both more than I do. I admire in both their passages of plain, 
 broad vigor and humble pathos — humble, I mean, not in thought 
 or feeling, but in circumstance. When they put on jewelry and 
 fine linen, I do not like them so well as in their plainer garb. 
 Dante can describe an old Gf-affiacmie with a grappling-hook 
 in his hand to the very life. I like that better, I own, than 
 most of his sweetnesses in the " Paradise," though some of 
 them are very sweet. His bird comparisons I like better than 
 his baby ones. He makes a baby of himself too much beside 
 Beatrice — it puts one in mind of Gulliver and Glumdalclitch. 
 However, the devylles, good as they are, are not the best parts 
 of the " Inferno;" the best parts are his meetings with old asso- 
 ciates in that dolorous realm, his sorrow for their fate, their 
 punishments, some of which are not simply horrible, graphic- 
 ally hideous, but most* 
 
 * The conclusion of this sentence is missinsr. — E. C. 
 
Milton^ Charles /., Cromwell. 299 
 
 CHAPTERXVI. 
 
 1847. — Jajiuary-yuly. 
 
 LETTERS TO AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., HON. MR. JUSTICE COLE- 
 RIDGE, MISS FENWICK, MISS ERSKINE, MISS 
 MORRIS, MISS TREVENEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Characters of Milton, Charles the First, and Oliver Cromwell. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 Chester Place, January, 1847. — To rebel against a tyrant, 
 himself a rebel against the laws and liberties of his country, and 
 a traitor to its constitution, is no disgrace to Milton's memory. 
 Both parties were wrong and both were right, in my opinion 
 — the struggle was to be, and on either side there was much er- 
 ror and much wrong -doing, from a "blindness, under the cir- 
 cumstances, scarce avoidable. Charles I pity, admire, but do 
 not deeply respect. Cromwell I respect more, but do not ven- 
 erate. He was a man of great firmness, courage, and ability. 
 Charles had personal, not moral courage — he had both. I think 
 he was sincere and patriotic at first, but became in some meas- 
 sure corrupted, just as Artevelde became corrupted in the 
 course of his career. 
 
 11. 
 
 Reserve in Friendship. — A Labor of Love. — Dedication of the Second 
 Edition of the "Biographia Literaria" to Mr. Wordsvi'orth. — "The Si- 
 lence of Old Age." 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Queen Square, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, 1847. — Your affectionate assurances I value 
 more than I can well express, not for lack of words, but because 
 there is a natural shyness, a little of that reserve which Mr. 
 
300 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Keble talks so much about, both in reference to poetry and 
 prose, in most minds, when they have to speak of what they feel 
 very seriously about. There is always a sense that bringing 
 the feelings up to the light tends to fade them a little, and that 
 some may see them with a cold or careless eye, or that the very 
 friend to whom you utter them, and to whom they refer, may 
 not be thoroughly pleased with them. But there may be too 
 much of this reserve in the intercourse of friends with each oth- 
 er, and it is a little to be fought against. 
 
 I am seriously thinking of availing myself of your kind invi- 
 tation, but if I do, it must be during the latter part of your stay 
 at Batli. The printers are now sending the sheets of the " Bi- 
 ographia Literaria," and I can not correct the proofs any where 
 
 but at home. Dear Miss F , the trouble I have taken with 
 
 this book is ridiculous to think of — it is a filial phenomenon; 
 nobody will thank me for it, and no one will know or see a 
 twentieth part of it. But I have done the thing con amore, for 
 my father's book ; and after this I shall not scribble or search 
 in books (except for reading with H. and E.) perhaps any more. 
 I lately had thoughts of writing to ask you a question, but 
 recollecting that Mr. Robinson* was at Rydal, and that quick 
 dispatch of the matter was desirable, I- wrote to him instead. 
 It was about dedicating this new edition of the "Biographia" 
 to Mr. Wordsworth. Soon I had from himself an affectionate 
 and gracious accedence to my wish. He said, what I wished 
 him to say and feel, that no one now had so good a claim. 
 
 Mr. Robinson thought dear Mr. Wordsworth aged in mind — 
 not that there was any confusedness, but an inertness, an ab- 
 sence of activity. He said himself, " it is the silence of old 
 
 I age," when Mr. Robinson remarked how little he had said the 
 
 'evening before. 
 
 * This was Mr. Henry Crabb Robinson, "the friend of Goethe and 
 Wordsworth," whose interesting diary, extending over three large volumes, 
 has been lately given to the public. The name of another honored guest 
 at Rydal Mount, Isabella Fenwick, will also be familiar to readers of the 
 " Memoir of Wordsworth." — E. C. 
 
Herbert's Eton Successes. ^oi 
 
 III. 
 
 A Visit to Bath.— Her Son's Eton Successes. — School-boy Taste.— The 
 Athanasian Creed. — Doctrine of the Filial Subordination not con- 
 tained in it. — The Damnatory Clauses. — Candor in Argument. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 8 Queen Square, Bath, March 20, 1847. — My dear John, 
 / I here we are at Bath, in the commodious temporary abode of V 
 Z- LMiss Fenwick, with my dear old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Words- 
 / 1 worth. Our journey on Thursday was a bright and pleasant 
 / one. Mr. and Mrs. W. were waiting to welcome us at the sta- 
 tion, and most affectionate was their greeting. Mr. Wordsworth 
 _has always, _called me his child, and he seems to feel as if I 
 were such indeed. * * ^ 
 
 Since I wrote the first page of this letter, I have had to an- 
 swer two notes from Edward on a very pleasant occasion ; the 
 first told me that Herbert was in the number of the select, and 
 also that he had gained the essay prize in a very distinguished 
 manner ; the second announced, with very hearty congratula- 
 tions, that he had been declared the medalist, Whymper being 
 the Newcastle scholar. I could not help thinking with special 
 keenness of feelings on those who are gone, who would have 
 shared with me and E. in the pleasure of this success ; but it 
 is best, for my final welfare at least, that all is as it is, and that 
 the advantages of this world and its drawbacks have ever been 
 mingled in my portion. It is a great addition to the pleasure 
 to feel that Herbert's success gives real delight to others be- 
 sides myself. Any thing of the kind is received at St. M 's 
 
 quite as a little triumph. Edward says that to Latin composi- 
 tion and the general improvement of his taste he must chiefly 
 address himself during the next year. His taste will certainly 
 bear a great deal of improvement during many a year to come, 
 for the formation of a sound literary taste is a matter of time. 
 His taste, taking the word in a positively good sense, as the ap- 
 preciation of what is excellent, is now in fragments, not a gen- 
 eral embryo, apparently, but much more developed in parts 
 than on the whole. He has a much better notion of the true 
 merits of ancient writers than of modern ones — modern subjec- 
 tivity he does not understand in the least, hence his preference 
 of Southey's poetry to that of Wordsworth. 
 
2,02 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 # * * Mr. Dodsworth asked me in his last call what I thought 
 of the article on Development in the Christian Remembrancer. 
 I mentioned to him, among some other part objections, a state- 
 ment toward the end which seems to me rather awkward for 
 those who hold by the Athanasian Creed — I piean those who 
 not only believe the doctrine of the Trinity and Incarnation 
 which it sets forth, but defend the imposition of it upon the 
 Church, and the propriety of its expressions from beginning to 
 end. The statement is that the Subordinateness of the Son, 
 as the Son, to the Father, " an awful and sacred doctrine," taught 
 by the early Fathers, had been suffered " to fall into the shade," 
 " to become strange to modern ears," and thus (according to 
 the writer's own argument, that mere explicit knowledge is 
 practical ignorance) to remain unknown to the mass of Chris- 
 tians — Christians who are anxiously instructed by their pastors 
 in all the most subtle mysteries of the faith, except this (as, for 
 instance, that our Lord had two wills, against the Monothelite 
 heresy) ; that, on account of its tenderness as a matter of theo- 
 logical handling, the Church had discouraged any handling of 
 it at all. It is natural to ask, can that be the Church, led and en- 
 lightened by the Spirit of Christ, which shrinks from the state- 
 ment of any true and sacred doctrine, which is unequal to 
 guard it from running into heres}', and actually sets forth a 
 creed which virtually denies it ; for the expressions of the Atha- 
 nasian Creed, "none is afore or after other," "none is greater 
 or less than another" (although Christ said " my Father is 
 greater than I," and Bull applies this to the Filial Subordina- 
 tion — indeed, as applied to the human nature, it would be a tru- 
 ism inconceivable for our Lord to have uttered), unaccompa- 
 nied by the admission of any sense in which the Father is be- 
 fore the Son, are, to all intents and purposes, a denial of the 
 doctrine. Nor does the Nicene Creed remedy the defect, as 
 the article seems to insinuate. It expresses the Origination, as 
 the Athanasian does also, but not the Subordination ; and if the 
 latter be a direct ^nd necessary inference from the former, is it 
 not the extreme of faithless cowardice to be afraid of a direct 
 and necessary inference ? After all, what I most object to in 
 the "pseudo- Athanasian" Creed is the damnatory clauses, which 
 I take according to the common -sense of mankind, and con- 
 sider to be a positive assertion of what no man now believes, 
 though when that Creed was written the belief was common 
 
 I 
 
Btibbles of Opinion. 303 
 
 enough. To go back to Mr. D , he agreed with me, as I 
 
 understood him, in this and some other objections to the article, 
 interesting and suggestive as it is, and in some parts satisfac- 
 tory. Mr. D is remarkably candid in discussions of this 
 
 sort. Most persons, if an objection to their view is stated, 
 which they know not how to meet, will oppose it by a general 
 non-admission, waiting in hope that something will turn up. to 
 justify that which they hold as part and parcel of their creed ; 
 but he always says frankly at once " that is very true," to any 
 point which he may have at first denied, if reasons are alleged 
 in favor of it which seem to him sufficient. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Reasons why Popular Fallacies on Religious Subjects ought to be Exposed. 
 — Gradual Advance of the Human Mind in the Knowledge of Divine 
 Truth. — Admission of Objections to the Athanasian Creed by Church- 
 men. — The Nicene Creed. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Bath, April, 1847. — The opinions of A, B, or C may not be 
 weighty in themselves, but if they are signs of the times, sam- 
 ples of the kind of stuff which is accepted by the would-be or- 
 thodox as wisdom and truth, and which numbers of persons 
 not deficient in sense or discernment in practical matters, or in 
 any matters which they have really examined with study and 
 earnestness, adopt (even if they adopt them implicitly merely 
 because they like the sound and look of them), they are worth 
 controverting and exposing, so far as they are unsound and 
 spurious, though specious. As soon as ever their hollowness 
 is plainly shown, men say, why take the trouble to break bub- 
 bles which will burst of themselves ? The truth is, that bubbles 
 of false opinion will last whole ages and deceive whole genera- 
 tions, till they are broken by some powerful breath, and even 
 then how often they reunite, and again shine in the eyes of 
 men, who hold them solid as cannon-balls! What you say 
 about the agile feats of theologians playing with texts, is true 
 enough ; but, on the other hand, there is, I think, a change and 
 a progress made in course of ages in divinity as in other appli- 
 cations of the human mind, and this change is brought about 
 by individual labors, as huge rocks are built by the labors of 
 
304 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 \ 
 
 coral insects, each insect laboring individually. It is also true 
 enough that theological subtleties are of no direct practical val- 
 ue ; but so long as a practical system, of no little weight in its 
 effects and consequences, and a whole attitude of thought and 
 feeling are supported mainly on the adherence, explicit or im- 
 plicit, to certain theological tenets, the establishment or over- 
 throw of which involves a development and explication which 
 must appear subtle to all that have not become familiar with 
 it, I can not think it a mere cat's -cradle pastime, or rather 
 waste-time, to endeavor to show what the nature and internal 
 consistency of these tenets really are. The more I look into 
 these subjects, the more persuaded I am that \h^ practical s-Av^t 
 of the various forms under which Christianity is embraced by 
 various sects of Christians varies far less than is commonly 
 supposed by the various parties themselves. The means and 
 instrumentalities by which morality and religion are sustained 
 and promoted differ in efficacy among different bodies of Chris- 
 tians; but I believe that the real spiritual substance of the be- 
 lief of well-informed and well-disposed men, who have the Bible 
 constantly in their hands, differs far less. I verily believe that 
 Tritheism is the intellectual form in which numberless Trini- 
 tarians hold the faith of the Godhead, and that their view of 
 the subject is as wide of the truth, and as inconsistent with the 
 voice of Scripture, as that of many whose creed they speak of 
 with horror as a "God-denying heresy." The Unitarian who 
 worships Jesus as the Way, the Truth, and the Life, the Source 
 of salvation, and believes in one God, to whom all fealty and 
 submission from man is due, ought not, in my opinion, to be 
 described as holding a " God-den3'ing heresy." But this opin- 
 ion is so very unpopular, that if I were jDrudent I should keep 
 it to myself I am like the poor pigeon who painted herself 
 black in order to escape ill-usage from the crows, and thus, look- 
 ing neither like crow nor pigeon, was driven away with scorn 
 by both parties. 
 
 I certainly agree with you that the Church was neither dove 
 nor eagle when she uttered the so-called Athanasian Creed; 
 or, rather, I do not believe that it was the true Church at all 
 who uttered it, the Church led by the Spirit of Truth. Atha- 
 nasius himself would have been right sorry, I doubt not, to hear 
 it called by his name. I will not trouble you with my reasons 
 for this opinion, but will just say that the article on Develop- 
 
Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth. 305 
 
 ment in the last Christian Remembrancer contained a state- 
 ment on this subject which those who object to that creed may 
 lay hold of to their own advantage. There is nothing new in 
 the statement ; S. T. C. said it long ago. But the admission is 
 a triumph. You must not suppose me to doubt or deny that 
 the doctrine of the Godhead taught in the Nicene Creed, which 
 I firmly and reverently hold, is quite irreconcilable with Uni- 
 tarianism ; but I would suggest that the errors of the Unitarian 
 ought to be looked on indulgently, when it is considered how 
 difficult it is to preserve the mind from intellectual error upon 
 this subject, when it is opened out as it is in the Athanasian 
 Creed. Well ! how much I have said on the Athanasian Creed, 
 and yet not said half that I should say if I spoke of it at all ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth.— Walks and Talks with the Aged Poet.— His 
 Consent obtained to a Removal of the Alterations made by him in his 
 Early Poems. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Bath, April, 1847. — I have made an effort to come hither, 
 availing myself of Miss Fenwick's most kind invitation, although 
 it separates me from Herbert during his holiday time, because 
 I felt that the opportunity of being once more under the same 
 roof with my dear old friends was not to be neglected. I find 
 them aged since I saw them last in many respects ; they both 
 look older in face, and are slower and feebler in their move-, 
 ments of body and mind. Mrs. Wordsworth is wonderfully act- 
 ive ; she went three times to church on the Fast Day,* and 
 would have fasted almost wholly had not Mr. W., in a deep, de- 
 termined voice, said, " Oh, don't be so foolish, Mary !" She wise- 
 ly felt that obedience was better than this sort of sacrifice, and 
 gave up what she had " set her heart upon," poor dear thing ! 
 She is very frail in look and voice, and I think it very possible 
 that a real fast might have precipitated her downward progress 
 in the journey of life — I will not say how many steps. Mr. 
 Wordsworth can walk seven or eight miles very well, and he 
 ~talks a good deal in the course of the day ; but his talk is, at 
 
 * The Day of Fasting and Humiliation appointed on account of the Irish 
 Famine. This occasion gave rise to the general remarks on fasting, as a 
 religious exercise, in the ensuing letter to Miss Trevenen. — E. C. 
 
 u 
 
3o6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the best, but the faintest possible image of his pristine mind as 
 shown in conversation ; he is dozy and dull during a great part 
 I of the day; now and then the dim waning lamp feebly flares 
 
 1 up, and displays a temporary comparative\)x\^\xvQ.^s — but eheul 
 
 \ quantum mutatus ab illo ! He seems rather to recontinue his 
 former self, and repeat by habit what he used to think and feel, 
 than to think any thing new. To me he is deeply interesting, 
 j even in his present state, for the sake of the past ; the manner-j 
 
 in which he enters into domestic matters, the concerns and<, 
 characters of maids, wives, and widows, whether they be fresh' 
 and gay, or " withering in the stalk," is really touching in one 
 of so robust and manly a frame of mind as his originally was,' 
 and, in a certain way, still is. We sit round the fire in the 
 ''' evening, his aged wife, ouiLexcelkiiL hostess, your friend S. C, 
 
 i/ f Louisa F., a very handsome and very sweet and good girl, and 
 ^ • ' my E., and talk of our own family matters, or the state of the 
 nation, or the people of history, Tudors and Stuarts, as subjects 
 happen to arise, Mr. W. taking his part, but never talking long 
 at a stretch, as he used to do in former years. Sometimes we 
 v^ walk together in a morning, and one day I had the satisfaction 
 of hearing him assent entirely to some remarks which I vent- 
 "ufed io make upon the alterations in his poetry, and even de- 
 clare that they should be restored as they were at first. _ I say 
 "they," but it remains to be seen to what extent he will do 
 this. He promised, in particular, that the original conclusion 
 of " Gypsies " should be restored in the next edition ; he also 
 seemed to assent to my view of the new stanzas in the " Blind 
 Highland Boy," that, though good in themselves, they rather in- 
 terfere with the effect of the poem. I would have them pre- 
 served, but detached from the poem, and the story of the tub 
 retained with a little alteration of expression, if possible. One 
 V day I contrived to draw Mr. W. out a little upon Milton, and 
 to hear him speak on that subject in a to me satisfactory 
 manner. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fasting and Self-Denial. 
 
 To Miss E. Trevenen, Helstone, Cornwall : 
 
 Bath, April 9, 1847.— As for the sham fasts or semi-fasts, 
 with a great heavy supper afterward, which some people prac- 
 
Christian Self -Denial. 307 
 
 tice by way of obeying the Church and following the example 
 of the ancient Christians, I can not believe that they are of any 
 great service to Christendom ; and real fasts are so injurious 
 to the health of a large proportion of Christians, that I can 
 never believe them to be an acceptable sacrifice to God. How- 
 ever, on this point I differ from many whom I deeply respect, 
 while I agree with some whom I deeply respect also, and I will 
 enter into the subject no further than to say that I believe in 
 fasting in a high and spiritual sense, that of abstaining from 
 self-indulgence for the sake of doing good to others. Contract- 
 ing our wants into as narrow a compass as possible, without 
 injury to our body or mind, is a most important part of Chris- 
 tian duty, and no one can be a true Christian who does not 
 practice it. They who give largely to the poor must fast in this 
 sense, because they diminish their means of indulging in the 
 pride of the eye, and all kinds of unnecessary luxuries and el- 
 egancies. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Irish Famine. — Defects and Excellences of the Irish Character. — 
 Bath Churches. — The " Old Man's Home ;" an Allegory. 
 
 To Miss Erskine : 
 
 8 Qtieen Square, Bath, April, 1847. — My dear A , I thank 
 
 you for your kind congratulations, and for your wish that this 
 visit may encourage me to avail myself of an invitation to Lit- 
 tle Green at some future time from dear Mrs. E . I strained 
 
 a point to come hither in order to be with my dear old friends 
 Mr. ancf Mrs. Wordsworth. They are aged since I saw them 
 last, but still wonderful people of their age, very active in body, 
 and in mind to me most interesting. We have many, many 
 mutual recollections and interests and acquaintanceships, and 
 should have enough to converse about even if news reached us 
 not here. It is impossible, however, not to dwell a good deal 
 on the state of Ireland. I have just received a long letter from 
 Adare. No one has died of starvation in his neighborhood, my 
 friend tells me, though there is want and trial enough. He is 
 indignant at the abuse of Irish landlords in our papers, which 
 he treats as absolute slander. "People who can not get rent 
 enough to keep them in snuff," says he, " are spoken of as hav- 
 ing ^10,000 per annum ; and men who are feeding their poor 
 
3o8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 on the venison of their parks are accused of living in palaces 
 among beggars, just as if they could grind down the statues in 
 their halls into powder, and make the poor people live on lime- 
 stone broth." He calls the English subscriptions " magnificent," 
 but says that all the good-hearted people he converses with are 
 dreadfully incensed at not being allowed to feel as grateful as 
 they would wish to feel. I believe that there are good, bad, 
 and indifferent among Irish landlords, as among other sets of 
 people, and that some are as bad as they have been represented. 
 We have reports of some from persons resident among them, 
 which describe them as most selfish and unfeeling. Surely, 
 too, there are some besetting faults in the poor of that land; 
 they seem to be indolent, improvident, not truthful. How much 
 of this arises from misgovernment is hard to say, but I am in- 
 clined to think that the circumstances of the Irish would never 
 have been so bad as they have ever been had their original 
 disposition and character not been wanting in certain elements 
 conducive to prosperity and well-being. They have passive 
 courage, but they want persistent energy and activity, and 
 steady, effective principle, though there are many excellent, am- 
 iable points of character in them, and they have produced some 
 admirable men. Bishop Berkeley I have long thought one of 
 the best and most-to-be-admired of mortals, and have warmly 
 assented to that line of Pope's, in which he assigns 
 
 " To Berkeley every virtue under Heaven." * * * 
 
 Since we have been here we have tried more churches than 
 the Little Old Woman tried chairs of Bears to sit down in, and 
 at last have fixed on one about the middle of the hill, as more 
 comfortable in its arrangements and inoffensive in doctrine than 
 any other. 
 
 I have no time, or scarce any, for reading here, but have read 
 by snatches Adams's " Old Man's Home," which is sweet and 
 pleasing in style, but in aim and import, as it seems to me, 
 very vague and unsatisfactory. It is difficult to see exactly 
 what moral or maxim or sentiment the author means to en- 
 force ; if you take it, one way, it seems scarce worth making a 
 tale about; if another, then it is an untenable falsity, such as it 
 is scarce worth any one's while to take the pains to refute. 
 Equivoques and paradoxes I never could entertain any respect 
 for myself, though they are often very popular : a sentiment 
 looks well in a mist, and has a sublime air, like our terraces in 
 
Wordsworth' s Visit to London, 309 
 
 the park, which look like common houses of ;^2oo or ;^3oo a 
 year, instead of romantic palaces, when the vapors clear off. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Last Visit of Mr. Wordsworth to Londor. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Queen Square, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, April 26, 1847. — * * * Last Saturday I saw 
 _clear Mr. and Mrs. Wordsworth probably for the last time dur- 
 ing this visit of theirs to the south. He has looked remarkably 
 ~ wen since he came to townj when I have seen him there has 
 been a rosy hue over his face, and he struck my nephew, J. D. C, 
 who saw him on his arrival at Paddington, as wondrously full 
 of vigor, quite a grand old man, and as one might expect the 
 poet Wordsworth to be. * * * I was not able to obtain a dinner 
 or breakfast visit from the great man, though several times 
 promised it. But I believe he dined out nowhere, and even 
 declined breakfasting at Mr. Robinson's. You have heard, no :^- 
 doubt, that he has written part of the Installation Ode ; Miss 
 F. says that there is a great deal of thought in it ; but he says 1 
 Jiimself that it is but superficial thought, and that it is not worth 
 __much. However, I am glad that his mind is still lithe enough 
 to perform such tasks, even in an ordinary manner, if ordinary 
 it be. There will probably be a manner in it that reports of 
 himself, even if the substance be not very new or powerful. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Illness of Mrs. Quillinan. — Answer to the Question "Whether Dying Per- 
 sons ought to be Warned of their State at the Risk of Hastening their 
 Departure i"' — Holy Living the only Real Preparation for Holy Dying. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, May 3, 1847. — My dearest Miss Fenwick, I 
 return to you, with many thanks, poor Mr. Quillinan's very af- 
 fecting letter, which conveys the impression that our sweet, dear 
 Dora* has but a few weeks, perhaps not many da3'S, of life in 
 this world before her. 
 
 * Mr. Wordsworth's only daughter, whose early life was spent in sisterly 
 intimacy with the family at Greta Hall. She died of consumption in the 
 first week of July, 1847. — E. C. 
 
3IO Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 In my reply to Mr. Quillinan, I expressed briefly my own 
 strong opinion against communicating to the patient medical 
 opinions that destroy all hope of prolonged life. The truth to 
 me seems this, dear Miss Fenwick. That we ought not to de- 
 prive our friends of a certain or even highly probable spiritual 
 advantage for the sake of saving them any trial or suffering 
 here^ I most entirely agree with you ; but I can not help greatly 
 doubting, as I believe James Coleridge doubts too, that the 
 spiritual advantage is such as many suppose it. Have ^ we a 
 right to hasten death, to destroy (as in soDie cases we may) a 
 .remaining chance of recovery, to cut short what may be days of 
 real, if not formal preparation, to produce a state of, perhaps, 
 unspeakable distress and terror, preclusive of that calmness 
 and self-possession which are so indispensable to the best and 
 most efficacious spiritual reflection ? Every medical man will 
 say that such communications have generally a bad effect upon 
 the body ; can spiritual guides assure us that they have a good 
 effect upon the soul, or give us great reason to think so ? What 
 Mr. Wordsworth expresses seems to me to be the simple truth; 
 my Uncle Southey held the same opinion. . It is very true that 
 numbers of persons view the approach of death with composure, 
 even welcome it ; this was the case with my sister Fanny Pat- 
 Tesori^; she had long thought that she was death-stricken, and 
 not regretted it ; when her time came, she knezif the truth, with- 
 out being told it, and, great as her blessings in this life had 
 been, was "glad to go." But there are other persons equally 
 good, equally religious, to whom the near prospect of dissolu- 
 tion is intolerable ; to persons in general, I think we may say, 
 the shock is awful. I fear you may not agree with me, but I 
 must express my doubt whether the agitated prayers which per- 
 sons offer up in this terrified state — prayers produced more by a 
 vague horror and dread of punishment, than a calm, clear sense 
 of the odiousness and unhappiness of sin as sin, let it bring 
 further consequences beyond itself or not — are of such service 
 in a religious point of view as persons generally suppose. It 
 seems a trite thing to say that it is the use we make of life and 
 all our active powers, what we make ourselves to he inwardly by 
 the life we lead, that our well-being hereafter depends upon, 
 and not the thoughts of our final change specially occupying 
 the mind during our last few days, and producing a special 
 preparation. Yet this special preparation, if it can be brought 
 
Death-bed Repentance. 311 
 
 about, well or tisefidly, is by no means to be disregarded. I am 
 inclined to think, however, that even where there is still hope 
 of life, and not an absolute coming face to face with approach- 
 ing death, there is often a most salutary discipline and real 
 preparation : a sense of the precariousness of life, and the 
 weakness and liability to suffering of this our earthly state, 
 must be strongly impressed on any impressible mind under such 
 circumstances ; and to this preparation, with its subdued yet 
 quiet and cheerful frame of spirits, I should trust more than to 
 any which the prospect of speedy dissolution brings about. I 
 would not go so far as to say that true penitence may not be 
 produced by this prospect, but I think it is best for Christians 
 through life to feel that if they do not repent of sin effectively 
 while they yet may practice it, the mere sorrow that they have 
 practiced it when they are on the verge of a state where only 
 the misery of it can survive will stand them in little stead, or at 
 least is nothing to rely upon. 
 
 If you ask me how would I myself be dealt with under such 
 circumstances, I scarce know what to say; only I feel now that 
 if I do not now prepare to go, it will signify little then. I should 
 be resolved to have every thing temporally, as much as I can, 
 in readiness, and as I should wish it to be were a disabling ill- 
 ness to come upon me ; and I always pray to be prepared for 
 my final change, and enabled now to realize the short interval 
 between my present existence and that other state. I earnestly 
 hope that I may be, as Fanny was, aware when the time is ap- 
 proaching, by my own inward feelings, so that friends about me 
 will not have the pain of breaking it to me. Alas ! I have nei- 
 ther husband nor parents to be grieved; and children, however 
 loving and beloved, can not feel as they feel. But, dear friend, 
 this is not altogether to be deplored. I doubt not you feel with 
 me that there is a calmness, even if a sadness, in this thought. 
 We must, as Keble says, take that last journey alone ; we must 
 learn to be alone in heart here first. I always felt that my deep 
 losses would make it easier to die. 
 
3 1 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 X 
 
 A Month later. — Criticisms on her Introduction to the "Biographia Litera- 
 ria." — Controversial Difficulties. — London in May. — Mrs. Southey's 
 Poems. 
 
 To Miss Morris, Mecklenburg Square : 
 
 Margate^ May 31, 1847. — This place is very refreshiijg. The 
 larks twittering in the fields of dwarf beans, now in fragrant 
 bloom, and the lush green oat crops, and the clover-beds, not 
 yet in blossom, but soon to be, and the sight of the blue field 
 of ocean beneath the blue sky, are all very pleasant. I think 
 of the time when I came hither first, four years ago — a sad, sad 
 widow. My children were with me, and their gambols and ex- 
 treme vivacity were not like what any other gayety would have 
 been to my feelings, as " the pouring of vinegar upon nitre, and 
 the taking away a garment in cold weather." They " sang songs 
 to my heavy heart," without seeming to increase its burden. 
 Then the dying bed of my beloved husband, who had ever been 
 such a lover to me, his last illness and dying hours, were all 
 fresh in my mind; but a little space interposed between the 
 present and that sorrow. Now I have to dwell on the dying 
 bed of one of my very earliest companion-friends, dear Dora 
 Quillinan, once Wordsworth, who is sinking in the last stage 
 of consumption. You know I was with her parents at Bath in 
 March. In April they were for a week in London, were hast- 
 ened home by a report that the medical man had discovered 
 fatal symptoms in her. Now for the last fortnight she has 
 known her prospect, that she is death-stricken, and that it is 
 only with her a question of time, and nothing can exceed the 
 heavenly composure, sweetness, and piety of her frame of mind. 
 She bore the communication, which she solicited herself, with 
 perfect firmness, seemed quite happy to go, though full of love 
 to all around her, and no dying bed can be more full of amia- 
 ble dispositions, or more perfect in its resignation than hers. 
 I must write to Mrs. Wordsworth in reply to a detail of her be- 
 loved child's sayings and doings in this her season of death- 
 expectancy and final weakness, which she thought due to me 
 as her earliest companion-friend. Scarcely a day passes jthat 
 I do not receive, either from Rydal Mount or from our mutual 
 friend. Miss Fenwick, accounts of the dear sufferer. It is quite 
 
Controversial Difficulties. 3 1 3 
 
 a privilege to be admitted to dwell on such a dying bed as hers. 
 In the day my children and other interests share my thoughts 
 with her, but at night, in my sleepless hours, I am ever with her, 
 or dwelling on my own future death-bed, or going back to that 
 of my dear husband, or the last days and hours of my beloved 
 mother. The parents are wonderfully supported, but deep, deep 
 is-their .sorrow. Mr. Wordsworth can not speak of it without 
 tears. Poor Mr. Quillinan ! But I must say no more of this, 
 to me, engrossing sorrow. 
 
 The "Biographia" has various misprints, omissions, etc., in 
 it, which I have been correcting in my friends' copies. Some 
 of my " Cathohc " friends have been objecting to my remarks, 
 and I have been replying and explaining. I find no difficulty 
 in this. People never do. Replying and rejoining may go on 
 ad infinitum, because, somehow or other, different thinkers as- 
 sign such a different value to the same considerations. There 
 is always a something left which can not be churned up, like 
 the buttermilk which can not be turned into butter; there is 
 always a something which can not be absolutely settled by logic 
 and reasoning, and this something determines whether you are 
 to be on this side or that. 
 
 Mr. D , still judging by circumstances, instead of looking 
 
 straight at the opinions themselves, will have it that my father's 
 views would have been much modified had he read the ancient 
 Fathers. I think he v^^ould have read them more at large had 
 he not felt assured, from what he had read of them, that this 
 would not bring an adequate return in the way of sound Chris- 
 tian knowledge. We have the grain without the chaff, I should 
 imagine, in our great divines. 
 
 However, time fails, and if I go on defending my statements 
 as I have done of late, I shall have no time left ever to think 
 of any thing else. It is impossible to please one's opponents, 
 so it does not signify trying. If we argue weakly, they triumph, 
 and if strongly, they don't know that they are beaten ; but, hav- 
 ing a sort of half-suspicion of it, they are far worse satisfied 
 than if the argument against them had been more unsatisfac- 
 tory ! However, I admit that I can be no great judge of the 
 satisfactoriness or the reverse of my own arguments. But some- 
 times one is attacked for not considering a position which one 
 thought so very untenable that, if one took it in hand, folks 
 would say one was fighting with a shadow. 
 
3 1 4 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I dined at the Chevalier Bunsen's not long before I left town 
 It was a most pleasant party. I was also at pleasant ones at 
 Lord Monteagle's, where I met Whewell, and was delighted 
 with his talk, at Sir Robert Inglis's, and Sergeant Stewart's, 
 
 and met Carlyle at Mrs. W 's one evening. I should have 
 
 had party fever had I not run away. 
 
 I saw the Exhibition, admired the landscapes, a lovely Danby, 
 Rippingille, Cooper, Stanfield. I liked the Mulready, and the 
 first of the Joan of Arcs. I also liked the great Landseer, and 
 the lion picture, too, in its way. The good-natured look of the 
 lioness is true to nature, though perhaps exaggerated. The 
 amiability and good-humor of lionesses are very remarkable. 
 
 Talking of lionesses, Mrs. Southey's volume of poems con- 
 tains many of merit, though I do not like her continuation of 
 "Robin Hood." Her "Young Gray Head" is exquisitely pa- 
 thetic, and beautiful, too, in the style, of all others, that suits her 
 best. 
 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Earnest of Eternal Life. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, jfidy i, 1847. — Poor INIr. Quillinan's letter in- 
 creases the sad feeling with which I approach in thought that 
 sick-room at Rydal Mount. But while the mind is so far from 
 sick, these are, indeed, as you say, but temporary emotions : the 
 natural horror of continuous pain and suffering will go; the re- 
 membrance of the sufferer's strength and sweetness will remain. 
 We can not need arguments and sermons on immortality; or, 
 at least, after being instructed in Christianity, we can not need 
 them to strengthen and refresh our faith when we have such 
 living documents and earnests of Eternal Life before us as 
 these. If the mind seemed to weaken and die with the body, 
 we might doubt; though even then I trust the written Word 
 might sustain us; but up to the last breath, how brightly the 
 light shines in some ! It would be impossible to think, even 
 without the Word, that such a power of thought and feeling was 
 in a few moments to cease to be forever ! 
 
The Sister of Charles Lamb. — The Bible. 3 1 5 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Sister of Charles Lamb. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Margate, jfuly 6, 1S47. — I see that Mary Lamb is dead, She 
 departed, eighty-two years old, on the 20th of May. She had 
 survived her mind in great measure, but much of the /leart re- 
 mained. Miss Lamb had a very fine feeling for literature, and 
 was Jrefined in mind, though homely, almost coarse, in personal ^ 
 habits. Her departure is an escape out of prison, to her sweet, 
 good soul more especially. To put off the clog of the flesh 
 must be to the sanest an escape from a body of death. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Religious Tendency of Mr. Coleridge's Writings. — Her Father, her Uncle, 
 and Mr. Wordsworth. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Queen Square, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, jfuly 7, 1847. — Dear friend, I have been ex- 
 tremely gladdened by what you said in your last but one on 
 the use that my father's writings had been to you. No bet- 
 ter compliment could be paid them than to say that they sent 
 yoii to the Bible; and this exactly describes my own feelings 
 and experience. I, too, feel now, that though I read books of 
 divinity — especially of Jeremy Taylor and our old divines — with 
 delight, and a certain sort of advantage, I do not want any book 
 spiritually except the Bible, now that by my father and Mr. 
 Wordsworth I have been put in the way of reading it to advan- 
 tage. They, indeed, have given me eyes and ears. What should 
 I have been without them ! To my Uncle Southey I owe much 
 — even^o his books; to his example, his life and conversation, 
 far more. But to Mr. W. and my father I owe my thoughts 
 more than to all other men put together. 
 
o 
 
 1 6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Margate in a Storm. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Margate, July i6, 1847. — Yesterday I longed for E , or 
 
 any of our dear young people, in my pleasant, long walk with 
 nurse. A storm came on, and I stood, backed and screened 
 by a hedge, and saw Margate looking really fine under the dark, 
 tumultuous sky, with her two churches of opposite characters — 
 the young, tall, upright Trinity Church, crowning the town; and 
 at the farther end of it the little, old, dumpy, yet venerable St. 
 John the Baptist's. I prefer this place, upon the whole, to Heme 
 Bay or Broadstairs : there is more to see — more of human life 
 in this long-established, half-new, half-old town, than in those 
 later-settled spots ; and the country and the views are pleasanter. 
 
Grasmere Church-yard. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 1847. — yuly-Decemher. 
 
 LETTERS TO AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., HON. MR. JUSTICE COLE- 
 RIDGE, MISS FENWICK, REV. HENRY MOORE, MISS ERS- 
 KINE, MISS MORRIS, MISS TREVENEN, MRS. H. 
 M. JONES, MRS. RICHARD TOWNSEND. 
 
 Grasmere Church-yard. 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 August 2, 1847. — Your account of dear Mr. and Mrs. Words- 
 worth is very consolatory. I am sure they must be soothed and 
 sustained by the remembrance of their blessed child's sweet, 
 loving, beneficent life, and of her calm, happy, patient death- 
 bed, so full of faith and Christian graces. I should think that 
 a visit to the church-yard where she lies must, under these cir- 
 cumstances, be soothing. Well do I remember Dora shedding 
 tears when we, her thoughtless companions, read aloud the 
 names of her little departed sister and brother in that church- 
 yard; How little did I think, full of life and strength as she 
 "theiTwas, that she would be laid there herself while I survived, 
 and her own parents still lived to lament her loss ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The Installation Ode.—" The Triad." 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage, Staffordshire : 
 Chester Place, August 4, 1847. — The visit to Bath was very in- 
 teresting, though I saw in Mr. Wordsworth rather a venerable 
 __relic, so far as his intellectual mind is concerned, than the great 
 _ppet I once knew; and I do not agree with H. T. in thinking 
 highly of his Installation Ode.* It is only so far Wordsworthian 
 * Written on occasion of the Installation of the Prince Consort as Chan- 
 cellor of the University of Cambridge.— E. C. 
 
3 1 8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 that it is not vulgar, not decked out with a second-hand splendor 
 that may be bought at any poetry-mart for the occasion. But 
 the intercourse with my dear old friends was saddened by the 
 bad news they were receiving of their beloved daughter. A 
 week after they came to town they received a report of her which 
 hastened them home, and now she is in her grave — has been in 
 her grave for some weeks. She was one of my earliest friends, 
 and her death has saddened this summer to me. Never was 
 there a more blessed death-bed than hers — one fuller of faith 
 and love and fortitude, and every Christian grace. Still it is 
 sad for those who knew her from childhood to see her light go 
 out in this world. Look at " The Triad," written by Mr. Words- 
 worth four or five and twenty years ago. That poem contains 
 a poetical glorification of Edith Southey (now W.), of Dora, and 
 of myself There is truth in the sketch of Dora, poetic truth, 
 though such as none but a poet-father would have seen. She 
 was unique in her sweetness and goodness. I mean that her 
 character was most peculiar — a compound of veheinerLce-of 
 feeling and gentleness, sharpness and lovingness — which is not 
 often seen. 
 
 III. 
 
 High-Church Principles practically carried out. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore : 
 
 Chester Place, August, 1847. — To be sure I should vote for 
 Gladstone ! Why, don't I always support the High-Church party 
 with all my mighty power and injfue/ue ? What can you be think- 
 ing of.' Didn't I give money to St. Augustine's — more than I 
 
 could afford — and always stand up for Mr. D to his back, 
 
 though I oppose him to his face ? ' And am I not as constant 
 to his church* as a dove; and wouldn't I rather join the Trac- 
 tarians than any oiher party, if I was forced to join any? I am 
 only provoked with High-Church divines for some of their dry 
 dogmas, which, as distinctive opinions, have no practical value 
 whatever, so far as I can see, but which they set up as saving 
 truths, and denounce all other Christians for doubting. Their 
 theology, on the whole, I think better than that of any other 
 
 * This was Christ Church, Albany Street, where my mother was a regu- 
 lar attendant for many years, till her health failed. — E.,C. 
 
Intellectual Ladies. 3 1 9 
 
 party. But the theology of all parties wants ventilating and 
 sifting. The abuse of Rome in the Anglican party is vulgar 
 and ignorant, and their representations of Calvinism are the 
 finest specimens of misrepresentation that I am acquainted with. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Intellectual Ladies, Modern and Ancient. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Chester Place, August 20, 1847. — I had a very interesting talk 
 last night with Mr. H. T., who is looking remarkably well. He 
 put in a strong light the unattractiveness of intellectual ladies 
 to gentlemen, even those who are themselves on the intellectual 
 side of the world — men of genius, men of learning and letters. 
 I could have said, in reply, that while women are young, where 
 there is a pretty face, it covers a multitude of sins, even intel- 
 lectuality; where there is not that grand desideratum to young 
 marrying men, a love of books does not make the matter much 
 worse in one way, and does make it decidedly better in the 
 other: that when youth is past, a certain number of persons are 
 bound to us, in the midst of all our plainness and pedantry; 
 these old friends and lovers cleave to us for something under- 
 neath all that, not only below the region of good looks, skin, 
 lip, and eye, but even far deeper down than the intellect, for our 
 individual, moral, personal being, which shall endure when we 
 shall be where all will see as angels ken, and intellectual differ- 
 ences are done away : that as for the world of gentlemen at large 
 — that world which a young lady desires, in an indefinite, infinite 
 way, to charm and smite — we that are no longer young pass into 
 a new, old-womanish, tough state of mind; to please them is not 
 so much the aim as to set them to rights, lay down the law to 
 them, convict them of their errors, pretenses, superficialities, 
 etc., etc.; in short, tell them a bit of oicr mind. This, of course, 
 is as foolish an ambition as the other, even more preposterous; 
 but it is so far better that even where the end fails, the means 
 themselves are a sort of end, and a considerable amusement and 
 excitement. So that intellectualism, if it be not wrong in itself, 
 will not be abandoned by us to please the gentlemen. 
 
 God bless you, and prosper you in all your labors, for your 
 country's sake and your own. But do not forget the IMuses al- 
 
320 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 together. Those are intellectual ladies who have attractions 
 for gentlemen worth pleasing, and who retain "the bland com- 
 posure of perpetual youth " beside their refreshing Hippocrene. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sacred Poetry : Keble, Quarles, and Crashaw. 
 
 To Mrs. Richard Townsend, Springfield, Norwood : 
 
 Chester Place, September, 1847. — I am much pleased to hear 
 of your undertaking,* and feel provoked that I can not aid you 
 in it — poet's daughter and niece and friend, as I am — I mean 
 in the way of pointing out some green haunts of the sacred 
 Muses which you have not yet found out. But though sacred 
 poetry abounds, good sacred poetry is more scarce than poetry 
 of any other sort. I do but half like the " Christian Year," I 
 confess ; but this you will think bad taste in me, though I could 
 quote some poetical authorities on my side. I admire some 
 stanzas and some whole poems in the collection exceedingly, 
 but they seem to me quite teasingly beset with faults both of 
 diction and composition. Of these, the former annoy me most, 
 and most interfere with my pleasure in reading them. I know 
 no other mass of poetry so good, that is not at the same time 
 better, showing more poetic art and judgment. 
 
 I can only mention to you Quarles, a great favorite with my 
 Uncle Southey, and Crashaw,t whose sacred poetry I think 
 
 * A collection of sacred pieces, chiefly from the elder English poets, en- 
 titled " Christmas Tyde," and published by l\Ir. Pickering in 1849. It was 
 followed by " Passion Week," a companion volume. — E. C. 
 
 t Richard Crashaw, a contemporary of Herbert, Quarles, and Vaughan, 
 became a Roman Catholic during the troubles of the Civil War, and died a 
 canon of Loretto, A. D. 1650. His poetry is marked by a dreamy, fanciful 
 sweetness and devotional fervor, which give it a peculiar charm. The fol- 
 lowing elegant little poem, " On Mr. George Herbert's book, entitied the 
 Temple of Sacred Poems, sent to a Gentlewoman," must surely have been 
 prized by the receiver, as adding to the value of the gift : 
 "Know you. Fair, on what you look.^ 
 
 Divinest Love lies in this book, 
 
 Expecting fire from your eyes 
 
 To kindle this his sacrifice. 
 
 When your hands untie these strings, 
 
 Think you've an angel by the wings — 
 
Metrical Rules. 321 
 
 • 
 more truly poetical than any other, except Milton and Dante. 
 I asked Mr. Wordsworth what he thought of it, and whether he 
 did not admire it; to which he responded very warmly. My 
 father, I recollect, admired Crashaw ; but then neither Quarles 
 nor Crashaw would be much liked by the modern general read- 
 er. They would be thought queer and extravagant. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Art of Poetry. — A Lesson on Metre. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 1847. — My dear friend, I may not on Wednesda}^, or before 
 — for I hope we shall meet again before — be able to squeeze 
 in a word about the Art of Poetry ; and so I will write a few 
 lines on the subject now, only as a prelude to much talk 
 on such subjects which I hope to have with you from time 
 to time. 
 
 I must begin with telling you that I never wrote blank verse 
 in my life, and smile at myself when I think that I am about 
 to attempt giving instructions, or even hints, on metre. I al- 
 ways, in attacking Wordsworth's later poetry with Mr. De Vere, 
 admit that, from his far greater practice in verse-making and 
 executive skill in poetry, he is more alive to delicacies of metre 
 and elegances of diction than I am.' However, though I never 
 wrote Latin verses myself, I could often inform Herbert of the 
 faults of his ; and so in regard to your lines. I can perceive 
 that some of the lines have not quite the right metre, without 
 too much humoring. 
 
 You know blank verse consists of ten feet called iambuses, 
 each foot containing a short and a long syllable, represented in 
 
 the symbols of ancient prosody thus : - -, as forbear. 
 
 One that gladly will be nigh 
 To wait upon each morning sigh, 
 To flutter in the balmy air 
 Of your well-perfumed prayer. 
 These white plumes of his he'll lend you, 
 Which every day to heaven will send you. 
 To take acquaintance of the sphere, 
 And all the smooth-faced kindred there !" — E. C. 
 X 
 
32 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 This heroic measure is called pure when the accent rests 
 upon the second syllable through the whole line, as — 
 
 But who I can bear | th' approach | of cer | tain fate. 
 
 Still it would be very wearying and tame if the accent was 
 never transposed in the course of a composition. Very often 
 spondees are introduced in the place of the iambus — the spon- 
 
 dee is a foot formed of two long syllables, as wax-light — or a 
 
 trochee, a long and a short, as daily. 
 
 ' / / / / / " 
 
 Here Love | his gold | en shafts | employs, | here lights | 
 
 / / / / / 
 
 His con I stant lamp | and waves | his pur | pie wings — 
 
 Reigns here | ****** 
 
 In the second line you see the iambic measure is pure, in the 
 others mixed. (I should have said above that the ancients 
 have syllabic quantity, their short and long syllables depending 
 upon the number and position of the consonants, and the time 
 taken up in pronunciation ; we have only accentual c^z.^x'd'i)^, at 
 least as an absolute rule, though some attention to the length 
 of syllables is also paid by every fine versifier.) Milton often 
 crumples two short syllables into one for the last half of his 
 iambus at the end of a line, as — 
 
 Your bod | ies may | at last | turn all | to spirit. 
 
 Equivalent in time to a short and a long, for two shorts are 
 equal to one long. 
 So again — 
 
 Eter I nal King, | the au | thor of ] all being. 
 
 In this line there is a pyrrhic in the fifth place, and a dactyl 
 (- ^ -) in the last, which forms a very agreeable variety. Here 
 you see the time is equal to that of the pure iambic, if you take 
 the two last feet together, because the long syllable " all " is in 
 the place of a short syllable. The time in the two last feet is 
 the same as six shorts or three longs, or two shorts and two 
 longs, which is the usual distribution. Only the change of ar- 
 rangement, introduced but very seldom, and in an appropriate 
 place, is a beauty. Do just mark the exquisite metrical variety 
 
Blank Verse. 323 
 
 in the passage— book iii., lines 344-371— especially from "With 
 these that never fade " to the end of the paragraph. 
 
 By way of practice you ought to scan Milton's " Paradise 
 Lost." That is, read passages, attending principally to the 
 metre, and putting them on paper with the prosodiacal marks, 
 
 as — 
 
 Pavement | that like [ a sea [ of pur ] pTe shone ; 
 
 and mark in a paragraph the varieties of accent and their rela- 
 tion to the sense and the feeling of the verse. Does it not seem 
 brutal thus to anatomize and skeletonize poetry? but so painters 
 learn to paint, and so poets must learn to poetize, I believe. 
 
 It is the sense of the great difficulty of writing blank verse 
 that has always kept me from attempting it. In rhymes and 
 stanzas there is a mechanical support, a sort oi frame-work of 
 poetry which my weakness rests upon. But some persons' 
 thoughts (probably yours are such) naturally flow into that form 
 more than any other. 
 
 I have criticised you as freely as I do many of my other 
 friends. I think that writing verse is useful in a secondary way, 
 as learning music is also; it teaches us to feel doubly the excel- 
 lences of the great poetic artists, as musical practice to under- 
 stand fine playing. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lodging-house Discomforts. — A Programme Unfulfilled. | 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 Margate, September 20, 1847. — We came hither on Friday in 
 pouring rain. I had not been able to secure our former nice 
 lodgings, and was not disposed to spend money at the inn as 
 on previous occasions, so on we went to find a shelter amid 
 the cats and dogs, and rushed into apartments as a hare rushes 
 into her form when pursued by her enemies. The little sitting- 
 room has a pleasant view, but the moss-rosebuds that adorn 
 the paper of the walls are emblematic in their very conspicuous 
 thorns of the discomforts of the abode. I put my foot on a tea- 
 caddy, by way of a foot-stool, and E eats her plum-tart with 
 
 a salt-spoon. But all this is naught to the brawling of the peo- 
 ple who keep the house; never did I hear the like, except in 
 
324 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 fancy, when I have been reading that passage of the "Inferno" 
 
 about the 
 
 "Diverse lingue, orribili favelle 
 Parole di dolore, accent! d'ira, 
 Voci alte e fioche." 
 
 Talking of the " Inferno," you accuse me of want of love and 
 reverence for Dante ! Oh, that you would come as near me in 
 respect and affection for Luther as I near you in admiration of 
 the stern Florentine ! I see more faults in the " Paradiso" than 
 you do, and I can not place it relatively so high ; but I think 
 you no more outgo me, dear friend, in reverence for the genius 
 of Dante than in general estimation of Wordsworth. I marvel- 
 that you do not think Luther a great man, and that you do not 
 love, as my father did, as Carlyle and Hare do, one side of his 
 character. It is the union of force, gigantic energy, constan- 
 cy, indomitable resolution, dauntless courage (Mr. Wordsworth 
 calls him " dauntless Luther "), with tenderness of spirit, and 
 in his writings a deep insight into the meaning of St. Paul, 
 and a most animated and expressive style, perfectly adapted 
 to the work it was to do, which I so admire. Different men 
 have different gifts and missions to perform, and are great in 
 different ways ; but I do not think the world has ever seen a 
 greater man, upon the whole, than Luther, or one who was the 
 instrument of greater works, except the worthies of the Bible, 
 Lawgiver and Leader, Prophets and Apostles. Are you thank- 
 ful for the Reformation ? Do you prize a reformed and Script- 
 ural Church ? Do you think w^e have a purer faith than that 
 which Rome taught in the sixteenth century, and even now 
 teaches ? If you do, how can you not honor God's instrument 
 in effecting the noble work — heroic Luther ? Do you admire 
 and love our good old divines " the Anglican Fathers ?" * * * 
 I was going. to inflict on you a lecture in the shape of a par- 
 allel between English divinity and that of the Continental di- 
 vines, a recapitulation of all the testimonies to the merits of 
 Luther in our Church, and a history of the rise and progress of 
 Anti-Lutherism in the Church of England; but my heart relents 
 toward you. I think that you are working hard to be useful 
 to your fellow-creatures in a tedious way. I have eaten my 
 early dinner since I began the Lutheran lecture, and though the 
 hash was hard, scarcely less so than the " rhinoceros veal" of 
 which Herby and Dervy complained at Heme Bay, and the 
 
 \ 
 
''Grant ley Manor y 325 
 
 French beans were fit fare for Nebuchadnezzar in his state of 
 humihation, yet, having a philosophic mind, I am not exasper- 
 ated, but softened, by this lodging-house repast, and will leave 
 you to repent about Luther at leisure. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Modern Novels: " Grantley Manor," "Granby," "The Admiral's 
 
 „ ,,. „ Daughter." 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Fort Crescent, Margate, October 2, 1S47. — We have both read 
 "Grantley Manor," with which we have been rather disappoint- 
 ed after the ecstatic reports of it which we received. The story 
 proceeds languidly, though never devoid of interest, till the 
 middle of the third volume, and whether or no it was Anglican 
 prejudice, but so it was, that the heroism and oft-repeated ago- 
 nies and anguishful trials of the Romish heroine were to me 
 more wearying than affecting. It was so easy to give the fine, 
 elegant, heavenly -minded, firm-souled, poetical sister to the 
 Church of Rome, and the little, short, half-worldly, half-coquet- 
 tish, pretty, but cross-mouthed sister to the Church of England ! 
 The trap for admiration is too palpable. We see it afar off, 
 and will not walk into it. Still there is much to admire in this 
 book, and some scenes are extremely good. There is every 
 wish on the part of the authoress to be candid, and in Ann 
 Neville she has portrayed a character quite as excellent and 
 admirable as Ginevra, and given her to our Church. 
 
 But I confess, fond of the poetical as I am, and of reflection 
 and sentiment, I do not like so much of this sort of thing in a 
 novel as Lady Georgiana FuUerton gives us. At least, I think 
 the best sort of novel is that which deals chiefly in delineation 
 of character, dialogue, and incident. I have been much pleased, 
 more than I expected to be, with a novel by Mr. Lister— "Gran- 
 by." The ease with which it is written throughout is admirable. 
 This ease is quite inimitable. It results from birth, breeding, 
 and daily association with that sphere of thorough gentility 
 where the inhabitants have little else to do than to be refined, 
 and are cut off from all particular occupations that give a par- 
 ticular cast and impress to the manners. Dickens could as 
 little give this air to his dialogue by letters or narrative as the 
 author of "Granby" could have produced Sam Weller and his 
 

 
 26 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 father, or Ralph Nickleby, or Sairey Gamp. Do you like Mrs. 
 Marsh's books ? "The Admiral's Daughter" seems to me one 
 of the best tales of the day. It is deeply pathetic, and the scenes 
 are admirably well wrought up. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Marriage," by Miss Ferrier. — Novel Writing. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Margate^ October, 1847. — I am now engaged with " Marriage," 
 by Miss Ferrier, which I had read years ago. It is even better 
 than I remembered. The humor reminds me of that of our 
 good old plays. Lady Maclaghlan and Sir Sampson are excel- 
 lent, and there is an easy air of high life in Lady Juliana which 
 makes it bearable to dwell so long on a heartless, childish 
 creature. To read novels is all very well ; but to write them 
 — except the first-rate ones — how distasteful a task it seems to 
 me to dwell so long as writing requires on what is essentially 
 base and worthless ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Mrs. Gillman, of Highgate. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, October 30, 1S47. — I was much pleased to see 
 my dear old friend, Mrs. Gillman, at Ramsgate, looking far bet- 
 ter, and evidently in better health, than several years ago. She 
 is wondrously handsome for a woman of seventy, far more in- 
 teresting than I remember her in middle age — for she has 
 more color, and becomes the fine cap close to her face, all hair 
 put away, more than her more commonplace head costume of 
 former days. Her profile is quite Siddonian, and her black eye 
 is bright ; the only drawback is rather too keen an expression, 
 inclining almost to hard and sharp, when she is looking earnest- 
 ly and not smiling. She is still lame from the effects of a fall 
 (which, I think, she had in running once hastily to my father 
 when he was ill. It was interesting to me to see her surround- 
 ed with portraits of old familiar faces, now passed away from 
 earth, and pictures that I used to know at Highgate. 
 
Intellectual Pleasures. 327 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Salutary Discipline of Affliction. — Earthly Enjoyments and Heav- 
 enly Hopes. 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 24 Fort Crescent, Margate, October 6, 1847.— My dear friend, 
 most sincerely do I thank you for your letter,* which affected 
 me deeply— affects me, I may say, for I can not look at it or 
 think of it without feeling my eyes fill with tears. It contains 
 a record which will ever be precious to me— a testimony to the 
 power of faith, one of those testimonies which make us feel with 
 special force that Christianity is no mere speculation or subject 
 of abstract thought, but a blessed and glorious reality — the only 
 reality, to speak by comparison. But I believe it impossible 
 for us in this earthly sphere to realize religion without an at- 
 tendant process of destruction. While this destruction of the 
 natural within us goes on gradually, we do not note it ; but in 
 great affliction, when much work is done at once, the disruption 
 is strongly felt, and the body for a time gives way. 
 
 After a while, even the body seems to gain new strength j it 
 has adjusted itself to a new condition of the soul ; it remains 
 attenuated, but firm. VVe seem to have passed into a partly 
 new state of existence, a stage of the new birth. One coat of 
 worldliness has been cast off; the natural is weaker and slen- 
 derer within us, and the spiritual larger and stronger. I seem 
 to myself scarce worthy to talk of such things. I have not prof- 
 ited by affliction as I ought to have done. Better than I once 
 was, possessed of a far deeper sense of the beauty and excel- 
 lence of Christianity, I do humbly hope that I am. But I have 
 had, perhaps, too much worldly support — earthly support, I 
 should rather say. Things of the mind and intellect give me 
 intense pleasure ; they delight and amuse me, as they are in 
 themselves, independently of aught they can introduce me to in- 
 strumentally; and they have gladdened me in another way, by 
 bringing me into close communion with fine and deep minds. 
 It has seemed a duty, for my children's sake and my own, to 
 cultivate this source of cheerfulness, and sometimes I think the 
 result has been too large, the harvest too abundant, of inward 
 
 * Containing the account of a sudden and severe affliction in the writer's 
 family, and of the Christian resignation with which it was borne. — E. C. 
 
o 
 
 28 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 satisfaction. This is dangerous. How hardly shall the rich 
 man enter into the kingdom of heaven ! and these are the rich- 
 est of earthly riches. They who use intellect as the means of 
 gaining money or reputation are drudges, poor slaves — though 
 even they have often a high pleasure in the means, while they 
 are pursuing an unsatisfactory end. But they who live in a 
 busy yet calm world of thought and poetry, though \h.€\x powers 
 may be far less than those of the others, may forget heaven, if 
 sorrow and sickness, and symptoms of final decay, do not force 
 them to look up, and strive away from their little transitory 
 heaven upon earth to that which is above. Bright, indeed, that 
 little heaven continually is with light from the supernal one. 
 But we may rest too content with those reflections^ which must 
 fade as our mortal frame loses power. Hope of a higher exist- 
 ence can alone support us when this half-mental, half-bodily 
 happiness declines. 
 
 XH. 
 
 Controlling Grief for the Sake of Others. 
 
 To Miss Erskine : 
 
 Chester Place, October, 1847. — I have always gone upon a 
 plan of avoiding all excitement and agitation on the subject of 
 my own deep, irretrievable losses. This for me was an absolute 
 necessity: had I not kept sorrow at arm's-length, as it were, 
 with my very irritable state of nerves, I should have been per- 
 petually incapacitated for doing my duty to my children. In 
 early youth one thinks it impossible to keep grief at bay. To 
 banish it is indeed impossible ; keep it off as far as we may, 
 there it stands dark and moveless, casting its shadow over our 
 whole life,tingeing every thought and action, and every would-be 
 sunny prospect with at best a twilight evening hue. But this 
 is far better than to be forever at close quarters with sorrow, 
 continually plunged in tears, and stung with keen regrets. I 
 take no credit to myself for what I have done in this way, be- 
 cause it was not I that did it, but my circumstances. I had 
 children to consider and to act for • and the sense of how cruel 
 and selfish it would be to shadow their young lives by the sight 
 of a mother's tears was a motive for exertion in cultivating all 
 cheerful thoughts, which I could never have supplied to myself. 
 
''' Anti-Lutherismr 329 
 
 Hence, as soon as possible, I put away all the special reminis- 
 cences of ray past happy wedded life which lay in my daily 
 path ; this was not to diminish the remembrance of the depart- 
 ed — that remains vivid as ever, without a hue faded or a line 
 erased — but it prevented me from continually beholding the 
 image of the departed in the midst of my daily work, when I 
 could not afford to stand still and gaze upon it, and forget the 
 present in the past. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "Anti-Lutherism." — Charges made gainst Luther of Irreverence, Im- 
 morality, and Uncharitableness. — Luther's Doctrine of Justification 
 adopted by the English Church. — " Heroes," and the " Worship " due 
 to them. — Luther's Mission as a Witness for Gospel Truth. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 Margate, October 12, 1847.^1 regret our difference of feeling 
 and opinion concerning Luther more than on any other subject, 
 but differences on persons are not such discrepancies as differ- 
 ences on things. Did I conceive the old Reformer as you con- 
 ceive him, I should admire him no more than you do. But a 
 totally different person is before my eyes, when I think of him, 
 from what you present. I marvel how you can admit him to 
 be a hero, if you believe his strength to have been " of a very 
 physical kind" — look upon him as a religious demagogue, a 
 "self-intoxicated man." It seems to me that you do by Luther 
 what has so often been done by my father — that is, that you 
 present an exaggerated image of the mere surface of the man — 
 the outside of his character — for the man himself I believe 
 that Luther was not that mere tempestuous struggler for liberty, 
 that coarse, bold, irreverent, self-deceiving fanatic, whom you 
 present to me. 
 
 The truth is, your view of the objects of Luther's warfare, the 
 things for which and against which he strove, determines your 
 view of his personal character. You call him irreverent. Why ? 
 Because he did not revere much that you look upon with ven- 
 eration. But has it yet been shown that Luther wanted rever- 
 ence for the objects of faith and religious awe to which there is 
 a clear testimony of reason and the spiritual sense — which are 
 Christian, not mediaeval ? He had no reverence for the priest- 
 
2,2,0 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 hood, considered as the possessors of mystic g\iX.'=, and ecclesias- 
 tical privileges — -/j'^z^(/(?-ecclesiastical, I should say. I confess 
 I have just as little as he. I think no one can exceed me, ac- 
 cording to the powers and energies of my mind, in love and 
 respect for the Christian pastorate. I honor the minister of 
 Christ both in his office and, still more, when he is what he 
 ought to be, for his personal gifts and graces. I look with 
 deep interest and gratitude to God on the succession of Christ's 
 shepherds from the Apostles to the present day, but the Suc- 
 cession dogma, taught in the " Tracts for the Times," I can not 
 behold with any respect whatever; just because it seems to me 
 absolutely devoid of evidence, and, secondly, a mere spiritual 
 mockery, which adds nothing to religion but a name and a 
 notion. 
 
 It is true that Luther, in the beginning of his career, spoke 
 rashly of St. James's Epistle ; but I can not permit this fact to 
 nullify for me all the evidence of deep religious feeling which I 
 see in his writings and in his life. As for his want of charity, 
 I do not defend his language ; but vehement language alone 
 can never convict him or any man of an uncharitable heart. 
 Luther began with great moderatioji ; but the murderous malice 
 and violence of his enemies, who would have mart}'red him ten 
 times over, and would be content with nothing but absolute re- 
 nunciation of what he held to be the truth of God, goaded him 
 to a degree which a writer of " Tracts for the Times," sitting 
 quietly in his study, does not fairly allow for. 
 
 What are those moral enormities, those thicks and thins, that 
 Mr. Hare defends ? There is but one moral offense of any 
 magnitude that has ever been brought home to Luther— the 
 affair with the Landgrave of Hesse — and surely Hare does not 
 defend his part in that matter. He only shows, very ably, as I 
 thought, all the extenuating circumstances, and exposes the 
 ridiculous unfairness of the representation of it by his adversa- 
 ries. Those Romanists, and admirers of Romanism, treat it as 
 an unprecedented crime in Luther to have done, with deep re- 
 pentance afterward, what their infallible Vicegerents of Christ 
 had done before, without repenting of it at all. That Luther 
 ever meant to defend or recommend polygamy, he shows, I 
 think, very clearly to have been one of the ten thousand calum- 
 nies uttered against him by his untruth-telling foes. He said, 
 I think justly, that we ought not to look upon polygamy as 
 
Hero - Worship, 331 
 
 essentially a crime. What God has once sanctioned (surely 
 the words of Nathan to David show that it was sanctioned) can 
 not be compared with sins against which there is a fiat of the 
 Eternal. 
 
 Do you think that I admire Luther's doctrine for its energy 
 and spiritual boldness ? No, I admire the energy and boldness 
 for the sake of the doctrine. What are those most vehement 
 assertions of his which you consider heterodox? The great 
 assertion of Luther's life as a theologian was justification by 
 faith alone. Is this heterodox ? Then is the Church of England 
 heterodox in her Articles and her Homilies. It is vain to say 
 that they teach Melancthon's doctrine. There is no real differ- 
 ence, I believe, and I have studied the subject a good deal, 
 between Luther's view of the subject and that of his bosom 
 friend Melancthon. But Philip was a mild, calm man. He 
 explained the doctrine, and put it into language less liable to 
 be taken by a wrong handle, though far less calculated to make 
 way for it in the first instance. The " Commentary on Galatians " 
 was spiritual thunder and lightning. That it reads as well as 
 it does now, when we consider the sort of work it did, and com- 
 pare it with other such instruments by which great changes are 
 made suddenly in masses, we may see, and ought, I think, to 
 acknowledge, that if Luther was a spiritual demagogue, he was 
 of the first order of such after-inspired men. Indeed, my father, 
 as appears in the " Remains," put him in the next rank after 
 St. Paul and the Apostles. That article of our religion which 
 the "Commentary on Galatians " is specially devoted to set forth 
 —the manner of our justification— he thought more clearly seen, 
 with greater depth of insight, by Luther than by any other 
 man after the Apostle to the Gentiles. Such are his and my 
 heresies. 
 
 As for hero-worship, if by He7'0 you mean only a strong man, 
 able to produce great changes and make a sensation, and by 
 worship such homage as Romanists pay to the Virgin and the 
 Saints — which I believe to be too near that which belongs to 
 God alone — I am as little a hero-worshiper as you are. I mean 
 by a Hero a great, good man, endued with extraordinary gifts 
 by the Father of Lights, which he employs for the benefit of 
 mankind. Ought we not to worship, that is, honor and praise 
 and listen to such men ? It seems to me that Luther's ends 
 were o-reat and noble, and that his motives were always disin- 
 
332 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 terested, high, and pure. In some instances, his means were 
 blameworthy. He was embarked in a mighty, and most peril- 
 ous, laborious, and difficult enterprise ; and if, in the conduct 
 of it, he sometimes, through fear of losing what had been gained, 
 departed from the strict rule of right, surely a liberal and char- 
 itable judgment will not deny him the praise due to a benefactor 
 of men. That he was a true religious enthusiast, not one who 
 makes religion either a source of self-glorification or worldly 
 advancement, seems clear from his dedication of himself at 
 first, before the struggle with Rome began. He was raised up, 
 as I fully believe, by Providence, to resist the practical cor- 
 ruptions of the Church, and to bear witness to the truth that it 
 is the state of the heart, and not any number of outward acts or 
 course of observances, on which t)ur spiritual prospect depends. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Performance of " Philip van Artevelde," by Mr. Macready, at the Princess's 
 
 Theatre. 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, November 27, 1847. — Rather imprudently, I 
 went to the Princess's Theatre last night, and have not im- 
 proved the state of my cold thereby. However, I can not feel 
 sorry to have gone, for I really seem to have gained something 
 of knowledge of " Philip van Artevelde." We live and learn 
 in regard to any really good and important work of the mind. 
 It is wonderful how it keeps opening out to one fan-wise. The 
 fan is soon unfurled to its full length, but a good play or poem 
 is a sort of hundred-fold fan, that hides a good deal of unfold- 
 ing. 
 
 During the first act I felt as if the piece was being murdered. 
 The dresses had an unfavorable effect on my irritable imagina- 
 tion. Myk accused Van den Bosch of hounding his pack upon 
 him; Bosch, as far as I could hear, having uttered no word of 
 the menace whereto that is a natural reply. Macready did not 
 take possession of me, ^// his fijst essay, as Kean did. He did 
 not flash out the fine and uncommonplace actor all at once. 
 He began to be effective in the scene where he wins over Ryk 
 and Much, and threatens Occo. Thence onward the piece 
 continued rising in power or sustaining itself on to the end. 
 
Philip van Artevelde. 
 
 0,50 
 
 The closing scenes were very spirited in tlie way of mere stage 
 effect. The interviews between Van Artevelde and Van den 
 Bosch were most powerful ; the most moving scene of all was 
 Philip's address to the people, when he makes the three propo- 
 sitions. All the interest centred in the hero, even more than 
 in the play as read. Macready was the only good actor ; he 
 evidently had entered into the character with enthusiasm, and 
 the nobleness of the conception rose more strongly before me 
 as the play proceeded, or at least was more keenly felt than 
 ever before, though this might not have been had I not been 
 imbued beforehand with a knowledge of it from perusal of the 
 play. Many parts, well omitted in the representation, aided 
 the effect by being remembered. 
 
 I think it was in some respects advantageous to the effect- 
 iveness of the drama that Van Artevelde was thrown into even 
 stronger relief than in the reading play ; scenes good in them- 
 selves being cut away, his part became more prominent, and 
 proceeded more rapidly. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Dr. Arnold on the Wickedness of Boys. — Social Oysters. — A Liberal High 
 Churchman. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage, Staffordshire : 
 Chester Place, December 3, 1847. — Dr. Arnold took a strong 
 view of the wickedness of boys. I wish I could think that men 
 were so very much better. Men conceal a good deal which 
 boys show ; and this is pleasanter to me in boys than in men, 
 that they so seldom assume the virtuous, or talk as if they were 
 far more charitable and disinterested and religious than they 
 are practically. But perhaps Dr. Arnold meant only a lamen- 
 tation over the weakness and pravity of human nature, not to 
 put boy nature at so much lower a level than that of adults. 
 
 I was much struck, in conversation with Mr. G , at the 
 
 appearance of amiability in his countenance and manner — a 
 sort of simple frankness amid his intellectual refinement, which 
 I much admire. There is in some men a kind of pride, in the 
 guise of modesty, a reserve and self-shelterment, as of a cold 
 fish in its self-made shell still colder than itself, which is to me 
 most disagreeable. These men, if they have talent, are always 
 
334 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 highly esteemed and extolled by the few who enter with zeal 
 into their peculiar views, and can accept their narrow terms 
 (for they always are narrow in such tempers) of soul-com- 
 munion. 
 
 Now I must say good-by ; so farewell, High-Church friend ! 
 though, after all, your High Churchmanship, when you come to 
 explain it, looks wonderfully like the lowfiess and liberality of 
 some whom you set down on the wrong side of the hedge — the 
 contrary to your own side ! I am sure you gave a fearfully 
 liberal and philosophical account of Apostolical Succession, 
 which would make a stanch Anglo-Catholic's hair stand on end, 
 while his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and on getting 
 free would be employed in showing you, if he condescended to 
 hold any communication with such a Rationalist, how utterly 
 un-Catholic, how unmystical, and how abominably intelligible 
 and rational, such a conception of the matter is ! Why, such a 
 view as yours need not be taken implicitly, like a pig in a poke ! 
 the pig can be seen, and commends itself I The truth is, you 
 may talk as you will about your highness, but you are not very 
 high according to the Tract standard, which places height in 
 this, exaltation of the outward in reference to religion, with a 
 proportionate depression of the acts of the intelligent will in 
 the individual mind. Not but that they would like reason 
 well enough, if she declared in their favor, but they hate her as 
 the angry king did the prophet, because she always prophesieth 
 against and not for them — that is, against their priest-exalting 
 system. Now you are too Coleridgianized in mind to adopt 
 their philosophy. There are some who affect to think my fa- 
 ther's a great mind, who play with his doctrine as a hungry cat 
 does with meat that has mustard on it. What to them is mus- 
 tard you take as the natural gravy of the meat ; and then, though 
 I must say you are remarkably honest and bold, more so than 
 most men, especially of the clergy, you try to stir up your 
 High-Church reputation and keep it brisk, by declaring how 
 desperately high you are — knocking at the stars with your head, 
 so that one is in fear for the planetary system, and calling poor 
 unpretending things like me low and liberal, who are not a bit 
 more liberal than yourself, if you come to that. 
 
 " Take that now. Father M'Grath !" and beUeve me your faith- 
 ful and ever obliged friend, Sara Coleridge. 
 
Mr. Gordons Pamphlet. 335 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Pamphlet by a Seceder to the Roman Church.— The Hampden Contro- 
 versy. — Church Ornamentation. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 December, 1847. — * * * ^have lately been reading " Reasons 
 of my Conversion to the Church of Rome," by Mr. Gordon, one 
 of our late curates. The pamphlet is very able, and the first 
 six or seven letters contain, I think, a good deal oi ad hominem 
 truth. The writer's aim is to show, what we who never have 
 wholly submitted to the Tract Doctors have been saying all 
 along, that Anglicans of the Oxford School are in a false posi- 
 tion in the Church of England, that for them to remain here is 
 to be in constant collision with their own principles — a very 
 uneasy rock to knock against*. He urges that such thinkers 
 have no living Church at all, which is to them a guide and a 
 mother, the pillar and ground of the truth. The Church in 
 which they abide they treat as a child and a pupil, whom they 
 are to instruct and improve ; so long as this pupil-Church keeps 
 within certain bounds, they will remain, trying to un-Protestant- 
 ize and improve her ; if she transgresses these bounds, they 
 must leave her — and for what ? form a body of their own ? 
 But they can not create a Church — they can not reproduce 
 Apostolical Succession. In that case, therefore, they will be 
 out of the Church of Christ, absolutely churchless. 
 
 Then he takes them up on private judgment, and shows what 
 a system of private judgment they are themselves involved in, 
 while they are condemning private judgment; that their ap- 
 peal to the Fathers is after all, at bottom, but an appeal to 
 themselves, and their own determination what is the true im- 
 port of patristic teaching, and what its value. He insists that 
 when the Church of England accuses Rome of corrupt doctrine 
 and of schism, this is but the protest of the culprit against the 
 judge. Like many other assailants, he is strong while he 
 points out the defects of the Anglican system, and the incon- 
 sistency of Anglo-Catholics. But when he comes to the posi- 
 tive defense of his own position, to speak of that system which 
 he has preferred, then the strong man is palsy-stricken; his 
 firm, rapid march is turned into staggering weakness ; assump- 
 tion and one-sided representation take the place of careful exam- 
 
33^ Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ination ; and audacity that of candid reasoning. By the line 
 of argument that he adopts, the worship of Baal and Moloch, 
 and the restitution of the calves and groves, and other heathen 
 abominations, might be quite as well defended as Purgatory 
 and the cultus of the Virgin Mary. 
 
 What think you of Hampden's elevation ? Are you of those 
 who think the war made upon him at Oxford was right? A 
 High-Church clergyman friend of mine was here last night, and 
 I had the rare felicity of hearing him say on this subject what 
 seems to me the golden mean; with Hare, he regrets the ap- 
 pointment, but thinks the measures taken against Hampden 
 unjust (hundreds voting who had not read his books, condemn- 
 ing on the authority of another), and that his doctrines are mis- 
 represented. He has read that heavy book, the "Bampton 
 Lectures," which few of the many that condemn Hampden have 
 done. 
 
 Mr. is raising a subscription for a painted window; and 
 
 I scarce know what to do about it. I must confess — though here 
 again I am out of sympathy with most of my friends, for, like Mr. 
 
 , I am ever protesting against my own party (that is to say, 
 
 the party which to my mind embraces most of the truth, and with 
 whom I can in general concur in all that is practical) — but I 
 must confess that I have scruples about giving spare money for 
 painted windows when there is spiritual destitution still to pro- 
 vide for. " Oh ! the more is given in one way, the more will be 
 given in the other," is the cry. This seems to me an equivoque. 
 The same spirit which excites one kind of giving will excite both; 
 but that any man who gave <?// he properly could and ought for 
 the higher object would have any thing left for the lower, I can 
 not believe ; and thus, while some churches are smartened up 
 (and there is no limit to the expensive smartness that may be 
 lavished upon a single edifice), others are erected of the mean- 
 est description. I do not feel quite satisfied that church gran- 
 deur was ever based on pure Gospel faiih, as Keble and others 
 maintain. Pure faith does so much else for God, so much for 
 her neighbor during lifetime, that she leaves not great sums 
 behind to build a temple, to make up for the temple to God's 
 honor and glory that she did not build, while she might, with 
 her own hands. Then our modern church splendor is so poor 
 and petty and equivocal; so vulgarized by patterns displayed 
 in shops, and all kinds of trade associations. It does not flow 
 
Dr. Hampden. 337 
 
 from any great universal spirit which will last, but is supported 
 by an effort of a busy section, running counter to the age instead 
 of concurring with it. 
 
 XVII. 
 Origin of the Dislike felt to Dr. Hampden's Views. 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 1847.— Hampden has offended the bigots and zealots of all 
 parties, Romanistic and Puritanical, by his charitable and con- 
 ciliative sentiments, by daring to say that good and well-disposed 
 men, with sound heads and sound hearts, who hold in their 
 hands the one Gospel of Christ, believing it all to be the 
 Word of God, can not and do not differ substantially, in their 
 vital operative faith, as much as they appear to do in dogmat- 
 ical statements and intellectual schemes of belief. This has 
 given far more deep and bitter offense than if. Hampden had 
 been really a disbeliever in any of the truths generally acknowl- 
 edged in Christendom; the self-styled orthodox love to think 
 themselves up in heaven, those who differ from them in the gulf 
 below — themselves to be the soft, snowy, lovely, innocent sheep, 
 others the great coarse, rough, ill-scented goats. Hampden's 
 doctrine partly fills up the gulf, the wide chasm which they would 
 establish betwixt themselves and all who are not ready to swear 
 to all their articles, and embrace what the Middle Ages deter- 
 mined on matters of faith by the mouths of uninspired Ecclesi- 
 astics, with implicit faith. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Dr. Hampden's "Observations on Dissent." 
 
 To Miss Erskine : 
 
 1847. — As to the Hampden controversy, you guess rightly, 
 
 indeed, dear A , if you think I am not with the opposition. 
 
 I wish to know what has ever been/r^7w/ against Dr. Hampden, 
 showing him to be unfit to be a Bishop in our Church ? All the 
 allegations against him appear to me to be either false or insuf- 
 ficient. Quite false, I think, is the charge that he represents 
 the Divinity of Christ as being no essential part of the Christian 
 
 Y 
 
338 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 faith. His arguments all along suppose the contrary — that it is 
 essential for all men. I do not like or agree to all he says in 
 the " Observations on Dissent," but I believe that the leading 
 principles of Hampden's teaching, and those positions which have 
 brought upon him the enmity under the effects of which he is at 
 present laboring, are true and valuable. 
 
 What is considered such a crime in Hampden is his having 
 dared to proclaim what are simple facts, of which proof has been 
 given, and which have never been disproved ; as, for instance, 
 that the phraseology commonly used by divines in theological 
 statements has been established by dialectical science ; that the 
 forms of doctrine have been determined by the psychological 
 philosophy of the period when they arose ; and that the doctrine 
 of the Sacraments (that is, the Scholastic theories concerning 
 them) is " based upon the mystical philosophy of secret agents 
 in nature Christianized." 
 
Coleridge s Religious System. 339 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LETTERS TO AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., REV. HENRY MOORE, MISS 
 
 MORRIS, MISS. FENWICK, MRS. H. M. JONES, MRS. RICHARD 
 
 TOWNSEND, MRS. GILLMAN, C. B. STUTFIELD, ESQ. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge's Religious System addressed to the Heart and Conscience, 
 
 not to the Intellect alone. 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 1848. — This can not be an answer to yours, dear friend ; but 
 in reply to some of your concluding sentences, I would reiterate 
 my former assertions that my father's religious views have in 
 reality no more connection with the reasoning faculty — neither 
 more nor less — than yours or any one's else ; although he has 
 written so much about reason and the understanding. His the- 
 ory of faith pre-eminently appeals to the heart, to the moral and 
 spiritual being. He never supposed that the inspiration of 
 Scripture, a spiritual subject, could be known or apprehended 
 by mere intelligence. But he did maintain that the human mind 
 is one, though it has many different powers, and that the moral 
 and spiritual only subsist by the co-inherence of the intelligen- 
 tial — that Reason and Will are necessary each to the other, so 
 that the one is what it is as existing in union with the other. 
 Have you not a doctrine of inspiration as well ?is feelings on the 
 subject? If yes, by what faculty of your mind is that doctrine 
 apprehended ? Has reason, has thought, nothing to do with it? 
 And have the heart and spirit naught to do with the views you 
 seem to reject? My father does not judge of Inspiration by 
 the intellect an iota more than others. Nay, I am sure his ob- 
 jection to the views he rejects is because they are so heartless, 
 so empty, and unmeaning. Why should you assume that he 
 judges Inspiration more than you judge it, by the view you take ? 
 On the subject of Reason and its province in religion, my father 
 
340 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 says nothing that has not been said by Christian philosophers 
 and great divines in all ages. To say otherwise than as my 
 father says, on this point, if carried out, is sheer Romanism. 
 Denial of it is a denial of the Reformation, and makes every act 
 of the Reformers flat rebellion and falsehood. 
 
 What think you is my last appeal which is not your last ap- 
 peal ? Whither can either of us go as the last resort, the ulti- 
 matum of our religious search, but to the depths of the human 
 spirit, the heart and conscience of which Reason is the pervad- 
 ing light, and in which God and His Truth are mirrored ? Have 
 you, then, any place or object of appeal beyond this ? Can you 
 contemplate God and His Christ except in your own soul ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Her Son's Preparation for the Newcastle Examination. — School Rivalries. 
 
 To Mrs. GiLLMAN, Ramsgate : 
 
 Chester Place, March, 1848. — Herbert is now preparing for the 
 Newcastle contest. On the 3d of April it will commence, the 
 Scholarship will be declared on the 8th, and on the loth he re- 
 turns home. He bids me have no expectation of his gaining 
 the Scholarship. His most formidable competitor, the eldest 
 
 son of Sir Thomas F , is nearly a year older than he, very 
 
 clever, and very desirous to conquer, and has had much instruc- 
 tion during the holidays — more than H. has. 
 
 It is a comfort to see what an excellent state of feeling exists 
 
 between him and F , not a shade of jealousy, I am sure. 
 
 Indeed, I think that rivalry at public schools and at college is 
 not the source of evil generally. Boys are generally inclined 
 to like and respect those whose pursuits are similar to their 
 own, and who exhibit talent in the line in which they are trying 
 to distinguish themselves. They are oftener unjust to those 
 of different habits, pursuits, likings, and dislikings — are apt to 
 set them down as "brutes" and "asses," and to be perfectly 
 blind to their abilities and good parts. 
 
The Chartist Agitation. 34 1 
 
 III. 
 
 The Newcastle Scholar. — The Chartist Demonstration. — Lowering of the 
 Franchise. — Moral and Material Improvement the Real Wants of 
 the Poor, not Political Power. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Ireland : 
 
 Chester Place, April 14, 1848. — The news of Herbert's suc- 
 cess, on which you congratulate me in a manner which adds 
 greatly to the pleasure of it, was indeed very pleasant. He 
 darted in upon us like a beam of light on Saturday afternoon, 
 and received from us an awful account of the Chartist prepara- 
 tions for insurrection and violence. You at a distance, except 
 by comparing our troubles with your own, not by reports, can 
 hardly have a notion of the alarm and excitement that was pro- 
 duced all in a day or two. I had been thinking of the matter 
 a week or two before, and consulted our intelligent neighbor, 
 Mr. Scott, whose opinion with regard to the state of the poor I 
 thought more important than any other. He told me that he 
 had been trying by private letters to rouse people in authority 
 to a sense of the necessity of making a determined show of the 
 power and will to put down violence. The middle or shop- 
 keeping class, he said, think all these points of political arrange- 
 ments and government very much the gentry's affair. Still 
 they will side with the gentry, feeling them to be their natural 
 protectors, and the class with whose interests, in the present 
 state of things, theirs are interlinked, if they feel that the gentry 
 can stand up for themselves, and present a bold front to the 
 insurgents ; otherwise, having no principle to guide them one 
 way or the other, and not being given to theories or abstrac- 
 tions, or to go beyond the present hour, they might throw them- 
 selves into the arms of the mob, as did the shop-keepers and 
 National Guard, who are so much composed of that class, in 
 Paris. But then the army? Well, he did not think we could 
 be certain of the army. There was no knowing how they might 
 act if the Chartists proved very formidable. He thought the 
 danger lay at present in the apathy and inactivity of the upper 
 classes, who carried a good principle of not interfering with the 
 liberty of the people much too far. At this time no one was 
 alarmed. Nothing was said about the Chartists in the large 
 print part of the Times. On Saturday people began to be fright- 
 ened. I was resolved, though the maids were terrified and we 
 
342 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 had no man-servant, not to go away. The gentlemen of the 
 neighborhood — several of them — called on me on Sunday 
 morning to tell me all the arrangements for the defense of the 
 Park, to offer protection, etc. On Sunday morning I went to 
 St. Mark's College. The young men brought alarming reports 
 from the city. The Bank and other offices were bristling with 
 artillery; it was reported that the Government had received bad 
 news. Now, for the first time, I did feel a little alarmed. The 
 report was (quite false, as it turned out) that two regiments 
 were disaffected. I did not wholly believe this. I hoped it 
 
 was not so; but Miss T had heard the report about the 
 
 Coldstream Guards at Plymouth — and it seemed to me that if 
 the Duke of Wellington was unpopular, as was said, and the 
 troops were discontented, and should refuse to act against the 
 people, there might be a revolution. Still I should have stayed 
 in the Park (for how was one to run away from a revolution 
 that would reach one in Cumberland ?), had I not received a 
 letter from Eton pressing me to go thither with plate, etc. I 
 accepted this offer, because I feared that otherwise Herbert 
 would hardly be prevented from coming home on the dangerous 
 Tuesday. So we flew to Eton on Sunday evening, and there 
 heard the happy event of the dreaded Chartist demonstration. 
 Now all feel that the attempt has been a blessed thing for the 
 country, since it has plainly discovered the weakness of the 
 physical-force party, and the power of that body in the State 
 who are interested in the preservation of our present constitu- 
 tion. I really feel, with the Times, that our country has afforded 
 a "sublime spectacle" to Europe on the late occasion. The 
 arrangements of the Duke for the preservation of the metrop- 
 olis were worthy of the hero of Waterloo ; and how merciful 
 thus to preclude, by the formidable and complete nature of the 
 preparations, any attempt on the part of the misguided Chart- 
 ists. Even if their demands were in themselves reasonable, or 
 such changes as they propose could benefit the people at large, 
 the maimer of making them is contrary to all government what- 
 soever, and if yielded to must lead to pure anarchy alternating 
 with despotism. Some think that these events willjead to an 
 extension of the franchise. It does not seem at all clear to 
 me that there would be the slightest use in giving votes to more 
 and poorer men, without bettering their condition or improv- 
 ing their education beforehand. They say not more than a 
 
The Chartists. — Youth and Age. 343 
 
 fourteenth part of the population is represented. I do not see 
 the grievance of not being represented /<?r se. What the poor 
 really want is to be better off; they care not for more repre- 
 sentation except as that may favor their pockets. An extended 
 representation can not produce more bread and cheese. As it 
 is, taxation does not affect the very poorest people. The in- 
 come-tax is hard upon professional and trading persons who 
 make only just enough for their wants. Hardly any of these 
 persons are Chartists. I believe the Chartist body to be com- 
 posed principally of men who have nothing to lose, are not doing 
 well in any trade or calling, for the humblest char-woman who 
 has work is furious against them, and looks to the upper classes 
 for support. A great proportion of them are sufferers by their 
 own fault ; though there may be some bodies of men, thrown sud- 
 denly out of employment, who are in great distress through pure 
 misfortune, and who became Chartists in pure ignorance, with a 
 blind hope of bettering their state by changing the present order 
 of things. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Youth and Age. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 1848. — I am glad, dear friend, that you have had some en- 
 joyment at Teignmouth. I felt a good deal as you do, that 
 there is not so much greater a proportion of happiness in youth 
 (and, I would add, still less in childhood) than in more ad- 
 vanced periods of life, when thought and experience have 
 brought more knowledge of all that it concerns us most to 
 know, and more tranquillity. Youth and childhood are indeed 
 beautiful and interesting to look back upon ; but I feel as old 
 Matthew did about the lovely child, / do not wish them mine — 
 mine to go over again. 
 
 V. 
 
 Early Marriage. 
 
 To C. B. Stutfield, Esq., Hackney : 
 
 Chester Place, 1848. — I have been much interested by your 
 note • it really gives the pith and marrow of the case in pithy 
 
344 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge, 
 
 language. I agree to it all without reserve, except a partial one 
 on a single point. You say that a "young man much occupied 
 will not generally think of marriage till past thirty." I know 
 a good many exceptions to that rule, I think. It seems to me, 
 I own, that the time to form a marriage engagement, in an or- 
 dinary case, for a man, is between twenty and thirty. It is not 
 
 so naturally, easily, or well done afterward. D , who has 
 
 had some experience of youth, laments exceedingly the difficul- 
 ties in the way of early marriage for men, and my Uncle Southey 
 was of the same mind. But the difficulties are often insuper- 
 able. What I like is to see a young man ready to work hard, 
 and ready to be married. Energy, energy, that is the thing — 
 if it be kept in order by a religious mind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Charms of our Native Place. — Country Life and Town Life. — Portrait- 
 painters. — Portraits of Middle-aged People. 
 
 To Mrs. Richard Townsend, Norwood : 
 
 Chester Place, yuly 7, 1848. — It strikes me, dear INIrs. Towns- 
 end, that you would be better off, as regards your health and 
 spirits, if you resided in Regent's Park, or some airy part of 
 London, than at Norwood, sweet and (for a summer-spell) en- 
 viable as Norwood is. Your husband seems to be much en- 
 gaged, and the society of any country place is necessarily limit- 
 ed. Our native place is quite a different affair. There every 
 stick and stone, or, at all events, every nook and woody clump, 
 and turn of the well-known river, whose sounds were the first 
 that struck upon our infant ears — there all the old familiar faces, 
 however humdrum, or even unpleasing to strangers, are full of 
 interest from old association. We see in these objects not 
 simply their present selves, but a host of past impressions, 
 which, as it were, illuminate them — impart to them both a gen- 
 eral luminous glow and a rich mosaic embroidery, which render 
 them far more interesting in our eyes than new ones — though 
 infinitely more striking, as seen for the first time. 
 
 Here I have almost too much excitement from intercourse 
 with interesting people. I feel the charm of London society 
 deeply, but my nervous system is so weak and irritable that I 
 seem always on the verge of being outdone, even though I keep 
 
Portraits of Middle-aged People. 345 
 
 quite on the outskirts of the gay, busy world, and go out little 
 in comparison with most of my friends — very seldom (never if 
 I can help it) two nights consecutively. 
 
 I broke through that rule this week. I had on Thursday a 
 little party to meet an old friend, C. H. Townshend, known 
 most to the public as author of a book on Mesmerism, but to 
 me and my brother Derwent as a poet and a lover of poetry, 
 amateur painter, and collector of paintings. To meet him, I 
 
 had my brother's party from St. Mark's, Mr. R , the artist, 
 
 and his wife, Mr. L , the artist, and a few more. Both R 
 
 and L are highly interesting men in very different ways. 
 
 The former is more genial, mild, and popular ; and, oh, how he 
 is improved in his art ! His picture of my Herbert is the very 
 youth himself Every one says so. He told me that he en- 
 joyed taking his portrait, and gratified my mother's heart by 
 describing him as a capital subject. 
 
 L has a severe cast of mind. He is very intelligent, 
 
 and a beautiful speaker, and when he is successful, his success 
 is of a high order. He paints the mind. So, indeed, does 
 
 R , but L sees the mind, I think, in a sterner way. 
 
 Both contemn the old, fashionable Sir Thomas Lawrence style 
 of painting. 
 
 I am now sitting to Mr. L for my dear old friend Mrs. 
 
 Stanger. E. thinks that the picture promises well. Some of 
 my friends decline sitting because they are middle-aged, and 
 middle-age is neither lovely nor picturesque. My objection is 
 not the plainness of the stage of life, but the variability of my 
 nervous state, and consequently of my looks. Sometimes the 
 
 artist is forced to work away at the gown (at least Mr. R 
 
 was sometimes) because W\&face is actually gone 2.^2.-^ pro tem- 
 pore. 
 
 VH. 
 
 Teaching Work. — Dickens as a Moralist for the Young. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones : 
 
 Heme Bay, August 17, 1848. — My sister and C left us last 
 
 Mond'ay; young D remains with us till Friday. He reads 
 
 Homer to me, and this, with H.'s readings, and E.'s, is as much 
 in that way as my nerves will stand ; for I can do every thing 
 
346 Memoir a7td Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 that I ever could, a little, but nothing much or long. The hun- 
 dred lines with each youth, and sometimes Pindar or Horace 
 besides, which seems nothing to my brother, is a good deal to 
 me. They like to talk with me and each other about " Harry 
 Lorrequer" and other military and naval novels, and above all 
 about the productions of Dickens, the never-to-be-exhausted fun 
 of" Pickwick," and the capital new strokes of" Martin Chuzzle- 
 wit." This last work contains, besides all the fun, some very 
 marked and available morals. I scarce know any book in 
 which the evil and odiousness of selfishness is more forcibly 
 brought out, or in a greater variety of exhibitions. In the midst 
 of the merry quotations, or at least on any fair opportunity, I 
 draw the boys' attention to these points, bid them remark how 
 unmanly is the selfishness of young Martin, and I insist upon 
 it that Tom Pinch's character, if it could really exist, would be 
 a very beautiful one. But I doubt, as I do in regard to Pick- 
 wick, that so much sense, and deep, solid goodness, could co- 
 exist with such want of discernment and liability to be gulled. 
 Tigg is very clever, and the boys roar with laughter at the 
 " what's -his -name place whence no thingumbob ever came 
 back;" but this is only a new edition of Jingle and Smangles; 
 Mark Tapley, also, is a second Sam Weller. The new charac- 
 ters are Pecksniff, and the thrice-notable Sairey Gamp, with 
 Betsy Prig to show her off. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge's Philosophy Inseparable from his Religious Teaching. — 
 His View of the Inspiration of Scripture. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 1848. — I doubt not that though your American semi-Cole- 
 ridgian, or rather Coleridgian only in fancy, imagines my fa- 
 ther a "Heretic" in \ivs formal-divinity mind, yet that his heart 
 and spiritual being, if he really have benefited in any way or 
 degree worth speaking of by his writings, is making a far differ- 
 ent report. Why should a fine intellect (and most men allow 
 my father that), united with a disposition to believe, and strong 
 desire to be in sympathy with the religious, become suddenly 
 effete and worse than useless when applied to the discernment 
 of religious truth? I know how vain it is to argue. But I say 
 
The Inspiratio7i of Scripture. — Bacon. 347 
 
 this to show you my own state of mind on these matters, not in 
 any expectation of altering yours, or that of any of those who 
 see the subject of religious belief, or rather the theory of faith, 
 as you do. My father's religious teaching is so interwoven with 
 his intellectual views, as with all deep and earnest thinkers 
 must ever be the case, that both must stand or fall together; 
 and in my opinion those persons dream who think they are im- 
 proved by him intellectually, yet consider his views of Chris- 
 tianity in the main unsound. There are some portions of his 
 theology on which I feel unresolved, some which I reject; but 
 in the mass they are such as both embrace me and are em- 
 braced by me. His view of Inspiration, as far as it goes, I do 
 entirely assent to; and it is my strong anticipation, as far as I 
 have any power to anticipate, that, after a time, all earnest, 
 thoughtful Christians will perceive that such a footing, in the 
 main, as that on which he places the Inspiration of Scripture, is 
 the only safe one — the only one that can hold its ground against 
 advancing thought and investigation. I refer not so much in 
 this to examination of outward proof, but to reflection on the 
 nature of the thing in itself, the discovery of the internal inco- 
 herency of the ordinary schemes of belief on this subject. I 
 think it will be found how satisfyingly spiritual it is. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mr. Spedding's Critique on Lord Macaulay's Essay on Bacon.— The Ordi- 
 nance of Confirmation. — Primitive Explanations of its Meaning and 
 Efficacy. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 1848. — I am delighted and interested in a most high degree 
 by the vindication of Bacon. It seems to me no less admira- 
 ble for the principles of moral discrimination and truth and ac- 
 curacy of statement, especially where character is concerned, 
 which it brings out and elucidates by particular instances, which, 
 as it were, substantiate and vitalize the abstract propositions, 
 than for the glorious sunny light which it casts on the character 
 of Bacon. Then how ably does it show up, not Macaulay's 
 character individually and personally, so much as the class of 
 thinkers of which he is the mouth-piece and representative. 
 
348 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 There are numbers who dislike and suspect that anti-Bacon 
 article, and would take in with avidity the refutation. 
 
 But can it be true that Bacon doubted whether Confirmation 
 were a subsequent to Baptism ? How can it be doubted by any one 
 who knows what Confirmation is, what are the purposes of it? 
 
 There can be no doubt that Confirmation was in the begin- 
 ning considered, if not a component part of the whole sacra- 
 ment of Baptism, yet certainly a sacrament in which the regen- 
 erative Spirit was received. The two were united in time, and 
 formed one double rite. Confirmation or Imposition of Hands 
 was performed directly after Baptism ; and Tertullian affirms 
 that men are prepared for the Spirit, or purified by the Baptis- 
 mal rite — that they receive the Spirit by Imposition of Hands. 
 
 I think we may argue from this, and many like dogmas of 
 the early Fathers, that it is not possible to follow out the primi- 
 tive rationale of Sacraments on all points. The Church after- 
 ward separated Imposition of Hands from Baptism, and taught 
 that the gift of the Regenerative Spirit appertained to the latter. 
 Still Confirmation is surely a complement of Baptism, has a 
 special reference to it, though it be not necessary to salvation, 
 or an essential part of Baptism. The term " subsequent to Bap- 
 tism" is ambiguous. Confirmation is not to confirm the Bap- 
 tism, but to confirm or corroborate the baptized in the graces 
 and spiritual edification originally received in baptism. 
 
 X. 
 
 Pindar. — Dante's " Paradiso." — "Faustina," by Ida Countess Hahn-Hahn. 
 — Haziness of Continental Morality. — A Coquette on Principle. — Lord 
 Bacon's lusincerity. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Ireland : 
 
 Chester Place, 1848. — One feels proud of reading Pindar. It 
 is like being at a fountain-head, at the fresh top of a lofty aerial 
 mount, a wide prospect of the land of beauty spread out before 
 one. The second Pythian Ode contains one of those Script- 
 ure-like passages which one seems to have read somewhere in 
 the Old Testament, but knows not exactly where — perhaps in 
 the Psalms, in Job, or Isaiah. * * * 
 
 Canto V. of the " Paradiso" is in the main rather dry, senten- 
 tious, and unsensuous, but it reads impressively; and I feel this 
 
''Faustina'' and ''Ja^is Eyre'' 349 
 
 time, more than before, how finely the light keeps growing as one 
 goes on in the " Paradiso," how the splendors accumulate, the 
 glory deepens, the colors glow out more and more in ever richer 
 variety. 
 
 I was very glad, however, to conclude the evening with Count- 
 ess Ida ; and now I have read her story carefully to the end, and 
 what do I think of it ? Why, that it is in the style of execution 
 very exquisite, full of grace, beauty, light rich fancy ; but that it 
 is as strong an instance as I ever met with of that pseudo-mo- 
 rality, that vague, slippery, luminous -misty view of right and 
 wrong, which it would be unfair to call German, as if it belong- 
 ed to the Germans more than to the French, Italians, Danes, or 
 Swedes, but which we may certainly call tm-English. If the 
 plant appears among us, it is recognized as a foreigner at once. 
 Goethe's morality has been much questioned among us, but 
 there is nothing in his tales surely of worse tendency than this 
 "Faustina," more false and insidious. The conduct of the her- 
 oine is that of an unprincipled coquette — a frail, fickle, faith- 
 less, self-indulgent, passionate creature; nay, more than that, 
 heartless and cruel in the extreme. Yet, forsooth, we are as- 
 sured that these acts in her proceed from superlative purity of 
 heart! the simplicity of genius — an innocent desire to mould 
 her being, to take to herself whatsoever is beautiful, noble, and 
 excellent ; to keep it as long as it suited her, and then fling it 
 away like a sucked orange, or let it fall, as she does the wild 
 flowers when she is tired of them ! It is a libel, a shocking 
 libel, on purity of heart and genius, to lay such sins as these at 
 their door, or even to suppose them compatible in any way with 
 the former. No woman that united a fine intellect with a gen- 
 erous, noble, and tender heart, or even a heart of tolerable 
 goodness, could have acted the part of Faustina, even suppose 
 her to have been ever so badly educated : so at least it strikes 
 me. I complain of the whole representation as radically y2/Zc^, 
 and can not be reconciled by the delicacy and beauty of the ex- 
 ecution to what is so deeply wrong in the main conception. 
 "Faustina" is entirely a v^'oman's book, a Continental woman's 
 book, as "Jane Eyre" is that of an English man.* And, oh! 
 
 * My mother's critical discrimination was at fault here. She felt sure 
 that the mysterious " Currer Bell" was a man; and used to declare that 
 she could as soon believe the paintings of Rubens to have been by a woman 
 as " Jane Eyre." — E. C. 
 
350 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 how vastly superior in truth and power is the latter, coarse and 
 hard in parts as it certainly is. Faustina is false in another 
 way, too, I think. She does nothing but what any exquisitely 
 beautiful and graceful woman might do. Hers are not, as seems 
 to be pretended, the triumphs of genius. Jane Eyre, without 
 personal advantages, gains upon the mind of the reader by what 
 she does, and we can well understand how she fascinates Roch- 
 ester. We see that she is heroic, we are not merely told so. 
 " Faustina" reminds me of two novels by women — "The His- 
 tory of a Coquette," by a daughter of the well-known Bishop 
 Watson, and "Zoe," by Miss Jewsbury. The latter is less re- 
 fined than " Faustina," but contains greater variety — I should 
 say, exhibits more power upon the whole. It has the same moral 
 falsity that strikes me in "Faustina" — that of uniting noble 
 qualities of head and heart with conduct the most unworthy 
 and unvirtuous. T. F. warmly defends "Zoe," declaring it to 
 be but a true picture of life. If I could think it a true picture, 
 I too would defend the representation. But I believe that such 
 compounds as "Zoe" and "Faustina" are to be classed with 
 the griffins and sphinxes of ancient fable. Nay, those have at 
 least subjective truth ; in these I can see none at all. 
 
 I dissent from Spedding's defense of Bacon's slight dissimula- 
 tion about the calling of Parliament. Silence is one thing, but 
 untruth, ever so slight, will never do. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Romanist Secessions. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 1848. — I have just been writing to dear , to express 
 
 my concern and sympathy in her sorrow at the secession of her 
 son, who has joined the Church of Rome. I told his mother, 
 what I could say with sincerity, that though such a step on the 
 part of a child could not but be a great trouble, yet that, so far 
 as the interests of the soul are concerned, it would not deeply 
 afflict me, because I never can think that any youth bred up in 
 the bosom of our Church will, or almost can, enter into the 
 "cult" of the Virgin idolatrously ; though I fear with many 
 born Romanists it does absorb some part of the feelings due to 
 
Romanism. 351 
 
 God and His Christ alone. Nor can I think such a person 
 will ever really ascribe a redemptive merit to works, or any 
 thing in man whatsoever. And in regard to the denial of the 
 cup in the Eucharist — I should hope (to the faithful receiver) 
 the bread alone conveyed the spiritual benefit, whatever sin 
 may rest with those who first altered and impaired the institu- 
 tion of Christ. So I should feel with respect to the individual 
 who has been nurtured in our Church. I do believe the re- 
 ligion of enlightened Romanists, who have conversed much with 
 our clergy of the better sort, does not differ materially from 
 Anglicanism. Still it would be a grief to me to think that a 
 son's descendants (if he married) should all be brought up in a 
 system which may be, for some, such a wide departure from the 
 religion of Christ, and substitution of a new Gospel. And it is 
 painful, too, to be regarded by a seceder, if he be near and dear 
 to us, as not in the true Church or the regular way of salvation. 
 
352 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 1848 {continued). 
 
 LETTERS TO THE REV. HENRY MOORE, AUBREY DE VERB, ESQ., 
 MISS FENWICK, THE REV. EDWARD COLERIDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Dr. Arnold's School Sermons. — His Comment on the Story of the Young 
 Men who Mocked Elisha. — Individuals under the Mosaic Dispensation 
 dealt with as Public, not as Private Characters. — Dr. Hammond's pro- 
 posed Rendering of 2 Peter i., 20. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage : 
 
 1848. — I must write a line to thank you for giving to my boy 
 those excellent Sermons of Dr. Arnold's, more comfortable to 
 my spirit than most of the sermons addressed to men. I think, 
 in his application of the judgment on the young people who 
 mocked Elisha, he seems not sufficiently to bear in mind that 
 they were punished for contemning the character and authority 
 of an Envoy of the God of Israel, not for teasing an old man. 
 The judgment would be frightfully disproportionate if we did 
 not look upon it thus nationally, in analogy with the whole sa- 
 cred history. In the Old Testament, individuals appear to be 
 dealt with not primarily in reference to their own merit or de- 
 merit in the sight of God, or their own private destiny, but as 
 they are parts and instruments of one comprehensive scheme 
 for the advancement of the human race by their Creator. Now 
 I say that Carlyle, in his " History of the French Revolution," 
 whether consciously or otherwise, has in some sort written upon 
 the Scriptural plan. He looks at the French Revolution, in all 
 its horrors and miseries, as an awful retribution for the accu- 
 mulated crimes of selfishness, cruelty, and profligacy of the 
 wealthy and powerful classes — a long-delayed vengeance — to 
 be a grand beacon and instruction for the ages to come, and at 
 the same time the preparation for a new and better state of 
 things. The actors in the Revolution he considers principally 
 
''''Private hiterpretationr 353 
 
 as instruments of this divine work, and he therefore views them 
 chiefly in reference to \!i\€\x powers. What he says of Mirabeau's 
 powers, his wisdom and insight, I beheve to be quite true. 
 There is a sketch of the life and character of Mirabeau by mv 
 husband in a periodical work, written before Carlyle's book ap- 
 peared, which contains in substance all that Carlyle maintains 
 on that point. Mirabeau had, however, not only powers, but 
 virtues, though mingled with great vices, and it is not true that 
 Carlyle disguises or disregards the vices : he speaks of them as 
 to be lamented and wept over with bitter tears. 
 
 I am looking at Horsley's Sermons on 2 Peter i., 20, 21.* 
 But he appears to me to have, to a certain degree, a wrong no- 
 tion of the drift of the text from neglecting Hammond's expla- 
 nation. Hammond says that imXvaic, is an agonistical word, 
 and signifies the starting or watch word upon which the racers 
 set out in their course. According to him the passage has 
 nothing to do with interpretation whatever, no bearing of any 
 kind upon private judgment, as it has been a million times 
 quoted for or, rather, against. I think, if you consult Scapula 
 or Passow, you will find that the good doctor is right, and that 
 eiriXvaeaS^ai means to let loose, as dogs or hunting-leopards from 
 a leash (though it also means to solve or explain), and this is 
 more accordant with the context. "No prophecy is Iclac iin- 
 XvaeuQ — -for the prophecy came not in old time by the will of 
 man, but holy men of old spake as they were moved by the Holy 
 Ghost." Now is it not better sense if we render the Greek, 
 "of his own starting," "without particular mission from God," 
 than if we understand it of private interpretation, which has 
 nothing to do with what goes before or what comes after ? St. 
 Peter was not warning men against self-willed uncatholic views 
 of prophecy, but simply exhorting them to trust to prophecy, 
 because it was from God. 
 
 * "Knowing this first, that no prophecy of the Scripture is of any private 
 interpretation. For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man : 
 but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." — 
 2 Peter i., 20, 21. 
 
 z 
 
354 Merdoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Mr. Longfellow's "Evangeline." — Hexameters in German and English. — 
 " Hyperion," by the same Author. — " Letters and Poetical Remains of 
 JoTih Keats." 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Ireland : 
 
 Chester Place^ September, 1848. — Thank you much for "Evan- 
 geline," which is full of the beautiful, and is most deeply pa- 
 thetic, as much so as the story of Margaret in the "Excursion." 
 Perhaps you will think me paradoxical {no, you would not, I 
 believe, though many would) when I say that this deep pathos 
 is not the right thing in a poem. I could not take the story 
 and the poetry together, but was obliged to skim through it, 
 and see how the misery went on, and how it ended, before I 
 could read the poem. I think a poem ought not to have a more 
 touching interest than Spenser's " Faery Queen," Ariosto, and 
 Tasso. The agitations of the Drama may be quoted against 
 me. I can but say that I feel the same objection to "Romeo 
 and Juliet;" but then the edge of the strong interest is rubbed 
 off after a first perusal, and we recur to it as to a poem— and 
 so we may in any other case. But those fine old dramas con- 
 tain so much more than the mere story, even in the material; 
 so much wit, and display of character and humor and manners, 
 that they are hardly to be compared with our modern affecting 
 metrical tale. 
 
 It does not clearly appear why Gabriel should lose sight of 
 Evangeline on leaving Acadia. Perhaps we shall be told, as 
 we are of the story of Margaret, that it is matter oi fact. This 
 would not excuse it, if it looks improbable ; and, depend upon 
 it, in the fact there was something different, something that pre- 
 vented the difficulty which suggests itself in the written tale. 
 " Evangeline" seems to be, in some sort, an imitation ofVoss^s 
 "Luise." The opening, especially, would remind any one who 
 had read the " Luise," of that remarkable Idyll. It is far inferior 
 to that, I think, both in the general conception and in the exe- 
 cution. Voss's hexameters are perfect. The German language 
 admits of that metre, the English hardly does so. Some of 
 Longfellow's lines are but quasi-metre, so utterly inharmonious 
 and so prosaic in regard to the diction. I do not think there 
 will ever be a continuous strain of good hexameters in our 
 language, though there may be a good line here and there. 
 
. Mr. Longfellow's ''Hyperionr 355 
 
 Goethe's hexameters are excellent; those of Schiller in "Der 
 Tanz," a poem in longs and shorts, exquisite. 
 
 You should read Longfellow's " Hyperion," which is an imita- 
 tion of Jean Paul Richter, in the same degree, perhaps, that 
 " Evangeline " is an imitation of Voss. It is extremely refined and 
 pleasing. It is, however, a collection of miscellanea strung to- 
 gether on the thread of a Rhine tour, with very little of a story, 
 only an event to begin with, and an event to end with. 
 
 The "Letters and Remains of Keats" are highly interestino-. 
 The " Eve of St. Mark " is an exquisite fragment ; " Otho the 
 Great " an utter failure, in my opinion. I do not agree with 
 Milnes about the " splendor and glory of the diction." There 
 is a speech or two that might have suited Lamia or Endymion, 
 but nothing of proper drajnatic force or beauty, from beginning 
 to end ; and the blank verse is poor. 
 
 Severn's journal of poor Keats' last days is deeply affecting. 
 But how sadly he wanted fortitude. He was manly in some re- 
 spects ; but in others he was but "five feet high" after all. 
 
 Compare the death-bed of the Deist, Blanco White, with that 
 of poor Keats, and I think it must be admitted that both in 
 faith and fortitude the former has immeasurably the advantage. 
 It ought, however, to be recollected that Blanco White was old- 
 er, and had had more time to gain strength of mind. But he 
 was also of a more religious turn from the first.* 
 
 * The following lines, written in 1845, '^vith a marginal note added later, 
 will find an appropriate place here. — E. C. 
 
 Blanco White. 
 Couldst thou in calmness yield thy mortal breath, 
 Without the Christian's sure and certain hope ? 
 Didst thou to earth confine our being's scope, 
 Yet, fixed on One Supreme with fervent faith. 
 Prompt to obey what conscience witnesseth. 
 As one intent to fly the eternal wrath. 
 Decline the ways of sin that downward slope ! 
 O thou light-searching spirit, that didst grope 
 In such bleak shadows here, 'twixt life and death, 
 To thee dare I bear witness, though in ruth — 
 Brave witness like thine own — dare hope and pray 
 That thou, set free from this impi'isoning clay. 
 Now clad in raiment of perpetual youth, 
 Mayst find that bliss untold 'mid endless day 
 Awaits each earnest soul that lives for Truth. — S. C. 
 I have never defended Blanco White, but I do insist on looking at his 
 
356 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 III. 
 
 Justice and Generosity. — "Vanity Fair." — The World, and the Wheels on 
 which it Moves. — Thackeray, Dickens, and Currer Bell. — Devotion of 
 Dobbin to Amelia. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 November, 1848. — It is commonly thought that justice and 
 generosity belong to different characters, but it seems to me 
 that a want of both often goes together, and that people are 
 seldom thoroughly just who are ungenerous. But perhaps the 
 truth is that the ungenerosity to which I allude is a sort of in- 
 justice — the temper that grudges not only the outward things 
 of this life, but can not bear to bestow praise, honor, and credit 
 where they are due, and where perfect justice would award 
 them. 
 
 I believe "Vanity Fair " presents a true view of human life — 
 a true view of one aspect and side of it. We can not live long 
 in the world, I think, with an observant eye, without perceiving 
 that pride, vanity, selfishness, in one or other of its forms, to- 
 gether with a good deal of conscious or unconscious pretense — 
 pretense to virtue and piety especially, but also to intellect, ele- 
 gance, and fashion — to disregard of praise and admiration, and 
 various other supposed advantages — are among the great main 
 wheels which move the social machine. Still these are uneasy 
 reflections, and perhaps we are not in the best frame of mind 
 when such things present themselves to us very strongly. I 
 hope that "Vanity Fair" presents but one side of the author's 
 own mind, else it must be a most unhappy one. Still, I must 
 say I think very highly of the book. None of the kind ever ex- 
 ceeded my anticipations so much. In knowledge of life and 
 delineation of character, it seems to me quite equal to "Jane 
 Eyre," though it has never been so popular, and I can not but 
 think that it afforded some hints to that celebrated novel. 
 
 virtues and struggles and powers of mind with the naked eyes, and not 
 through the glass of an opinion concerning his religious opinions. In thus 
 dealing, I put forth no new view of Christian justice and toleration. I do but 
 carry out the received view consistently, and without vacillation. Men will 
 not believe that B. W. died a firm believer in a Moral and Intelligent Crea- 
 tor and Governor to whom our homage and submission is due, because he 
 rejected outward Revelation, and was unconvinced of the resurrection of 
 man's soul to conscious existence. — S. C. 
 
Thackeray. — Prodigality and Avarice, 357 
 
 Thackeray is not good where he imitates Dickens— where he de- 
 scribes houses, for instance. The still part of his descriptions 
 is often tedious; wliereas in "Jane Eyre" the landscape-paint- 
 ing is admirable, and Dickens shines in Dutch pieces, descrip- 
 tions of interiors, and so forth. But Thackeray has a vein of 
 his own, in which he is quite distinct from his predecessor and 
 successor in the novel-writing career, and it is a keen and 
 subtle one. I believe the description of Sir Pitt Crawley is 
 hardly an overdrawn picture of what may have existed fifty 
 years ago. 
 
 Dobbin's devotion to a weak woman like Emmy is perfectly 
 natural. That sort of devotedness is seldom bestowed on very 
 worthy objects, I think, for they do not excite tenderness in the 
 shape of pity, are more independent, and turn the admirer's 
 thoughts into a better and higher direction. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Essay on " Money." — Prodigality and Avarice. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 1848. — That part of the essay on "Money"* which will be 
 thought severe (perhaps), I believe indeed to be most true — I 
 mean the part about creditors. It is merciful to be harsh on 
 such subjects, in public declaration, and nip the tadfole in the 
 hiid^ to use an incongruous metaphor. 
 
 I think that prodigality and avarice taken early may be 
 checked. I believe, however, that the former is more curable 
 than the latter, as belonging to less tough natures, and depend- 
 mg more on the outward and less on the mind. For avarice is 
 especially, I suppose, a disease of the imagination. 
 
 * " Notes from Life," in Six Essays, by Henry Taylor, Esq.— E. C. 
 
358 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 V. 
 
 1 
 
 Mr. Carlyle on Hero -Worship. — Ceremonial, in his View, the Husk of Re- 
 ligion; Veneration its Kernel. — Veneration rightly bestowed on Mental 
 Power as an Image of One of the Divine Attributes. — Voltaire justly 
 Admired by the French for his Native Genius. — Association of Good- 
 ness with Wisdom, and of Poetry with Philosophy. — Mr. Carlyle's He- 
 roes described by him as Benefactors, not merely Rulers of Men. — In- 
 stances of Voltaire, Rousseau, and Cromwell. — A True Sense in which 
 "Might is Right." — Character of Mirabeau. — Comparison of Mr. Car- 
 lyle as a Moralist with Lord Byron, as a Historian with Lord Macau- 
 lay. — Aim and Spirit of his " History of the French Revolution." 
 
 To the Rev. Edward Coleridge : 
 
 REPLY TO STRICTURES OF THREE GENTLEMEN UPON CARLYLE, SUP- 
 PORTED BY A REFERENCE TO CERTAIN PASSAGES IN HIS WORKS. 
 
 In order to do justice to the views of an author, especially 
 such an author as Carlyle, who less than most men can be un- 
 derstood in fragments, a want of finish in the parts being the 
 characteristic defect of his style, we must take care to place 
 ourselves in his point of view, to possess ourselves of his aim. 
 Now Carlyle's great theme in the work before us is worship — 
 the instinct of Veneration in man (but see his limitation of the 
 term, p. 381 — or intimation that he has been using it in a limit- 
 ed sense). The religion of nations, as to its superficial and out- 
 ward part, he considers to be, in great measure, a system of 
 empty forms, dead conventionalisms, and lifeless ceremonies — 
 the worthless remains of a something which once had life. On 
 the other hand, he believes that, in all religions which have ever 
 held sway over masses of men for a considerable time, there 
 has been at bottom a living and life-exciting principle. This 
 principle, which he sets up as the work of God, against the arte- 
 facts of men — vain substitutes for genuine gifts from on high — 
 he maintains to be Vmcration — the principle or feeling which 
 leads men to bow down before the image of God in the soul of 
 man. Power is an attribute of God — Carlyle maintains that 
 the instinct whereby we are impelled practically to adore and 
 obey mental power, wherever we behold it, is a salutary and 
 high instinct, which instrumentally redeems mankind from the 
 dominion of sense and the despotism of moral evil. (But power 
 in God is joined with benevolence, and so it is in all whom 
 Carlyle sets up as objects of " worship.") ' 
 
 In the first passage referred to {Hero -Worship, p. 22, 23), 
 
French Entlmsiasm for Voltaire. 359 
 
 Voltaire is spoken of as a kind of hero, a man gifted by God 
 witli remarkable powers of thought and expression, and who, 
 whatever evil he may have done, exceeding any good that can 
 be ascribed to his authorship, was nevertheless believed by 
 those who " worshiped " him to have devoted his life and 
 abilities to the " unmasking of hypocrisy," and " exposing of 
 error and injustice." Carlyle's proposition seems to me to be 
 simply this : The French nation being such as they were, that 
 is to say, in a comparatively low, dark, unspiritual state, their 
 enthusiasm about Voltaire was a favorable symptom of their 
 mental condition — the spirit evinced therein, a redeeming spirit 
 (in its degree)— their feeling of admiration and veneration for one 
 whom they thought above them, in its own nature a noble and 
 blessed feeling. Poor and needy, indeed, must that people be 
 who have no better object of such a feeling than Voltaire. 
 Our author means only to affirm that Frenchmen were better 
 employed in " worshiping " him even for supposititious merits 
 than in groveling along in utter worldliness, pursuing each his 
 own narrow, selfish path, without a thought or a care beyond the 
 gratification of the senses. Here is no intention to set the in- 
 tellectual above the moral, or to substitute the one for the other, 
 but to insist on the superiority of natural gifts, as means of 
 bettering the souls of men, to the vain shows and semblances 
 which commonly pass for religion in the world, according to 
 the author's opinion. 
 
 The second passage (p. 166, 167) I remember noting when 
 I first read the work in which it is contained, as announcing a 
 doctrine either wrong in itself or wrongly expressed. But I 
 can not see that it is erroneous by the exaltation of intellectual 
 power above goodness, but rather by too bold and broad an af- 
 firmation that the former is the measure of the latter. So far I 
 agree with Carlyle, that I believe the highest moral excellence 
 attainable by man is ever attended by a certain largeness of 
 understanding ; not that intellectual power is a part of good- 
 ness, but that moral goodness can not be evolved, to the great- 
 est extent, without it. Men of high virtue and piety are ever 
 men of insight, the moral and intelligential in their mixed 
 nature reciprocally strengthening and expanding each other. 
 To transfer these remarks to a lower subject, every great poet 
 must be possessed not merely of a fine imagination, a lively 
 fancy, or any other particular intellectual faculty, but of a great 
 
360 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 understanding ; he must be one whose mental vision is deeper 
 and more acute than that of other men, who sees into the truth 
 of things, and has a special power of rendering what he sees 
 visible to others. He must be practical, as well as percipient, 
 else he is not a poet, a maker or creator ; he must see keenly 
 and (if the expression may be allowed) 7^^///z^/y, else his poetic 
 faculty has no adequate materials to work upon. Shakespeare 
 was inclusively a great philosopher. " Lear," " Hamlet," and 
 " Othello" could never have been produced by one who did not 
 see into the human mind deeply and survey it widely. But to be 
 a Shakespeare, a man must have certain peculiar gifts of intellect 
 added to this great general powerfulness; or, to express myself 
 more distinctly, his mind must be specifically modified, and 
 that from the first — a priori. I can not at all agree with Car- 
 lyle in thinking that the sole original qualification of every 
 great man of every description is a strong understanding, and 
 that, where there is this common base, circumstances alone de- 
 termine whether the possessor is to be a Caesar or a Shakes- 
 peare, a Cowley or a Kant, a Wellington or a Wordsworth. To 
 return to the moral side of the subject, I think that Carlyle ex- 
 presses himself too broadly when he says " that the degree of 
 vision that dwells in a man is the correct measure of the man," 
 and illustrates his meaning by a reference to Shakespeare. 
 Was Shakespeare as much better than other men as he was 
 deeper and clearer sighted ? The truth is that vision considered 
 in the concrete, as found in this or that individual, is always 
 specific. The saints and servants of God have a vision of their 
 own — but here let me pause, for I am at the mouth of a laby- 
 rinth. Lord Byron, to whom Mr. A refers, was a very clever 
 
 man ; but I think that Carlyle would not allow him any very 
 remarkable " degree of vision ;" his " superiority of intellect," 
 sensu eminente, he would plainly deny, and, in my opinion, with 
 justice. But still Byron had a stronger understanding than 
 many a better man, though his fame during life may have been 
 no " correct measure " of his intellectual size (in literary and 
 poetical circles his fame is now fast shrinking into more just 
 proportion therewith). Carlyle's statement is, at best, confused 
 and inadequate, probably because he had not properly thought 
 out the subject when he undertook to speak upon it. 
 
 Much waste of words, and of thought too, would be avoided 
 if disputants would always begin with a clear statement of the 
 
Carlyles '' Hero -Wor skip!' 361 
 
 question, and not proceed to argue till they had agreed upon 
 what it was that they were arguing about. The proposition 
 
 which I understand Mr. A to maintain (when he censures 
 
 Carlyle as a worshiper of intellect, implying that he worships it 
 in a bad sense), and which I venture to deny, is this : That 
 Thomas Carlyle, viewed in his character of author, as appears 
 upon the face of his writings, exalts intellect- taken apart from 
 the other powers of the mind — that he sets up mere intellect as 
 the ultimate object of esteem and admiration, and represents a 
 man as truly great and worthy of all honor purely on the score 
 of intellectual gifts, without reference to the use he makes of 
 them. In disproof of this position (or by way of attempting to 
 disprove it), I appeal to the fact that all his heroes, whom he 
 describes as being the deserving objects of what, "not to be too 
 grave about it," he chooses to call " worship," are represented 
 by him as benefactors of the human race, just in proportion as 
 they were deserving objects of worship. He describes them as 
 men whose powers have been employed by God's will and their 
 own, for good and noble purposes on a large scale, chiefly for 
 the purpose of leading men, directly or indirectly, from earth to 
 heaven, from the human to the divine. This, indeed, is the key- 
 note of Carlyle's writings — it is the beginning and the end of his 
 whole teaching ; it is this which gives a character of elevation to 
 all the productions of his mind, and renders him so widely in- 
 fluential, as, with all his bad taste and frequent crudity and in- 
 completeness of thinking, he certainly is, that in all he puts 
 forth there is an immediate reference to man's higher destiny, 
 under the power of which thought all his other thoughts are 
 moulded and modified. His vocation is that of an apostle, in 
 the sense in which the title may truly and reverently be be- 
 stowed upon uninspired men. If it be objected to this view of 
 his drift and purpose that Voltaire and Rousseau are men- 
 tioned among his heroes, I reply that he has done this, not 
 from blindness to their faults and deficiencies, but from the 
 supposed perception of a certain degree of merit in them not 
 commonly recognized by admirers of goodness. This supposi- 
 tion may be well or ill founded — he may be wrong in supposing 
 those writers to have exerted any beneficial influence ; but the 
 character of his aim is to be determined by the supposition and 
 not by the fact. He places them very low in the scale of ben- 
 efactors, and brings them forward rather as illustrations of his 
 
2,62 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 meaning in the lowest instances, than as considering them wor- 
 thy to be placed by the side of the best and greatest men in 
 the scale of moral greatness. His account of Cromwell I think 
 very fine as a sketch, and very well framed as an exponent of 
 his doctrine: with regard to its truth in fact, my judgment is 
 suspended. Be that as it may, Carlyle's heroes are all men 
 who have striven for truth and justice, and for the emancipation 
 of their fellow-mortals. He represents them as having been 
 misunderstood by the masses of mankind, in the midst of all 
 their efifectivity and uiihnate influence, simply because the 
 masses of mankind are not themselves sufficiently wise and 
 good and perspicacious to understand and sympathize with 
 those who are so in an eminent degree. There is some original- 
 ity in Carlyle's opinions; but he seems to me to be more original 
 in manner than in matter : the force and feeling with which 
 he brings out his views are more reinarkable than the views 
 themselves. 
 
 Carlyle has somewhere spoken as if he thought that bodily 
 strength gave a just claim to the possession of rule and author- 
 ity, and this passage has been quoted against him with consid- 
 erable plausibility. But is it not true that superior strength of 
 body and mind have ever enabled the possessors, sooner or 
 later, to command the herd of their inferiors? This is a fact 
 which Carlyle does not invent, but only reasons upon, and his 
 reasoning is that native strength and other personal endow- 
 ments, conferred directly by God, without man's intervention, 
 convey a better claim to the obedience and service of men, and 
 are a safer ground whereon to erect sovereignty, than arbitrary 
 human distinctions and titles established conventionally, which 
 by a certain theory of theologians are made out to have been 
 instituted by God Himself The only divine right of kings 
 which he will acknowledge is native might, enabling a man to 
 rule well and wisely, as well as strongly. Hereditary swa}^, 
 pretending to be divine, he looks upon as a mere human con- 
 trivance, one that has never adequately answered its purpose, 
 that arose originally from false views and bad feelings, and, as 
 it had in it from the beginning a corrupt root, is ever tending 
 to decay and dissolution. For myself, if it is worth while to say 
 what I think, I can not clearly understand the divine right of 
 kings as taught by High Churchmen, but neither do I believe 
 that Carlyle has seen through the whole of this matter, or that 
 
Character of Mh'abeau. 363 
 
 there is not much more to be said for conventional sovereignty 
 than appears in his notices of the question. If all men were 
 at all times wise enough to choose the best governors, there 
 need be no such contrivance as hereditary sway — but, till they 
 are, elective sway is no better ; and in the mean time, according 
 to Carlyle's own admission, native strength has a sphere of its 
 own, in which it governs with more or less effect, according to 
 its intensity. 
 
 Carlyle's manner of describing the character of Mirabeau is, 
 perhaps, the most questionable part of his writings; yet even 
 here, I think, his main drift is quite consistent with morality. 
 He is not judging the eminent Frenchman as a divine, nor ex- 
 amining him as a moralist. His theme is the French Revolu- 
 tion, which he regards as a tremendous crisis, the result of a 
 long series and extensive system of selfishness, cruelties, and 
 injustices, and he views all the persons of his narrative princi- 
 pally in reference to the part they acted, and the effects they 
 wrought, in this great national convulsion. Whatever Mira- 
 beau's private character may have been before God, yet as far 
 as he was a powerful and conspicuous agent in carrying for- 
 ward the work of the French Revolution, Carlyle was justified, 
 as it seems to me, in setting him forth as an object of interest, 
 and even of admiration, proportioned to the amount and rare- 
 ness of the gifts which rendered him a potent instrument in the 
 hands of Providence for a particular purpose ; and this he 
 might have done without calling evil good, or good evil. But 
 it is abundantly evident that Carlyle did not consider Mira- 
 beau's mind and dispositions as upon the whole morally bad \ 
 he ascribes to him high purposes and public virtues — that is, 
 virtues specially calculated to benefit the public. Whether his 
 account of him be true in fact, or whether it is a fiction, our ar- 
 gument does not require us to consider. The question only is, 
 does Carlyle's language respecting Mirabeau confound the dis- 
 tinction betwixt virtue and vice — does it tend to dim the lustre 
 of the first, and to surround the last with a false and falsifying 
 splendor? Now I am inclined to answer this question in the 
 negative, both from consideration of Carlyle's general turn of 
 mind, as displayed in his books, and from a survey of all that 
 he says of Mirabeau, taken in connection with the spirit and 
 principles of the work in which it appears, though I admit that 
 he has not taken sufficient pains to prevent his sentiments from 
 
364 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 being taken for that which they are not. The writings of Lord 
 Byron are really open, in some measure, to such a charge, be- 
 cause they array in attractive colors imaginary personages to 
 whom no real good or noble qualities are ascribed ; they are 
 not reprehensible for that they represent men as worthy to be 
 admired in spite of great vices, but because they tend to pro- 
 duce admiration of the very vices themselves — to detach it 
 from virtue altogether, and place it on inferior objects. Lord 
 Byron's heroes have no higher merits than gallantry and cour- 
 age ; they are invested with a kind of dignity from romantic 
 situation, and the possession of outward elegance, not dignified 
 by their instrumentality in great and important events. Such 
 representations are essentially mean and worthless, but such is 
 not Carlyle's representation in the present instance. He de- 
 scribes Mirabeau, not only as a man of vast energy and amaz- 
 ing political sagacity, but, amid much personal profligacy and 
 unruliness of passion, as being possessed, like his father before 
 him, of a philanthropic spirit, high disinterested aims, and a 
 zeal to serve his country. He affirms, and in this, whatever 
 Macaulay's opinion may be, he is borne out by other authori- 
 ties, that Mirabeau took a right view of the political needs of 
 the French people; that he sought to bring in a limited mon- 
 archy on the English model, knowing it to be the only form of 
 public liberty for which the French nation was fit ; and that, had 
 God spared his life, and permitted him to go on in the career 
 which he had commenced, he would have been the saviour of 
 his country, so far as this, that, without the horrors of the Revo- 
 lution, he would have established all that the Revolution ulti- 
 mately brought about in so violent and calamitous a manner. 
 Such, according to Carlyle, was Mirabeau's aim ; such his in- 
 sight. That he was in many respects a bad man can not make 
 such an aim not to have been good ; the sagacity with which he 
 directed it, and the resoluteness with which he pursued it, not 
 to have been admirable — and to deny this character of excel- 
 lence appears to me to be a confounding of good and evil, not 
 to affirm it. Would it not be an approach to the ill practice of 
 lying for God, if we were to refuse all honor to the name of 
 Mirabeau on account of that bad side of his mind and actions, 
 supposing Carlyle's account of him to be correct 1 Carlyle 
 represents this remarkable man as a voluptuary and a liber- 
 tine. Libertinism is of the nature of wickedness, but mere lib- 
 
Bad Side of Mirabeaus Character. 365 
 
 ertinism, though it may be accompanied by, and though it tends 
 to produce, hardness of heart, and is a contempt of God's Word 
 and commandments, does not alone constitute the man who is 
 guilty of it " an atrocious villain." It may be villainously pur- 
 sued, but it is not in itself the same thing as villainy ; for a vil- 
 lain, according to the common acceptation of the word, is a man 
 basely malignant as to his general character, incapable of gen- 
 erous thoughts and actions ; but libertinism is not absolutely 
 incompatible with generosity and benevolence, however it may 
 tend to weaken and fret away all that is better than itself in the 
 mind of the libertine. Again, a mere voluptuary is a contempt- 
 ible being. But Mirabeau, according to Carlyle, was much else 
 besides being a voluptuary. He seems rather to have acted 
 the rake, as a form of activity, than through a slavish subjec- 
 tion to mere sensual appetite ; and Carlyle brings forward his 
 exploits in this line, rather to show his multifarious energy — 
 how many different kinds of things he was able to do at once, 
 and with the force of a giant — than with any intention of admit- 
 ting that he was a selfish sensualist in the main ; that this was 
 his distinguishing character. I am afraid his way herein was 
 made all too smooth before him, and that the women sank be- 
 fore his genius with fatal facility. They are too apt to yield 
 their whole heart and mind to men of power and distinction, 
 let their other qualities be what they may, and there was little 
 Christianity in Paris during Mirabeau's career to keep such a 
 disposition in check. However, I am far from defending the 
 t07ie in which Carlyle deals with this part of his subject ; there 
 is something of exultation in it highly reprehensible. As a de- 
 fender of truth, he should not have referred to such things with- 
 out a mark of reprobation, nor, as a pretender to refinement 
 and elevation of feeling, should he have touched upon them 
 without expressions of disgust and contempt. 
 
 On one other point, however, I do think Carlyle may be de- 
 fended without sophistry or straining. It was said, as I under- 
 stood, that whereas this writer treats his own favorites with un- 
 due indulgence, he displays a bitter and vehement spirit against 
 their adversaries, and generally all who are not of his school 
 and party. I should say, on the contrary, that Carlyle treats 
 all historical characters that come under his cognizance with 
 leniency; he speaks admiringly and indulgently, for instance, 
 of Marie Antoinette ; and I can perceive no scorn in his ex- 
 
o 
 
 66 Merdoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 posure of the weakness and dullness of her husband — which 
 who can deny. In speaking of Laud, he less decries the man 
 than the circumstances of which he was the creature. One of 
 Carlyle's opinions, whatever his candor, could not look upon 
 Laud as a large and free-minded man, a martyr in a wholly 
 good cause. 
 
 Carlyle is a satirist, but he is not given to satirize individuals, 
 or even parties of men. The object of his satire, as it appears 
 to me, is the weakness and wickedness of mankind — systems 
 of opinion, not bodies of believers. He speaks occasionally 
 with contempt, though not always witU unqualified contempt 
 (see his last work, " Past and Present "), of Puseyism, as a res- 
 urrection-system of defunct things ; but he says nothing of any 
 of the resurrection-men, nor has he ever joined any person or 
 party, that I am aware of, in impeaching the conduct of the 
 Puseyites, considered as a party. 
 
 Macaulay's opinion of Mirabeau is cited by Mr. A . Ma- 
 
 caulay may be more correct than Carlyle as to the facts of the 
 case (though I do not see that this has been proved), but I can 
 not think him fit to be trusted with the character of any great 
 man. He is a thorough Utilitarian and anti-Spiritualist, and 
 though he makes judicious remarks upon this person and upon 
 that, yet scarcely sees at all that element of greatness, that 
 spark of the divine in these marked agents of Providence, 
 which Carlyle sees too exclusively. Macaulay finishes fully, 
 but his conceptions are on a confined scale. Carlyle aims at 
 something higher and deeper, his views are more novel and 
 striking, but they are hastily and often inaccurately set forth. 
 Carlyle writes paradoxically about great men. Macaulay, on 
 similar subjects, is liable, in my opinion, to write untruly, from 
 defective perception of a certain side of greatness. I would 
 refer to Carlyle's character of Johnson, in his '^Essays," as a 
 most interesting sample of his style and mode of thinking. 
 
 In the comparison of Byron and Carlyle, with regard to the 
 moral tendency of their writings, I would add, that if the latter 
 had invented the character of Mirabeau, or if the character thus 
 invented was untrue to nature, in representing high and noble 
 qualities in combination with evil ones, so as they never ap- 
 pear in actual life, he might justly be accused of depreciating 
 the former, and varnishing over or softening off the latter. But 
 Carlyle has not been found, I believe, to have misrepresented 
 
Aim and Spirit of Carlyles History. 367 
 
 the life and actions of Mirabeau ; nor has it yet been shown 
 that he has misrepresented human nature in his account of 
 them. Neither this nor that, indeed, is the charge against him; 
 but rather that he has described him as a wicked man, and yet 
 has held him up to honor and admiration, on the score of 
 marked talents and striking qualities, apart from virtue. This 
 charge is unsupported, I think, by sufficient evidence ; Carlyle 
 has not exalted him as a man^ still less as a subject of the 
 Prmce of Life, but as an actor in a great historical drama ; nor 
 has he held up his worst actions to positive admiration ; he has 
 but given them a placq beside his worthier ones, without draw- 
 ing the line betwixt them with sufficient sharpness. But he 
 was not called upon by the nature of his undertaking to sum 
 up all the points of Mirabeau's character, and decide whether 
 it was good or bad in the eye of God. He had undertaken to 
 describe, and to moralize and philosophize, implicitly rather 
 than expressly, upon the French Revolution ; and this I think 
 he does in a deeply religious spirit, ever bearing in mind and 
 bringing before the minds of his readers that there is a God 
 that both ruleth and judgeth the world, and exposing the moral 
 bearings of his subject, whether justly or not, yet with a con- 
 stant regard to the law of conscience and the inward revelations 
 of the Spirit. It was not his province to censure the private 
 vices of Mirabeau (I mean that this was not within the scope 
 of his principal design, though I admit that he ought not to 
 have spoken of them without noting his disapprobation of them 
 more clearly). It was his province to show how the selfishness 
 and godlessness of manbers, how spiritual wickedness in high 
 places, gradually reared up a pile of misery and mischief; and 
 how this mass of evil, when at last it exploded with ruinous 
 violence, was at once a remedy from God and a retribution. 
 
368 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1849. — yanuary-jfuly. 
 
 LETTERS TO MISS FENWICK, MISS MORRIS, MRS. J. STANGER, 
 
 MRS. R. TOWNSEND, MRS. PLUMMER, AUBREY DE VERE, 
 
 ESQ., HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE, EDWARD 
 
 QUILLINAN, ESQ., HENRY TAYLOR, ESQ., 
 
 REV. EDWARD COLERIDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A Sad New -Year. — Alarming Illness of her Brother Hartley. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, yanuary"], 1849. — My dear friend, you may 
 perhaps have heard from the North of my present sorrow and 
 anxiety ; but, whether you have or not, I must write to tell you 
 of it. On Christmas-day came from dear Mrs. Wordsworth an 
 alarming report of my dear brother Hartley. Several other re- 
 ports were still worse, and after one of them I almost mourned 
 him as dead. Then a report that he had happily passed the 
 crisis, as was hoped, assured me for a while of his restoration. 
 When the news worsened again, Derwent went to him. The 
 news he sent was cheering at first, but ever since the first has 
 been worsening. On Wednesday night he grew faint, his coun- 
 tenance changed, and D thought his last hour was ap- 
 proaching. D gave him brandy and water; * * * he re^ 
 
 vived upon this, and conversed a good deal ; talked on Pindar, 
 Cary, Dante — on Ireland, and such topics. * * * Yesterday's 
 report was that he was no better — weaker, if any thing. * * * 
 He has every advantage of medical skill, the most excellent and 
 affectionate nursing, and testimonies of love and regardfrom 
 numerous friends, more than I can express. No man, I do think, 
 can ever have been more beloved who had no means of attach- 
 ing men to him but his mere personal qualities. 
 
 His state of mind in regard to religious feeling is all that can 
 be desired. Nothing, D says, can be more devout, more 
 
Death of Hartley Coleridge. 369 
 
 pious, resigned; simple, and loving. But he appears at times 
 greatly depressed, both in his mind, from itself, and by his bod- 
 ily sufferings. Dear Mrs. W 's letters were all you could 
 
 expect from her — wonderfully clear and strongly written, and 
 
 most kind and affectionate. On Friday D wrote : " Mr. 
 
 W has seen him, and was much affected. His own appear- 
 ance was very striking, and his countenance beautiful, as he sat 
 by the bedside." * * * He took the Sacrament some days ago. 
 I suffer greatly in being unable to be at his bedside. The 
 journey, taken at once, would render me useless; and, after our 
 long separation, for me to arrive at Rydal shattered and pros- 
 trate, would do nothing but harm. * * * His illness has brought 
 up strongly before my mind all my past early life in connec- 
 tion with my dear brother. I feel now more than I had done 
 before how strong the tie is that binds me to him. Scarce any 
 death would make me anticipate my own with such vividness 
 as would his. Children and parents belong each to a differ- 
 ent generation ; but a brother, a few years older, who has nev- 
 er suffered from any malady — in him I should seem in some 
 sort to die myself I trust, if he is spared, we shall all be more 
 serious for the future — not more sad — more cheerful, but more 
 earnestly thoughtful of the true end of life, and desirous to 
 make ready for departure. 
 
 II. 
 
 His Long Absence and Unexpected Death. — Disappointment of Long-cher- 
 isiied Hopes. — His Attaching Qualities. — His Grave in Grasmere 
 Church-yard. — His Last Hours. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 10 Chester Place^ yanuary 17, 1849. — Many, many thanks, 
 dearest Miss Morris, for your note. I am so thankful that you 
 can anticipate my deep grief! We had long been separated 
 from each other, as to outward sight, but oh ! how much he oc- 
 cupied my thoughts, and how dear he was to my heart ! — never 
 till now did I know how dear. 
 
 There were three who loved me best in this wide world, to 
 whom I was most dear, most important. Now all three are gone ; 
 and I feel, even from earthly feeling, as if that other world were 
 more my home than this. 
 
 A A 
 
370 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 I never thought of surviving him. I always thought he 
 would live to old age, and that, perhaps, in our latest years we 
 might cherish each other; meantime, that I might see much of 
 him in some long visit to the North, when I might make my 
 children known to him. 
 
 It seems as if he were snatched away from me all on the 
 sudden, and all the thoughts and visions of so many, many 
 years are swept away all at once. This has brought my mind 
 into a strangely agitated state. I have felt worse since yester- 
 day evening than I did before. Dear friend, I can not as yet 
 reconcile myself to this loss. For a time I feel resigned — then 
 comes back a tide of recollections which deluge me with tears. 
 It is so grievous to me that I could not attend on him in his 
 last illness. That was impossible. The sight of me, after so 
 long a separation, would have agitated him, I know, and been 
 too injurious. I thought to go with Nurse had the illness con- 
 tinued. He was the most attaching of men ; and if tributes of 
 love and admiration from those who knew him well, and tears 
 shed for his unlooked-for death, could remove or neutralize sor- 
 row, my cup would have lost its bitterness. Never was a man 
 more loved in life or mourned in death; indeed, within the circle 
 of my acquaintance, I might even say, so loved and mourned. 
 
 It soothes me to think of all the love and sorrow of the 
 Wordsworths, and that by their wish — it would have been his 
 too — his remains are laid as near as possible to the spot where 
 they are to lie, in the southeast corner of Grasmere church- 
 yard, near the river, amid the cluster of graves which belong to 
 the Wordsworths — dear bright-minded, warm-hearted Dora, who 
 never spoke of him but with praise and affection, and others 
 of the family still earlier removed. But, oh, how little did I 
 think that I was never to see him more ! 
 
 I should like you some day to see the letters which give ac- 
 count of his state in illness, his dying hours, and then of the 
 funeral. Nothing could be more gentle, loving, pious, and hum- 
 ble — more deeply penitent for sin. Long and severe was his 
 parting struggle — severe both to body and mind ; but at the 
 very last he went off gradually. 
 
 '^IH 
 
Expressions of Condolence. vii 
 
 Ill- 
 Affectionate Behavior of the Old Friends at Rydal Mount on this Occasion. 
 —Mr. Wordsworth's Opinion of Hartley's Character and Genius. 
 
 To the Rev. Edward Coleridge, Eton College : 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regents Park, January, 1849. — My dear 
 Edward, I think you will be glad to see the letters I inclose. 
 They will tell you more of my dear Hartley's last days than you 
 could otherwise hear. Our old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Words- 
 worth, are more endeared to me and Derwent than ever, by the 
 lov~eJand tender interest they have shown ; not more, indeed, 
 than T should have looked for from them, but all I could have 
 thought of or hoped. "You should have heard the old man 
 say, ' Well^God bless him!' and then turn away in tears. 'It 
 |s a sad thing for me, who have known him so long ! He will 
 be a safLIoss to us ; and let him lie as near to us as possible, 
 leaving room for Mrs. Wordsworth and myself It would have 
 been his wish.' " 
 
 In another letter, when all was over, D says : "Mr. and 
 
 Mrs. W had been at the cottage during my absence. Mrs. 
 
 W kissed the cold face thrice, said it was beautiful, and 
 
 decked the body with flowers. This has also been done by 
 
 others^ Mr. W was dreadfully affected, and could not go 
 
 in. Miss"S had told her father that the face was still the 
 
 same — the same countenance. 'Is it strange,' he replied, 'that 
 death should not be able to force a mask on him who in his 
 lifetime never wore one ?' " 
 
 It soothes me to think that my dear brother, the greater part 
 of whose life has been spent in our dear old friend's daily sight, 
 should in death not be parted from them — the same neighbor- 
 hood in their last homes as in the abodes where they have lived — 
 that his remains should rest beside those of dear, bright-minded, 
 Icihd-hearted Dora, who never mentioned his name but to say 
 something of praise or affection. Her father's expressions 
 about Hartley, when I met him at Bath nearly two years ago, 
 have been a treasure of memory to me ever since, and ever will 
 be. Tributes of admiration to his intellectual endowments, his 
 winning, though eccentric manners, were plentiful as flowers in 
 summer. This was more. It showed me that he was esteemed 
 in heart by one who knew him well, if ever one man could know 
 
372 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 another — one not too lenient in his moral judgments. I valued 
 this testimony as confirming my own belief, which, because it 
 related to one so dear, I held tremblingly^ not as making me 
 feel what I had not felt before. " It falls to the lot of few," 
 another old friend says, " to have been so beloved and so worthy 
 of love as poor Hartley Coleridge." No one could be loved as 
 he was without a great share of those qualities to which our 
 Saviour referred when he said, " Of such is the kingdom of 
 heaven." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Christian Use of Sorrow. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Heath's Court : 
 
 January, 1849. — I am sure, dear John, this most unexpected 
 death of my dear brother is a spiritual benefit to me. Nothing 
 has ever so shaken my hold upon earth. Our long separation 
 made me dwell the more earnestly on thoughts of a reunion 
 with him, and the whole of my early life is so connected with 
 him, he was in my girlhood so deep a source oi pride and pleas- 
 ure, and at the same time the cause of such keen anguish and 
 searching anxiety, that his departure brings my own before me 
 more vividly and with more of reality than any other death ever 
 has done. If thinking of death and the grave could make me 
 spiritual and detached from the weaknesses of this earthly 
 sphere, I should be so ; for I am perpetually dwelling on death 
 and that other unimaginable state. But, alas ! more is required 
 than the sense of our precarious state here, to fit us for a better 
 and a hiarher. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sensitiveness about Public Opinion. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, February^ 1840. — The accompanying letter 
 shows a sensitiveness about any exposure of private matters to 
 the public in which I can not now quite sympathize. A good 
 deal of thought upon the subject, through a good deal of ex- 
 perience, has brought me to think that a serious, anxious con- 
 cern on such points is hardly worth while. If we could but 
 
Sensitiveness about Public Opinion, 373 
 
 overhear all that people say of us, when we are supposed out 
 of hearing, all their careless comments and detailed reports of 
 our affairs, I believe it would cure a good deal of this anxiety, 
 by showing us how vain it is to aim at keeping ourselves out of 
 the reach of observation ; that it is but an ostrich-like business 
 of hiding one's head in the sand. More especially with respect 
 to money matters and age, it is politic to tell our own story, for 
 if we do not, it will surely be told for us, and always a degree 
 more disadvantageously than truth warrants. The desire to be 
 the object of public attention is weak, but the excessive dread 
 of it is but a form of vanity and over-self-contemplativeness. 
 The trouble we take in trying not to seem would be better spent 
 in trying not to be what we would rather not appear to be. If 
 a strain of thought is beautiful and interesting in itself, I would 
 not generally withdraw it from a collection of poems about to 
 be published because it touches on private affairs. I remem- 
 ber the time when I felt otherwise ; but now I can not help 
 thinking that we should so order our lives, and also our feelings 
 and expectations, that we may be as far as possible independent 
 of the opinions and judgments of our fellow-men ; and that 
 whatever is the truth on a subject of any sort of interest can 
 very seldom in the long run be effectively or beneficially con- 
 cealed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Lecture at the Royal Institution.— Visit to the Dudley Gallery.— Early 
 Italian Masters, Fra Angelico and Fra Bartolomeo.— Comparison be- 
 tween the " Last Judgment " of Fra Angelico and the " Divina Comme- 
 dia" of Dante. — Her Brother Hartley : his Countenance and Portrait. 
 
 To Mrs. Plummer, Gateshead : 
 
 Chester Place, February 20, 1849.— Of Herbert's progress in 
 life you have perhaps heard all the heads from E. G., who is 
 such a kind friend of his, and so interested about him. He is 
 a great admirer of her, and a great admirer of her husband. I 
 
 wish that both he and you could have heard Mr. G 's last 
 
 lecture at the Royal Institution on Voltaic Ignition. It was 
 most masterly — quite perfect, I should say, in its line — so far as 
 I could judge, for I pretend not to have been able to follow the 
 whole train of thought, though I believe it was as clearly ex- 
 pressed, and it certainly was as clearly and fluently delivered. 
 
374 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 as can be imagined. The experiments were all successful, and 
 very brilliant and striking. 
 
 My nieces have just sent a messenger to arrange with me 
 about a visit to the Dudley Gallery — Lord Ward's pictures — in 
 Brook Street. This collection I saw a little while since with 
 
 the D s ; now I wish to show it to E. and the P s. It 
 
 contains many beautiful pictures by the older Italian masters, 
 as well as some, to my mind, still greater beauties by Correggio, 
 Guido, and Salvator Rosa. I confess I can not feel that en- 
 thusiasm for the pictures of Fra Angelico which some mediae- 
 valists in taste as well as in doctrine tell us we ought to feel. 
 I have seen pictures of Fra Bartolomeo which I admired ex- 
 ceedingly ; they struck me as uniting some of the grace and 
 fine finish of Raphael with that simple, severe, or serious air of 
 devotion which characterizes many of the older painters. But 
 the productions of the earlier school are often grotesque, feeble, 
 wanting in richness, grace, and beauty to my eyes ; and though 
 I respect them as devotional pieces, where they really do ex- 
 press a religious sentiment, I can not much admire them as 
 works 'of art. The admired Fra Angelico in Lord Ward's gal- 
 lery is a representation of the Last Judgment, and is to my 
 mind more curious and interesting than beautiful. On one 
 side is a most debased copy of a portion of Dante's "Inferno," 
 quite devoid of the pathos and sublimity of the Florentine's 
 poetic place of retribution. Dante, amid all his mediaeval gro- 
 tesqueness and monstrosity, is almost always elevated or affect- 
 ing. What a study his great poem is ! — what a compendium of 
 the religion, philosophy, ethics, politics, taste of the Middle 
 Ages ! 
 
 I can not tell you how deeply my dear brother's death has af- 
 fected me. Hartley's image is so connected with all my early 
 life, which is life pre-eminently, that it seems strange to be left 
 here without him. Separated as we had so long been by a set 
 of very peculiar circumstances, I was always looking forward to 
 the time when I should see much of him, and make my chil.dren 
 known to him. If testimonies of warm and strong attachment, 
 the liveliest admiration and deep regard — in spite of his sad in- 
 firmity, which did himself such wrong — to my dear brother's 
 memory could console for his loss, I should be abundantly con- 
 soled, for I think I never knew any man so wept for out of his 
 own immediate circle. Some of the letters of his friends and 
 
Hartley Coleridge. — Strong-minded Women. 375 
 
 admirers are most affecting and beautiful. But I meant to re- 
 frain from this theme, which must either be tedious or sadden- 
 ing. D has undertaken to collect his writings in prose 
 
 and verse, and will, I hope, find time for this, as well as to pref- 
 ace the poems with a memoir. The outward events of our 
 dear Hartley's life are few and slight — all except one. There 
 is little to tell, but much to describe, could description convey 
 a living image of what he was, what he appeared in heart and 
 mind to his many friends, as child, boy, man. L , the art- 
 ist, told me not long ago that he hoped to induce him to sit to 
 him for his portrait when he was next in the North ; that such 
 a face as his ought to be preserved, and that the picture I have 
 of him does him injustice. I grieve that this was not done be- 
 fore. L admired his mind so warmly that he would have 
 
 been the better enabled to do justice to his countenance, and 
 he possesses the art and knowledge which were wanting to the 
 limner whose work I had bought, and which, in spite of its 
 faults as a painting, is to me very interesting. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Strong-minded Women. 
 
 To Mrs. Joshua Stanger, Fieldside, Keswick : 
 
 Chester Place, March 6, 1849. — Young ladies who take upon 
 them to oppose the usages of society, which, as I fully believe, 
 are the safeguards of female honor and happiness, and sup- 
 porters of their influence over the stronger and wiser sex, and 
 have arisen gradually out of the growing wisdom of mankind, 
 as they increase in civilization and cultivation, are generally 
 found to possess, I think, more self-confidence than thorough 
 good sense, intellect, and genius. Certainly all the women of 
 first-rate genius that I know have been, and are, diffident, fem- 
 inine, and submissive in habits and temper. For none can 
 govern so well as those who know how to obey, or can teach 
 so effectively as those who have been docile learners. 
 
T^T^ Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dean Stanley's Sermons. — Study of German Theology. 
 
 To Mrs. R. TovvNSEND, Springfield, Norwood : 
 
 Chester Place, March 27, 1849. — I am reading with great de- 
 light Stanley's Sermons, which, strange to say, I never read 
 through till now. He brings out the distinct characters of St. 
 Peter and St. Paul, and their different missions, quite grandly. 
 
 He speaks of the study of German theology, in his preface, 
 in what seems to me the right spirit and the right way. Some 
 of the chief aids in his task had been found in " the labors of 
 that great nation from which we should be loth to believe that 
 theology alone had derived no light, or that, while we eagerly 
 turn to it in every other branch of study, we should close our 
 eyes against it here. Until we have equaled the writers of 
 Germany in their indefatigable industry, their profound thought, 
 their conscientious love of knowledge, we must still look to 
 them for help. I know not how we should be justified in re- 
 jecting with contempt the immense apparatus of learning and 
 criticism which they have brought to bear on Sacred Writings." 
 
 In truth, this can not be. If there is light in Germany more 
 than here, it will shine in upon us. In these days light trav- 
 els fast. It is not as it was centuries ago, when light might 
 shine in corners here and there, yet ages pass away before it 
 had become diffused, on account of the thick masses of palpa- 
 ble cloud and smoke which occupied the main part of the re- 
 gion. What a significant fact it is that Strauss' book was 
 translated into French and English as soon as ever it appeared 
 — that four translations of it were offered as soon as it came 
 to England ! The worst books — those which contain some por- 
 tion of truth so presented that it has all the effect of deadliest 
 error, half-truths, and truths without their proper accompani- 
 ments — are sure to penetrate and spread fast among us. Hare 
 and Stanley and Arnold would have the German mind brought 
 whole in among us, convinced that, as a whole, it will promote 
 the cause of spiritual religion ultimately, and that its philoso- 
 phy will counteract its pseudo-philosophy — that German error 
 is more easily to be fought by arms from Germany than from 
 elsewhere. Those men who declaim against German theology 
 in the mass are sometimes absolutely ignorant of a single Ger- 
 
The "-Idea of LifeP 377 
 
 man author, and uniformly unable to appreciate the true mean- 
 ing and value of German philosophic speculations. They never 
 really combat German opinions, nor disprove them : they do but 
 raise a hue and cry against them. I would be a conservative, 
 too ; but is there not a kind of conservatism that is most self- 
 destructive ? Such, I think, is the conservatism of T and 
 
 P , which leads them to attempt to stifle the products of 
 
 German thought, instead of boldly accepting it, examining the 
 mass, and winnowing the good from the evil. It is a want of 
 faith to doubt for a moment that religious truth can maintain 
 its ground against all that the heart of man can conceive or 
 the human mind imagine. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Essay on the " Idea of Life," by S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, March 29, 1849. — My dear friend, is it to you 
 that I am indebted for the Guardian of March 21, containing 
 a review of my father's " Idea of Life ?" If it be, my thanks. 
 
 The best review of the " Idea of Life," or what I liked the 
 best, as showing most insight into and agreement with my fa- 
 ther's views, was in the Athenceiim. Another critique has been 
 sent me from America, where, at Philadelphia, the Essay has 
 "been republished. This little work, of which we have been de- 
 "privej, has made a more immediate impression than almost 
 any philosophical production of my father's. 
 
 I marvel at the objections of the Guardian and Dr. W 
 
 to my father's personification of Nature. This seems to me 
 rather old-womanish. Do they suppose my father meant that 
 Nature was an independent, self-subsisting power, like a pagan 
 deity, walking about the visible universe in a green robe, a sky- 
 blue bonnet, and earth-colored petticoat ? 
 
378 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 X. 
 
 Juvenile Criticism. — Review of Lord Macaulay's History in the Quarterly. 
 — Miss Strickland's Life of Maria d'Este. — Remarks on Governesses 
 in an Article on " Vanity Fair." 
 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq., Loughrigg Holme, Ambleside : 
 Chester Place., March 31, 1849. — You would have been amused 
 to hear the critical dispute at tea yesterday, just after Mrs. 
 
 W had left us with a parting word about Matthew Arnold's 
 
 poetic volume, which Herbert greatly admires. E began 
 
 to extol " The Kitten " and " The Falling Leaves," and then 
 
 went off into a rapture about the " Platonic Ode," when H 
 
 interrupted her recitation of one of the sublimest passages with 
 " What's that compared with those exquisite lines of Byron : 
 
 " ' Away with your fictions of flimsy romance, 
 Those tissues which Folly has wove ! 
 Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance, 
 Or the rapture which dwells in the first kiss of love !' " 
 
 He knows better than this, however. But he was rather suc- 
 cessful yesterday in quizzing Keats, by hitting upon that line 
 
 in the " Endymion " — 
 
 " When shoals 
 Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine." 
 
 And that stanza about the 
 
 " Unimaginable lodge 
 For solitary thinkings, such as dodge 
 Conception to the farthest bourne of heaven." 
 
 These things do not well bear to be taken out of their poetic 
 places, and exhibited through a frame-work of broad grins. 
 
 I am awaiting with some curiosity the arrival of the Quar- 
 terfy, in which Mr. Lockhart has dealt with Macaulay. I won- 
 der whether he will prove him wrong in any of his points with 
 respect to the career of James 11. Since finishing Macaulay's 
 highly attractive volumes, the second of which has an enchain- 
 ing interest, I have perused Miss Strickland's Memoir of James 
 II.'s wife, Maria d'Este of Modena. The book seems to me 
 childishly perverted and partial in much that relates to James 
 II., but the account of his wife grows upon one. Proud and 
 impetuous she must have been, but certainly she must have had 
 a heart. The history of her feelings in the first days of widow- 
 
''Vanity Fair r 379 
 
 hood, and in her husband's last illness, was to me, on reading, 
 a mere repetition of that which is written in my own memory 
 of my own experience. Macaulay's cool way of speaking of 
 her person, which must have been one of the finest in Europe, 
 is one of the greatest signs of party-spirit in his book, unless it 
 is not party warmth, but mere temperamental coldness and 
 apathy on the subject of female charms. Yet that it can not 
 be, since he can use strong words enough about some of Charles 
 II.'s good-for-nothing beauties. 
 
 Miss Rigby's* article on " Vanity Fair " was brilliant, as all 
 her productions are. But I could not agree to the concluding 
 remark about governesses. How could it benefit that uneasy 
 class to reduce the number of their employers, which, if high 
 salaries were considered in all cases indispensable, must neces- 
 sarily be the result of such a state of opinion ? Many govern- 
 esses, as it is, receive ;i^8o and i^ioo a year. When the butler 
 has £\o, and lady's-maid ;;^2o, or housekeeper £^0, this is 
 surely the average. Besides, hard and unsentimental as it may 
 seem, I must think that the services of the ordinary tradesman's 
 governess are not worth more than ;^3o a year. After all, let 
 the governess' discomforts be what they may, is not the situa- 
 tion in all respects far more tolerable for a lady, or semi-lady, 
 than that of lady's-maid or upper house-maid, or the health-de- 
 stroying slavery of the milliner's or dressmaker's business, or 
 the undignifying, if not positively degrading place behind the 
 counter, which really in London partakes of some of the disad- 
 vantages of the stage, so obviously are the young women dressed 
 up, and selected, perhaps, to attract the eyes of customers and 
 their lounging companions ? But to some one of these situations 
 must many a destitute young woman descend, if that of govern- 
 ess in some family of limited means was not to be procured. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Une Femme Accomplie." 
 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq. : 
 
 1849. — Did you ever meet Miss R in London.^ She is 
 
 perhaps the most brilliant woman of the day — the most accom- 
 
 * The present Lady Eastlake.— E. C. 
 
380 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 plished and Crichtonian. She draws, takes portraits like an 
 artist, and writes cleverly on painting; she plays with power, 
 and writes most strikingly on music; she speaks different lan- 
 guages. Her essays and tales have both had great success, the 
 former as great as possible. To put the comble to all this, she 
 is a very fine woman, large yet girlish, like a Doric pillar meta- 
 morphosed into a damsel, dark and striking. No, this is w/the 
 comble: the top of her perfections is that she has well-bred, court- 
 eous, unassuming manners, does not take upon herself and hold 
 forth to the company — a fault of which many lionesses of the 
 day are guilty. At this moment no less \h?C!\four rise up before 
 me, who show a desire to talk to the room at large, rather than 
 
 quietly to their neighbor on the sofa. Miss R is honorably 
 
 distinguished in this respect. She is thoroughly feminine, like 
 that princess of novelists, Jane Austen. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Failure and Success. — Her Son's Choice of a Profession. — Metaphysical 
 Training a Desideratum in University Education. — Confusions arising 
 from the Misuse of Philosophical Terms. — A General Council of the 
 Church to be desired for the Settlement of Controversies. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 10 Chester Place, April 10, 1849. — I am glad you think it some 
 credit that Herby obtained a second place in the "Ireland" 
 contest. Disappointments, interposed between successes, are 
 decidedly useful to a mind of any native strength, as are all the 
 
 trials of this life; and it is a good point in H that he is 
 
 never so discouraged by failure as to lose a just confidence in 
 himself, and become listless and inactive. As for my boy's 
 prospects at the bar hereafter, it is all dimness and darkness to 
 me. Herbert will take the law as a profession, because no other 
 bread-making career is open to him, not because there is any 
 particular eligibility in it for him. He is fitted for the profession 
 by his power of application and of continuous study; but I know 
 not whether it will suit him in all respects. I hope he will prove 
 to have some logical abilit}^, but I can not judge at present 
 whether his interest in the reasonings of Plato is a true indica- 
 tion of this or not. I have long thought it a desideratum in the 
 education of our young men that they should undergo some 
 
A General Cotmcil of the Church. 381 
 
 systematic metaphysical training, and acquire some of that learn- 
 ing and power of analyzing thought of which the schoolmen 
 display so much. Many debates would be cut short, and long 
 webs of theory would be swept away, before they had wasted 
 the time of authors and readers, if men were regularly taught 
 at college the import of such terms as nature, person, matter, soul, 
 spirit, will, reason, understanding, and so forth. I mean, if they 
 were but taught those principles which all regular metaphysicians 
 of all schools admit, but which many writers of the present day 
 lose sight of in their arguments, simply from being quite out of 
 the habit of abstracting and reflecting on the processes of the 
 mind within itself. Men who show great ability and good sense 
 while the)^ keep to the practical, often commit, as I believe, the 
 greatest blunders, which the merest tyro in mental science could 
 detect, when for some practical end they set up explanatory 
 theories involving metaphysical distinctions. I think I could 
 give some instances of this ; but I must not ask your attention 
 to matters of this sort, exercised as you are with head-work of va- 
 rious kinds. In support of my remark, I will merely say that 
 educated, well-principled men could hardly come to such opposite 
 conclusions, one among another, as we see them do, on points 
 which are not mere matters of taste and feeling, but seem to be 
 altogether within the domain of logic, if they were better in- 
 structed in the meaning of the terms they make use of. I often, 
 on this account, feel a great yearning for a General Council of 
 the Church. Surely, if there could be even such general dis- 
 cussion as took place before the Council of Trent, when Cardi- 
 nal Contarini — that admirable Cardinal and other good men — 
 sought so hard to bring about a reconciliation between the Prot- 
 estants and the rest of the Western Church, some questions must 
 at least be set at rest forever, and the range of debate some- 
 what narrowed. Now every man writes what seems good in 
 his eyes; and if the book is eloquent, and shows some reading, 
 it is extolled to the skies by the party whom it serves, even 
 though its main arguments are such as the reflective among 
 them would not subscribe to were they fairly put before them, 
 and which, in fact, they never notice, even though they form the 
 pith, or at least contain the chief point in the whole work, and 
 that for the sake of proposing which it was composed and pub- 
 lished. 
 
382 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Modern " Miracles." 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, April 13, 1849. — The cases of L'Addolorata and 
 L'Ecstatica in the Tyrol, are very interesting.* But Mr. Allie's 
 conclusion respecting the object and use of the supposed mira- 
 cles is, to my mind, very inconclusive. He thinks they are in- 
 tended to awe and impress a skeptical, unspiritual age. But the 
 
 worst of it is that no one not already brimful of what A 
 
 cdlls faith, but what some would designate superstition, would 
 ever consider them for a moment in the light in which he re- 
 gards them, or indeed as having any connection with religion; 
 and no one not already a believer in the Gospel would take the 
 least interest in them, except as strange ///ji'/Va/ phenomena. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Claims of Society. — A Practical Philosophy. 
 
 To Henry Taylor, Esq., Ladon House, Mortlake : 
 
 Chester Place, May, 1849. — I find it difi&cult to break away 
 from London. Friends come pouring into London in the spring 
 in an uninterrupted stream. Go when you will, you are going 
 away from somebody, doing an unfriendly action, and showing 
 coldness of heart. I wish to feel for about a fortnight that I am 
 at liberty to be a poor, faint, spiritless creature, that is not called 
 upon for a single smile, or the slightest outward sign of sympa- 
 thy. Oh ! that, like you, I had a pla}^, an original dramatic 
 composition, dependent on my obtaining a spell of leisure ! But 
 it is ungrateful to speak thus, so much pleasure as I have in the 
 works of others. We may easily be content "to enjoy what 
 others understand;" but to enjoy understanding what others 
 have the enjoyment of producing is a practical philosophy which 
 some in these times lose sight of (I mean to be contejitmih. this), 
 
 * This passage refers to an account, which attracted some attention at the 
 time, of two peasant women in the Italian Tyrol, whose prolonged trances, 
 and other strange symptoms, excited the wonder of their neighbors, and 
 were looked upon by some persons as direct communications from heaven. 
 — E. C. 
 
Margate in May. 383 
 
 but which I should feel it right to cultivate, if it did not grow 
 of its own accord in my mind. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Lights and Shadows. — " Latter-day Pamphlets." — " Chartism." — " Shirley." 
 — Walking Powers not Lost. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Heathlands, Hampstead : 
 
 3 Zio7i Place, Margate, May 19, 1849. — I enjoy the quietness 
 of this place. Very few visitors are here. We have the cliff 
 all to ourselves for the most part, or share it only with the car- 
 oling larks. This place is better than Heme Bay : it has a 
 fuller sea, and the water comes up to the bottom of the cliff, 
 along which we walk ; and although the inland country is much 
 prettier between the Kentish coast and Canterbury, yet as I 
 come for refreshment and bracing sea-breezes, I do not miss 
 the shady lanes and lawns and copses about Heme, but take 
 
 my two walks a day, with E beside me, in perfect tranquil- 
 
 hty and contentment, if not in hilarious glee. Who can be very 
 gleeful for more than a few minutes at a time in such a world 
 as this, dear friend, so full of sorrow and misery and crushing 
 want, spiritual and physical, and so surrounded by impervious 
 shadow, the awful mystery of the world to come ? 
 
 Have you read Carlyle's "Pamphlets?" The last, called 
 "The Stump Orator," contains some good things, and the 
 Guardian can not sneer it down, with all its talent at sneering. 
 People affect to despise its truisms, when I believe, in fact, at 
 heart they are galled by some of its bold, broad truths, express- 
 ed with a graphic force and felicitous humor which it is easier 
 to rail at than fo hide under a bushel. Put what bushel over 
 it they may, it will shine through, and indeed burn up the 
 designed extinguisher, as the fire eats up a scroll of paper. 
 "Chartism," by the same author, however, is better than any 
 of these new pamphlets, which repeat in substance a good deal 
 of its contents. That book seems to me prophetic, as I read it 
 now. The accounts of the poor, of the savage Irish, etc., are 
 wonderfully powerful. 
 
 Have you read " Shirley ?" We are delighted with it. The 
 review in the Ediiiburgh made far too much fuss about its 
 little faults of style and breeding. When you read the sen- 
 
384 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 tences in question, where they occur, they do not appear very 
 shocking. The worst fault by far is the development of the 
 story. Mrs. Pryor's reason for putting away her daughter is 
 absurdly far-fetched and unnatural. No wonder the '' Old Cos- 
 sack " disliked her, and thought her a queer sort of maniac. 
 
 I think my sleeping is a wee bit improved, and I am very 
 active on my legs. The country folks at Keswick, when I was 
 a little one, sometimes called me a "lile Jenny spinner," and I 
 can spin along yet, though my face is so pale and small, and 
 tells such a tale of sleepless nights, a weakly wifehood, and 
 nervous widowhood. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Afternoon Calls. — Hurried Composition. — " Metaphysico - phobia."— Mid- 
 dle-aged Looks. — Simplicity of her Mother's Character. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 1849. — I find it difficult to carry on literary business, all I 
 have to do in editing my father's books (and a long task in 
 that way yet lies before me) and worldly business, to see about 
 the various investments of our little property, besides domestic- 
 ities and social business, the last by far the hardest to me of 
 the three. Oh ! how I do abominate the afternoon calling, to 
 pay or to receive it ! To go ovA. prepared to meet our friends 
 is pleasant enough, but in the afternoon, when one is engaged, 
 their coming is felt as an interruption. Nothing is so fatiguing 
 as to go through a round of afternoon visits, to initiate half a 
 dozen different conversations in diflferent styles, take up half a 
 dozen different tunes, pitch one's self at half a dozen different 
 keys, and then feel obliged to rush away just as the strain be- 
 gins to have a little heart in it. However, it is not the femi- 
 nine visitations (if I were to begin the list of exceptions of ladies 
 I am always glad to see, a'cn in an afternoon, I should fill up 
 too much of my paper), it is the evening visiting that knocks 
 me up. 
 
 I am truly sorry that you feel it necessary or desirable to 
 compose hurriedly and within a limited time. It is that which 
 makes intellectual exertion so injurious, so ruinous. It has 
 killed its thousands, and invalided its tens of thousands. I hope 
 you will have strength of mind to give it up, come what may. 
 
''Auld Mrs.Cauldridger 385 
 
 I read your Landor article with great admiration. It may 
 not show Landor's poetry in a captivating light, but it showed 
 Mr. Aubrey de Vere in a handsome, engaging one. I quarrel- 
 ed with naught in it but a certain sentence about modern met- 
 aphysics, by which I suppose you mean Kant, Jacobi, Schel- 
 hng, and Co., " like a dog questing after old philosophies." 
 Pray what do you mean by that, sir ? As if dogs ever quested 
 after philosophy. Now don't attempt to set me right about the 
 sentence — I remember it distinctly, I consider your view of 
 modern metaphysics quite canine, almost inclining to mad-dog- 
 ish. You have a German metaphysico-phobia ! You ought 
 to smother, not yourself, but it, that same phobia of modern 
 metaphysics. 
 
 You ask me how I am. R asked me to sit for a chalk 
 
 drawing, on my return from the sea, but my phiz, to judge by 
 the glass here, which, however, is always in the shade, because 
 the toilet-table is covered with my books and papers, and half 
 the only chest of drawers is filled with the same, is not im- 
 proved since my stay here. It is even more hollow and hatch- 
 ety than it was. Middle-aged faces are very bad and difficult 
 subjects. The lines and sinkings appear in them as worsen- 
 ings, impairments, impoverishments, deficiencies ; a few years 
 afterward they look like seasonable marks of time, having a 
 grace and a meaning of their own. I remember mamma, at 
 my age, put on quite the old woman, and the Keswick people 
 called her " auld Mrs. Cauldridge," though her complexion 
 ^was a hundred times clearer and rosier than mine is now, and 
 her cheeks rounder. As for her hair, she cut it all off, and wore 
 a wig when she was quite a young woman, and her every-day 
 front (a sort of semi-wig, or wig to wear with a cap), for she was 
 too economical to wear the glossy one in common, was as dry 
 and rough and dull as a piece of stubble, and as short and 
 stumpy. Dear mother ! what an honest, simple, lively-minded, 
 affectionate woman she was! how free from disguise and artifice! 
 how much less she played tricks with herself, and tried to be 
 and seem more and better than she was, than the generality of 
 the world ! 
 
 Bb 
 
386 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Early Associations with the Seasons. — Vaughan, Herbert, and Crashaw. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, 1849. — My dear friend, I had great pleasure 
 in transcribing the inclosed poem ; it brought spring so vividly 
 before me, beloved spring, which is as closely unified to my 
 mind with my childhood, as autumn with my girlhood. I can 
 scarce recall what I did as a child in autumn. Winter was a 
 glorious season ; summer heat I well remember, and the throng 
 of flowers in June, with the June Pole, and all our garden and 
 river doings in May and June. But autumn brings no visions 
 of childhood, except of seeking for plums in an old worn-out 
 orchard, where the plum-trees were in the last stage of imbe- 
 cihty and dotage, and of standing in a sweet apple-tree, eating 
 half the apples off the boughs, carrying on a lively dispute with 
 my cousin Edith, who was swinging away, in the warmth of the 
 debate, on an opposite apple-tree. 
 
 And now even my children's childhood is passed away ! 
 
 Do you know Vaughan's " Silex Scintillans," a collection of 
 sacred poems, a few years younger than those of George Her- 
 bert ? They are very sw^eet, some lovely, but have less power 
 and thought than Herbert's, less perfect execution than Cra- 
 shaw's. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Miss Sellon at Plymouth.— Lord RIacaulay's History.— Cruelty of James II. 
 
 Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 Chester Place, yune, 1849. — I have heard nothing of the Sel- 
 lon case at Plymouth, except at second hand. Substantially 
 the reformeresses must be in the right. But it struck me, as I 
 heard the case stated by one quite on her side, that it was a 
 pity she could not have done her good things after a more 
 Protestant fashion as to externals, avoiding party badges, how- 
 ever silly it may be in her opponents to consider such externals 
 as necessarily connected with Popery and unsoundness toward 
 our Anglican Church in the main. The bishop seems to have 
 taken the lady's part with great warmth. However, when I 
 speak oi party badges, I may speak on misinformation, and she 
 
James II. and Charles II. 387 
 
 may have used no fashions but such as have been approved or 
 allowed by our authorities here. 
 
 Macaulay's History has had, and is still having, an immense 
 run. It is certainly a fascinating book ; but in some respects, 
 perhaps, too fascinating and attractive to be thoroughly good 
 as a history. Dry matters are skipped, and many important 
 events are rather commented on than narrated. And yet every 
 true history that is to be a useful and faithful record must con- 
 tain much that is dry and heavy to the common reader. . His 
 account of James II. makes the profligate, unpatriotic despot 
 Charles II. appear like an angel of light ; for what can be more 
 hideous in the human character than implacable malice and 
 revenge, deliberate barbarity, and love of human suffering and 
 misery for its own sake ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Revolutions of 1848. — Chester Place and Hyde Park Gardens. — A Little 
 
 Beauty. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Chester Place, jfune 18, 1849. — Your remarks about Rome are 
 most apropos to my thoughts. I have been wanting exceed- 
 ingly to understand a little what is going on in that most fa- 
 mous of cities — what papers I ought to get for the report of late 
 events there. When you next enter our small drawing-room, 
 
 be prepared to give E and me a regular lecture on Roman 
 
 and French political affairs, and to receive nothing in return 
 but our best attention, 
 
 ".S^Wfj!// drawing-room," I say emphatically; for a lady from 
 Hyde Park Gardens was so "frightened" at the smallness and 
 shabbiness of my room here, that poor Martha, my late house- 
 maid, loses the place she hoped to obtain in her household 
 thereby. This lady of spacious apartments seemed to contem- 
 plate her own rooms in Hyde Park Gardens (which she need 
 not have so minutely described, since I had lately been act- 
 ually admitted as a guest into the house adjoining) with the 
 same sort of awe and admiration which Carlyle archly ascribes 
 to Lockhart with respect to Sir Walter Scott— "an object spread- 
 ing out before him like a sea without a shore." 
 
 I wish that when you come next I could show you a splen- 
 
388 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 did little two -year -old who resides at No. 4 Chester Place. 
 Such eyes, hair, and complexion, and form ! Her hair is really 
 what Mr. Wordsworth used to call his Dora's — "angelic^' — the 
 curls are so thick, so perfect, so large and bossy and Raphael- 
 jesque, and such a lovely golden flaxen. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A Fatiguing Task. — Comparison of Mr. Coleridge with Mr. Fonblanque 
 as a Newspaper Writer. — Vindication of his Character for Industry 
 and Political Integrity. — Plato on the Immortality of the Soul. — Mr. 
 Newman's Sermon on the Intermediate State. — Opinion concerning 
 Paradise held in the Primitive Church. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 Chester Place, J^uly, 1849. — My dearest John, * * * many 
 thanks for your kind wish to see Herbert in the West. He de- 
 parts on Thursday, and would that I could go on the same 
 day ; but I am beleaguered with piles of the Morning Post of 
 near fifty years since, and with Couriers above thirty years old. 
 I hope to get away next week, but it will be difficult. This is 
 the last editing work, I trust, in which I shall engage that will 
 be very laborious and confining. The mere bodily exertion 
 which it involves is not small ; and if I were as iveak in muscle 
 as I am disordered and uneasy in nerves, I could not get on 
 with my task at all, far less in the exact, complete sort of way 
 in which it is my nature to execute whatever I undertake, as far 
 as my abilities extend (for I am now speaking only of pains- 
 taking and jog-trot drudgery). Mr. Kenyon tells me that such 
 collections do not sell ; that Fonblanque's did not, though his 
 articles were very elaborate and brilliant. I do not quite de- 
 spair on this account. Fonblanque had a great name as a writer 
 for the day, but perhaps a less one than S. T. C. as a producer 
 of the permanent. There is a small but very affectionate and 
 respectful audience who take an interest in knowing all that 
 my father thought, and the words in which he uttered his sen- 
 timents on every subject, knowing that, however transient the 
 immediate topic, he always referred it to the permanent, and 
 shed the steady light of the past, and the bright gleams of the 
 future, on every present of which he treated. Still no one would 
 undertake such a business with any view to money profit. My 
 only anxiety is that it may not be a dead loss, and Picker- 
 
Plato s ''Phcedor , 389 
 
 ing's willingness in the matter encourages me to hope that it 
 may not be that The deepest reason why I have been anx- 
 ious to do it relates to my father's moral, not his intellectual 
 reputation. I think it will show, first, that he did labor before 
 he fell into paralyzing ill-health, and contributed far more to 
 the Morning Post than any one would dream from Stuart's rep- 
 resentation ; and, secondly, I believe it will show his political 
 course to have been characterized by honesty, strong feeling 
 for his country, especially the poor, and a sagacity almost pro- 
 phetic. In the midst of all this, the accounts of the cholera are 
 very disturbing ; and sometimes, when an afternoon caller has 
 been dwelling on its ravages, I feel ready to run away to Heme 
 Bay, and leave the newspapers on the floor undispatched. 
 
 I am reading the "Phsedo" with Herbert, which long ago I 
 read with my dear husband. I can derive as little comfort as 
 ever from all that seemingly profound trifling (though perhaps 
 there is more in it than I se*e) about the idea of bigness and lit- 
 tleness, unity and duety, and so forth. But it is decidedly a 
 comfort to perceive, in the midst of all this, that a thoughtful 
 and fine-minded man, like Plato, looked upon the soul as some- 
 thing too good to have been made by a wise and good Crea- 
 tor to last only during a short, uneasy life, in a state of existence 
 which seems utterly disproportionate to the desires and as- 
 pirations which inhere in its constitution, and become stronger 
 and fuller the better and more knowing it grows. 
 
 Lady P says, in answer to a remark of mine on New- 
 man's sermon on the Intermediate State, of which her husband 
 expressed to me great admiration, " Do not you think, if we 
 were allowed to hear, like Job, the only unerring Voice, we should 
 truly find that counsel had but been darkened ? that we had 
 better try to throw our minds out of discussions into prayer for 
 being enabled in faith to leave such points ?" I do indeed 
 think that great darkness rests on what is called the Interme- 
 diate State. But the primitive Church did not seem to think 
 so; at least, it made no doubt that disembodied souls met in 
 %ox^t place called Paradise, and that friends and relations knew 
 each other. And if we cast these views aside, then we depart 
 from that early theology which it was the endeavor of Newman 
 and his school to re-estabUsh. Then the old doctors and bish- 
 ops were not wiser than we without their light can be, because 
 nearer in time to the apostles. 
 
39Q Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 1849. — July- December. 
 
 LETTERS TO MRS. JOSHUA STANGER, AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., 
 
 HENRY TAYLOR, ESQ., MISS FENWICK, MRS. FARRER, 
 
 HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Sacred and Legendary Art," by Mrs. Jameson. — Parallel between the 
 Classic Mythology and the Hagiology of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 — Hartley Coleridge's Poems. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase : 
 
 1849. — I am delighted with Mrs. Jameson's two volumes on 
 " Sacred and Legendary Art." It interests me doubly from its 
 descriptions of curious and beautiful works of art, and even 
 still more from the picture it presents of what may be called 
 the Christian Mythology. It is very curious to see how the saints 
 and saintesses of the Middle Ages, after the secular establish- 
 ment and worldly enrichment of Christianity, succeeded to the 
 places of the Pagan Deities, and inherited their honors, in some 
 cases were invested with their attributes. There are the four 
 great Catholic Saintesses — St. Catharine, St. Barbara, St. Ursu- 
 la, and St. Margaret. One can plainly see that the first corre- 
 sponded to Minerva, as Mrs. Jameson suggests, and the second 
 to Pallas or Bellona. The Virgin Mary, as Regina Coeli, is a 
 purified, elevated, glorified Saturnian Juno, the spouse of Jove, 
 and Queen of Heaven. St. Ursula rather resembles one of the 
 protective matron goddesses. " Mild Maid Margaret," that 
 loveliest conception of them all, in her purity and courage, may 
 be compared with Diana ; in her lovely gentleness and humility, 
 has no prototype out of Christianity. Mrs. Jameson's way of 
 treating these subjects will not please religionists of any land 
 or class, except the very Latitudinarian, whom some will call 
 the /r- religionists. Antiquarians and Medisevalists and Ro- 
 manizers will feel indignant at her treating the legends as cun- 
 
Hartley Coleridge s Poems. 391 
 
 ningly devised fables, highly as she praises their devout re- 
 hgious spirit and effective embodiment of moral and spiritual 
 truth; while zealous Reformists vi^ill frown at the favor with 
 which she regards them, and her indifference to the large 
 amount of superstition and idolatry which they have suggested 
 and fostered. The legends are, many of them, full of beautiful, 
 picturesque incident, and expressive allegories and emblems. 
 Many of them I knew before, but, like ribbons in a shop, or the 
 different stripes in the rainbow, they set one another off, and 
 the whole is a most interesting panorama of Devotional Art and 
 of Christian semi-evangelical Polytheism. 
 
 The collection of dear Hartley's poems is going on. They 
 spring up here and there and almost every where, hke flowers in 
 April. Some are but showy weeds, perhaps, and many are rich 
 and lovely flowers, while others are of an intermediate charac- 
 ter. The last I had to transcribe were some fine lines on Lu- 
 cretius. 
 
 11. 
 
 Principle of a Poor Law.— Mortality in Ireland— Poetry and Farnaing. 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, 1849. — Your note comes too late to save me 
 from the " worry " of your " Nine Letters,"* seeing that I am 
 looking through them again, after a regular attentive perusal of 
 the whole nine. I hope some good will come of them. 
 
 I wish they could be reprinted in better type, and prefaced 
 by an Essay on the principle of a Poor Law in general. You 
 say well that here it is a sort of insurance for property. 
 
 But this is looking at it merely as matter of expediency. You 
 could only so consider it in these letters. But I should like to 
 know your view, whether it is not also matter oi justice; whether 
 accumulation of property should be allowed and protected by 
 positive laws and artificial arrangements, without being accom- 
 panied by a provision that none who desire to work are to 
 starve, while there is provision in the land enough to sustain all, 
 if distributed. One of the great mischiefs of Ireland seems to be 
 the way in which property is held, the occupants and managers 
 of the land being one set of men, and the proprietors another, 
 
 * On Irish Affairs, published in the Morning Chronicle. — E. C. 
 
392 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Is it not strange that the mortality has not at least done some 
 good, as a bloody battle generally does, by diminishing num- 
 bers? 
 
 Your style and your preaching away about agriculture, while 
 poetry seems your vocation, is so like my father at your age, 
 who would turn away from " Christabel " or the " Ode to De- 
 jection" to give Mr. Poole his ideas about fattening pigs with 
 acorns ! At least, I know that the economical letters and the 
 ethereal poems are of about the same date. 
 
 III. 
 
 Durability of Early Impressions. — Morbid Depravity. — Swedenborg. 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge, Heath's Court, Ottery St. 
 Mary : 
 
 St. George^ s Terrace, Heme Bay, August 21, 1849. — It seems 
 clear to me that impressions once made upon the mind are not 
 really effaced, as they seem to be, but only, as it were, covered 
 over and hidden for a time. Otherwise they could not come 
 forth again so fresh and strong, when there has been no new 
 impression, only some stimulus to the memory from a renewal 
 of similar circumstances or sight of similar objects to those 
 which were present when the impression was first made. * * * 
 
 You seem to have had a horrid circuit, though not a heavy 
 one. The more I read and hear and see, the more forcibly it 
 strikes me that crimes are perpetrated less from the apparent 
 motive than from some strange, mysterious, horrible fascina- 
 tion in the thing itself. If we examine the history of man, we 
 shall find that in not solitary instances only, but whole classes 
 of instances, the ordinary feelings of human nature seem to be 
 inverted. I believe there are thousands to whom bodily tort- 
 ure becomes a species of excitement, sought for its own sake, 
 while the fancy is engaged and kept quiet by visions of indefi- 
 nite grandeur and felicity to be gained by endurance of pain. 
 There are many who become swindlers, forgers, etc., evidently 
 from the love of playing tricks with other people, exerting their 
 power of dupery, and acting forever a sort of practical drama, 
 of which themselves are the heroes. This state of mind seems 
 to be near akin to insanity, and yet not to be it, though all in- 
 sanity seems to have these dispositions inclusively, with some- 
 
Facts and Opinions, 393 
 
 thing besides. It was a fine thought of Swedenborg to repre- 
 sent all the spirits in hell as madmen. He should have writ- 
 ten a " Divina Commedia," like Dante, instead of putting forth 
 a system purporting to be literal truth and reality. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hearing and Reading. — Facts and Opinions. 
 
 To Henry Taylor, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, 1849. — If it is not too greedy, what I should 
 like is to read the play first, and then to hear it read by you. I 
 do not catch very quickly by the ear, and I have got into such 
 a slow, musing way of reading that I can not easily follow a 
 reader aloud of any thing interesting. I am staying behind, 
 picking flowers and finding nests, and exploring some particu- 
 lar nook, as I used to be when a child walking out with my 
 Uncle Southey, whom I found it hard to overtake when thus 
 tempted to loiter. 
 
 How the Quarterly and Edinburgh contradict each other 
 about the Dolly's Brae affair ! I believe there is nothing so un- 
 certain and slippery as fact. Theories and opinions, much as 
 they differ, are scarce so different as the reports of what pur- 
 port to be the same facts by the different parties. 
 
 V. 
 
 Judgment of the Privy Council in the Gorham Case. — Functions of the 
 Council Declaratory, not Legislative. — Depreciatory Tone of the "Lat- 
 ter-day Pamphlets." — Pictures belonging to Mr. Munro, of Hamilton 
 Place. 
 
 To Henry Taylor, Esq., Mortlake : 
 
 1849. — My dear Mr. Taylor, I was horrified when late yes- 
 terday evening my eyes fell on the inclosed preface as I was 
 searching in a drawer for the Key to Cattermole's great pict- 
 ure of the " Protest at the Diet of Spires," my print of which I 
 have had framed and hung up, partly in honor of the late tri- 
 umph of toleration and moderation, grand characteristics of the 
 Reformed Religion, in the decision of the Privy Council in the 
 Gorham case. I believe two thirds of the clergy, had the de- 
 cision been in the Bishop of Exeter's favor, must either have 
 
394 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 given up their livings or cures, or have retained them vi'x'Ca. peine 
 forte et dure of conscience. Now where is the practical differ- 
 ence in the affairs of the Church and interests of Churchmen ? 
 The judgment has but declared that to be an open question 
 which has always in fact been so. As for Lord John Russell 
 being the " Pope of our Church," in one sense he is so, and, as 
 I believe, very properly and profitably for the country ; in an- 
 other sense, the only one that concerns truly spiritual matters, 
 he is not aught of the kind. Infallible guide we have none, and 
 do not think it possible to have upon earth, but the doctrine of 
 the Church of England has always been settled by the Church 
 interpreting Scripture. This judgment does but declare what 
 the law of the Church is, what our formularies mean, and to 
 make such a declaration is quite within the province of the 
 learned body of which the Privy Council is composed. There 
 were three bishops for the supply of theological information, 
 and that all the body were not divines was in favor of truth and 
 impartial justice. 
 
 * * * I wonder what you think of the "Latter-day Pam- 
 phlets ?" They are much to be admired, especially for felicity 
 of particular expressions, and they please some persons whom 
 the author never pleased before. But I, for my part, like all his 
 former works better than these. The drift of " Hero-Worship," 
 and most of his other writings, was to defend and exalt, to set 
 in a clear light, neglected merit. In the present publications I 
 feel as if the drift were depreciatory. I do not see why we 
 should try to take any thing from the good name of Howard. 
 Nobody ever said that he was a brilliant man, but it was to his 
 credit that he found his Bedfordshire estates insufficient to fill 
 up the measure of his mind, and to satisfy his aspirations. 
 
 E and I have lately seen such a fine collection of Italian 
 
 pictures at the house of Mr. Munro, Hamilton Place. The 
 " Candelabra Virgin," by Raphael, most exquisite. One most 
 lovely Claude, with a mountain which Ruskin would criticise, 
 but which (/. (?., the pictui-e) you ought to have engraved as an 
 embellishment for your new play. A space in a wood, with a 
 lovely pool, a clump of tufty, waterish-looking trees, goats roam- 
 ing in the afternoon sunlight under the trees, and figures in 
 front. , There was also a splendid "Venice" by Turner; and 
 Watteau's darling little town-girls, a famous picture. 
 
Historical Interest of Scotland. 395 
 
 VI. 
 
 Scotland and Switzerland. — Historical Interest attaching to the Former. — 
 Bathing in the River Greta. 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer, Greenway, Dartmouth, Devon : 
 
 12 St. George's Terrace, Heme Bay, August, 1849. — How I 
 long to visit Scotland ! I think there is more romantic interest 
 attached to it than even to poetic Switzerland. The latter 
 puts me in mind of my father's Ode or Hymn in the Vale 
 of Chamouni, and of the poem* of the beautiful Duchess of 
 Devonshire on crossing Mont St. Gothard, verses that might 
 almost have been admired for their own sakes, and not merely 
 as coming from the pen of a popular Duchess and Beauty. But 
 Switzerland has no historical associations in my mind higher 
 than Aloys Reding, or at most William Tell, celebrated by the 
 modern Schiller. While Scotland is connected with history 
 from Macbeth as he appears in Shakespeare's play to James I., 
 and from him down to the romantic, foolish, wrong-headed 
 times of the Jacobites. That wild heath on which the witches 
 met Macbeth almost symbolizes Scotland for me, or at least 
 that with the " Lady of the Lake " to fill up the picture, or to 
 present the picturesque of the land in another aspect. 
 
 That wooded bank of the Dart which you speak of, overlook- 
 ing Torbay, takes especial hold of my fancy. I am pleased to 
 hear of the primitive river-bathing. It reminds me of my Greta 
 Hall days. 
 
 VII. 
 Tunbridge Wells. 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 'August 28, 1849. — I do not wonder that you are not fascinated 
 with Tunbridge AVells. It. is a fine place to drive out from in 
 
 • * This poem, entitled the " Passage over Mount Gothard," forms the 
 subject of the " Ode to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire," by S. T. 
 Coleridge, beginning — 
 
 " Splendor's fondly fostered child ! 
 And did you 'hail the platform wild,' 
 Where once the Austrian fell 
 Beneath the shaft of Tell ? 
 O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure, 
 Whence learned you that heroic measure ?" E. C. 
 
396 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 various directions. But there is far more refreshment and 
 change in a sight of the changeful ocean while we are station- 
 ary. The lie of the country is beautiful at T. W. ; the terrace 
 roads, and rich, green glades, and basin-like valleys want only 
 running streams, and herds of deer and kine and sheep and 
 goats, to be delightful. But they do want life and movement. 
 There is something to me quite depressing in their stillness. 
 The beautiful trees seem made in vain, with no living things to 
 frolic around them or lie under their shade, and the eye quite 
 thirsts for water. How oddly, too, the stones and rocks are 
 seated on the turf, as if they had been taken from their native 
 bed, and placed there by some giant who had been playing at 
 bowl with them. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Cholera and Infection. — Need of Sanitary Improvements. — Evening Walks 
 at Heme Bay. — Sisterhoods : what they Are, and what they Might Be. 
 — Remarks of Sir Francis Palgrave on the Resurrection of the Body, 
 and on the Gospel Narratives of the Healing of Demoniacs. — Proposed 
 View of the Miracles in Question does not " Explain them Away." — A 
 Last View of Heme Bay. — Home and Social Duties. — Archbishop 
 Trench on the Miracles. — Associations with Places. — Love and Praise. 
 
 To Aubrey de Verb, Esq. : 
 
 Heme Bay, September i8, 1849. — Here I am still, kept here 
 for a week longer than I intended by the encroachments of 
 that fiend cholera, and the advice of our careful medical friend 
 
 Mr. N , who expressed his regret to my servants that I 
 
 should return to town when the disorder was on the increase. 
 I, for my part, believe that the cholera atmosphere is all over 
 England, and that the complaint kills off most people where 
 there are most people to kill, and in the most unfavorable cir- 
 cumstances in regard to diet, clothing, and the air of their 
 dwellings. I strongly suspect that the disorder is in some de- . 
 gree infectious, since one hears so often of many dying in one 
 house, and sometimes when there seems to be no special cause 
 of malaria. I have been saying to John that it is an ill wind 
 that blows no sort of good, and that it is to be hoped the pres- 
 ent pestilence will improve the drainage of England. Yet how 
 little is done and doing in this way compared to what ought to 
 be ! If men would but expend as much energy and ingenuity 
 
Evening Walks at Heme Bay. 397 
 
 upon this subject, or half as much, as they do upon making 
 money fast, or adding to the sum of amusements and luxuries, 
 what a blessed, odoriferous nation we should be ! I speak feel- 
 ingly, dear friend, and beg you will feel for me, and for my E 
 
 and our good Nurse, for Heme Bay, in a high wind blowing in- 
 land, as at present, resembles a certain compartment in a certain 
 circle of Dante's " Inferno " in point of olfactory horribleness. 
 
 E and I have to fly like chaff before the wind when we 
 
 pass certain parts of the town, which we must pass daily to post 
 our letters, and to strike into the two best walks of the neigh- 
 borhood. I wonder whether the drainage of this good land, and 
 the sewerage, and all that sort of thing, will ever be so perfected 
 as to prevent all escape of noisome vapors. I often day-dream 
 what England will be five hundred years hence — whether it will 
 be free from coal-smoke, from butcher's meat exhibited openly 
 in the street, from the abominations of Smithfield market, from 
 rookeries like St. Giles, from nuisances affecting the atmosphere 
 of every sort and kind ; and I am sure, if there are seventy dif- 
 ferent species in Cologne, there must be seven thousand in 
 London. But stop ! let me turn the current of my thoughts 
 into a better channel, or, rather, let me open a different spring 
 and display a clearer, fresher stream, which will make its own 
 banks green and flowery, and fit for your eye to rest on. 
 
 Imagine us on our evening walk out upon the East Cliff, a 
 mile and a half from our present abode. We have passed a 
 rough pathway, and, weary of a long, low hedge, the very symbol 
 of sameness and almost of nothingness, have struck in by a 
 breach which the sailors, who sit there with their observatory 
 telescopes, have made upon the grassy cliff, and are looking 
 upon the sea and sky and straggling town of Heme Bay. The 
 ruddy ball is sinking ; over it is a large, feathery mass of cloud- 
 age that was swan's-down, but now, thrilled through with rosy 
 light, resembles pinky crimson flames, and the dark waters be- 
 low are tinged with rose-color. In the distance appears the 
 straggling town, with its tall watch, or, rather, clock tower, and 
 its long pier, like a leviathan centipede, walking out into the 
 waves. This time we are home before dark ; another evening 
 we set out later, and by the time we descend the cliff it is dark, 
 and as we are pacing down the velvet path, as we call the 
 smooth, o-rassy descent which leads to the town, there is Nurse 
 in her black cloak waving in the wind, moving toward us through 
 
398 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the dusk like a magnified bat. As we pass the town, what a 
 chrysolite sky is before us, passing off above into ultramarine, 
 spangled with one or two stars, and below into a belt of straw- 
 color and orange above the horizon, over the oivo-ko. -kovtov. 
 Then we enter our lodging, and begin to feel — 
 " Com 'e duro calle. 
 So scendere e il salir per le altrui scale." 
 
 Thirty -six steps, steep ones too, have we to ascend to our 
 sleeping apartments. 
 
 Then see us on the West Cliff. Just below us is a collection 
 of huts, where live a set of people who gain a poor maintenance 
 by picking copperas from the beach and cliff. When I first 
 looked upon this hovelage, thinks I, this is like an Irish hamlet, 
 and the people have an Irish look about them. Afterward I 
 heard that they were Irish, and that the old Nelly, who so glad- 
 ly received the scraps and fragments from our not very extrav- 
 agant repasts, is from the good town of Cork. It seems that 
 she went not long ago to her mother-land, and there received 
 such unnatural treatment that she was very fain to turn her 
 back upon it. And now she applies a transitive verb that be- 
 gins with d, the harsher form of the verb condemn, both to Ire- 
 land in general, and to Cork in particular. 
 
 Wednesday eveiiing. — Right glad were we this evening on the 
 East Cliff to welcome back the moon from her "interlunar 
 cave." Lovely gleamed her crescent in the chrysolite depth 
 above the crimson, yellow border of the vault serene. The sea 
 was darkly steel colored, and all the vessels upon it looked 
 black. How much do they lose who walk out only in the full 
 daylight ! 
 
 I am writing to dear Miss Fenwick, and wish to interest her 
 
 for poor M. S , who has lately lost her mother, and is left 
 
 quite desolate and destitute. She tried a religious establish- 
 ment, but found the life too hard, and fell ill there. Now she 
 is trying another. But she complains of want of fresh air, and 
 it is evident she only remains there for a home. She has sent 
 me a plan of hours, showing how the time of the inmates is to 
 be spent, and indeed it must require a burning zeal to render 
 such a life tolerable. It is not so much the hardness and la- 
 boriousness that must be trying, though it is hard and labori- 
 ous, but the dryness, the monotony — nothing but private devo- 
 tions and public, parish-visiting, and teaching. The only re- 
 
Sisterhoods. 399 
 
 laxation, almost, is reading aloud, with the needle. It is a pity 
 that the bow is bent so tight ; or at least it is a pity that there 
 can not be an honorable retreat of this kind, where persons 
 who have no home of their own, no domestic duties to fulfill, 
 might take refuge and be useful, without being worn out by re- 
 quirements more than can be well complied with by any but the 
 very strong, or those who gain an unnatural, feverish strength 
 from zeal, and what some will consider fanaticism. I believe 
 that worldly people much misjudge the zealous members of 
 these institutions, but still I think that such systems can not 
 answer in the long run, except by aid of superstition, if to suc- 
 ceed by superstition is to succeed at all. Whenever they with- 
 draw active, earnest-minded women from home duties, or serv- 
 ice to those with whom they are connected by blood or early 
 intimacy or claim of gratitude, they are doing, I think, most se- 
 rious mischief, for which they never can compensate. 
 
 September 21. — A note from Sir Francis Palgrave this morn- 
 ing. He says, " The Antiquarian theologian will tell you what 
 he means by a celestial body, when the scientific philosopher 
 of the nineteenth century shall have explained the nature of 
 the ultimate atoms of which the matter constituting a terrestrial 
 body is composed." Now I had not been complaining of the 
 Antiquarian that he does not attempt to explain the celestial 
 body. I remarked that he does attempt, not to explain, but to 
 describe the celestial body, or, rather, takes it for granted that it 
 is describable and conceivable by our present senses and fac- 
 ulties — that it is a sort of improved, brightened, subtilized, glo- 
 rified earthly body, having the same form and lineaments, vis- 
 ible and tangible, as our present body. The question is, wheth- 
 er this notion is not disclaimed by St. Paul, and negatived by 
 reason and by philosophy. 
 
 Sir Francis %2i^s, too, " The theologian of the nineteenth cent- 
 ury, who explains away the narratives of demoniacal possession 
 in the Gospels, is on the verge of explaining away the Gospels 
 altogether." The subject often causes me anxiety, because I 
 feel that it is going very far to believe that our Lord spoke as 
 if He ^entertained the popular belief, while the popular belief 
 was a delusion — going far, though only on the same road that 
 all must enter who would reconcile the language of Scripture 
 on many other subjects with truth of science. Still the case is 
 not so bad, not at all such as Sir Francis says it is, if by " ex- 
 
400 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 plaining away " he means understanding the demoniacs to have 
 been madmen possessed with a belief that they were possessed 
 by evil spirits, or, what is common with the insane, that they 
 were evil spirits themselves. All that is related by the Evan- 
 gelists may have taken place — a miracle been performed of 
 which the moral purport, the use and aim, is the same as it 
 would be on the popular supposition. Our Lord healed a 
 madman, and sent the spirit of madness into the swine, prob- 
 ably in order to render the display of his power the more strik- 
 ing and impressive. It is unfair to call such a view an explain- 
 ing away of the miracle : it is but another interpretation of the 
 nature of the miracle — all the moral effect and the exertion of 
 superhuman power remaining the same. This is a subject that 
 has given me anxiety ; I can only say that the popular view is 
 obviously a part of the old false philosophy which confounds 
 the material and the spiritual — a philosophy now obsolete, ex- 
 cept where it is retained for the sake of retaining certain an- 
 cient interpretations of Scripture, involving not mystery, but 
 plain contradictions, which no human mind can really receive, 
 however the owner of the mind may blink, and fancy that he 
 is believing. As for the view substituted by Trench and oth- 
 ers, namely, that the afflicted persons were influenced by evil 
 spirits, as the sons of God are influenced by the Holy Spirit, I 
 own it does not satisfy me, because it is, in fact, as irreconcila- 
 ble with the language of the Evangelist, and the reported words 
 of our Lord, and the manner in which His ^yords were under- 
 stood at the time, as the other modern interpretation, or, at 
 least, it is quite irreconcilable by fair methods with them. I 
 confess I have other objections to it, relating to the general 
 view which it involves of the existence of personal evil spirits ; 
 but it is sufficient to say that, to my mind, it does not accom- 
 plish what it undertakes, that is, to reconcile the Scripture nar- 
 rative (understood as we may suppose the narrator understood 
 it) with that view of the state of the demoniacs which Trench 
 deems preferable to the ordinary ancient mode of possession. 
 But no belief that is irreconcilable with reason will stand its-* 
 ground among reasoners, upon whom ultimately the forni of the 
 popular religion depends. In all ages the learned and thought- 
 ful have given to religion a frame-work accordant with the phi- 
 losopy of their times, and with the highest reason which, in their 
 times, had manifested itself. The Antiquarian must show the 
 
 I 
 
A Last View of Heme Bay. 401 
 
 reasonableness of his creed, if he seeks to defend it. If he fails 
 in this, he loses the game. But you perhaps think that he will 
 not fail. 
 
 Friday night. — We have looked from the East Cliff down 
 upon the sea, on one side, and the quiet inland view, with the 
 village of Heme, upon the other, perhaps for the last time. 
 The bright crescent of the moon was shining in the white depth, 
 above a bank of soft blue clouds, broken into vultures' heads 
 and many bold promontories, and the waters looked bluish 
 gray, while swan's-down clouds, shaded as with India ink, were 
 overhead. 
 
 The rapidity of agricultural operations, and continual changes 
 going on upon the surface of the earth, give a spirit to the coun- 
 try. The canary, which, I believe, is raised chiefly in Kent, is 
 a very pretty crop, looking at a distance like wheat. The ear 
 is of the form of the hop blossom, but yellow. The grain is 
 used for birds, and is very dear — as dear as wheat — nine pounds 
 a quarter, I think I heard. There is more canary in this neigh- 
 borhood than any other grain. 
 
 Monday. — As soon as one returns home, even in this season 
 of London desertedness, one is dropped in upon in such a way 
 that leisure goes away as fast as a plum-cake under the maw of 
 a hearty, munching child. One young gentleman drowned half 
 yester afternoon, and another took a large slice out of the even- 
 ing. In the night I read " Trench on the Miracles," a book 
 
 with which E and I are delighted. The author is High 
 
 Church, but in point of doctrine follows very closely the early 
 Reformers, as, for instance, on justification by faith, and is in 
 decided opposition to the Romish views on the Virgin Mary, 
 on the superior sanctity of a retired and celibate life, etc. He 
 does justice to Spinoza, even in arguing against his views, re- 
 futing the charge of atheism and impiety brought against him, 
 but deals with Woolston, Paulus, Strauss, and the other mis- 
 named Rationalists, with all due severity. In his interesting 
 section on the water made wine, he sets forth a metaphysical 
 view which you and I anticipated in one of our searching, 
 lengthy discussions. " He who does every year prepare the 
 wine in the grape, causing it to drink up and expand with the 
 moisture of earth and heaven, did now gather all those His 
 slower processes into the act of a single moment, and accom- 
 plish in an instant what ordinarily He does not accomplish but 
 
 Cc 
 
402 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 in many months." This comes from St. Augustine, as so many 
 fine-spun speculations do. 
 
 Yes, Curragh Chase must indeed be full of pensive recollec- 
 tions. So was Heme Bay to me. It brought back my chil- 
 dren's early childhood, and my own anxious, yet on the whole 
 happy wifehood. You can scarce imagine the change from 
 wife to widow, from being lovingly flattered from morn to night, 
 to a sudden stillness of the voice of praise and approbation 
 and admiration — a comparative dead silence it seems. Vanity 
 and the affections have such a mixed interest in this that it is 
 hard to disentangle them, and the former during a happy state 
 of marriage grows up unperceived under the shadow of the 
 latter, and absorbs some of its juices. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Kentish Landscapes. — Scenery of the Lakes. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 September 19, 1849. — Strode Park, near Heme Church, is 
 very interesting in its quiet Kentish beauty. There is a still- 
 ness in the landscapes of this county, owing to the want of wa- 
 ter and moving objects, which is to my feelings almost melan- 
 choly. I can admire other counties besides my own native lake- 
 land, other sorts of nature-beauty, abundantly; but I can not 
 thoroughly like and ejijoy any but that in which I was born. 
 When in the country, I am full of thoughts and longings for my 
 native vale. Friar's Crag, and Cockshot, and Goosey Green, 
 and Latrigg side — all my old haunts, I long for. Yet, if I were 
 there, I should find that my youth was wanting, and the friends 
 of my youth, and that I had been longing for them along with 
 the old scenes, the old familiar faces, and the old familiar 
 places together. 
 
Onalopex. — Chenalopex. 403 
 
 X. 
 
 A Pet Name. — Child-like Playfulness of Aristophanes.— Theological Read- 
 ings of S. C— The Miracle of Gadara.— The Origin of Mental Dis- 
 orders not a Religious, but a Scientific Question.— Language of our 
 Lord on such Occasions that of Parable.— Liability of Animal Nat- 
 ures to Frenzy.— Metaphysical Views of the Early Fathers not held 
 now by any School of Thinkers.— Mr. Coleridge's Letters on Inspira- 
 tion.— "The Old Curiosity Shop."— Little Nell and Mignon. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester F/ace,October 2, 1849. — My dear friend, after read- 
 ing your letter tliis morning, perhaps from some stimulus to 
 memory which it supplied, I recollected a repository within 
 reach where your poem might be ; I searched, and lo ! there it 
 was. I have a copy of it in that less accessible store-house. 
 But it is best to send at once the lost — not sheep, though there 
 is no objection to calling it a pretty lamb, or a serpentagnus. 
 My childish name for Herby was the Onalopex, which he gen- 
 erally uses now as the signature to his filial epistles. After coin- 
 ing this expressive and euphonious title, I was amused to find 
 that I had been partly anticipated by Aristophanes with his Che- 
 nalopex. Between Goose-fox and Ass-fox the difference would 
 not be enough to acquit me of plagiarism in a court of the 
 Muses, unless I could bring evidence to show that I was igno- 
 .rant of the Greek comedian when I invented the name. This 
 was true. I never read Aristophanes till I was far from the pe- 
 riod of chickenhood, and then only a few of his plays. So 
 similar \sfim in all ages of the world. Indeed, the fun of Aris- 
 tophanes, which is but the light, sweet, creamy froth that floats 
 over the rich substance of his serious satire, is especially child- 
 like and playful — almost infantine. I have now in my ears 
 Herby's childish, hearty giggle at the grotesque burlesque in 
 the " Frogs," about Hercules and his greediness in the eating- 
 shops of Hades. 
 
 Mr. Myers' book I have never found time to read yet ; but 
 read it I will. I hardly ever read books of writers of Mr. 
 ^Myers' opinions. I have a sort of dread of writers professed- 
 ly on the same side as my father: they so often do an injury to 
 his cause, either by their tone of mind or by their reasonings. 
 Almost all the theology I read is what you would call Catho- 
 lic, in its various shades and grades. Trench, for instance, is 
 
404 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 chiefly on your side, at least as to the points last discussed be- 
 tween us. He follows the reformed doctrines upon faith and 
 the subject oi grace generally; but he is of the old school on 
 the matter of superhuman beings and existences. He is quite 
 Coleridgian on the question of evidence, and often quotes S. T. 
 C. with high respect. His doctrine of demoniacal possession 
 is, I believe, the only one which is regularly sustained in argu- 
 ment at the present day ; and, from one of your expressions, I 
 should suppose it to be the same as your own, though you do 
 call it an evasion. Another of your expressions seems to say 
 the contrary. I should like much to know what your view, met- 
 aphysically set forth, really is, and how you distinguish it from 
 that of Trench and St. Augustine. 
 
 Your reply to the theological avowals of my last letter would 
 surprise me exceedingly, if I had not had considerable experi- 
 ence of such like discussions, if I did not well know how diffi- 
 cult it is for disputants to see clearly and fairly the opinions 
 they do not themselves hold. You, dear friend, certainly do 
 not see my opinions ; but, looking toward the quarter where they 
 lie, you behold a strange set of objects, with their feet where 
 their heads ought to be, clad in hues worthy of some of the 
 murky passages leading from certain colleges of skeptical phi- 
 losophers down into Tartarus, or the twilight region w'hich forms 
 its outermost circle. We turn the miracle of healing the de- 
 moniac into "scenic illusion !" S. T. C.'s reasonings respecting 
 a personal Satan founded on the "faculty according to se?ise! 
 and swine are not subject to hypochondriacal delusions !" I do 
 not wonder, in the least, at your shrinking from opinions which 
 you behold in this odious and ridiculous light. Do come a 
 little to particulars. What are those reasonings of my father 
 on the subject of personal evil spirits which seem to you found- 
 ed on premises and deductions of the mere isolated under- 
 standing ? The objections which I principally referred to were 
 moral — founded on the moral idea of God, and suggested by 
 the spiritual sense. What these have to do with the faculty ac- 
 cording to sense, I can not imagine. So far is it from being 
 true, according to my view of the subject, that the objections 
 against believing personal evil spirits are merely logical and 
 deceptive — they rest upon an intuition, as we think, which is not 
 the subject of logic. The logic has been all on the other side, 
 and there has been plenty of it. But to all arguments, from the 
 
The Miracle of Gadara. 405 
 
 belief of the ancient Church, difficulty of disproving the doc- 
 trine, and so forth, we reply that to our religious sense it seems 
 a discord and an anomaly. However, I know well that no one 
 can in consistency reject this belief, who does not adopt prin- 
 ciples with respect to the interpretation of the Bible which you 
 have never adopted. I never dreamed of you approving the 
 view : but am surprised at the particular form of your charge 
 against it. But the truth is, that since my father introduced the 
 distinction between reason and the understanding, we are very 
 apt to ascribe every reasoning in favor of what we dislike to 
 the inferior faculty, reserving the heavenlier one for the imputed 
 parent of our own lucubrations. Perhaps I have done the 
 same myself ere now. 
 
 It seems to me that you misrepresent our view of the miracle 
 in Gadara, when you say we represent all that passed on the 
 part of our Lord as a scenic illusion. To defend our opinion at 
 full, and in all particulars, would take more room and time than 
 you and I can spare just now; and I will admit to you that this 
 is a question respecting which I have felt more anxiety than any 
 other in which I have been led to adopt an interpretation which 
 would commonly be considered unorthodox. It seems to be 
 going far to suppose that our Lord took up the thoughts of His 
 day concerning demoniac possession, if those thoughts were 
 wrong. Still, as I said before, and you do not notice, it is but 
 going on the same road as all must enter, who believe that there 
 are errors or contradictions to truth of science involved in the 
 language of the inspired writers of the Bible, in any case or to 
 any extent. You take a distinction, as does Trench and all on 
 your side, in this question. You say that belief in demoniac 
 possession is not a mere matter of science. But here we come 
 to an issue with you. We think that belief in demoniac pos- 
 session belongs to psychology. Now psychology is a science — 
 and, as a science, distinguished from truths respecting the soul 
 which are purely spiritual and moral in their nature and con- 
 sequences. According to our notions of the subject, at least, 
 whether the beholders believed that our Lord expelled a fiend 
 which was causing the effects of madness, or whether he expelled 
 the spirit of insanity, is not strictly a religious question, but rather 
 one of metaphysical divinity. I can not think, for instance, that 
 the difference between your view of the miracle and mine is an 
 essential one, in respect of the moral and spiritual purport, and 
 
4o6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 of vital influences. This distinction serves as an ansvi'er to your 
 argument for a personal Satan, founded on the language of Holy 
 Writ. It seems to me that if we thoughtfully survey all the 
 teaching of our Lord, we can not reasonably avoid the conclu- 
 sion that He did speak more than is commonly supposed in 
 parables, adopting the notions and psychologies of that day, as 
 the vehicle for permanent, unalterable spiritual and religious 
 truth. I could say a great deal to show how impossible it was 
 for our Lord, compatibly with the aim and objects of His mis- 
 sion, the actual scheme of Divine Providence in His ministry 
 upon earth, to have done otherwise than adopt the views of His 
 age and country in these matters. I could derive many argu- 
 ments, or what seem to me such, from a detailed examination 
 of His language. But all this I must leave. I will only add 
 on this subject, that pigs are not subject to hypochondriacal 
 delusions after the manner of men — that a hog would not rush 
 out of his sty, distressed by the imagination that he was one of 
 Lucifer's fallen angels, and was to be reserved in chains and 
 darkness to the last day. But that, nevertheless, madness is an 
 affection to which brutal natures are subject — nay, that it be- 
 longs more properly to the bestial than to the human or higher 
 part of our nature, when it afflicts men or women. You might 
 fairly triumph on the score of this suggestion, or more fairly, if 
 the swine, or a voice from the swine, had cried out "We are 
 legion," and entreated our Lord not to torment them before the 
 time. If swine are not subject to hypochondriacal delusion — 
 a fortiori, how can they be fit subjects for the influence of evil 
 spirits 'i After all, what is 3-our view of demoniac possession.' 
 What is it you mean exactly when you say that evil spirits were 
 first in the men and afterward /;/ the swine ? Was not rushing 
 down the steep an act of madness.'' 
 
 As to our not being a whit nearer the true philosophy of the 
 relations of the material and spiritual than the ancient Fathers, 
 I must repeat, in substance, what I said before. In one sense 
 we are not, perhaps — in another, I think, we are. I think men 
 see more clearly the idea of the spiritual — perceive its essential 
 difference from the material more clearl}- — than the ancient Fa- 
 thers did, near two thousand years ago. (I do not decide about 
 Plato.) Yon do not believe on these points what Irenaeus and 
 Tertullian believed. You asstime in all your reasoning, con- 
 sciously or unconsciously, something different. At least, if you 
 
Aristotle and Kant.—'' Old Curiosity Shopr 467 
 
 do not, I think most reasoners on your side do, and that there 
 are no systematic metaphysicians now living who would maintain 
 with the old Fathers that the soul consists of very subtle mat- 
 ter. Kant, and the German metaphysicians who followed in 
 his steps, and tried to go a little beyond him, pretended to no 
 positive discoveries in the region of the spiritual. Kant's un- 
 dertaking was to complete what Aristotle had begun— to de- 
 scribe more accurately than had been attempted before his day 
 the nature of the human intellect, or power of cognition, and to 
 demonstrate the limitedness of our knowing faculties. 
 
 I am sure you can not recollect my father's " Letters on In- 
 spiration," if you think they deprive men of the guidance of the 
 Bible; I believe that they make the Bible a surer and clearer 
 guide than it can be on the other theorj^ Neither would we 
 deprive men of the help of Catholic tradition— of any universal 
 tradition which really and truly exists, and is not a mere image, 
 a mere reflection of preformed theory in the mind of the believer. 
 
 Well, I must not send this off without telling you that I am 
 wishing to see your article on Tennyson. Upon politics and 
 poetry you and I think more alike than on metaphysical divin- 
 ity, if I may venture to speak of my having an opinion on pol- 
 itics at all. 
 
 Do you know " Master Humphrey's Clock?" I admire Nell 
 in the " Old Curiosity Shop " exceedingly. No doubt the whole 
 thing is a good deal borrowed from Wilhelm Meister. But little 
 Nell is a far purer, lovelier, more English conception than Mig- 
 non, treasonable as the saying would seem to some. No doubt 
 it was suggested by Mignon. 
 
 XL 
 
 Remarks on an Article on "Tennyson, Shelley, and Keats," in the Ediii- 
 burgh yp^z/zVw.— Inferiority of Keats to Shelley in Point of Personal 
 Character.— Connection between Intellectual Earnestness and Moral 
 Elevation. — Perfection of his Poetry within its own Sphere. — Versatili- 
 ty ascribed by the Reviewer to Keats in Contrast to Coleridge. — Clas- 
 sification of her Father's Poems, showing their Variety. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 10 Cluster Place, November 4, 1849.— My dear friend, I have 
 just read your article on Tennyson, Shelley, and Keats, and 
 
4o8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 can no longer delay expressing to you my delighted admiration. 
 I think it quite your finest and most brilliant piece of prose 
 composition. It is full of beautiful sayings and pithy remarks, 
 and it does a justice to Keats, not only which was never done 
 to him before, but I should almost say a higher justice than any 
 poet of this age has ever yet received from the pen of another. 
 Nothing can be more admirable than your characterization of 
 Keats; I was quite excited by it. What you say of Shelley is 
 excellent, too ; but this is more entirely new, and the whole ar- 
 ticle is worthy of you, which I think a good deal to say, for you 
 have been rather tardy in bringing out your mind in prose writ- 
 ing. However, it is all best as it is, and I am sure the richest 
 products are those which are delayed, so that they unite the 
 peculiar qualities of the youthful mind carried forward with the 
 greater force of a maturer age. I must some day soon talk with 
 you about the article at large in detail. I wish you could see 
 the copy I have marked. 
 
 One general criticism I must make, which you will not admit, 
 because the effect I shall notice flows from your general temper 
 and mental complexion as its cause. You have a propensity 
 to aggrandize and glorify; you over-praise, both negatively and 
 positively, by omission of faults and drawbacks, unless they are 
 of a kind (such as Shelley's want of reverence, and Cromwell's 
 antagonism to bishops and kings) especially to excite your dis- 
 approbation and dislike, and by the conversion of certain de- 
 ficiencies into large and glorious positives. You are more dis- 
 pleased with Shelley's wrong religion than with Keats' no relig- 
 ion. That very deficiency in the mind of Keats which pre- 
 vented him from being a very good man, and must, I think, for- 
 ever prevent him from taking the highest rank as a poet — want 
 of power or inclination to dwell on the intellectual side of 
 things, or the spiritual organized in the intellect as soul in body, 
 or, indeed, to embrace things belonging to the understanding at 
 all — do you contrive to represent in the light of a very sublime, 
 angelical, seraphical characteristic. It is all very well to dis- 
 tinguish meditation from contemplation, and to intimate that 
 the mind may feed on deep thoughts and soul-expanding spir- 
 itualities, when it is quite apart from the region of logic and in- 
 tellectual activity. But is it not the fact, and a painful truth 
 which must forcibly strike every reader of Keats' letters and 
 life, together wifji the mass of his poetry, that Keats never 
 
Character of Keats. 409 
 
 dwelt upon the great exalting themes which concern our higher 
 peace, in any shape or form ? " Oh, he was dark, very dark," 
 said Miss Fenwick to me one day about Keats, and I heard her 
 say it with pain. " He knew nothing about Christianity." You 
 say he had no interest in the intermediate part of our nature, 
 " the region of the merely probable." You give him " intuitions''' 
 (of the highest things which humanity can behold implicidy), 
 and call his nature " Epicurean on one side, Platonist on the 
 other." I wish I could see the matter as you do, or rather I 
 wish the matter really were as you describe. But the truth 
 seems to me to be rather this, that by means of a fine imagina- 
 tion and poetic intellect, Keats lifted up the matter of mere sen- 
 sation into a semblance of the heavenly and divine, while the 
 heavenly and divine itself was less known to him than to the 
 simplest Bible-reading cottager who puts her faith in Christ, 
 and bears the privations and weaknesses, or even agonies of a 
 lingering death, with pious fortitude. The spectacle of Keats' 
 last days is a truly miserable one ; and I must say I think that, 
 beautifully gentle as is your treatment of Shelley, if viewed in 
 itself, yet taken together with your judgment of Keats, it is hardly 
 fair. Surely Shelley was as superior to Keats as a moral be- 
 ing as he was above him in birth and breeding. Compare the 
 letters of the two, compare the countenances of the two, as they 
 are imperfectly presented to us by the work of the graver, see 
 how much more spiritual is Shelley's expression, how much more 
 of goodness, of Christian kindness, does his intercourse with his 
 friends evince ! Shelley, in his wild way, was a philanthropist; 
 Keats was social, but the same spirit which led him to turn 
 away from earnest questions which agitate the religious world — 
 which agitated Augustine and Pelagius, Luther and Calvin, 
 Hooker and Taylor, some of the greatest and best men that 
 have ever lived — rendered him careless of promoting the good 
 of mankind, or any but those individual felicities of the passing 
 hour which added to his own earthly sensational enjoyment. 
 He showed a pettish jealousy respecting the estimation of his 
 works in his intercourse with contemporaries, and in his love 
 affair he betrayed all the weakness, all the passive non-resist- 
 ancy of a passionate girl of eighteen, together with the impetu- 
 osity of a young man and the sensitiveness of a poet. Again I 
 must say that it is a miserable spectacle. I have read of late 
 numberless lives of poets, philosophers, and literary men, not 
 
4 lo Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge, 
 
 one that upon the whole inspired me with so much contempt as 
 that of Keats. His effeminacy was mournful, and his deliber- 
 ate epicureanism, with the light of the Gospel shining all around, 
 even worse than mournful. I quite agree with you as to the 
 excellence of his poetry, and that he was even, upon the whole, 
 more highly gifted in that way than Shelley. There is even a 
 greater intensity in his productions, a perfection in the medium 
 of repose. Upon all that part of the subject you are as just 
 and discriminating as you are eloquent and inwardly poetic. 
 But when you go on to endow Keats with all the nobler quali- 
 ties of a man and a writer, and, not content with showing him 
 to be an exquisite, sensational poet, must exalt him into a po- 
 etical seraph, why, either I am too narrow and ill-natured, or I 
 am too simple and straightforward and truth-requiring, to ac- 
 company you to the far end of your eulogium. 
 
 Shakespeare as little preached and syllogised as Keats does. 
 But Shakespeare was a great philosopher, implicitly. Shakes- 
 peare furnished material for the contemplative, inquiring, dis- 
 criminating intellect, and consequently intellectualists like 
 Goethe, Schlegel, and S. T. C. find a perpetual feast in his writ- 
 ings, and are forever converting into the abstract what he pre- 
 sented in a concrete form. Not so will any great thinker ever 
 be able to do with the writings of Keats. His flight was low, 
 his range narrow; he kept on a lower level; and in that poor 
 rejected critique of mine which Lockhart cut out of my article 
 on "The Princess," I endeavored to show what advantage he de- 
 rived from his unity of purpose, from his confining himself so 
 entirely, and with such a faith and complacency in his own 
 genius, within his native range of power and beauty. I did not 
 attempt to Ao justice to Keats, I knew that would not be allowed 
 in the Quarterly, even if I had been equal to the subject, which 
 I am not, for no woman can give the portrait of a man of genius 
 in all its masculine energy and full proportions. I did not pre- 
 sent him with a grand chaplet of bays, as you have done in 
 your noble criticism, but culled a nosegay of sweet flowers out 
 of his own poems, and bound it about with a silken band of 
 subdued praise and temperate characterization. 
 
 But this is a digression. I must make an end about Keats. 
 I was astonished at your calling the last act of that, to my mind, 
 wretched tragedy of his "very fine." I thought, as I read it 
 carefully more than once, that any thing so poor and bad from 
 
Classificatio7i of Coleridge s Poetry. 4 1 1 
 
 a man of real, great poetic genius, never proceeded. I do not 
 quarrel with it for not having the slightest merit as a drama. 
 It has scarce any merit, as it seemeth to me, in any other way. 
 It is as vapid as the little fragment "The Eve of St. Mark" is 
 exquisite. Lastly, to conclude my objections on this part of 
 the article, I do not understand why you ascribe versatility to 
 Keats, and deny it to my father. What you say of my father 
 on this head I think a deserved compliment, by which I mean, 
 of course, not a flattery, but a just recognition of excellence. 
 But it seems to me that you should have commenced with a 
 definition of versatility, if not explicit to the reader, yet at least 
 in your own mind. I should say that my father had shown a 
 greater range of poetic power, that he had exhibited more anodes 
 of the poetic faculty, than Keats has done, or Tennyson either. 
 Let us enumerate them : 
 
 1. The love poems, as " Lewti" and " Genevieve," which Fox 
 thought the finest love poem that ever was written. 
 
 2. The wild, imaginative poem, treating of the supernatural, 
 as "The Ancient Mariner" and " Christabel." 
 
 3. The grave strain of thoughtful blank verse, as " Fears in 
 Solitude." 
 
 4. The narrative ballad, homely, as "The Three Graves;" or 
 romantic, as " Alice du Clos." 
 
 5. The moral and satirical poem of a didactic character, as 
 the lines on " Berengarius," and those lines in which he speaks 
 of seeing " old friends burn dim like lamps in noisome air," and 
 " Sancti Dominici Pallium." 
 
 6. The high, impassioned lyric, as " The Odes to France," and 
 on " Dejection." 
 
 7. The sportive, satirical extravaganza, -as the "War Eclogue," 
 "The Devil Believes," etc. 
 
 8. The epigram and brief epitaph. 
 
 9. The drama. 
 
 I must say good -by to you, though I shall chat with you 
 again soon about your splendid article, which contains matter 
 enough for four such as the Edinburgh has usually favored the 
 world with. Think of the Edinburgh beginning in her old age 
 to criticise poetry poetically ! " Age, twine thy brow with fresh 
 spring flowers !" 
 
4 1 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Personal Likeness between Mr. Coleridge and Lord Macaulay. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 Chester Place, November i6, 1849. — I met Mr. Macaulay on 
 Tuesday at a very pleasant party at Sir Robert Inglis's. He was 
 in great force, and I saw the likeness (amid great unlikeness) to 
 my father, as I never had seen it before. It is not in the feat- 
 ures, which in my father were, as Lawrence says, more vague, 
 but resides very much in the look and expression of the ma- 
 terial of the face, the mobility, softness, and sensitiveness of all 
 the flesh — that sort of look which is so well expressed in Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence's beautiful unfinished portrait of Wilberforce. 
 I mean that the kind was common to Wilberforce, but the spe- 
 cies alike in Macaulay and S. T. C. The eyes are quite unlike 
 — even opposite in expression — my father's in-looking and vis- 
 ionary, Macaulay's out-looking and objective. His talk, too, 
 though different as to sentiment and matter, was like a little, in 
 manner, in its labyrinthine multiplicity and multitudinousnessj 
 and the tones, so flexile and sinuous, as it were, reminded me 
 of the departed eloquence. 
 
 ^ 
 
Chinese Selfish7iess. 413 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 1850. —January -July. 
 
 LETTERS TO EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ., REV. HENRY MOORE, 
 
 AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., MISS FENWICK, MRS. H. M. 
 
 JONES, MISS MORRIS, MRS. R. TOWNSEND, 
 
 PROFESSOR HENRY REED. 
 
 Chinese Selfishness.— The Irish Famine.— Objects of Charity.— Church 
 Decoration, and the Relief of the Poor.— Butchers' Prices.— Sudden 
 Death of Bishop Coleridge.— The Anglican Formularies a Compro- 
 mise.— Non-natural Sense put on the Baptismal Service by One Party, 
 and on the Articles and Homilies by Another. — Mystic Theory of Re- 
 generation, Unsupported by Antiquity, Opposed to the Moral Sense, 
 and Contradicted by the Epistle of St. John. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regent's Fark, January 4, 1850. — Some phi- 
 losopher observes that not a man in Britain would make a 
 worse dinner if he heard that the whole Empire of China was 
 swallowed up quick. Of all people on the face of the globe, 
 the Chinese are those I should feel the least inclined to cry 
 about, whatever befel them ; and I think the reason is because 
 I have a strong impression that, less than any other people, do 
 they care what becomes of the rest of the world, that their 
 sentiments and sympathies are of the dullest possible descrip- 
 tion. But this starving state of the Irish does occupy my mind 
 a good deal. Here we are much better off, and yet it is dread- 
 ful to walk the streets of London, and to think that the poor 
 wretches who moan for alms are by no means the worst-off 
 class of the community. If I happen to have left my purse at 
 home, I am almost sure to come home unhappy about some 
 object whom I would fain have relieved. One day I was quite 
 upset by the piteous cry and pale, sickly face of a little old 
 woman. I had no money, and felt ashamed to ask Herbert 
 for a shilling, knowing that there were hundreds whom he would 
 
414 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 think as deserving of charity. You must know that ever since 
 I lost my dear mother, the sight of any feeble old woman agi- 
 tates me. I felt quite glad that Lady Inglis was out, and that 
 I had not to present my nervous visage to her. Soon after- 
 ward I walked the same way, and luckily found the old woman. 
 I gave her 6^., and had to give 3^. away before I got home. I 
 will never go out again without a pence purse. 
 
 My niece Mary was talking the other day of the beautiful 
 Ottery Church, with its groining and arches and painted win- 
 dows. The siren drew me on ; and on hearing that some of 
 the small windows cost only £^, I cried, in a fit of enthusiasm, 
 " I will give a window myself," though I had signified to her 
 father that a sovereign for the eagle lectern in our church was 
 the last money I meant to give for church decorations. I think 
 I shall tell her that the £^ she shall have, but that I would 
 rather she gave it among those poor, distressed, underfed slaves, 
 whose condition she had been describing to me when we last 
 went out together to dine at Baron Rolfe's, than spend it on the 
 colored window. 
 
 Then what a shameful conspiracy there is among the butch- 
 ers against the poor ! — for such it may be called — when they 
 are selling the inferior parts of animals to poor creatures by 
 gas-light for dd. per lb. My cook overheard a butcher extort- 
 ing that price from a poor creature for shin of beef (mere shiii) 
 a few days ago. The farmers complain that they can not ob- 
 tain a decent price for their stock — nay, sometimes can not sell 
 it at all — and these butchers are putting into their abomina- 
 ble pockets all the profit, instead of lowering the price propor- 
 tionably to the consumer. I have been writing notes about 
 this to many of my friends, and all agree to make a stand. 
 But I wish, when we make a stand for ourselves, we could do 
 something in this matter for the poor/ • 
 
 Our Christmas has been saddened, as 3'ou may suppose, by 
 the sudden and most unexpected death of William Coleridge, 
 the only son of my never-seen Uncle Luke Coleridge.* He 
 
 * Luke Herman, seventh son of the Reverend John Coleridge, of Ottery 
 St. Mary, was a surgeon at Thorverton, where he died at the early age of 
 four-and-twenty. His wife, daughter of Mr. Hart, of Exeter, was a woman 
 of much feeling, united with firmness of character. It is related that when 
 her only son, William, asked the consent of his widowed mother before ac- 
 cepting the appointment of first Missionary Bishop of Barbadoes and the 
 
Bishop Coleridge. — Gov ham Controversy. 415 
 
 was conscientious in public and in private, doing scrupulously 
 whatever he thought right, and in his own family he was most 
 loving, even-tempered, and amiable. William, in person, was 
 just fitted for a Missionary Bishop. He was six feet in all his 
 proportions, not merely in height, with a stentorian voice, fit to 
 preach on a mountain, which he has been known to do in the 
 Leeward Isles, and with a stout, robust, but not corpulent frame. 
 We thought he had twenty years of vigorous life in him yet. 
 He shone in the practical more than in the exercise of the 
 speculative intellect; he managed the clergy under him admir- 
 ably, and was much beloved in Barbadoes, spite of the war he 
 had to carry on against selfishness and prejudice. 
 
 You are capital upon the Gorham controversy. Your witty 
 saying about our good-natured Church, that, in trying to be 
 cotnprehensive, she is sometimes incomp?-ehensible, I have already 
 repeated to a correspondent. I feel such disagreement and dis- 
 pathy with both parties, that I know not which to oppose first. 
 It seems to me that Gorham betrays an ignorance of the his- 
 tory of thought and the nature of language on this particular 
 subject of Baptism and the New Birth, when he affirms, in com- 
 mon with Goode and many of the Evangelicals, that the framers 
 of the Baptismal Service and of the Catechism, intended what 
 they said of infant regeneration to be understood hypothetically. 
 That they were not very clear in their minds what they meant 
 I fully believe. But still they had some vague sort of notion 
 that some sort of internal influx of the Spirit, or infantine com- 
 mencement of regeneration, took place in the moment of bap- 
 tism; and, although Waterland interprets the baptismal service 
 in conformity with his own view, as if it pointed to no more 
 than a consignation of the Spirit unto a future regeneration, I 
 
 Leeward Islands, she replied to him in the following letter r " My Son, — 
 Abraham's faith can be imitated. Go. — I am your mother, Sarah Cole- 
 ridge." 
 
 Bishop Coleridge left England in 1825 for his tropical diocese, where his 
 evangelical labors among the negroes, and untiring advocacy of the cause 
 of justice and humanity, are well described by my father in his "Six Months 
 in the West Indies," which contains an account of the Bishop's first visita- 
 tion-tour among the Islands. Some time after his return to this country, 
 he undertook the office of Warden of St. Augustine's College, Canterbury, a 
 post for which his missionary experience rendered him peculiarly fitted. He 
 had not been there more than a year and a half when the tidings of his sud- 
 den removal, with no warning of previous illness, caused a shock of grief 
 and surprise through a wide circle of friends and relations. — E. C. 
 
4i6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 do not myself think (and in this point I differ from my father) 
 that the baptismal service requires no such hypothesis as that 
 of an instant internal change, or that any man would have writ- 
 ten, "This child is regenerate by the Holy Spirit," who did not 
 think the child had been internally affected. He would have 
 chosen other words in which to express himself had he held 
 Waterland's notion. 
 
 But no doubt it is very easy to interpret the expression into 
 the doctrine of Waterland and of Burnet, and to say that "is 
 regenerate''^ means " is taken into a new relation with the Church, 
 and brought into a new state, which is the way of the Spirit." 
 
 Granting that the deniers of momentary internal regenera- 
 tion are unable to use that one sentence in the sense of the 
 framer, would it not be grossly inequitable to press that sense 
 upon all the clergy, to exact it as a condition of ordination, 
 when it is so well known that all those clergymen, or at least 
 the major part, who construe the baptismal service strictly, do 
 not construe the articles on justification strictly, but put a non- 
 natural sense upon them, besides turning up their noses at the 
 Homilies, which certainly the Reformers set forth as formally 
 explanatory of their doctrine, and declared such in more than 
 one article .'' Secondly, does it not seem hard and unfair, when 
 there is an article expressly on Baptism, meant to be the rule 
 of doctrine upon that point, to exact belief in a dogma not con- 
 tained therein ? The article obliges to no more than the gen- 
 eral belief that the Sacrament conveys grace ; how or when is 
 not stated. Surely Turner argued fairly that the articles are 
 the sole rule of doctrine upon all the points of which they treat. 
 The Liturgy has a different use — not to keep opinion in bounds, 
 but to give a tongue to religious faith and spiritual belief 
 
 But what think you of Mr. B 's rationale of baptismal re- 
 generation .? An adult coming to the font faithless and im- 
 penitent obtain spiritual regeneration ! Surely, my dear friend, 
 this is an awful perversion of the Scriptural doctrine. I will 
 venture to say that not an authority could be cited for any such 
 view from Polycarp to Pusey inclusively. Actual sin has ever 
 been held to preclude the entrance of the Spirit; and yet, 
 doubtless, it is more consistent with the ritual, momentary the- 
 ory of passive regeneration, to suppose that a sinful adult may 
 
 be a fit subject for it, than the contrary. This B , with his 
 
 lawyer's logic, may have seen. If the spiritual change, or in- 
 
The Mystic Theory of Regerieration. 417 
 
 dwelling:, or both — for both are affirmed — are irrespective of 
 the will and moral being — if they do not keep off sin from the 
 soul to which they belong, why may they not be imparted to a 
 soul in which sin is ? 
 
 But the logical coherency, the reason of the thing in itself, 
 is no sufficient argument for a High Churchman, who pins his 
 faith on authority and tradition and the belief of past times. 
 This mystic, non-moral regeneration was unknown to St. Augus- 
 tine, unknown to any divine before the present age ; and that 
 great Father, " who is a host in himself," and who identifies re- 
 generation with baptism, in more passages than could be re- 
 cited in a summer's day, is, after all, substantially and in the 
 spirit, far less distant from the Evangelical view of this ques- 
 tion than from the Tractarian. For St. Augustine believed re- 
 generation to be no mere potentiality, but a moral change begun 
 in some inconceivable infantine way in infant baptism. I can 
 cite a passage of his quite explicit upon the subject. In this 
 way of expounding the matter he was followed by our great di- 
 vines generally before Waterland. Tell me of one who explains 
 regeneration in the same way as Newman and his school, and I 
 will beg B 's pardon. 
 
 That mystic doctrine is a pure modern development, and, like 
 many developments after the fashion of Rome, it is even con- 
 trary to the views anciently held. B misrepresented the 
 
 Romish doctrine of Baptism also. 
 
 What grieves my soul most in all the teaching and preach- 
 ing of the Tractarian new-old divines is their treatment of St. 
 John's Epistle. I would fain know how you reconcile the teach- 
 ing of that Apostle of divine intuitions with the momentary the- 
 ory. Does he not expressly declare that he who is born of 
 God sinneth not, and that his seed (/. e., divine, new-born nat- 
 ure) re7naineth in him t How, then, can we affirm that they who 
 sin habitually and grievously, and who do not retain a holy 
 spiritual nature, preclusive of sin, are truly and essentially, and 
 internally, regenerate. 
 
 The new-old theologian argues that, since every man com- 
 mits some sin, therefore the Apostle's description is but a beau 
 ideal of regeneration, attained by no man upon earth ; and, 
 therefore, spite of his definition, men who are full of sin, pre- 
 dominantly sinful, may be regenerate. This seems to me a 
 monstrous inference and conclusion. 
 
 D D 
 
41 8 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Sinneth not, Hammond and other great divines interpret to 
 mean, is not a sinner, is led by the Spirit, and leading a holy 
 life. Would you scruple to say of a true saint, a justified per- 
 son, fit for heaven, he sinneth not, in opposition to men who af- 
 firm, as the Jews affirmed in the days of the Apostles, that men 
 may be sons of God, by virtue of an outward revelation im- 
 parted to them, even while they are leading sinful lives ? The 
 Tractarian shrinks from this interpretation, as a fearfully lax 
 mode of construing the Apostle's words, a doing away of the 
 high idea presented by the sacred writer — he, who explains 
 away the Apostle's words as we have seen ! But there is no 
 laxity in the case. The Apostle is describing the character of 
 the regenerate estate, as one opposed to sin; if this or any oth- 
 er Scriptural description of the internal state of a true Chris- 
 tian is to be applied to actual persons, it must be cuin grano salis. 
 
 Does it not make the Apostle's teaching nugatory and ob- 
 jectless to suppose him to have meant no more than that a 
 regenerate person would become incapable of sinning if he im- 
 proved his advantages, although a true essential regeneracy is 
 compatible with a sinful life ? What correction would this be 
 of the profligate pretensions of the Jews ? Even they would 
 not have denied that a son of God would put down sin if he 
 acted as beseemed a son of the Most High. But they affirmed 
 that sonship was a matter of privilege, not conditional upon 
 inward dispositions, or necessarily accompanied by holiness; 
 and does not that Churchman say the same, who will have it 
 that, in spite of the regenerate nature, a man may continue in 
 sin ? 
 
 If this is not Antinomianism, I know not what it is. Can 
 you really think that St.John would express himself, as he does 
 express himself in this epistle, were he conscious all the time 
 that genuine regeneracy, and that very blessed estate of which 
 our Lord spake to Nicodemus, may belong to those who can 
 and do sin habitually ? Surely this is still more inconceivable 
 than that the framer of the baptismal service meant no more 
 by " is regenerate by the Holy Spirit" than Goode and Gorhara 
 will have him mean. 
 
 It seems to me, after circumnavigating this doctrine of the 
 Tracts as often as Cook sailed round the world, that, from what- 
 ever point of view you consider it — whether from the nature of 
 our spiritual being, or from the language of Scripture, or from 
 
The Will. — Domestic Occupatioiis. 419 
 
 the universal usage of the term regeneration — when it is not 
 applied technically to baptism, but used according to the idea 
 of a spiritual new birth — whether we try it by the nature of will, 
 or by "CciQ facts of the vsxoxzX phenomena visible in the baptized — 
 it is equally untenable. I seem to see the lines of truth con- 
 verging to one centre from off the different points of circum- 
 ference. Change of the will, from carnal to spiritual, from en- 
 slaved to emancipate, from contrariety to reason, to coincidence, 
 and confluence with it, is the central truth. Substitute for this 
 a mystic, non-moral spiritualization, and you may labor for- 
 ever before you can make all the different facts that relate to 
 the subject of spiritual new birth converge and meet together 
 in this notion for a centre. 
 
 The Spiritual in man is the Will ; the Will, because it is will, 
 can only be changed by its own act, under a higher impulsion. 
 
 St. John declares that the regenerate can not live in sin. 
 We find that none abstain from sin but by acts of will, and an 
 energy of submission to God. Thus the idea of a spiritual be- 
 ing born into a divine and sinless nature, and St. John's de- 
 scription, taken in the plain, undistorted sense, perfectly coin- 
 cide. 
 
 11. 
 
 Various Occupations of S. C — Fatigues of Chaperonage. — Barry Corn- 
 wall at a Ball. — Waltzing. — Invitation to the Lakes. — Effect of Rail- 
 way Traveling on her Health. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq., Loughrigg Holme : 
 
 February 9, 1850. — My dear friend, I must give you an in- 
 stallment of my letter debt to you at once, because your last 
 contains a very kind and agreeable proposal, which should be 
 noticed at once. A proper response I must defer. I have all 
 my life been rather a busy person ; but I now have more work 
 of various kinds to perform than ever before. There is first 
 the domestic business. I can not spin this out, as some ladies 
 do — ladies in the country more than in town. Still the inevi- 
 table part consumes a good bit of time of every year. Changing 
 servants is specially troublesome : I have had to give Martha's 
 character three times, and Caroline's twice, and to see nine 
 or ten more servants, and write about others, in order to fill 
 their places. 
 
420 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 Then, 2dly, there is the care of my father's books— new edi- 
 tions and new pubUcations; and of this work the unseen part, 
 which does not appear, is more than that which does appear. 
 I might have written many volumes in the time, of a certain 
 sort, with far less trouble. 
 
 3. Reading with my children. This, I am sorry to say, has 
 come to very little of late. But I shall resume my studies with 
 E in a few days. 
 
 4. Money managements, letters of business, and all that re- 
 lates to the care of my income. A wife knows nothing of this ; 
 but a widow, even with fellow-executors, has something to do 
 in this way every year. 
 
 5. Business of society. This is the hardest, in one sense, of 
 all the work I have to attend to. It is always beginning, nev- 
 er ending. For the sake of the children, I keep up the game 
 more than I once thought I should ever have attempted. I 
 go sometimes to evening parties, and twice, nay thrice, of late, 
 have chaperonified at balls ! I do think, of all the maternal 
 self-sacrifices and devotednesses that can be named, that is the 
 greatest. If it was not for the supper ! — actually I have gone 
 down to supper twice^ in the course of the evening, out of sheer 
 exhaustion. On the last occasion I fell in with Barry Corn- 
 wall. It was like getting into an oasis, with a clear stream 
 bubbling along under beeches and spreading planes and rose- 
 bushes and geranium tufts, and an enameled flooring of crocus, 
 auricula, and violet, to be taken care of by a literary man, and 
 have a bit of poetical and literary talk, after the weariness of 
 
 witnessing for hours that eternal scuffle and whirl — H 
 
 whirling around the room forever and ever, with first a black- 
 haired, and then a brown-haired, and then a flaxen-haired dam- 
 sel in his arms. (What queer indecorums these waltzes are ! If 
 twenty years ago one could have seen a set of waltzers of to- 
 day through a time-telescope or future-sco^Q, how we should 
 have turned up the corners of our eyne !) 
 
 I have been interrupted, and forced to write notes of social- 
 ity and domesticity, till all the edge of my epistolary zest is 
 rubbed off I have seen friends, and hired a satisfactory dam- 
 sel, as well as transacted lunch, since I began the letter. I dine 
 
 out homishly with E at six, and so, instead of translating 
 
 from my brain to the paper the letter, or an abridgment of the 
 letter, which I have been writing to you in thought (" How 
 
Railway Traveling. 421 
 
 swift is a thought of the mind," and what pen can more than 
 toil after it at a measureless distance), I must speak of your 
 kind invitation, and then say farewell for the present, though 
 with an intent of renewing intercourse by pen and with you ere 
 long. 
 
 I can hardly describe to you my longings to revisit my native 
 vaTe'arrd dear Rydal. But there are difficulties in the way. 
 Twdve-frours by the railroad at a stretch I could quite as little 
 accomplish as I could walk twenty miles. Indeed I think the 
 latter would not disorder me more than the former. I can by 
 the sea-side walk ten miles, five in the morning and five in the 
 evening, on a strong day, without disorder or any injury or ex- 
 haustion. But three hours of passive motion, or, if that is an 
 incorrect expression, of suffering motion, the muscles unexerted, 
 is enough to set up nervous irritation in me ; and this goes on 
 at an increased ratio from that time till the journey's end. I 
 should arrive a shattered creature, unable to enjoy any thing for 
 six weeks or more. The journey might be managed by stop- 
 pages on the road, and I am always visionizing on the subject. 
 But there is much to be thought of before it can be effected. I 
 can hardly bear to think of the changes I shall witness. Kes- 
 wick will be a place of graves to me ; but there would be a 
 melancholy pleasure and interest in thinking of the departed. 
 The changes in things and persons that remain are far more 
 unwelcome. — I ani yours, very affectionately, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Telling " Speeches not always the Best. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 February 15, 1850. — Derwent was full of the great Educa- 
 tional Anti-Government Meeting at Willis's Rooms. S 's 
 
 was the grand speech of the evening. His oration must -have 
 been very lively and ingenious and impressive, from D 's re- 
 port. But I have little respect for speeches that tell in assem- 
 blies of this kind. The probability always is, I think, that a 
 speech accurately true and just, entering into the depths and 
 intricacies which really exist in great questions, and doing justice 
 to the views of all parties, would not tell half so well as a super- 
 
42 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ficial harangue, full of half-truths and bold assumptions and 
 affecting irrelevances, which call down a thunder of claps and 
 " hear, hears !" yet, if read in the closet, would not convince a 
 single soul who was sincerely seeking the truth, and was not 
 decidedly of the speaker's mind beforehand. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Death of Mrs. Joanna Baillie. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 Chester Place, Febrtmry_2j^j2>so. — Your note has affected me 
 very much. Deaf Mrs. Joanna Baillie, that unique Female 
 Dramatist, thorough gentlewoman, -afid (last and best) good 
 Christian, gone at last, leaving not her like, in some remarkable 
 respects, behind her ! You were privileged, dear friend, to have 
 that sight of , the dear face after death, and to see that "friendly 
 look," so consolatory to survivors, and so precious a treasure 
 for memory. Her aged sister must feel desolate indeed. 
 Blessed are they, says a famous old poet, whom an unbroken 
 link keeps ever together. But this is not the lot of humanity, 
 for death comes at last to break every chain, whether a hated 
 or a loved one. 
 
 V. 
 
 Mr. Carlyle's " Latter-day Pamphlets " compared with his " Chartism."— 
 Ideal Aristocracy. — English Government. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage : 
 
 Chester Place, March 15, 1850. — Carlyle's "Latter-day Pam- 
 phlets," I own, I like less than any of his former works. It has 
 all his animation and felicity of language in particular expres- 
 sions, and there is much truth contained in it. But the general 
 aim and purpose is, to my mind, less satisfactory than in any 
 of his former writings. It has all his usual faults in an exag- 
 gerated form. His faults I take to be repetition, and the saying 
 in a roundabout, queer way, as if it were a novel announcement, 
 what every body knows, without any suggestion of a remedy for 
 the evils he so vividly describes. " Chartism " had finer pas- 
 sages than any in these papers. Yet that was decried, and these 
 
Xhe English Government. 423 
 
 are almost universally received with favor. The address to the 
 horses in " Chartism," besides being new, was far better turned, 
 more seriously pathetic in its humor, than the repetition of the 
 thought in " The Present Times." Then I can not bear the 
 depreciation of Howard, and the sneers at the Americans. 
 His former works have all been devoted to exalting and eleva- 
 ting, defending and raising from the dust. The great drift of 
 these is of a depreciatory, pulling-down character. As for the 
 Irish, I would be right glad to see them coerced for their good, 
 only they should be treated as children, not slaves ; and the 
 great mass of the barbarous English, too, especially the class 
 of little, prejudiced, pig-headed, hard-handed, leather-hearted 
 farmers, who are grinding the poor laborers, and grinding their 
 own nobles to nine-pence by mismanagement and asinine 
 methods of tilling the ground. But who is to do these things ? 
 Who is to bell the cat ? Then Carlyle tells us, as he told me 
 in conversation long ago, that the few wise ought to govern the 
 many foolish. But who doubts that ? This is a kind of aris- 
 tocratic sentiment which is common to all mankind who think at 
 all. But we shall be none a bit the nearer to this millennial state 
 of wise-man government by sneering, as Carlyle does, at the at- 
 tempts of mankind to do things carefully and justly and method- 
 ically — sneering at all that by introducing the words "bomba- 
 zine, horse-hair, red tape, periwigs, pasteboard, and so forth." 
 
 I, for my part, believe that the English government does ap- 
 proximate to this nearer than any other ; that Pitt and Percival, 
 Peel and Russell, upon the whole, have governed — so far as they 
 individually governed — as well as any man in the country would 
 have done. Among men of letters have been many wiser, 
 speculatively, and cleverer for some things. But it does not 
 follow that they would have done better as Premiers, or could 
 have filled such a place. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Home Amusements. — Reasonings of an Anti-Gorham Controversialist. — 
 Holiness the Evidence of Election, not its Ground. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage : 
 
 March 21, 1850. — Herby tunes and grunts away at his cor- 
 net-a-piston ; and it is wonderful how little I care about his 
 
424 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 practicing, nervous as I am about sounds. Nurse said yester- 
 day, " Now, if it was not Master Herbert, how mad we should 
 be at all this trumpeting !" I feel that a young man must have 
 some amusement, and that this is as harmless as he can possi- 
 bly choose. I prefer it to the eternal chess-playing of last 
 vacation ; for that brought him into company of which I could 
 not judge, as they were out of my circle. 
 
 Talk of woman's reasoning ! Tell me if any woman's reason- 
 ing could possibly be weaker than that of Archdeacon W 
 
 in his Anti-Gorham-and-Goode book on Holy Baptism? wherein 
 he divides a man in two, putting his will, reason, understanding, 
 appetites, affections — all that belongs to his common or general 
 humanity — on one hand, and his personality or individuality 
 on the other ; and represents the former as regenerate in bap- 
 tism, the latter not. As if there were literally and truly two 
 moving powers, two wills in one man — the one regenerate, the 
 other unregenerate ; as if what is merely mentally distinguish- 
 able were practically separable ! As if a man's personality 
 were a distinct thing from all the rest of his being, and could 
 remain unaffected, while " the common humanity " partook of 
 the Redemption in Christ ! Just as if you were to suppose the 
 roundness of an orange (a mere abstraction) to be a distinct 
 thing from the orange itself. And just as if the idea of person- 
 ality itself did not belong to the common nature of man, or our 
 general humanity ! 
 
 And, then, how does this solve the difficulty, that the so-called 
 regenerate prove unholy ? Are not persons who lead unholy 
 lives after baptism corrupt in their will, appetites, and affections, 
 darkened in their understandings , unregenerate and unrenewed 
 in all which he ascribes to the common humanity, which he sup- 
 poses to be regenerated in baptism ! 
 
 Then about Election. All the way through he misrepresents 
 his adversary's opinions, and puts his opponent's objections on 
 a wrong ground. For instance, he says (p. loi) that "to sup- 
 pose that a gift is offered to all infants, bestowed only on those 
 who are seen to be about to use it, is to rest the discriminating 
 condition on the recipient's excellence, a notion opposed to the 
 whole teaching of the Church," etc. 
 
 What an utter misconception of the views in question ! The 
 future faith and repentance of the infant are not supposed to be 
 the n-ound on which the grace of election and regeneration is 
 
Illness of Mr. Wordsworth. 425 
 
 given ; but these moral attributes, when they appear as being 
 effects of the grace unconditionally bestowed, as far as they go, 
 are criteria and tests of election. They show who the elect 
 are, but are never supposed to be the cause or ground of elec- 
 tion, or that which determines God to elect some and not others. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Illness of Mr. Wordsworth. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 March 25, 1850. — My dear friend, I have just heard from 
 dear Miss Eenwick of our beloved Mr. Wordsworth's illness. 
 It is most painful to hear of this trouble, and not be able to be 
 of use in any way. I am full of anxiety and sorrow. I have 
 been dwelling much of late on dear Mr. AVordsworth and his 
 state of health and spirits. My thoughts hover around him. 
 He is the last, with dear Mrs. Wordsworth, of that loved and 
 honored circle of elder friends who surrounded my childhood 
 and youth ; and I can imagine no happiness in any state of ex- 
 istence without the restoration of that circle. 
 ■^^^^-©trrTTnust not write more to you now. My earnest prayers 
 for dearest Mr. Wordsworth's restoration will be preferred, both 
 In^selfish feeling and in sympathy. 
 
 Believe me, with most affectionate regards to dear Mrs. Words- 
 worth, and dearest love, whether it can be given or no, to the 
 bfilavgd sufferer.— Yours, in much friendship and sympathy, 
 t:^^ "' Sara Coleridge. 
 
 vni. 
 
 Lives of the Lake Poets.-Presumption of Licompetent Biographers. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : , r • 1 r 
 
 Chester Place, March 27, iSso.-Thank you, dear fneiid, for 
 
 sending me the C notices, and do not think me stiff and 
 
 stuck-up for saying that I should opine we had best keep aloof 
 from them - awthegither;' and let them "maffle and talk as 
 they like There is not a grain of ill-nature in the composer or 
 patcher Persons have served my father far worse who had ten 
 times as much reason to serve him well, from ability, knowledge. 
 
426 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 nearness to him, obligations of a certain sort to his mind, etc. 
 It is not on account of any disparagement, too low estimate, lib- 
 erty of criticism, or so forth, that I wish to have naught to do 
 with the publication. I do not wish to correct its blunders, be- 
 cause this would seem to be a sort of sanction to the undertak- 
 ing in itself — a tacit approval of the rest; and it is this^ and not 
 merely the way in which it is executed, that seems to me so un- 
 
 approvable. Mr. C can not be expected to know clearly 
 
 and fully his incompetence as a critic and biographer; but he 
 must, if he has common-sense, be aware that he has not the 
 means of correct information upon subjects on which he has 
 undertaken to instruct the public ; he must know, or ought to 
 know, that he could not honestly engage in such a task. What 
 should we think of any grocer or draper who set up in trade 
 without some surer and more special means and opportunities 
 of supplying the commodities he professes to deal in to his cus- 
 tomers genuine, than this Mr. C has to supply readers with 
 
 true accounts of Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth ? 
 
 A man ought to have some special claim, some very particu- 
 lar qualifications for writing the life of another, who takes upon 
 him this most difficult and delicate task. He ought to have 
 been appointed to it by the subject himself, or to have some 
 close connection with him — of blood or friendship — or intimate 
 knowledge, from long and deep study, and special sympathy. 
 It is true, these lives are but the stringing together of a few out- 
 standing, external facts. But it is a fallacy to imagine that any 
 sketch of a man's life, however meagre, can be given correctly 
 without intimate knowledge. It is like what Sir Charles Bell so 
 condemns, the attempt to draw outlines of the human figure 
 without knowledge of anatomy and of inward structure. Be- 
 sides, ought such meagre, coarse lives to be executed at all ? 
 To talk of my father's disagreeing with the Governor of Malta, 
 
 a man whom he worshiped ! Surely Mr. C knows liltle 
 
 of Esteesian* anatomy. He can never have read the " Friend," 
 to talk thus; yet he pronounces judgment upon it with a grand 
 air of superior understanding — not love, but toleration, like 
 Adam smiling on Eve ! 
 
 * S.T.C.ian.— E. C. 
 
 1 
 
Metaphysical Studies. 427 
 
 IX. 
 
 Hopes of Mr. Wordsworth's Recovery. — His Natural Cheerfulness.— Use 
 of Metaphysical Studies. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 Good Friday, 1850. — My dear friend, I must write a few lines, 
 though in haste, to thank you for your welcome letter, and tell 
 you of my joy in deare_st Mr. Wordsworth's safety and his be- 
 loved wife's happiness. May he be restored to his former meas- 
 ure of strength, and may this crisis work a change for the bet- 
 ter in his spirits ! I have often mourned to think that he was 
 no longer glad as of yore. He used to be so cheerful and hap- 
 pyjninded 5^_j3aan. No mind could be more sufficient to itself, 
 "more teeming with matter of delight, fresh, gushing founts ris- 
 Irig^p" perpetually in the region of the imagination, streams of 
 ~piIfiFy^and joy from the realm of the higher reason — ^joy and 
 strength and consolation, both in his own contemplations for 
 "his own peculiar satisfaction, and in the sense of the joy and 
 strength and solace which he imparted to thousands of other 
 minds. No mind was ever richer within itself, and more abun- 
 dant in material of happiness, independent of chance and 
 change, save such as affected the mind in itself. I felt with 
 grief that his powers of life and animal spirits must have been 
 impaired from what I heard of his fits of unjoyousness. 
 
 A visitor has taken away all my letter-writing time, so that all 
 I meant to say must be screwed up into narrow room. 
 
 But one thing I must disown. Where upon earth, or under 
 the earth (in the apartment of some gnome, I suppose, that lives 
 under Loughrigg, in a darksome grot), did you learn that I sup- 
 posed that you, "who do not study metaphysics all day long," 
 can not understand S. T. C. ? All the most valuable part of my 
 father's writings, can, of course, be understood, as the writings 
 of Jeremy Taylor or Milton or Gibbon or Pascal or Dante or 
 Shakespeare, without specific study of mental metaphysics or 
 any other science. Still I do think that some careful study of 
 psychology, some systematic metaphysical training, ought to 
 form a part of every gentleman's education, and more especial- 
 ly of every man who is destined for one of the learned profes- 
 sions and still more especially for men who undertake to write 
 on controversial divinity. A writer on doctrine and the 7'atio?i- 
 
428 Memoir Mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ale of religious belief ought at least to know those principles of 
 psychology and other branches of metaphysics in which all 
 schools agree, and to have had some exercise of thought in this 
 particular direction, and of course such a study must improve 
 the faculty of insight into all works of reasoning which treat of 
 the higher subjects of human thought. 
 
 A Relapse.— Regeneration in the Scriptural Sense implies a Moral Change. 
 — Importance of Correct Statements in Theology. — Reason the only 
 Standard of Spiritual Truth. — Distinction between Original Sin and 
 Hereditary Guilt.— Views of Baptismal Grace: Anglican and Roman- 
 istic. — Hooker, Jackson, Taylor, and Waterland, on Baptism. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, April, 1850. — My dear friend, I am much 
 pleased at your wishing me to send invitations to Mr. and Mrs. 
 T. and Mrs. J. M., and at your intention of attending at St. 
 Mark's on the i8th yourself, and of what you say of the Insti- 
 tution, that it is one of the signs of life in the times. All this 
 is saddened to me by thoughts of dear Mr. Wordsworth, and of 
 his dear afflicted wife, his partner for nearly fifty years. How 
 she will seem to live in waiting for death and to rejoin him and 
 her beloved Dora ! — if he goes now. For myself, I feel as I did 
 in my own great bereavement and affliction — the thoughts and 
 feelings which the event and all its accompaniments induce are, 
 in the poet's own words, too deep for tears; they are deeper than 
 the region of mere sorrow for an earthly loss or temporary part- 
 ing. Sorrow for the death of those nearest to us, in whom our 
 life has been most bound up, is absorbed in the gulf of all our 
 deepest and most earnest reflections — thoughts about life and 
 existence here and hereafter, which are more earnest, more real, 
 and permanent and solid and enduring, than any particular 
 thoughts and sorrows and troubles which our course here brings 
 with it, or which contains them all virtually. The particular 
 becomes merged in the general, happily; and when we seem 
 most bereft, most afflicted by the inevitable law of death and 
 corporeal decay, we are only led to feel that this is but a part 
 of the universal doom, that the loss and calamity which has 
 come upon us at this time is but what, in a very short time, and 
 in some form or other, we must bear. My grief respecting my 
 
The Baptismal Controversy. 429 
 
 dear old friend has been to see him grow old. To my mind he 
 has been dying this long time — not the man he was. I see in 
 this, his final struggle, if such it prove, but the termination of 
 that career of mortality. My tearful feelings are more for Mrs. 
 Wordsworth than for his departure. The stupor and dejection 
 which have long been upon him, when he was not roused by 
 the presence of strangers, have been the precursor of dissolu- 
 tion and beginning of the stage of final decay. * * =* 
 
 I have read your reflections on Baptism with deep attention 
 and interest, and shall read them again and often. They come 
 home to me more than other remarks ever did. Still they can 
 not, and I think never will, move me from my standing-place, 
 because, indeed, that has been chosen with all the powers of 
 my heart and mind after the deepest and fullest consideration 
 which I can give to the subject. It seems to me that the tend- 
 ency of your reasoning is rather to withdraw the mind from 
 what, after all, must be the foundation of all reasoning in re- 
 ligion, from the real seitse of Scripture, interpreted according to 
 the generally admitted rules of human language, and from the 
 spiritual ideas, of which all true religion consists, combined and 
 arranged according to the laws of thought. I hold the very 
 highest doctrine of Baptism which is consistent, as I think, with 
 a right scriptural, spiritual, substantial view oi regetieration — with 
 that view of regeneration which Scripture presents. The mys- 
 tical view involves the belief that a soul in which the heart and 
 understanding, the will and moral being, are wholly unaltered 
 from the state in Adam, a soul which passes from the neutral 
 state of unconscious infancy into positive immorality and un- 
 godliness, pervading the whole character, has in baptism un- 
 dergone that regeneration, that new birth in the Spirit, of which 
 our Lord spoke to Nicodemus, that such a soul is really and 
 inwardly incorporated into Christ, and a branch of the true 
 Vine. Now it needs not long discussions. If 3'OU can look at 
 this belief, and not feel shocked by it; if it does not seem to you 
 contrary to the moral sense, contrary to the tenor of Holy Writ, 
 and a profanation of sacred language — the direct and obvious 
 sense of which denotes something essentially different, namely, 
 a cordial, earnest, and unalterable acceptance of the Gospel of 
 Christ, or of what the Gospel contains virtually and substan- 
 tially, with such a spiritualization of the heart and life as con- 
 stitutes the good Christian in character and conduct — I think 
 
430 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 we never can see alike on this point. There is a world-wide 
 difference between a converted and an unconverted spirit; it 
 is the greatest soul-difference conceivable. Now I think the 
 former alone, and not the latter at all, is internally, and in the 
 primary sense, regenerate. No other view of regeneration than 
 this appears to me reconcilable, fairly, with the declaration con- 
 cerning being " born of God " in the Epistle of St. John, and 
 indeed with whatever is said on the subject in the Bible. 
 
 The texts concerning Baptism in the Bible appear to me to 
 be constantly misinterpreted and misrepresented by the main- 
 tainers of mystic regeneration. 
 
 Then what is that for which you contend ? The belief that 
 an unconverted soul has a high spiritual gift, an indwelling of 
 Christ ? This seems to me a shadow and a contradiction. 
 
 It is true that any words of human speech — in, with, at, or by 
 — fall far short of the proper expression of any spiritual sub- 
 ject. Still they are the best, the only guides to the truth that 
 we have. To us they are inexpressibly important. If once we 
 let go that clew of our own inward ideas, the presentations of 
 our minds, and the conceptions of which human language is 
 the exponent, we plunge at once into the region of the dim and 
 indefinite, where any monster with visionary pinions and uncer- 
 tain lineaments may be presented to us as an angel of light 
 and messenger from heaven. 
 
 Have you sufficiently examined the ground of your own be- 
 lief with respect to baptismal regeneration ? Are you sure that 
 you stand on a sufficient spiritual evidence ? Is your belief a 
 coherent thing, or is it a mongrel, a heterogeneous compound 
 of spiritual ideas with W\q. forms and intellectualisms of a vague 
 materializing philosoph}^, which had never yet separated in its 
 conceptions the spiritual from the material ? 
 
 Should we not recollect that there is but one standard to 
 which all mankind can be referred on such subjects as these — 
 but one last court of appeal ? Is not that reason, or the power 
 within the human mind of beholding religious truth, in sub- 
 stance, with the understanding or faculty by which the intellect- 
 ual form of faith is determined ? Whatever comes to us from 
 without, by this inward medium we. must receive it. If you ac- 
 cept a doctrine merely on authority which you can not prove to 
 others to be reasonable and coherent, how can 3'ou look for - 
 unity of doctrine among mankind ? 
 
Original Sin. 431 
 
 Have you asked yourself sufficiently, or examined carefully 
 what are your real inducements to accept the mystical doctrine 
 of Baptism ? Is it from aught you perceive in the doctrine, or 
 what is proved by Scripture 'I or is it not rather from a vague im- 
 pression that this, because the strangest and hardest to believe, 
 is therefore the highest form of faith, from early association, and 
 the having heard from childhood that this is the true spiritual, 
 orthodox creed, and from hearing a very forward, much-profess- 
 ing, much-assuming, and high-vaunting minority of the clergy 
 evermore proclaim and declare that this is the high, and all 
 others the low doctrine ? 
 
 Some of the wisest men in our Church are, for good reasons, 
 silent on this subject, and the wise men out of the Church are 
 not attended to by those in it. 
 
 Then in my studies I perceive that the theory of Baptism has 
 changed and varied from age to age, and that the primitive 
 doctrine, though not that which I think the best, was certainly 
 not that which is now set forth as the ancient orthodox doctrine 
 of Baptism. 
 
 You thought some parts of my essay unsound. I should like 
 to see what they are ; I wish you would point them out par- 
 ticularly. But the truth is, do we admit the same principle 
 by which the sound or unsound is determined? My view of 
 Original Sin would be held unsound by ecclesiastics in general. 
 But it is impossible for you to adduce any considerations by 
 which my view of that subject could be altered, because it is 
 matter of immediate intuition. To hold a creature guilty in the 
 sight of God before it has acted, willed what it knows to be 
 wrong and contrary to the divine law, is a decided anti-moral- 
 ism. It is, as I apprehend, subversive of the very foundations 
 of religion, or at least it strikes against, and, as far as it goes, 
 it loosens and unsettles the foundation - stones of the faith. 
 And, indeed, this is why I fear that there can be no further 
 agreement between us — that you can have this thought present- 
 ed to you, and yet do not positively and on the instant reject 
 it. You say whatever is in the soul potentially exists truly. 
 But how does sin in the sense of guilt exist in the soul of an 
 infant ? There is in every child born into the world a capabil- 
 ity of becoming guilty. Will you treat a mere capability as if it 
 had been actualized ? As well might you say that the poten- 
 tiality of fire in a flinty rock is to be treated as an actual con- 
 
432 Memoir and Letters of. Sara Coleridge. 
 
 flagration, which men are to shun lest they be enveloped with 
 flames and burned alive. 
 
 Now this notion that an infant has sin, in the form of abso- 
 lute guilt, incurring the wrath of God, is the corner-stone of the 
 whole "High" baptismal system. How can I ever accept a 
 system the very corner-stone of which I believe to be a gross 
 error, a relic of Paganism ? There is no such thing in the 
 Bible ; no intimation that a soul shall bear the consequences 
 of any sin but that which itself has committed. From one man 
 we all inherit sin, because from 'him we all inherit a temptable 
 body, and we all fall as he fell. He is the representative of 
 the whole race. 
 
 Then I feel quite assured that the view of Baptism which I 
 hold is the only one which has been consistently held by the 
 wisest men of our Church. Bishop Taylor, when he is not on 
 the subject of Baptism, always identifies a regenerate person 
 with a holy person under the habitual influence of the Spirit. 
 He teaches that regeneration is begun in Baptism, because Bap- 
 tism is the first ordinary current in which the Spirit descends 
 upon the soul. This is a very different doctrine, though, in my 
 opinion, not quite free from errors of statement, from the mod- 
 ern view, which declares that regeneration is essentially and at 
 full a mystical change, having no necessary connection with 
 change of heart and life whatever ! 
 
 Hooker held baptismal regeneration to be the first reception 
 of grace by the elect, the first inclination of their powers to fut- 
 ure goodness. This exposition also appears to me somewhat 
 distorted from the truth. Still both of these views avoid that 
 monstrous anti-moralism which severs regeneration wholly from 
 the restoration of the fallen will. 
 
 Jackson's view seems to have been the same as Taylor's. 
 Waterland's doctrine is the same as mine as to things, differing 
 only in words. But Taylor, in saying that baptism and its ef- 
 fects may be disjoined, and that it grants effluxes to all periods 
 of life, recognized that notion of the sacrament upon which 
 Waterland proceeds. 
 
 It seems to me that the modern doctrine leads the maintain- 
 ers into a great deal of quibbling and uncandid statement. 
 People will not allow the inevitable deductions from their own 
 tenets. If we say that it separates the spiritual from the moral, 
 they deny this. But how can this truly be denied, if they give 
 
Romanistic Reasonings. ^ 433 
 
 regeneration to a soul in which there is not, and never is to be, 
 a moral new birth, or even the commencement of renewal ? 
 
 Your mode of reasoning seems to be this. You do not at- 
 tempt to remove the contrariety to the moral sense and to Script- 
 ure which I see in the modern development of the doctrine of 
 baptismal regeneration. But you assume that this doctrine is 
 a great precious truth; and then you say, if this be so, all your 
 little fallible human reasonings about regeneration, considered 
 as that change of the moral being which is commonly called 
 conversion, must give way. You must suppose that all is right 
 with moral regeneration and every other verity of religion, what- 
 ever you may fancy you perceive to the contrary. The Church 
 doctrine must be served first. You must give that ample room 
 and verge enough. You must see with your own eyes that this 
 doctrine is not curtailed and defrauded, and then you must take 
 it for granted that moral regeneration fares well enough, though 
 to you it may seem to be screwed into a corner. This seems 
 to me, I own, to be the upshot of your reasoning, and I can not 
 think it safe or sound; it is essentially Romanistic. "Believe 
 on the word of the Church (by the 'Church' being meant the 
 dominant body of ecclesiastics for the time being), and shut your 
 eyes to all seeming anomalies and contradictions. No belief 
 enjoined by the Church is contrary to reason, but you, the indi- 
 vidual, have no reason by which you can judge what is or is not 
 reasonable or moral." 
 
 You would have me not regard Final Perseverance if it stand 
 in the way of the Church doctrine. But we can not, if we would, 
 set aside an inevitable deduction from undeniable premises. 
 It will come to us even if we go not to it. Without putting fet- 
 ters on the power of thought and reflection, we can not help ar- 
 riving at it. That doctrine of baptism, which is incompatible 
 with it, can not be true. 
 
 Have you any deeper, stronger proof of baptismal regenera- 
 tion, according to a certain school, than Hooker, Davenant, 
 Jackson, Hooper, and our greatest metaphysical divines had of 
 the indefectibility of the regenerate estate .'' Regeneracy is a 
 new nature, a habit of holiness wherein the soul is changed into 
 an incapacity of sinning. What is the justified estate if it is 
 not this ? " Can a son cease to be a son .'"' Is there no such 
 thing as a fixed habit of goodness which can not be lost.-" But 
 I meant not to defend the doctrine itself. I only ask, have you 
 
 Ee 
 
434 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 any surer ground for your doctrine than I for believing this? 
 But the modern tenet does not so much disprove, or seek to 
 disprove, indefectible grace, as maintain that regeneration has 
 nothing to do with it. 
 
 I would thankfully learn of you to heighten my view of bap- 
 tismal grace, could this be done without lowering and degrading 
 regeneration. But what you call a high view of Baptism seems 
 to me a low one. You do not yourself hold that Baptism, with- 
 out faith and repentance, renews the soul in all the higher prov- 
 inces of our being. What is there high or exalted in the idea 
 of a change which leaves the heart and mind unchanged, which 
 does not even produce the necessary ground of a moral change .■' 
 
 The true sublime idea of regeneration is given by St. Paul — 
 '■''But we all with opeii face^ beholding as in a glass the glory of the 
 Lord, are changed into the same linage, from glory to glory, even 
 as by the Spirit of the Lord." 
 
 This is regeneration, as I firmly believe — this gradual change 
 into the Divine Image, in the light of truth, by knowledge. Noth- 
 ing short of this, nothing but this, can be that change of which 
 our Lord spoke to Nicodemus. Do you not lower the idea of 
 the new birth when you cast out of it knowledge and goodness? 
 You say that regeneration is a change passively undergone in 
 the darkness of the spirit, without faith, without love. 
 
 What relation has the change described by the apostles to 
 this mystical affection ? We are told that if afterward the will 
 consents to the " suasion of the new nature," to the power of 
 the spirit in the soul, then a renewal of the moral being ensues. 
 Does not this remind one of the stone broth, and is not the pri- 
 mary essential regeneration of the Pusey and Manning school 
 mere stone and water? I must say for Dr. Pusey, however, 
 that he is less unevangelical than most of his followers, and is 
 content with defining baptismal regeneration after Jeremy Tay- 
 lor's fiishion, and yet, inconsistently enough, he calls it a new 
 nature. But a mere incipient regeneration can not be a new 
 nature. 
 
 My father was most desirous to hold the highest doctrine of 
 Baptism compatible Avith reason and Scripture; but, like me, 
 he never could accept the instant change of soul, in the moment 
 of baptism, and agree that this was the new birth of which our 
 Lord spoke to Nicodemus. 
 
Death of Mr. Wordsworth. 435 
 
 XI. 
 
 Death of Mr. Wordsworth.— Sense of Intimacy with her Father, produced 
 by her Continual Study of his Writings. 
 
 To E, QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 1850. — My dear friend, your letter of this morning has made 
 me but a little more sad and serious than I felt before, and have 
 been feeling since the later reports. Thank God, that our dear 
 and honored friend was spared severe suffering ! For days I 
 have been haunted and depressed with the fear that he had to 
 go through a stage of protracted anguish. He could afford the 
 torpor of the dying bed. His work was done, and gloriously 
 done, before, and will survive, I think, as long as those hills 
 " amid which he lived and thought, at least, if this continues to 
 "Be^and of cultivated intellects, of poets and students of poetry. 
 
 Stiliythough relieved and calmed, I feel stunned to think that 
 my dear old friend is no more in this world. It seems as if the 
 present life were passing away, and leaving me for a while be- 
 hind. The event renews to me all my great irremediable losses. 
 Henry, my mother, Fanny, Hartley, my Uncle and Aunt Southey, 
 my father — in some respects so great a loss, yet in another way 
 less felt than the rest, and more with me still. Indeed, he seems 
 ever at my ear, in his books, more especially his marginalia — 
 speaking not personally to me, and yet in a way so natural to 
 my feelings, \h2X finds me so fully, and awakens such a strong 
 echo in my mind and heart, that I seem more intimate with him 
 now than I ever was in my life. This sort of intercourse is the" 
 more to me because of the withdrawal of my nearest friends of 
 youth, whom I had known in youth. Still, the heart often sinks, 
 and craves for more immediate stuff of the heart. My children 
 are much. I trust that dear Mrs.Wordsworth will find hers, those 
 still left to her, sufficient to make life dear and interesting to her. 
 
 He is "gone to Dora !"* Yes; may we all meet where she 
 
 * Mrs. Wordsworth, with a view of letting him know what the opinion of 
 his medical advisers was concerning his case, said gently to him, " William, 
 you are going to Dora !" More than twenty-four hours afterward one of 
 his nieces came into the room, and was drawing aside the curtain of his 
 chamber, and then, as if awakening from a quiet sleep, he said, "Is that 
 
 Dora ?" Memoirs of Wordsworth, vol. ii., p. 506. Mr. Wordsworth died on 
 
 the 23d of April, 1850.— E. C. 
 
436 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 is ! She has been spared this parting. Would it have come so 
 soon, had she not been severed from his side ? 
 
 Will you convey to dear Mrs. AVordsworth, when it is desira- 
 ble, my deep sympathy and assurance of my earnest prayer for 
 her support and consolation, and in respect of the revered de- 
 parted all the blessedness that our Father in heaven has to be- 
 stow on His faithful servants that are returned to His house of 
 many mansions. — Believe me, dear friend, yours in deep sym- 
 pathy and most faithfully, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ArcKdeacon Hare says to me, in a letter of late date : " I have 
 a letter saying that his remaining days are few. If it is indeed 
 so, a glory is passing away from the earth. Oh, what sweet 
 odors of thankful love will mount with his departing spirit from 
 thousands of hearts whose affections he has enlightened and 
 enlarged and purified ! This world will seem so much poorer 
 without him; and_yet his mind will still live in it as long as our 
 language lives; and the treasures which he has been hoarding 
 up for so many years will be found out among us !" 
 
 XH. 
 
 "Now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face." 
 
 To Miss Fenwick, Bath : 
 
 10 Chester Place, May 6, 1850. — Dearest Miss Fenwick, I 
 shall be thankful to see any letters from Rydal that you can 
 forward. How dear Mrs. Wordsworth is to bear the. trial of 
 separation, and parting sorrow, and fatigue undergone in the 
 last illness, is perhaps yet to appear. I trust we may augur 
 well from the long-prepared state of her mind, and her living 
 faith in the resurrection, and our reunion with departed friends. 
 
 Still, in some respects, the more we dwell upon that prospect, 
 the more we strive to realize it, the deeper is the trial to our 
 weak bodily frame. We know that another state of existence 
 must be far other than this — that a spiritual world can not be 
 like an earthly world. We can not penetrate the shades that 
 hang over the state of souls on their departure. The subject 
 that is spoken of under the name of the " intermediate state," 
 of this what brief notices we have, and how ambiguous ! How 
 
Breaking of Old Ties. 437 
 
 the best and wisest men differ about the interpretation of them 1 
 The more we think of the state after death, the deeper is the 
 awe with which we must contemplate it; and sometimes in 
 weakness, we long for the happy, bright imaginations of child- 
 hood, when we saw the other world vividly pictured, a bright 
 and perfect copy of the world in which we now live, with sun- 
 shine and flowers, and all that constituted our' earthly enjoy- 
 ment ! In after years we strive to translate these images into 
 something higher. We say. All this we shall have, but in some 
 higher form : " Flesh and blood can not inherit the kingdom of 
 heaven, neither shall corruption inherit incorruption." All this 
 beauty around us is perishable : its outward form and substance 
 is corruption ; but there is a soul in it, and this shall rise again ; 
 and so our beloved friends that are removed, we shall see them' 
 again, but changed — altered into what we now can not conceive 
 or image, with celestial bodies fit for a celestial sphere. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Breaking of Old Ties. — The Times on Mr. Wordsworth's Poetry.— True 
 Cause of its Different Reception on the Continent and in America. 
 
 To Mrs. H. M. Jones, Hampstead : 
 
 April, 1850. — I have been feeling and thinking much, as you 
 will have anticipated, about the last days and hours of my dear 
 and honored old friend Mr. Wordsworth. I feel as if life were 
 passing away from me in some sort; so many friends of my 
 Childhood and youth removed, so few of that generation left. 
 It seems as if a barrier betwixt me and the grave were cast 
 down. Happily for me, friends of my married life and children 
 have risen up to prevent me from feeling solitary in the world. 
 Still there is something in the breaking of these old ties that 
 specially brings the shortness and precariousness of our tenure 
 here before us. Hartley and Mr. Wordsworth were great fig- 
 ures in my circle of early friends, and leave a large blank to my 
 mind's eye. 
 
 Many thanks, dear friend, for sending me the Times. The 
 article on the departed dear and revered poet, the great poet, I 
 think, of his age, is respectful, though not up to the measure of 
 what his warmest admirers think and feel. The remarks on 
 his non-popularity on the Continent I consider mistaken ; they 
 
438 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ascribe, in my opinion, the ignorance of French and Germans 
 of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry not to the true cause. If he were 
 so peculiarly "English" that he could not be relished out of 
 England, why is he so great a name in British America ? There 
 he holds 6ven a higher place, or at least his claims are more~ 
 fully and universally admitted among our transatlantic breth- 
 ren than in England ; and his poetry has moulded that of the 
 Americans far more than that of any poet of this age or of any 
 other age. I was assured by Mr. Bancroft, the American min- 
 ister, what I had often and often heard before (and he spoke it 
 before a whole company at the Chevalier Bunsen's table), that 
 my father's and Mr. Wordsworth's reputation in America was 
 — I can not recall the expression, but I know he used the 
 strongest and most energetic language on the subject. The 
 Chevalier had just been saying that Wordsworth was not under- 
 stood or cared for in Prussia. Moore and Byron were the great 
 English poets there. 
 
 The reason to me is plain. Moore and Byron and Camp- 
 bell are poets of a popular cast, and are admired by thousands 
 who can not appreciate very refined and elevated poetry. This 
 popular sort of writing sooner makes its way among foreigners 
 than that which students would consider to be possessed of 
 higher merits. Shakespeare is now read in Germany ; but he 
 did not make his way there till during the course of this last 
 century. He was never admired in France or Germany before 
 the time of Lessing, nor generally appreciated before the lect- 
 ures of Schlegel asserted and explained his immeasurable su- 
 periority to all other dramatists. While Shakespeare was neg- 
 lected and called a "barbarous writer," the novels of Richard- 
 son and of Goldsmith were read and admired all over the Con- 
 tinent, not long after their appearance here. Why was this 
 difference, but because the}^ were far more easily understood 
 than the great dramatist, and were, both in stuff and manner, 
 such as would be relished by less cultivated minds ? 
 
''The Prelude.'' 4^0 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "The Prelude." 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 Margate, Jime 13, 1850.— All you tell me about the poem* 
 _is deLightful. How wonderful it seems that the great man, our 
 jiear, departed great one, should have deferred the publication 
 "IfflT after he had departed from this world ! How satiated he 
 must have been with praise and fame ! And what a o-lorious 
 existence must his have been to be the composer of such strains, 
 of such noble poetry— if, indeed, this poem is all that my father 
 ever thought of it, and you now say ! 
 
 It is great pride and pleasure indeed to me that it is ad- 
 dressed to my father. They will be ever specially associated in 
 tile minds of men in time to come. I think there was never 
 ^so close a union between two such eminent minds in any age. 
 jrEey_A«ere together, and in intimate communion, at the most 
 vigorous, the most inspired period of the lives of both. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "The Prelude" a Greater Poem than "The Excursion." — Collection of 
 Turners at Tottenham. — " Lycidas," by Fuseli. 
 
 To Mrs. R. TowNSEND, Springfield : 
 
 * # * * *■* * # 
 
 1850. — I have found your critique on "The Prelude." I 
 tell you, as I do another friend — who is blind, as I think, to its 
 merits — that she must read again, and not run away from it on 
 account of the unusual, seeming-prosaic sound of many parts. 
 It is the production of a great poet in his vigorous period, and 
 I think it will be felt, on full consideration, to be a pregnant 
 and most energetic efflux. The residence at Cambridge, which 
 my friend cries down, will live and command attention when 
 we are passed away. I agree with those who say that it is a 
 greater poem than "The Excursion." But there will always be 
 readers, and even lovers of poetry, who will never enjoy Words- 
 worth or Milton. How many there are who can not under- 
 
 * " The Prelude."— E. C. 
 
440 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 stand or relish Pindar, Petrarch, Dante, Spenser, not to speak 
 of their scorn of Keats and indifference to Shelley. 
 
 I wish you could have had the treat we had to-day, in seeing 
 a splendid collection of Turner pictures,* at the nice country- 
 house of Mr.Windus, at Tottenham. I much admired a Fuseli 
 — Lycidas lying asleep in the moonlight at earliest dawn, his 
 dog baying the moon beside him ; Lycidas, in throat, cheek, and 
 figure, wonderfully like my Uncle Southey. A most striking 
 and poetically sublime production. * * * 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A Staffordshire Counti-y-House. — Visitors at T Wood. 
 
 To Miss Morris, Mecklenburg Square, London : 
 
 T- Wood, Wolverha?npton, Staffordshire, July i, 1850. — 
 
 This beautiful domain — the house, which is built and furnished 
 in the antique style with consummate elegance, and the grounds, 
 which are in some respects the most to be admired of any that 
 I have seen, especially in the velvet smoothness of the turf, 
 and the fine effect of the endless -seeming vistas and clusters 
 of tufted flower-beds seen from the windows — is the creation of 
 
 Mr. M . Twenty years ago an ordinary old mansion, amid 
 
 ordinary pleasure-grounds, the abode of Miss H 's father, 
 
 stood where now stands a show residence, which is as fine a 
 specimen of modern taste and ingenious arrangement as any I 
 know. Perhaps I am the more struck because I have not vent- 
 ured from my own home for several summers, and have never 
 left Chester Place except for sea-side lodgings. When I com- 
 pare, however, with this place, any of the seats I have formerly 
 visited, they seem to my remembrance almost rough and un- 
 kempt in comparison. The only want is of water. We have no 
 lake, no river, no streamlet here to give an eye and a smile to 
 the "sylvan scene," only a sparkling fountain. The cedars 
 scattered here and there among trees that sweep the green 
 floor with their ample robes, in this leafy month of June, and 
 others that tower upward in finest majesty, form a beautiful va- 
 riety, the horizontal growth of their boughs contrasting with 
 that of all the rest. 
 
 * Now dispersed, since tl:e death of Mr.Windus. — E. C. 
 
Rtiskms '■'■ Modern Painters T 441 
 
 We have had a succession of gay parties, not only dinner 
 company, but sets of guests coming to spend a few days, and 
 soon after their departure succeeded by fresh sets, since we ar- 
 rived here on June 22d. 
 
 Among the most interesting of the visitors have been Mr. 
 and Mrs. B , and Mr. and Miss H , of B Park. 
 
 Mr. B , the Prussian embassador's eldest son, is one of 
 
 the smallest and most boyish-looking of men ; his mind is all 
 intelligence ; his manners distinguished by a cordial frankness 
 and sweet simplicity. His whistling to his own piano accom- 
 paniment is one of the sweetest musical performances I ever 
 
 heard. Mrs. B is a picturesque, elegant young woman, and 
 
 sings delightfully. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Critique on Mr. Ruskin's "Modern Painters." — Figures and Landscapes 
 Painted on the same Principles by the Old Masters. — Instances of 
 Generalization in Poetry and Painting. — Turner "the English Claude." 
 — Distinct Kinds of Interest inspired by Nature and by Art. — Sub- 
 jective Character of the Latter. — Truth in Painting Ideal, not Scien- 
 tific. — Imitation defined by Ancient and Modern Writers. — Etymol- 
 ogy of the Word. — Death of Sir Robert Peel. — Vindication of his 
 Policy. 
 
 JToJErofessor Henry Reed, Philadelphia :=* — —--——"'— 
 
 T Wood, Staffordshire, Jidy 3, 1850. — We have had sev 
 
 eral discussions of Ruskin's theory of the superiority of the 
 modern landscape painters over the Cuyps, Poussins, and 
 Claudes of old time. Wrong as I believe that theory to be, on 
 the whole, and as to its conclusions, both from my own obser- 
 vations and from the remarks of artists and pictorial critics un- 
 professional with whom I have talked on the subject, I do not 
 wonder at all to find you and other correspondents of mine in 
 America warmly admiring and believing in his book, at a dis- 
 tance, as you are, from the works of genius which he disparages. 
 It is a book of great eloquence, though the style has the mod- 
 ern fault of diffuseness, and the descriptions of nature with 
 
 * Mr. Reed was a Professor at the University, Philadelphia, and author 
 of " Lectures on English Poetry and Literature," and other works. This 
 lamented gentleman, as will doubtless be remembered, perished in the loss 
 of the Arctic, on the return voyage, in 1854.— E. C. 
 
442 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 reference to art which it contains are full of beauty and vivac- 
 ity, evincing great powers of observation, and a mind of great 
 animation ; and no doubt there is some portion of truth in 
 what he throws out concerning the defects of the old landscape 
 paintings. But I think he is far from having perceived clearly 
 and fully either the nature of the art of painting, or the true 
 relations between the state of that art, as exhibited in the old 
 landscape paintings, and as it appears in our modern English 
 
 school. As that accomplished artist, R , a great friend of 
 
 Ruskin, observes, he ought, by the same principles upon which 
 he condemns the old landscape pieces, to condemn the his- 
 torical and sacred paintings of the same and an earlier age, and 
 to these he attributes the same merits that the world has agreed 
 to think they possess. I have heard that grand solemn pict- 
 ure, the "Raising of Lazarus," by Sebastian del Piombo, de- 
 signed by Michael Angelo, declared unnatural, and an inferior 
 production to what modern art could produce, by an accom- 
 plished artist, who applied to it the same tests of pictorial ex- 
 cellence as those with which Ruskin detects the vast inferiority 
 of Claude to Turner. Now that picture (it is in our National 
 Gallery in London) is pronounced the most sublime composi- 
 tion of the kind in the world by the first connoisseurs in Eu- 
 rope ; and yet its merits are appreciated by persons of taste and 
 sensibility in general, even those who have no particular, or 
 what may be called tech?iical knowledge of painting. Then Rus- 
 kin laughs at the notion of generalizing — but he says nothing . 
 that shakes my faith in the slightest degree in the common 
 creed of critics on this point. Milton generalizes in word-paint- 
 ing in the fourth book of " Paradise Lost •" his description of 
 the Garden of Eden brings together all the lovely appearances 
 of nature which are to be found in all beautiful countries of 
 the warm or temperate zones, not a single object which is pe- 
 culiar to any one place in particular. His Eden is an abstract, 
 a quintessence of the beautiful features of our mother Earth's 
 fair face ; and who shall say, or what man of sense and sensi- 
 bility has ever yet said, that this generalized picture was paint- 
 ed on a wrong principle ! Now what Milton has done in 
 words, Claude, to my thinking, has done with the pencil ; and 
 all Turner's finest and most famous pictures are offsprings of 
 Claude's genius. Turner was called "the English Claude" 
 when he was at the height of his fame, and his beautiful "Dido 
 
Nature and Art. aa-i 
 
 and Eneas," or "Rise of Carthage," never ^vould have been 
 painted as it is painted but for the splendid prototypes, as I 
 think they may be called, from the hand of Claude, in which 
 sea, sky, and city are combined after a manner of his own, which, 
 I scruple not to say, reports of the combiner's mind as much as 
 of the material furnished by the world without. What Ruskin 
 meant, I undertake not to say ; but he says what I believe to 
 be as great a mistake as can be entertained on this particular 
 point — that a painter has nothing to do but to produce as 
 close a copy as possible of particular objects, and combinations 
 of objects, in nature. The fact is, that the works of every great 
 painter are recognized as the product of an individual mind. 
 If it was not for this individual subjective character, I believe 
 they would be utterly uninteresting. May we not arrive at the 
 truth of the matter by ascertaining what is, and ought to be, the 
 painter's aim when he employs himself in imitating the natural 
 landscape on canvas. Surely it is not to make the spectator ac- 
 quainted with some particular spot or set of objects: it is to pro- 
 duce a work of art; not to present a camera-lucida copy of nature. 
 It is not merely to call up the identical feelings which the very 
 contemplation of the natural landscape itself is apt to excite ; 
 but to remind us of those feelings in conjunction with the sense 
 of the presence of an individual mind and character pervading 
 and presiding over the whole. We may not, in looking at a Cuyp 
 or Hobbima, a Claude or a Salvator Rosa, explain to ourselves 
 the source of our interest in the picture, and its peculiar char- 
 acter, and yet it may be the impress of an individual genius — 
 of this man's or that man's frame of intellect and imagination, 
 that delights us when we contemplate a fine landscape painting 
 far more than any thing else. The old painters were superior 
 to the moderns, in my opinion, because an individual mind 
 was stamped upon their works more powerfully and impress- 
 ively. Their paintings have more character; it is ///rtr/ which I 
 look for in these works of art. I do not go to them to improve 
 my knowledge of nature. This is a diificult subject, and I am 
 aware that I have been expressing myself broadly and laxly, 
 and perhaps have gone as far from the exact truth on one side 
 as Ruskin on the other. But this I do deliberately think, or at 
 least strongly suspect, that as the power of representing nature 
 on canvas must necessarily be very limited, and is rather sug- 
 gestion than representation, the attempt to imitate the out- 
 
444 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ward object beyond a certain point may injure the general ef- 
 fect of the work as a whole, and that the departure from truth 
 which Ruskin points out in the old masters as faults and de- 
 ficiencies may be part of the power and merit of their works as 
 suggestive compositions. I believe that they did quite right to 
 address themselves to the common eye of mankind, not to the 
 eye of the painter. They present clouds and woods as we see 
 them, when we rather feel their loveliness than think about it or 
 examine into it. Turner has aimed at cramming into a piece 
 of canvas or paper a foot square, or less, as much as possible of 
 all that he sees in an actual sky on a certain day of the year, 
 and has succeeded so well that critics complain of his skies as 
 top-heavy. I have heard a clever engraver say that some of 
 them might be turned upside down ; that they are solid enough 
 to stand upon. It is impossible, in the too eager devotion to 
 truth, to all the truth of the sky and her appurtenances, to do 
 justice to earth, and exhibit the due relation of solidity between 
 her and the firmament above her. 
 
 I have ever been a very warm admirer and ardent defend- 
 er of Turner against his ordinary assailants. He is a poetical 
 painter, and gives me more delight than any other modern art- 
 ist. But Ruskin is extravagant, and defends him, in part, I 
 think, on wrong grounds. If Ruskin is right, none can appre- 
 ciate Turner but Turner himself. No doubt, every great cre- 
 ator must teach the world how and what to admire; but if he 
 does not succeed in being admired in the end, he has not done 
 the work he pretended to do. No doubt Ruskin says rightly 
 that a painter must aim at truth in his representations ; but the 
 question is how much truth he can obtain without sacrificing 
 the general effect — the emotions which the whole is to produce; 
 and I think he goes upon wrong, because one-sided principles, 
 when he argues as if the only merit of a painting were its truth- 
 ful representation of the outward object. A certain mode of 
 doing this, derived from the painter's individual mind, is that 
 which interests beholders more than aught besides, and I think 
 I am referring to fact when I say it is this principally which as- 
 signs value to the picture. The pictures of Claude are not so 
 true as those of many a painter whose works are not worth any 
 thing in the market — Glover's, for instance, which people bought 
 eagerly on their first appearance, because they were like the 
 places of which they were portraits. Ruskin is quite mistaken, 
 
^''Imitatioii'' and ''Copy ingr 445 
 
 too, I think, in his remarks on the distinction made by my fa- 
 ther and others between the terms " imitation " and " copying." 
 Aristotle, in the " Art of Poetry," a standard authority, has used 
 the former in the broad general sense, which Ruskin seems to 
 suppose was the proper one, to produce a likeness of some ob- 
 ject of observation by art, the intention of which is not that it 
 should pass for the original by way of delusion, but to delight 
 the spectator by the very sense of the art exercised. " Othello " 
 is an imitation of a domestic story, in which the passion of jeal- 
 ousy was the principal feature, and the chief mover of the event. 
 Mr, Burke says, quite in accordance with this usual meaning of 
 the terms : " Whenever we are delighted by the representation 
 of things which we should not delight to see in reality, the 
 pleasure arises from imitation." I have not Ruskin's book at 
 hand; but I remember he says upon this — "the very contrary 
 is the case;" because he determines that imitation properly 
 means no more than copying — the mere production of a dupli- 
 cate ox facsimile of the original. Usage determines the mean- 
 ing of terms, and I think it is against him. Even etymology, 
 as far as it goes, is against him ; for imitation comes from the 
 Greek word which we render by " mimicry;" and he who mim- 
 ics another man never means to pass for the man he mimics by 
 disguise ; the pleasure he gives rests upon the spectator's sense 
 that the likeness is presented in a medium of diversity. 
 
 It is time to conclude this rambling epistle. Before you re 
 ceive it you will have heard of the sad event which puts our 
 papers in mourning — the death of Sir R. Peel, by a fall from 
 his horse. I am one of those who honor Peel as a practical 
 statesman. I am no politician, and always speak on such sub- 
 jects with a reserve on account of my inadequate insight. But 
 we can not help seeing, or seeming to see, some broad facts and 
 acts in connection with them. It seems to me that Peel had 
 the sagacity to see, when the time had arrived, what his coun- 
 try required, and would have, either from him or some one else, 
 with more or less of struggle and commotion; and that he had 
 come to the resolution to do what he had come to think, under 
 the circumstances, necessary, let them say what they might, let 
 him lose office or retain it. If he acted upon self-interest, it is 
 not of the vulgar kind, but of that which was one with the good 
 of the country; he could preserve the character of a statesman 
 who would not sacrifice the public advantage to his own repu- 
 
446 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 tation for consistency. To say he should let others do what he 
 would not do himself, with all the chances of their omitting to 
 do it, or deferring to do it, seems to me a superficial, unprac- 
 tical way of putting the matter. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Black Country. — T Wood; the Dingle; Boscobel; Chillington. 
 
 — Liberality and Exclusiveness. — The Wolverhampton Iron-works. — 
 Trentham. — B Park. — Leicestershire Hospitality. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 T- Wood, Wolverhampton, July 9, 1850. — When we had 
 
 passed Birmingham and entered the region of cinders and 
 groves of chimneys, I thought it almost equaled the hideous- 
 ness of a certain manufacturing portion of Lancashire. On the 
 side of Tettenhall and Penn, Staffordshire has its share of sylvan 
 beauty. The Worcestershire hills rise in several ranges faintly 
 blue on the horizon. This house is all built (by Rickman) and 
 furnished in the olden style, with great elegance and harmony of 
 effect j the painted glass and old carved oak furniture are fine 
 in their way; and the prospect from the windows reminds one 
 of pictures of the garden of Boccaccio — the vistas are well man- 
 aged, so as to seem ended only by the Wrekin in the distance ; 
 the turf is in high perfection — such an expanse of emerald velvet 
 I scarce ever saw before; and the cedars scattered among the 
 other trees delight me especially. I have been so long shut 
 out from scenes of this kind that the place appears to me a 
 finer one perhaps than it does to those who go from one smooth, 
 ornate country-seat to another 5^ear by year. I do feel, how- 
 ever, the want of water. In the Dingle, a picturesque glen in 
 
 the grounds of Mr. C , of Badger, water has its due part in 
 
 the scene, now in the foamy water-foil, now in the wide, quiet, 
 gleamy pool, that reflects the sky and the branching of the tall, 
 picturesque trees around. Yesterday we visited Boscobel, and 
 
 E crept down into the hole where Charles II. is said to 
 
 have hidden himself. I tried to go too, but felt too much stifled 
 to proceed. I was pleased to see, in returning by the artificial 
 lake at Chillington, which made me think of Curragh Chase 
 
 and a certain poem of yours, that Mr. G , the owner, allows 
 
 the people of the neighborhood to disport themselves there on 
 
The Iron-works. 
 
 447 
 
 a certain day every week. How much more lively enjoyment 
 he must have in seeing a crowd of people, whom his bounty has 
 refreshed, than in keeping the whole spacious domain to him- 
 self all the week round, closed up in silent, melancholy state, 
 no one going near that fine sheet of water embosomed in woods 
 from hour to hour. Surely men will, in the course of time, be- 
 come wiser about such matters than they have been, and frame 
 for themselves deeper and keener pleasures, more stirring and 
 expansive enjoyments, than wealth and large possessions have 
 brought to our grandees for the most part. There is some- 
 thing to ray feelings always deeply sad and sombre in the sight 
 of a large domain belonging to some stately reserved proprie- 
 tor, living alone there with but few inmates except domestic 
 servants. It puts me in mind of the poor, bounded nature of 
 our existence here, when it is regarded in a worldly point of 
 view. There is great amusement in constructing a fine house 
 and superintending the laying-out of a large pleasure-ground, 
 
 such as my friend Mr. M has had here ; but when all is 
 
 done, and the place perfect in its way, I fancy the lawns and 
 groves breathing sadness to the spirit of a proprietor, which is 
 never felt when we gaze upon the wild woods and fields with a 
 sense that we are not bound to enjoy them because they are 
 ours. 
 
 From these reflections I was called away yesterday to go 
 and see the Iron-works, a stirring spectacle strongly contrast- 
 ed with the scenes which were in my mind's eye on my return 
 from Boscobel and Chillington. First we saw the rolling-mills, 
 and all the glowing processes of hammering down the masses 
 and shaping the metal ; then we proceeded to the huge fur- 
 naces, were hoisted up to the top of those enormous chimneys 
 on a movable floor, inspected the craters of the artificial vol- 
 canoes on the platform at the top of the edifice, looked out 
 over the land of iron and coal, and paid a visit to the engine, 
 which cost ;^2 5oo. 
 
 Regenfs Park, Monday, Jidy 23. — Dear friend, from my ac- 
 count of the furnaces, just as I was about to describe the red- 
 hot river of melted metal, like Phlegethon bursting upward from 
 Pluto's realm and rushing on under the light of the day, while 
 a blast was let forth from an orifice above, and forth went the 
 two impetuous elements, fire and air, flaming and roaring to- 
 
448 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 gether — I was called away, and from that hour to this have 
 never had time to write aught but necessary letters, accounts, 
 etc. Before my return home on Saturday last I saw a great 
 deal more of Staffordshire, and gained a strong impression of 
 its richly sylvan beauty, enhancing a regret that those green 
 lawns and fields, and full-foliaged banks of wood, are not en- 
 livened with clear waters, living sparkling streams, and have no 
 opportunity of mirroring their own charms in any but the slug- 
 gish, unclear, seemingly reluctant floods of made lakes and 
 rivers. We visited Trentham, saw Broughton, Sir Henry 
 Broughton's Staffordshire abode, and, lastly, went to stay at 
 
 B Park, Mr. H 's seat near Loughborough, which is as 
 
 good a specimen of modern magnificent comfort, which is the 
 proper phrase rather than comfortable magnificence, which, how- 
 ever, may be fitly applied to the grand and imposing hall. At 
 Trentham the ministrative part of the establishment — the of- 
 fices and kitchen and fruit gardens — are on a princely scale 
 and in a princely style. The useful is nowhere abroad, I ap- 
 prehend, so extensively and elegantly maintained, and this is. 
 truly characteristic of the English nobleman. The show-part 
 of the house and grounds may be found fault with. Ten acres 
 of flower-garden defeats its own object by disproportionateness. 
 Some compare it to fairy-land; but fairj'-land, so far as my trav- 
 els have gone, includes more of the inimitable charms of nature 
 — lucid streams, glittering lakes, basins of water, in which, by 
 optical alchemy, liquid crystal is transmuted into beryl and em- 
 erald, forming rainbowy water-falls, and splendid masses of blos- 
 som, all of one hue, opposed to others, such as you describe in 
 the Delphic region — instead of that endless succession of flower 
 fantasticalities, and lawn and shrubbery artificialities. The 
 park with its deer is good ; but I like not the Arabian desert 
 of gravel extended far as eye can go before the house, with the 
 dull series of clipped laurel clumps to imitate the Versailles 
 orange-trees, which seem intended to illustrate the stupidity of 
 identity. The house is full of elegant apartments, but has no 
 grand room ; and abounds in pretty paintings without any fine 
 pictures. It seems a show-place for pretty chintzes and Derby- 
 shire ware. Some of the statues are to be admired, especially 
 a bronze cast, in the garden, of the Perseus of B. Cellini, a sort 
 of mediaeval Apollo ; a marble sitting statue of Paris listening to 
 the prophecy of Nereus, which is most graceful, and listens all 
 
Visit to B Park. 449 
 
 over. The Perseus has this defect: it wants the repose and de- 
 corum which characterize ancient art, not in the figure of the 
 hero, which is but a variation of the Apollo, but in the victim. 
 Under his feet is the death-stiffened figure of what, to the eye, 
 appears no noxious monster, but only a beautiful woman dis- 
 torted in the last agony; and the blood bursting from the neck 
 looks like large ringlets of hair. Thus the Perseus seems a 
 horrid murderer rather than a dauntless conqueror. 
 
 But I must run on to B Park, and tell you of that noble 
 
 hall, which certainly is the most imposing house-interior, from 
 the size and proportions of the whole, the rich, carved oak bal- 
 ustrades, etc., that I ever beheld, not even excepting the hall at 
 the Duke of Sutherland's town mansion. There is a gorgeous 
 
 window emblazoned with all the H heraldry. Mr. M 
 
 criticises this, and maintains that it is too much covered with 
 deep color, that a hall-window ought to admit a silver light ; 
 and again he criticises the formal garden, and objects to the 
 abrupt transition from that artificialism into the park. But this 
 criticism seems to me founded on too narrow a principle. The 
 
 soul of B Park is heartsome ease, luxury, and comfort. 
 
 T Wood is more poetical and picturesque, with its silver 
 
 light and rainbow reflections on the white stone staircase. But 
 for a dwelling-house, give me the comfortable brown light, which 
 looks warm when you come in from a cold, wintry sky, and 
 wraps you in cosy shadow when you enter weary with the heat, 
 and eye-oppressed with the glare of our sudden summer sultri- 
 ness and sunshine. Give me, too, the richly carpeted staircase, 
 instead of cold stone. As for the garden, when you are in it, 
 and look back upon the house (late Elizabethan, early James I.), 
 you feel that it is the necessary adjunct to such a mansion, and 
 that a picturesque Boccaccio garden, a sort of imitation of Ar- 
 mida's pleasure-ground, would be quite incongruous in such a 
 place. But I must not go on describing at this rate. And, 
 after all, the magnificent oaks of the park are the great boast 
 
 of B , for the oak is the weed of that district, as the elm in 
 
 England generally, and Mr. H had only to clear judicious- 
 ly. The owner of all this accumulation of showy luxury is, or 
 will be, one of the richest commoners in England, and is as 
 rich in amiable qualities as in worldly possessions. From the 
 testimonies of those who know him well, and from his conver- 
 sation, I judge that he is as faithful, generous, and affectionate 
 
 Ff 
 
450 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 in heart, as he is frank, simple, and cordial in manner. His 
 sister is a feminine copy of him ; and I do trust they will^live 
 long together, like Baucis and Philemon. They were all kind- 
 ness to me, and Mr. H said I must come again to make a 
 
 longer stay ; and I am sure he paid me twice as much atten- 
 tion as he otherwise would, with so many guests to entertain, 
 because I seemed weak and delicate, and suffered dreadfully 
 from an accident, a minute grain of metal getting lodged in my 
 eye, between Derby and Loughborough, and causing me great 
 misery, till after I don't know how many searchings of the af- 
 flicted orb and its coverings, and assurances that whatever I 
 might feel or fancy, nothing was in it, the tormentor walked out 
 of its own accord. There was an archery-meeting near the 
 rocks, a mile from the house, in Mr. H 's grounds, on Fri- 
 day, and our party was met by a select set from the neigh- 
 borhood. Mr. H 's little speeches at the dinner had an air 
 
 of grave playfulness and business-of-society straightforwardness 
 about them which pleased every one. Indeed, his whole man- 
 ner is calculated to put all persons at their ease, and to excite 
 nobody's vanity. Such blandness is like oil on the waves of 
 society. 
 
Rain, Roses, and Hay. ^c i 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 1850. — jfuly - December. 
 
 LETTERS TO MRS. MOORE, MISS FENWICK, AUBREY DE VERE, 
 ESQ., PROFESSOR HENRY REED, REV. EDWARD COLE- 
 RIDGE, MISS MORRIS, EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ., 
 HON. MR, JUSTICE COLERIDGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Rain, Roses, and Hay. — Experiences of Wesley as a Preacher among tiie 
 Agriculturists and Manufacturers. — Influences of Society, Education, 
 and Scenery on the Development of Poetic Genius. 
 
 To Mrs. Moore : 
 
 Chester Place, jfuly 26, 1850. — I have had a most agreeable 
 
 letter from dear Miss H this morning. She tantahzes me 
 
 with an account of the flood of sunhght which has been pour- 
 ing into B Park, to illuminate all its beauties and glories 
 
 within and without, since our departure, and she almost brings 
 tears into my eyes by reminding me of the roses "laughing and 
 singing in the pouring rain," a touch worthy of Shelley, the 
 poet of the " Sensitive Plant;" and in the thought of these dar- 
 lings rejoicing in the dews of heaven, which they think, I dare 
 say, made on purpose for them, she magnanimously adds — 
 " Never mind my hay." Now where is the farmer, or any mas- 
 culine professor of hay, from the Land's End to Johnny Groat's 
 House, who would have said or felt, "Never mind my hay?" 
 All that set of men think their hay and stubble far more im- 
 portant than other men's gold and silver and precious stones. 
 So Wesley found, and Whitefield too. All their diamonds and 
 pearls did the farmers set at naught, and they were harder to 
 be taught to prize the great pearl of the Gospel itself than even 
 the poor benighted sinners and gin-soddened manufacturers. 
 
 All this is very uncharitable and narrow, perhaps you will 
 think, with a more fortunate race of husbandmen around you 
 than those I am thinking of In truth, these field-preacher ex- 
 
452 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 periences impeach particular circumstances rather than men. I 
 suppose if the farmers are more prejudiced and less ready to 
 give than manufacturers, and agricultural laborers more like 
 clods than operatives of the loom and the mill are like lumps 
 of greasy wool, it is because they have a less brisk intercourse 
 with their fellow-men, and the Promethean sparks of their 
 minds are not elicited so constantly by mutual attrition. "A 
 parcel of auld fells" will leave the men who live around them 
 as hard and savage as their own rocks and wild woods, if a 
 book-softened mind is not brought to bear upon them; and this 
 thought comes strongly upon me in reading Mr. Wordsworth's 
 great posthumous poem. He ascribes his poetry to his poetical 
 mode of life, first as a child, and then as a school-boy. But 
 whatever he might or might not have been without that train- 
 ing, certain it is that of the many companions of his early years 
 who shared it, none proved a poet, much less a great poet, but 
 himself. And there was my father, as the author remarks at 
 the end, city-bred, yet ready with an "Ancient Mariner" and 
 " Christabel," as he with his volumes dedicated to Nature. And 
 Milton was city born and bred too. I suppose, however, that the 
 detailed observation of the forms of nature exhibited, as Ruskin 
 remarks, in the works of Mr. Wordsworth, could not have been 
 but for his mountaineer education. How I should like to ru- 
 minate over this new feast with Mr. Moore ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Domestic Architecture, Mediaeval and Modern. 
 
 To Mrs. Moore, Eccleshall Vicarage, Staffordshire : 
 
 Chester Place, yuly 27, 1S50. — Mr. S is coming to see me 
 
 this evening. He appears charmed wdth ray descriptions of 
 
 T Wood, Eccleshall, and B P . He concludes 
 
 with, "An old manor-house is to me only less sacred and vener- 
 able than a church, and many degrees more so than a Dissent- 
 ing chapel !" I love and admire genuine remains of antiquity 
 in every way; and there certainly was a practical poetry in old 
 times, both ancient and mediaeval, which showed itself not only 
 in books, but in pictures and statues and buildings. All we 
 can now do, for the most part, is to reproduce this old poetry, 
 to make likenesses of it in new material. 
 
' Dwelling-Houses. 453 
 
 I must say, however, in regard to dwelling-houses, that the 
 imitation is vastly better than the original, and that no houses 
 of our ancestors could have approached in enjoyableness to 
 
 T Wood and B Park. The lowness of the rooms is, to 
 
 our modern feelings, the greatest possible preclusion of com- 
 fort. The loftiness of the sleeping-rooms at B Park is one 
 
 of their greatest advantages, even more than all the sumptuous 
 and elegant upholstery and pottery. At the house of Sir Thomas 
 Boleyn (father of the unfortunate consort of Henry VIII.), 
 though it is called Castle — something — with much state, or pre- 
 tension to it, and much that indicates stately living for those 
 times, there is a rudeness in the whole fabric, and a stifling want 
 of height in the rooms, which made me feel that our ancestors' 
 way of daily life must have been what we should now pronounce 
 worthy of Gryll, who had such a " hoggish mind," in the days of 
 Spenser. 
 
 III. 
 
 Biographical Value of "The Prelude." 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq., Loughrigg Holme, Ambleside : 
 
 August, 1850. — To all genuine admirers of Mr. Wordsworth's 
 poetry, this strain of verse, so long kept back, will seem a treas- 
 ure of high value as poetry, and most important as biography. 
 The self-revelation of such a mind, the value of this — the full 
 value — can not be perceived at once, it will be recognized more 
 and more. 
 
 I must not go on pointing out fine passages, but begin the 
 other business of the day. I will but name that on books at p. 
 108-9, and the fine touches at p. 157. All the addresses to my 
 father, and notices of him, are, as you may suppose, a deep joy 
 to me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Mr. Tennyson's "In Memoriam." — Favorite Passages. — Moral Tone of 
 "The Prelude." — Review of "The Prelude." — Neuralgia, and Dante's 
 Demons. — English Reserve. — Interchange of Thought between Mr. 
 Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, August 6, 1850.— I have just received your 
 kind present of " In Memoriam 3" many thanks. What a treas- 
 
454 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ure it will be, if I can but think of it and feel about it as you do, 
 
 anii as Mr. T does ! You said, " The finest strain since 
 
 Shakespeare ;" and afterward that you and Mr. T agreed 
 
 that it set the author above all modern poets, save only VV. W. 
 and S. T. C. 
 
 My impression of the pieces you recited was that they ex- 
 pressed great intensity of feeling — but all that is in such poetry 
 can not be perceived at first, especially from recitation. The 
 poetry of feeling gains by impassioned recitation, but where 
 there is deep thought, as well as emotion in the strain, to do 
 justice to it, we must adopt the usual attitude of study, and 
 dwell with our eyes upon the page ; for the mind is a creature 
 of habit, and moves but in the accustomed track. 
 
 Eve7iing. — I have read " In Memoriam " as far as p. 48. I 
 mark with three crosses — 
 
 " One writes that other friends remain," 
 which you recited ; with one cross the next — 
 "Dear house," etc. 
 Ditto the next — 
 
 " A happy hour," etc. 
 Most beautiful and Petrarchan is — 
 
 " Fair ship, that from the Italian shore." 
 Very striking is XIV., p. 22 — 
 
 "If one should bring me this report." 
 XIX. and XX. I specially admire ; and XXL, and still more 
 XXIL— 
 
 " The path by which we twain did go." 
 There is a very Italian air in this set of mourning poems 
 throughout, as far as I have read. It is Petrarch come again, 
 and become an Englishman. 
 
 Morning. — I read " In INIemoriam " in the night, and was 
 much affected by XXX. — 
 
 "With trembling fingers," p. 48. 
 The last stanza but one is to me obscure, and obscurity mars 
 pathos. At present many passages are to me not clear, and 
 some, which I do understand, strike me as too quaint. For 
 instance, p. 43, last stanza. My father used to complain of 
 Petrarch's eternal hooks and baits and keys, which "turned the 
 lock on many a passage of true passion." "A shadow waiting 
 with keys, to cloak him from his proper scorn," is to me all shad- 
 owy and misty, like some of Turner's allegorical pictures, the 
 
Review of ''The Pr elude r 455 
 
 wantonness and willfulness of a mist-loving genius, who yet 
 could clear off the mist, and display underneath a bold and 
 beauteous plan, to delight the engraver and the lover of engrav- 
 ings. ^ 
 
 This poem, and p. 14, and the betrothed tying a ribbon or a 
 rose, are in his old vein of bright, fanciful imagery, vivid with 
 detail. But the poems, as a whole, are distinguished by a great- 
 er proportion of thought to sensuous imagery than his old ones; 
 they recede from Keatsland into Petrarchdom, and now and 
 then approach the confines of the Dantescan new hemisphere. 
 
 I must tell you that " The Prelude " gains to my mind by re- 
 jgerusal. That is a fine passage at p. 306. Did you note the 
 explicit recQg^nition of eternal life, eternity, and God, at p. 361 ? 
 ""Perhaps one of the most striking passages of those that had 
 not been printed before is that in " The Retrospect," describing 
 the shepherd beheld in connection with nature, and thus enno- 
 bled and glorified. And, oh, how affectionate is all the con- 
 cluding portion ! I do feel deeply thankful for the revelation 
 of Wordsworth's heart in this poem. Whatever sterner feelings 'j 
 may have succeeded at times to this tenderness and these out- | 
 pourings of love, it raises him greatly in my mind to find that 1 
 he was able to give himself thus out to another, during one \ 
 period of his life — not to absorb all my father's affectionate 
 homage, and to respond no otherwise than by a gracious re- 
 ceptio^ii of it. There are many touches, too, of something like 
 softness and modesty and humbleness, which, taken in conjunc- 
 "'tion with those virtues of his character which are allied to con- 
 fidence and dignified self-assertion, add much to his character 
 of amiability. To be humble, in him was a merit indeed ; and 
 this merit did not appear so evidently in his later life as in 
 these earlier manifestations of his mind. 
 
 Some friend has sent me the Examiner, which contams a re- 
 view of " The Prelude," very exalting upon the whole, and in 
 the main, I think, very just. I should not say, however, that 
 the poem " will take a place as one of the most perfect of the 
 author's compositions," although I agree with the critic in pre- 
 ferring it greatly to his later performances. The review is 
 vio-orously written, and worth your glancing your eyes over. _ 
 
 How wonderfully the wheel has turned ! This poem, which 
 
 you and I strong Wordsworthians, do not think equal to his 
 
 " poetic works in general of the same date, is now received with 
 
456 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 such warm welcome, such high honor and hearty praise; while 
 those greatest works of his, when they first appeared, met with 
 only ridicule from the critical oracles of the day, scorn or neg- 
 lect from the public, and admiration and love only from the few. 
 The diffuseness, want of condensation, is just noticed ; but I 
 am pleased, I own, at the warmth and high style of the praise. 
 I think you and I had not quite done justice to the poem, from 
 comparing it with the author's most finished and finest compo- 
 sitions, rather than viewing it by itself, or as compared with 
 other men's productions. * * * Passages are quoted from the 
 " Residence at Cambridge," not as best and noblest in them- 
 selves, but, I suppose, as most suited to the Examiner newspa- 
 per, and certainly they are energetic, and contain strong thoughts 
 in strong language. The passage on Newton I had stroked for 
 admiration myself. The reviewers emphasize several passages, 
 among the rest those on Milton — 
 
 " With his rosy cheeks, 
 Angelical keen eye, courageous look. 
 And conscious step of purity and pride." 
 
 That noble line — 
 
 " Uttering odious truth, 
 Darkness before, and Danger's voice behind, 
 Soul awful — ," 
 
 I never knew the birthplace of before. 
 
 But I must say good-night. This fierce pain clings to me. 
 Oh ! how well can I imagine that all the frightful shapes with 
 which the infernal realms have been peopled, the demons with 
 their prongs and pitchforks, may have been mere brain images 
 — the shaping forth, by way of diversion and relief, in order to 
 send it off from self, of these sharp pangs, and shattering, pierc- 
 ing nerve tortures ! The vulture of Prometheus is more men- 
 tal, but Dante's demons are personifications of Neuralgia and 
 Tic-douloureux, or, at least the latter, if they sat for their pict- 
 ures, would come out just like them. I don't wonder that 
 Dante begged Virgil to dispense with their company, and would 
 rather wander through the horrid circles without guide, than 
 with those fierce ones — 
 
 " Deh ; senza scorta andiamci soli, 
 Se tu sa 'ir, cli'i per me non la cheggio." 
 
 I always fancy I see Dante's piteous, frightened face, and hear 
 his tremulous, eager tones, when he makes this petition. 
 
'''In Memoriamr 457 
 
 Don't you observe how much less of sturdy independent pride 
 'and reserve there is in Itahans, and all foreigners, than in us 
 Englishmen ? An English poet would not have written this of 
 himself — he would have thought it babyish ; and still more 
 much of Dante's behavior with Beatrice, which I always have 
 thought has a touch of Jerry Sneak in it. . Indeed, he actually 
 compares himself to a baby, fixing its eyes on its ma. 
 
 The Examiner says, " Coleridge was perhaps the only con- 
 temporary from whom Wordsworth ever took an opinion ; and 
 '''That'he did so from him is mainly attributable to the fact that 
 Coleridge did little more than reproduce to him his own notions, 
 sometimes rectified by a subtler logic, but always rendered more 
 attractive by new and dazzling illustrations." 
 
 I don't ^think this quite correct. I can see in this poem and 
 in " The Excursion " also, some of the substance of my father's 
 
 mind. I believe W took quite as much as he gave in this 
 
 interchange. 
 
 V. 
 
 "In Memoriam;" its Merits and Defects. — Shelley's "Adonais." 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq., Loughrigg Holme, Ambleside : 
 
 Chester Place, August 15, 1850. — I agree with Mr. Kenyon 
 and Lady Palgrave, who are not mere friefid-cxiiics, that " In 
 Memoriam " is a highly interesting volume, and worthy to be 
 compared with the poems of Petrarch. I think it like his 
 poems, both in the general scheme and the execution of par- 
 ticular pieces. The pervading though not universal fault, as 
 you, I think, say too, is quaintness and violence, instead of force ; 
 in short, want of truth, which is at the bottom of all affectation, 
 an endeavor to be something more and higher and better than 
 the aspirant really and properly is. The heaven of poetry is 
 not to be taken by these means. It is like the Elysium de- 
 scribed to Laodamia, whatever is valuable in that way flows 
 forth spontaneously like the products of nature, silently and 
 without struggle or noise. How smoothly do all the finest 
 strains of poetry flow on ! the noblest passages in the " Paradise 
 Lost " and in Mr. Wordsworth's and my father's finest poems ! 
 The mind stumbles not over a single word or image. 
 
 Shelley's great fault is occasional obscurity, I think. I find 
 this even in "Adonais." 
 
458 Memoir a7id Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Public Singers. — Lovers at the Opera. 
 
 To Mrs. Moore : 
 
 Chester Place, August, 1850. — I made a great effort last night 
 
 to take advantage of Mrs. W. B 's offer of a seat in her opera 
 
 box, or one lent her, for myself and Herbert. We heard Son- 
 tag, and for the first time I was thoroughly entranced by a 
 woman's singing. There is a softness and tenderness in the 
 very highest warble of this lady-like singer, a combination of 
 delicacy and brilliancy, which distinguishes her singing from 
 that of all other women whom I have ever heard. 
 
 I delight in a man's tenor and contralto voice, but the fine, 
 powerful, high-toned singing of women in general gives me little 
 pleasure, wearies me in less than ten minutes. It wants body 
 to my feelings ; with a masculine background, I like it well. 
 Catharine Hayes, in " Lucia," moved me not in the least, and 
 tired me very soon. Coletti, in the "Barber of Seville," the 
 huge Lablache, the pretty-handsome Gardoni — all pleased me 
 greatly. But, oh ! how comical it is to see those opera lovers 
 without a particle of love, grief, or any other emotion in their 
 faces, evidently full of their song, and not a bit of their middle- 
 aged or unpretty sweetheart, feign to stab themselves in desper- 
 ation, plump down most inelegantly, warble away to the last, 
 and two minutes afterward pick themselves up, and appear be- 
 fore the curtain to bow, and receive the claps and compliments 
 of the audience. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Simplicity and Sublimity of " The Prelude." 
 
 To Mrs. Moore : 
 
 Chester Place, August, 1850. — I can not help thinking that a 
 second perusal, when you have got over the shock of the style 
 of certain passages, will bring you over to my opinion of the 
 poetic energy ©f Book III. of " The Prelude." To my mind it is 
 an earnest strain poured forth from the deep heart and soul of 
 a great thinker and feeler. Those lines about Milton, p. 67, 
 are such as none but a kindred spirit, who is to walk hand in 
 
Beauties of the ''The Preluder 459 
 
 hand with the bhnd bard, bhnd no longer, in Elysium, could 
 ever have conceived or composed — 
 
 " Yea our blind poet, who, in his latter day, 
 Stood almost single, uttering odious truth. 
 Darkness before, and Danger''s voice behind.'''' 
 
 That underlined verse is a volume, a folio volume. It is sub- 
 lime, worthy of the author of " Paradise Lost " in its pregnant 
 sublimity. That plainness which reminds you of the " Rejected 
 Addresses " is a noble simplicity, worthy of the depth and ear- 
 nestness of the meaning. Then I admire greatly all that pas- 
 sage, p. 72, 73, and the passage at p. 76, "Like a lone shepherd 
 on a promontory," and that subtle one at p. 78, " The surfaces 
 of artificial life," and very fine indeed I think is the paragraph 
 at p. 80 — 
 
 "And here is Labor, his own bond slave, Hope, 
 That never set the fains against the prize, 
 And Decency and Custom starving Truth, 
 And blind Authority beating with his staff 
 The child that might have led him ;" 
 
 as he does at this hour — witness the Gorham Controversy, and 
 the lists of subscribers to a great old proposition, least under- 
 stood of all propositions perhaps that ever made a stir in Chris- 
 tendom, as Arthur Stanley so well shows in the Edinburgh Re-' 
 view. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 " One Baptism for the Remission of Sins.'''' 
 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq., Loughrigg Holme, Ambleside : 
 
 August 19, 1850. — The article on the Gorham Controversy in 
 the last Edinburgh is by Arthur Stanley. It seems to me very 
 able. The argument about the article of the creed, " One Bap- 
 tism for the Remission of Sins " — not sin, not original sin, in the 
 sense in which any infant can have it — I had lately put on paper 
 myself, and it seems to me, I own, very cogent. " Remission 
 of sins " is a Scripture phrase spoken of adults, and can not 
 surely be twisted into remission of an hereditary taint, without 
 extreme violence. 
 
460 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge.^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge's Influence as an Adviser. 
 
 To the Rev. Henry Moore : 
 
 August 25, 1850. — In order to a good practical judgment, two 
 things are required, a clear, strong understanding, and still more, 
 perhaps, a generous, loving, sympathizing nature, which makes 
 the state of another person's affairs, thoughts, feelings, present 
 to the imagination. It was from the possession of these prop- 
 erties that my father's advice in matters of life and action was 
 valuable, that his counsel to men in religious difficulties was 
 felt to be of real service, as many have declared to me since his 
 death. Men who are confined in their thoughts and affections 
 to the narrow circle of self, and self at second hand, can not 
 give valuable advice to those who are out of that circle; and 
 the world is very apt to confound moderation in discourse, and 
 prudence, with deep and comprehensive judgment, which rests 
 on a very different basis, and results from far deeper quaUties. 
 
 X. 
 
 Spiritual Truths beheld by the Eye of Faith in the Light of Reason. — The 
 Gospel its own best Evidence. 
 
 To Edward Quillinan, Esq. : 
 
 Chester Flace, September 10, 1850. — What I said to you the 
 other day about the inseparability of faith from reason was only 
 an attempt to express a characteristic doctrine of my father's, 
 which has planted itself firmly in my mind. I spoke of reason, 
 not as the faculty of reasoning, of reflecting, weighing, judging, 
 comparing, but as the organ of spiritual truth, the eye of the 
 mind, which perceives the substantial ideas and verities of re- 
 ligion as the bodily eye sees colors and shapes. It seems to 
 me that a tenet which does not embody some idea which our 
 mental eye can behold, is no proper object of faith. St. Paul 
 says that we are to know the things that are given us of God, 
 that they are to be spiritually discerned, that God reveals them 
 to the faithful, yea, the deep things of Qod. Our saving faith 
 consists, I think, in a spiritual beholding, a perceptioij of truth 
 of the highest order which purifies the heart, and changes the 
 
Faith and Reason. 46 1 
 
 soul from glory to glory, while it gazes on the image of the di- 
 vine perfections. The holy apostle prays that "the eyes of our 
 understanding being enlightened," we may know Jesus Christ, 
 and what is the hope of His calling. The doctrine of implicit 
 faith, that men are saved by believing something to be true of 
 which they have no idea or knowledge, I can not find in the 
 Bible. My not finding would be nothing, if others could find 
 and show it to me. But who can show it there ? It seems to 
 me to be a doctrine of fallible men, not of Christ himself, who 
 always speaks of His teaching as being in accordance with the 
 constitution and faculties which God has given us, as having its 
 witness in our own hearts and minds, if they are not darkened 
 by clouds of prejudice and passion. Reason is ahke in all man- 
 kind ; I therefore arrogate nothing to myself in particular when 
 I express my agreement with the maxim of my father and many 
 other thoughtful men, that faith consists in a spiritual behold- 
 ing, " the evidence of things not seen " with the bodily eye. 
 " By faith we understand" says the writer to the Hebrews, " that 
 the worlds were framed by the word of God," 
 
 The Divinity of our Saviour, His Atonement, Justification by 
 Faith, all the great doctrines of our religion, have been shown 
 by the great fathers and doctors of the Church to be doctrines 
 of reason, which may be spiritually discerned. If it were not 
 for the witness of our hearts and minds to these great truths, I 
 can hardly imagine that they would be generally received. The 
 outward evidences are not appreciated by the masses, and by 
 themselves would never sufiice, I think, to a hearty reception 
 of the Gospel. We are early told that the Bible is the Word of 
 God, and believe it implicitly. But if we did not find and feel 
 it to be divine, as our minds unfold and we begin to inquire and 
 "seek a reason for our beliefs, surely this early faith would fall 
 from us as the seed-leaves from the growing plant, the huskv 
 from the blossom and fruit. 
 
 I can not think that there is any atitward proof of the divinity 
 of the Bible at all adequate to its general reception. People 
 do not always theorize rightly on their faith; but many think 
 they have had proof of their religion ab extra, when in reality it 
 clings to them from its direct appeals to their heart and spirit- 
 ual sense. 
 
462 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XL 
 
 Apology for Freedom of Discussion with a Friend who was a Roman Cath- 
 olic "by Ancestry." — Differences that are not Material contrasted with 
 those that are. — Popular Views, whether Romanist or Protestant, not 
 Pure Truth. — Injurious Effect of Party Divisions in the Cause of Na- 
 tional Education. — Anglican Idea of the Real Presence. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 1850. — My dear friend, last night in my sleeplessness I rec- 
 ollected rather uneasily my letter to you, and felt that I had 
 spoken my mind too boldly and freely on the High-Church sys- 
 tems, one of which belongs to your creed. 
 
 This is in reality a compliment to you, or what I esteem very 
 highly such ; I should never have been betrayed into such plain- 
 ness with any ordinary High Churchman. But I have ever felt 
 in conversing with you on matters of religious belief, as if your 
 mind was free, and your moral sense at liberty to judge of what 
 came before it. I have always thought that your way of main- 
 taining the credit of the " Catholic " religion was rather to ignore 
 what we Protestants consider its errors of doctrine and injurious 
 practices than to uphold and defend them, to represent them as 
 at least no necessary part of the Romanistic system, and in your 
 thoughts and reasonings to reduce the whole to that common 
 ground of spiritual ideas which, as I firmly believe, alone is vital 
 influencive Christianity. Possessed by this notion of your frame 
 of mind, and recollecting how often I had heard you speak as 
 if you were a disengaged spectator, ab extra, of formal Chris- 
 tianity — Christianity as it has been modified in its outward ex- 
 pression by national diversities, though Heaven forbid I should 
 suppose you to be thus disengaged and on the outside of the 
 Gospel faith, as it is a thing of the heart and spirit — I told you 
 simply what impression I received from history, and the reports 
 I read of the present procedure of the Papacy in different parts 
 of the world; and what I had in my mind was, not to speak 
 disrespectfully of your Church in a religious point of view, but 
 rather to convey to you how far I was from sharing the popular 
 notion of Romanism or Tridentinism, as if it embodied a kind 
 of corruptness from which reformed Christianity is wholly free. 
 You will hold me pseudo-philosophical, rationalistic, and so 
 forth, I fear, when I avow my belief that popular dogmatic 
 Christianity, whether of your Church or of ours, is not pure truth, 
 
" Godless " Education. 463 
 
 and that a greater approximation to just views of the Bible and 
 of the grounds of religious belief belongs to individuals than is 
 found in h\y party. I think our state is better than yours, be- 
 cause, however inconsistently, it does allow more freedom of 
 thought, and does in some sort, though imperfectly, bear witness 
 to the great truth that saving faith is insight — perception by 
 feeling, or knowing with the heart, and what Scripture calls the 
 understanding, and philosophy calls the higher reason or spir- 
 itual sense of rehgious truth — not mere acceptance of doctrines, 
 no matter whether felt or understood, which is to confound faith 
 with obedience. I think, also, that there exists in our commun- 
 ion the same spirit of exalting the clerical body and represent- 
 ing them as the Church, which to us Protestants seems so objec- 
 tionable and injurious to the true interests of Christianity. By 
 this spirit, as it appeareth to me, the Synod of Thurles is actu- 
 ated. What pretense is there for calling institutions " godless " 
 which permit every pupil to be instructed in the religion of his 
 parents, and merely require him to receive knowledge distinct 
 from religion, without reference to his particular form of faith ? 
 History and metaphysics are perhaps the only branches of learn- 
 ing in which the particular form of faith of the professor would 
 be even perceived, and surely a youth brought up in Romish 
 principles would not have his faith undermined by listening to 
 a Protestant's account of the Reformation. Is it genuine fear 
 for pure religion that prompts these scruples, and leads the 
 Catholic clergy " to deprive the Irish youth of their communion 
 of a liberal education," rather than let them receive it, even in 
 its secular branches, from any but the servants of Rome ? Did 
 they ever object to Trinity College, Dublin, on this score, at 
 least for the laity ? There is just the same jealousy in our An- 
 glican High Churchmen — they would rather keep the people in 
 ignorance than let them receive light not tinted by themselves. 
 If the light they have to dispense is pure and strong, it will sub- 
 due every other to itself, and can only be increased by independ- 
 ent influxes from other quarters. 
 
 Pure metaphysics are in reality as distinct from religion as 
 mathematics. No man could tell from the philosophical essays 
 of Leibnitz or of Berkeley whether the author was a Roman or 
 Anglican, or whether he was or was not a believer in Rev- 
 elation or even whether he was Theist or Pantheist or Poly- 
 theist or at least even this would not be necessary to the enun- 
 
464 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ciation of the philosophy. Leibnitz applies metaphysical prin- 
 ciples to the elucidation of doctrine, and tries to defend tran- 
 substantiation on his own particular theory, the result of which 
 seems to me to be that he arrives at the Anglican idea of the 
 Real Presence as a spiritual power in the soul of the receiver. 
 But in his pure metaphysical treatises his creed is not to be 
 discovered. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Character of Christian in "The Pilgrim's Progress." 
 
 To the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge : 
 
 6'rM<?r 9, 1850. — I have been reading right through "The 
 Pilgrim's Progress," with as much pleasure as if it M^as the 
 first time. The only fault I feel, or care about, is that Chris- 
 tian, in his discourse with Talkative and with Ignorance, ap- 
 pears somewhat captious, peremptory, and overbearing. And, 
 indeed, I must ever think that poor Ignorance had rather hard 
 measure from first to last. The conclusion is sadly kill-joyed 
 by the lugging of him off" and poking him into that horrid hill- 
 side. Many a good Christian would be willing enough to 
 adopt Ignorance's declaration of faith just as it stands. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Comparative Merits of Sir Walter Scott's Novels.— Severity of Satirists on 
 the Faults of their own Country or Class. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Chester Place, October, 1850. — * * * I am reperusing some of 
 the earlier Walter Scott novels with great delight. " The An- 
 tiquary " is one of the very best, the fullest of genuine original 
 matter. Oldbuck himself is a Sternean character. Elspeth is 
 Macbethish, but Edie Ochiltree is the charm of the work. He 
 is true poetry, a conception between Scott and Wordsworth, or 
 at least with a third part of Wordsworth. The marrow of Scott's 
 genius was put into this old Gaberlunzie and Bluegown. " Rob 
 Roy" is very good, but not so good — more manufactured and 
 will-wrought, in part. How admirable, though, is all that de- 
 scription of the Sabbath and the Laigh Kirk congregation at 
 Glasgow. The Bailie, too, is very amusing. Andrew Fairservice 
 
Hartley Coleridge s Works. 465 
 
 IS a satire on the Scotch of the keenest description. Do not 
 we always find that the sharpest, most home strokes of satire 
 come from those who are near to the subject of it, or even 
 identified with it ? Hook showed up the lords and lordlings of 
 his day. Mrs. Gore exposes the follies of her fellow-fashionists. 
 Berkeley and Swift have published all the characteristic faults 
 of their countrymen to the world; and Scott and Gait and 
 Miss Hamilton betray all the meanest and most odious peculi- 
 arities of theirs. Miss Edgeworth, too, in her " Absentee " and 
 " Castle Rackrent," has drawn as dark a picture of Ireland as 
 the most decided enemy could have exhibited ; and the author 
 of " The Collegians " has written about Irish middlemen what, 
 from an English pen, would have been considered a libel. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Sympathy of Friends. — Collection of her Brother Hartley's Works. — Arti- 
 cle in the Quarterly on the Homeric Controversy. — Infidelity. — Repeat- 
 ed Attacks on Revelation must be repeatedly met. 
 
 To the Rev. Edward Coleridge : 
 
 1850. — Your letter is, what I expected from you, kind and 
 comfortable. Since my trial* began (and it is not light, all 
 circumstances considered), I have received so many marks of 
 warm sympathy and active kindness from friends, and from 
 
 dear D and M such affectionate treatment, that some 
 
 good has grown out of the evil. My estimate of the kindliness 
 of my fellow-creatures, and the goodness of my own set of 
 friends in particular, has been raised some degrees higher. 
 
 The collection of our dear Hartley's Remains, with D 's 
 
 Memoir, is in the press, and I confess I have warm expecta- 
 tions from both, that they will at least deeply interest and de- 
 light a certain circle, if not a wide, yet a refined and genial one. 
 
 If we could but obtain the Worthies, and had encouragement 
 to publish a collection of the printed essays, with the beautiful 
 critique on " Hamlet " in Blackwood, there would be a compact 
 little set of works, doubly gratifying to us as evidence that poor 
 Hartley did not wholly waste the gifts with which he was in- 
 trusted, or dream away his genius without an attempt to bene- 
 
 * It was during the summer of 1850 that serious anxiety first began to be 
 felt about my mother's state of health.— E. C. 
 
 Gg 
 
466 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 fit his fellow-creatures by it, by affording them refined amuse- 
 ment, and in some sense enlightenment. 
 
 The article in the Quarterly on Mure's book and the Homer- 
 ic Controversy is able, and contains much truth ; but it is also 
 full of unfairness, misrepresentation of argument, and plausible, 
 but not deeply considered positions. This I can not but think, 
 though I never pretended to a positive general opinion on the 
 authorship of the Homeric poems ; and while I entertained 
 Wolf's idea of the possibility that the poems were national and 
 the work of a school, as did also Mr. Wordsworth, Southey, and 
 I believe Scott (and they may be supposed to have a poetic in- 
 tuition), I have always seen unity in the plan of the " Iliad," 
 what seems to me a true Achilleid. The unfairness of the ar- 
 ticle to the Germans is gross, and to lay on their shoulders 
 those opinions about " Titus Andronicus " and " The Two Noble 
 Kinsmen," which were English before they were German, is ri- 
 diculous. The proof from internal evidence — the delineation 
 of character, knowledge of the human heart, etc. — seems to me 
 very doubtful. You may see the tenderest touches of pathos, 
 of very similar character, in our old ballads, which none deny 
 to be by different hands. 
 
 Did you mark what is said in the beginning of that article 
 (p. 438) on the subject of the commoii foe to Christianity? No 
 attempt at answering Strauss 2csm^ all the thousand pamphlets 
 upon theories of doctrine, the practical result of which is insig- 
 nificant. That is indeed a fearful subject; that way the danger 
 lies ; and as there are sorrows too deep for tears, so are there 
 perils and ills too real and serious for noise and agitation. 
 
 Infidelity creeps on in silence. Men whisper it to each oth- 
 er ; no man boasts of it or parades it ; few even argue for it. 
 Dr. Newman said the other day to some controversialist, " Let 
 us talk about the prgspects of Christianity itself, instead of the 
 differences between Anglican and Catholic." Why does not 
 he answer the adversary? Silent contempt is not politic in^ 
 such a case. It is too ambiguous. Let our Churchmen con- 
 quer first and contemn afterward. So our doughty old divines 
 proceeded ; and every age needs its own evidences and argu- 
 ments against infidelity, as in every age the attack upon reveal- 
 ed religion takes a form suited to the time. 
 
 F. S. — AVhat I have said about infidelity is from the informa- 
 
Her Native Vale. 467 
 
 tions and lamentations of truly religious men. I talk with none 
 but such. It is not the mere boasting of the foe. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Her Native Vale of Keswick, and the Valley of Life. — The Papal Ag- 
 gression.— Reception of it by John Bull.— "Alton Locke." 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, November 14, 1850. — The sight of your 
 handwriting this morning gave me great pleasure, first, as com- 
 ing from you ; secondly, as coming from a place and neighbor- 
 hood in which, to the end of my mortal pilgrimage, my heart 
 and imagination will ever be most deeply interested. Keswick 
 and Rydal and Grasmere — then Netherhall and its neighbor- 
 hood, but the two first far before the last — will ever be the 
 scene of the millennial reign for me. They are niy Eden — wa- 
 tered with my tears as they were. But how truly says the Poet — 
 " Dewdrops are the gems of morning, 
 But the tears of mournful eve." 
 
 Now there is a knock at the door ! Oh ! how I hate these 
 peremptory knocks, now I have no goodman to expect, either 
 morning, noon, or night. Well, well ! it is one comfort in sor- 
 row that he and my dear mother had not to share my present 
 trouble. Poor Nurse* has accompanied me all through this 
 thorny valley, step by step; indeed she has her own thorns and 
 stones on her side of the way, and we mutually pity and seek 
 to console each other. 
 
 As for his Holiness and his false move, and Cardinal Wise- 
 man and his unwisdom, I can not help thinking that while the 
 Pope continues to be an Italian ecclesiastic, clear insight into 
 the character and circumstances of John Bull will never be 
 among his gifts, either human or divine. He might have 
 
 "* This humble but faithful companion, whose sympathy is here affection- 
 ately recorded, is now gone to her rest, "full of years and labors." Ann 
 Parrott entered our family in 1831, as nurse to my brother Herbert, and 
 soon won the confidence of her master and mistress by her valuable quali- 
 ties, displayed in many a trying crisis of sickness and sorrow, under which 
 weaker minds and more selfish characters would have given way. After at- 
 tending on my father, my mother, and my brother in their last illnesses, she 
 enjoyed a period of well-earned repose and comfort, only troubled by the 
 infirmities of her advanced years, and ended her days at Hanwell Rectory, 
 Middlesex, in the summer of 1S69. — E. C. 
 
468 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 launched forth all sorts of spiritual fulminations — John would 
 have taken it as coolly as a cow would mesmerism, I was going 
 to say ; but, really, after Miss Martineau's experiences, that is 
 no longer an available comparison, but would prove too much 
 on the wrong side. I was going to observe that this kind of 
 i!'6Tr//^/'/«/ pretension is just the sort of thing to rouse old John's 
 ire. It sounds at least practical and tangible ; and unless the 
 Italian Potentate was prepared to take the Bull by the horns 
 in a material and tangible way, he had best not have ventured 
 the experiment. It was, as you justly observe (sensible man as 
 you are in reality, and Roman Catholic by courtesy and ances- 
 try), " an unwise move." His Holiness should have stuck to 
 spiritual primacy and supremacy — successorship to St. Peter, 
 the head of the Apostles. John would listen to all that with a 
 stolid air, as if it went in at one ear — as dear mother used to 
 say — and out at the other. But any attempt to parcel out his 
 acres, and dispose of his sees, which are closely connected in 
 his mind with revenues in solid coin of the realm — any attempt 
 of this kind enrages him ; and without staying to inquire wheth- 
 er, after all, it is not as shadowy as the reflection in the stream, 
 for the sake of which the dog let go the solid meat in his 
 mouth, he ups with his hoofs and his horns, and plunges about 
 in as mischievous a style as that veritable bull whom some en- 
 thusiast of mesmerism lately endeavored to magnetize into the 
 rigid or the soporific state, and if he doesn't throw the Pope 
 himself over the hedge, not being able to get at him, he may 
 perhaps toss and maltreat no small number of his Holiness's 
 servants in this country. The sight of a Cardinal's hat will, for 
 some time to come, perhaps, make him as dangerous as a scar- 
 let rag makes the four-footed sovereign of the meadow. 
 
 Have you read "Alton Locke?" Sir F. Palgrave thinks it 
 "poetry, and of a high order of conception." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Objections to the Use of Mesmerism as a Medical Agent. — The Papal 
 Aggression. — Romanism in Ireland, in England, and in Spain. — "An- 
 glo-Catholicism " a Transient Phase of Opinion. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Bath.N'ovember 19,1850. — Mr.T has shown most active 
 
 kindness on my behalf with respect to the mesmeric scheme, 
 
Effects of Mesmerism. 469 
 
 and has supplied me with useful information at a sacrifice of 
 his own time, for which I feel truly grateful. His high intelli- 
 gence and calm philosophic temper make me feel much favored 
 to have an adviser in him. Perhaps he will wonder why I am 
 still pausing, after having told him that I meant to apply to 
 
 Mr. P , one of the mesmerists whose address he procured 
 
 for me from Dr. A . The reason is that I do feel a repug- 
 nance, more than I can well express, to put myself in the hands 
 of one of these professional practitioners of an art, the grounds 
 of which are at present so little understood. I believe, from 
 what I have heard, that these men are capable of pretending 
 what is utterly incredible. One of them said he had cured ty- 
 phus fever in Mauritius, before there was time to know the re- 
 sult of any operations of his here, or that his friend was ill in 
 time for his mesmerizing. And even if it could be shown that 
 the fever ceased or had a favorable turn at the moment he was 
 mesmerizing, what proof would that be that his passes had cured 
 it .''*** As for the prospect of obtaining sleep regularly by it, 
 
 you see Lady Charlotte P is mesmerized almost daily by 
 
 her husband. Now I would never permit E to mesmerize 
 
 me. I have quite as much belief, quite as much data for be- 
 lieving, that it is exhaustive, and may be in many ways injuri- 
 ous, as I have for thinking it may have a beneficial effect. It 
 Ts~an agent for good and for evil, and I have always thought 
 we ought to know the nature of it better before we meddled 
 with it. And yet, if none will try the experiment, science can 
 not be benefited. I should not like any young woman to mes- 
 merize me, lest I should communicate to her any of my ail- 
 ments. With professional persons it is different; they are paid 
 for what they do, and, if they do it not for me, will do it for 
 others. 
 
 Mrs. J has just been telling me of a benevolent friend 
 
 of hers who fell a sacrifice to mesmerism. She used to go about 
 administering mesmeric sleeps to sick people who were greatly 
 in want of rest, and among other patients she had one who was 
 subject to epileptic fits. After mesmerizing him, she had not 
 o-one far from his house when she fell down in a fit. She was 
 subject to epilepsy ever after, and died of it. Up to the time of 
 her thus catching the brain-affection she was a healthy person. 
 
 Mesmerism has a special effect on the brain, and this was 
 one^oFTny old objections to it. I thought, from the accounts I 
 
470 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 had read, it had a strong tendency to produce epilepsy. It made 
 
 Mrs. J. L deUrious, and the visions called clairvoyance are 
 
 all signs how strongly it acts on the brain. 
 
 * * * As for the concessions to the Romish bishops in Ire- 
 land, however unwise the measure, it does seem to come under 
 a different head from tolerance of any territorial jurisdiction at- 
 tempted to be usurped by the Papacy here. Romanism is the 
 religion of the nation in Ireland, and a stout argument may be 
 held for the opinion that it ought to be the inclosed and estab- 
 lished Church. I own I have long been inclined to think so 
 myself 
 
 But this aggression is a political worldly movement, and 
 ought, as it seems to me, to be treated and resisted accordingly. 
 It makes one's blood first run cold, then boil, to read of the 
 state and doings of the Papal religion in Spain, where it is ram- 
 pant, and not kept down by surrounding Protestantism. It is 
 a great pity that Blanco White's " Poor Man's Preservative 
 from Popery," which in itself is very effective and well written, 
 is known to come from a renegade priest, who broke his vow, 
 and in the end renounced the belief in Revelation. I know no 
 other book of the kind which is so powerful a warning against 
 the insidious fiendish wickedness of uncontrolled Romanism. 
 "Lencadio Doblado," too, is very powerful. The setting of par- 
 ents against children, and children against parents, brothers 
 and sisters against each other, both by the horrible Inquisition, 
 and by the monastic system, which acts on a far larger scale — 
 as we too often see the facility of lunatic asylums do here — 
 seems to me so dreadful a fruit of the Romish system, that 
 nothing in any other religious system of Christianity, at least, 
 is at all to be compared with it in evil. 
 
 As for the Chelsea churches, it does indeed seem putting the 
 cart before the horse to give them such prominence among the 
 causes of the Pope's move. They are a part of the tide which 
 has been rolling Romeward for some time, but had nothing to 
 do with the first impulsion. My own belief certainly is, and al- 
 ways has been, though I have been seeing it, in course of time, 
 more and more distinctly, that what is called Anglo-Catholicism 
 ■ — vulgarly Tractarianism or Puseyism — is out of place in the 
 Church of England, and if it has not a place here, it is hard to 
 say where its place can be, for in the Church of Rome it can 
 not exist, except as enlarged into Romanism. The principles 
 
Troubles and Anxieties. 471 
 
 of the Anglo-Catholic writers are contrary to the principles of 
 the Reformation, those on which the formularies of our Church 
 were framed. It is very true that our first Reformers held 
 many of the opinions of the Anglo-Catholics, but they did not 
 carry them out as Anglo-Catholics do now ; their new doctrines 
 did not harmonize with the old ones which they still retained. 
 They reformed doctrines only to a certain extent, and this is the 
 less to be wondered at because reform of doctrine, as such, was 
 not the original chief object of the Reformation, but the putting 
 down of corrupt immoral practices, which had grown out of 
 doctrine, and were more and more overshadowing the truths of 
 the Gospel, and darkening its pure light 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Troubles and Anxieties. — The Shortness of Life not to be Regretted. 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 ID Chester Place, November 24, 1850. — In a new Memoir of 
 Gray, sent to me by a kind American correspondent, Professor 
 Reed, of Philadelphia, I read just now the words of the poet — 
 " Alas ! I am a summer bird, and can only sit drooping till the 
 sun returns." This brought in an instant to my mind Mrs. 
 
 A with a special vividness. Day after day have I been 
 
 thinking of her and of you, dear friend, longing to renew inter- 
 course with you, and to know how you are. Little did I think 
 when I perused with delight (though greatly affected by the 
 
 opening) your letter to me at T Wood, that troubles and 
 
 anxieties would intervene to prevent my answering it till the 
 latter end of November. Oppressed as I have been with pen- 
 work, it was not of course the fatigue of writing a note that 
 kept me silent, but the reluctance to enter upon the anxious 
 matters which have been occupying my mind. Some of these 
 related to my health, about which I have been more alarmed 
 than ever before. Now I am better and in better spirits ; but 
 there are so many troubles pressing upon my mind relating to 
 dear friends, that I have felt of late more strongly than ever 
 how little cause we have to regret that the probationary period 
 of our existence is such a brief one, unless a longer one would 
 really bring more minds to repentance, which is much to be 
 doubted. 
 
472 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Early and Late Periods of the Wordsworthian Poetry compared with Ancient 
 and Modern Art. — Mr. Ruskin's "Modern Painters." — Scott's Novels. 
 — Character-drawing in the "Black Dwarf." — The Anti-Papal Demon- 
 stration. — Aversion to Popery in the English Mind. — The Pope's Move 
 Political, not Religious. — Intolerance of Romanism. 
 
 To Professor Henry Reed, Philadelphia : 
 
 lo Chester Place, Regenfs Park^ November 29, 1850. — My dear 
 friend, many thanks to you for two most interesting volumes. 
 JThe " Descriptive Sketches," with your inscriptions, is a very 
 gratifying present to me. I have always wished to possess 
 early editions of Mr. Wordsworth's works, but have not been 
 able to lay hold of many. I can not bear the arrangement of 
 his poems in the latef editions by subject, without regard to 
 date. The tone of the productions of the poet's second and 
 third eras is as unlike that of his great vigorous day as a pict- 
 ure of Stanfield to one by Claude or Poussin ; and who would 
 mix modern painting in a gallery with those of the old hands ? 
 I remember seeing an exhibition of Calcott's landscape painting 
 in the third room of the British Gallery, ancient masters occu- 
 pying the first and second. You can hardly imagine the dead- 
 ening effect upon them. They were reduced to chalk and wa- 
 ter. Any believer in Ruskin, I think, must have been staggered 
 by that most odious, or at least injurious, comparison and con- 
 trast. Not that I do not admire Ruskin's first book : it has 
 great merits ; but it never converted or perverted me from 
 Claude and Cuyp and S. Rosa, though it made me more than 
 ever, if possible, a worshiper of the great mistress of all paint- 
 ers — Nature. The edition of Gray and your Memoir are a val- 
 uable addition to my library. I possess the Eton edition, and 
 had lately been reading Mitford's Memoir, which rendered 
 yours all the more interesting. Yours ought to supersede every 
 other. I think your conclusion about Gray's poetic power is 
 the truth of the matter. The author of the " Elegy," admirable 
 as his poetry is, in its line, would never, I think, under any cir- 
 cumstances have helped to found a new school of poetry. His 
 mind did not present a broad enough surface for the spirit of 
 the age to operate on, even if the new age, which moulded and 
 was moulded by the last generation of poets and romancers, 
 had set in while he was in his vigor. No new aspect of human- 
 
The Anti-Papal Demonstration. • 473 
 
 ity or nature is exhibited in his writings. Even Cowper was, in 
 my opinion, far more original as to thought and way of viewing 
 things ; and the personal character of Cowper was more broad, 
 bold, and interesting than that of Gray. I am reperusing with 
 great delight the Scotch novels of Walter Scott. I do not think 
 " Ivanhoe " and the later works, not on Scottish ground at all, 
 to be reckoned among the great influencive literary productions 
 of the age — productions of genius — along with "Waverley," 
 "Guy Mannering," "The Antiquary" (perhaps the best of all), 
 "Rob Roy," "The Black Dwarf" (which has been underrated), 
 "Old Mortality," "The Heart of Mid-Lothian," and "The 
 Bride of Lammermoor." "The Black Dwarf" has an especial 
 merit in exhibiting the odd mixture of feelings and opinions on 
 particular subjects which may exist in uneducated, unreflective 
 minds. Hobbie is persuaded that Father Elshie has dealings 
 with the Evil One, and would try to prejudice his salvation if he 
 had an opportunity, yet is willing to receive a benefit at his 
 hands, and is grateful for it, and is affectionately disposed to- 
 ward the donor, as if he believed him as " canny" as other folks. 
 The tale, however, was overshadowed by the superior merit of 
 "Old Mortality;" and no doubt it has more than the ordinary 
 amount of absurdity in the foundation. 
 
 I own I rejoice in the anti-papal demonstration. The fear 
 and anger of this crisis will, of course, subside ; but what has 
 taken place proves, and will show the Romanists and Roman- 
 izers that there is a deep-seated and wide-spread aversion to 
 Popery in this fair realm of England, which will come into ef- 
 fective action whenever any attempt is made to reintroduce a 
 form of religion which is the natural and necessary enemy to 
 liberty in all times and in every place. I can not agree with 
 C S , who thinks we are straining at a gnat after swal- 
 lowing the camel of Emancipation. There was nothing that 
 directly endangered our Church in a Romanist's sitting in Par- 
 liament ; and the principles of toleration and equal dealing with 
 all religions, as such, seemed to demand the concession. But 
 this act is, in reality, a political movement, and ought to be 
 politically resisted. My Uncle Southey would have refused 
 Emancipation in the foresight of this and similar aggressions ; 
 but it was better to give them rope enough to strangle their own 
 cause in the hearts of the whole nation. Now no man can say 
 that the intolerance and ambition of Romanism are obsolete ] 
 
474 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 all must see that it is a born Ishmael : its hand is against every 
 other form of religion, and every other form must keep a con- 
 trolling hand upon it. 
 
 NOTES ON PROFESSOR REED'S MEMOIR OF GRAY. 
 
 I. Liberality of Military Men. — Mathematics Opposed to Poetry. — Professor 
 Sedgwick on Newton and Milton. 2. Hereditary Genius. — Her Fa- 
 ther and his Son Hartley. 3. A Point of Style Discussed. 4. Salutary 
 Effect of Early Happiness on the Mind. 5. Horace Walpole and Gray. 
 — Frivolity of the Former. 6. Gray's Genius and its Limitations. — 
 Keats' " Hyperion." 7. Handwritings of Men of Genius. 8. Talfourd's 
 "Ion." 9. Landor as Scholar, Critic, and Poet. 10, ri. Mr. Coleridge 
 on Gray's "Platonica," and the "Ode on Eton College." 12. "Christa- 
 bel." 13, 14. Causes of the Popularity of Gray's "Elegy." — Simplicity of 
 Gray and Crabbe. 15. "The Long Story." 16. Speaking of Ailments, 
 a Relief. 17. Gray at Keswick. 18. "Lines on Tintern Abbey." 19. 
 Powers Measured by Results. 20. High Spirits. 
 
 To Professor Henry Reed, Philadelphia : 
 
 I. "Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that 
 poem than take Quebec."* This is indeed a most interesting 
 anecdote. Query, is it characteristic of military men to be thus 
 liberal and unappropriative .-' I certainly think that no class 
 of men are so antipathetic to poetry as men of science, mathe- 
 maticians, and students of the particular sciences to which 
 mathematics are applied. The wider study which we call phi- 
 losophy, the science of mind and of being, metaphysics at large, 
 is not thus antagonistic to poetry, which it embraces in the 
 compass of its analysis. A metaphysician like Kant is too 
 knowing, too all-sided in knowledge, to despise poetry as a mere 
 mathematician does. Plato's sentence upon poetry in the " Re- 
 public" has probably been misunderstood. Chemistry seems 
 akin to poetry, from the brilliant shows and curious combina- 
 tions which it deals with and produces : it is full of sensuous 
 matter for poetic thought. Davy poetized, though he was not 
 Tipoet. I have heard Mr. Wordsworth say he might have been; 
 but I think my father, though he overflowed with love and~" ad- 
 miration of Davy, would not have subscribed to that opinion. 
 He thought Wordsworth too lavish in his attributions of poetic 
 power in some directions, as he was generally cojisidered too 
 slow to allow it in others. When, in my girlhood, I visited my 
 
 * Remark of General Wolfe on Gray's "Elegy in a Country Church- 
 yard." — E. C. 
 
 I 
 
Hereditary Genius. 475 
 
 brother Derwent at St. John's College, Cambridge, with my dear 
 mother. Professor Sedgwick showed me the statue of Newton 
 by Roubiliac; and I remember his expressing an opinion, from 
 which my young mind strongly dissented, that he was a far 
 greater man than Milton. He knew far more of Newton's 
 merits than I did ; but even then I felt Milton as many able, 
 intelligent men can never do. And I doubt whether the power 
 and services of a philosopher like Newton can not be far better 
 estimated by one unlearned in mathematics and astronomy, 
 than those of the author of "Paradise Lost" by one who does 
 not understand poetry. For the benefit of poetry is poetry it- 
 self: both to the composer and the reader, it is its own exceed- 
 ing great reward. 
 
 2. Eminent men, especially in literature, have often — that is, 
 many eminent men have owed more to their mother than their 
 father, both for nature and education. It was so with Cowper, 
 and with my Uncle Southey. But the truth, no doubt, is, that 
 the parent whose mental qualities are most powerful and excel- 
 lent, most moulds the child that attains to eminence, whether it 
 be father or mother ; and when it happens to be the latter that 
 is best endowed, we are struck to find that man has derived less 
 from man than from woman. Seldom has a poet had so poet- 
 ical a son as S. T. C. had in Hartley. Not one poet of this age 
 besides has transmitted a spark of his fire to his offspring; but 
 it is curious that Hartley excelled mo§t in the sonnet, in which 
 my father excelled least of all the poetic forms that he attempted. 
 
 3. " A father's wrongs." Is not this a doubtful expression ? 
 But for what had gone before, we should suppose wrongs suffered 
 by a father to be meant. A wrong is not a wrongful thing 
 done, but undergone, I think, in common parlance. "Your 
 injuries " is more ambiguous ; perhaps this is a wrong of mine, 
 my active wrong to your style. 
 
 4. All that you say in these pages about the enduring benefit 
 of early happiness and tranquillity is well said, and to my mind 
 most true. It is good for children to be happy and cheerful ; 
 early sorrow weakens the mind, if it does not harden it, as pre- 
 mature disproportionate labor injures the body. I know this 
 by experience, and have carefully shielded my children's young 
 minds from the trouble and constraints which so often came 
 upon my own, like frosts and wintry blasts on the "darlings of 
 the spring." 
 
476 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 5. " Horace Walpole." — The oftener one meets Walpole in 
 the region of literary biography, the more the impression is in- 
 tensified that he was a respectable fribble, and a compact, solid 
 mass of frivolity and littleness. Poets are men of feeling — mr 
 iioxnv. They are like soft rich peaches, and he was the crude, 
 hard, winter pear, that leaves a dint in every one of the former 
 with which it comes in contact. 
 
 6. I should think Gray could never have written a philosophic 
 poem under any circumstances. I do not believe that Keats 
 would ever have written any thing better or higher than he had 
 already produced. The " Hyperion," so exalted by Shelley, is, 
 to my mind, a falling off in felicitous originality. It is too Mil- 
 tonic. Gray was a very sensible man, and self-knowing. His 
 own remarks on the poetical habits which unfitted him for the 
 production of a poem of large compass seem to me excellent, 
 and are just what I have often heard in other words from W. 
 Wordsworth and H. Taylor. There must be flat, rough spaces 
 in an extensive domain, if it is to be traversed with pleasure, 
 and Gray could not be flat and rough like Dante. He had not 
 masculine force enough for that. His verse, if not neat and 
 polished, would have been nothing. Elegance and tenderness 
 are its very soul. 
 
 7. " Delicate handwriting." — It is remarkable what fine hands 
 men of genius write, even when they are as awkward in all other 
 uses of the hand as a cow with a musket. 
 
 8. Do you think " Ion " a work of poetic genius, or only of an 
 admirer of poetic genius ? There was a want of poetic judg- 
 ment in putting such intense Wordsworthian modernism into an 
 ancient form, I thought ; like drinking Barclay's entire out of an 
 antique drinking vessel, meant to hold Chian or Falernian wine. 
 " Ion " was of the same kind as the Diisseldorf reproductions 
 of Raphael. 
 
 9. Landor would be pleased at your compliment to his verse 
 Latinity. I have been wont to hear scholars say that his Latin 
 verse had merit, but not that of classicality. Last winter's 
 number of the Edinburgh Review contains an article on Lan- 
 dor's poetry by my friend, Mr. Aubrey de Vere. The article 
 contains an ingenious and eloquent comparison and contrast 
 between the genius of ancient Greece and that of Catholic 
 Christianity with reference to poetry and the arts. But it failed 
 to inspire me with any warm admiration of the poetic produc- 
 
Landor and De Quincey. 477 
 
 tions of Landor. In him I had, as a girl, an implicit faith, in- 
 duced upon me by my uncle's attributions to the great self-as- 
 sertor, whose most amiable trait, I must think, is his cordial 
 admiration of, and warm testimonies to, Robert Southey. Lan- 
 dor's criticism is very acute and refined ; his dialogues I ad- 
 mire j but his poems appear to me cold and ineffective — the 
 verse of a man too knowing and tasteful to write bad poetry, 
 but without poetic genius to write well. At least, such was the 
 impression on my mind. Some few passages of Landor's poetry 
 are striking. I was a little disappointed that you did not notice 
 here my father's notes on Gray's "Platonica." "Whatever 
 might be expected from a scholar, a gentleman, a man of ex- 
 quisite taste, as the quintessence of sane and sound good sense, 
 Mr. Gray appears to me to have performed. The poet Plato, 
 etc., etc. But Plato the philosopher was not to be comprehend- 
 ed within the field of vision, or to be commanded by the fixed 
 immovable telescope of Mr. Locke's human understanding." 
 
 10. De Quincey ("the Opium Eater," as he undisguisedly 
 calls himself) called Parr a coarse old savage; and, whatever 
 his scholarship might be, would give him little credit, I believe, 
 for any judgment on the internal merits of Plato. 
 
 11. "Ode to Eton College." My father criticises the stanza 
 " Say, Father Thames," as the "only very objectionable one in 
 point of diction ;" the worst ten lines, he calls it, in all the works 
 of Mr. Gray; " falsetto throughout, harsh and feeble." He also 
 
 condemns — 
 
 1, "And Envy wan," etc. 
 
 2, " Grim visaged," etc. 
 
 3, "And sorrow's piercing dart." 
 
 As, I, bad in the first; 2, in the second; 3, in the last degree. 
 How different the fate of poor " Christabel," when she did ap- 
 pear ! Enemies so fierce that even old friends seemed afraid 
 to admire and protect her. I have heard her sneered at, and 
 Lord Byron's praise called flummery, by men who now would 
 as soon think of sneering at Gray's " Elegy " as at the " wild 
 and original poem." I wonder what Dodsley's "pinches" were? 
 One would rather not have any particular locality for the "Ele- 
 gy" than have one assigned, I think. 
 
 12. The strain of thought in the "Elegy" would not have 
 made it popular without the strain of verse, the metrical accord- 
 ance with the tone of feeling in the contents. But this metrical 
 
47^ Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge, 
 
 accordance is surely but the causa sine qua nofi of its general 
 acceptability. The efficient cause — the peculiar merit — I have 
 ever supposed to be that inexpressible felicity and delightful- 
 ness of diction of which the line noticed by Sir E. Brydges — 
 "The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep" — is but one instance 
 out of a host. Then the composition and combination of the 
 sentiments and images — in this lies the charm, more than in 
 the images themselves. These, indeed, were not new — scarce 
 one but had been presented in poetry before. It has been the 
 fashion with admirers of Shelley and Keats to disparage Gray. 
 I I'emember coming out bluntly to my friend Mr. De Vere with 
 the opinion that he looked coldly upon the author of the "Ele- 
 gy " purely because he was simple and intelligible, and used the 
 English language in the ordinary senses, not procuring for him- 
 self a semblance of the sublime by an easily assumed obscurity, 
 and a mock magnificence by straining and inflection. For the 
 same reason Crabbe is undervalued by devotees of Tennyson. 
 Yet his " Tales of the Hall " display an acquaintance with the 
 fine shades of human character, and the various phases and as- 
 pects of human sorrow — a vein of reflectiveness softened by 
 poetic feeling, which render them a most interesting study to 
 persons who have seen enough of life, as it is, in all its strange- 
 ness and sadness, to recognize the truth and worth of his rep- 
 resentations. I believe that Crabbe, in his personal character, 
 has all that sympathy with suffering humanit}- which appears in 
 his poems ; yesterday I read a private letter of his, in which he 
 laments over the introduction of machinery — and yet allows for 
 the necessity of the employers to use agents that " do not eat 
 and drink." His sympathy with both parties is remarkable. I 
 believe he was a gentle-hearted creatul'e. 
 
 13. How stupid not to like the "Long Story !" Surely that 
 might hav^e been understood at once. " Not a wise remem- 
 brance." It is sometimes a relief thus to ohjectize our ailments. 
 It seems to cast them out from us, and give us a sort of mastery 
 over them. The dumb state of misery, when one dares not talk 
 of it, is by far tlie worst. Then it seems to possess one's whole 
 being. There is a comfort also in looking back, and seeing 
 what miseries one has gone through before and got beyond. 
 
 14. "Tour to the Lakes." It is said that Gray set the fash- 
 ion of touring to the English lakes in search of the picturesque. 
 His horse-block is still shown near the vicarage of Keswick, on 
 
Character of a Friend. 479 
 
 a hill overlooking Crosthwaite church -yard, where my Uncle 
 and Aunt Southey's remains lie buried, with Skiddaw in front. 
 
 15. Tintern Abbey. 'The "Lines on Tintern Abbey" is, in 
 my opinion, one of the finest strains of verse which this age has 
 produced. 
 
 16. This disquisition is very interesting. I think it is not suf- 
 ficiently attended to, that " what a man does is the measure of 
 what he can do," from one cause or another. 
 
 17. " High spirits take away mine."* The quiet gladness of 
 children always cheers me ; but the hilarity and vigor of grown 
 persons depress the weak and tremulous spirits. We are hurt 
 by the want of sympathy ; and the comparison is odious. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Character of a Friend. 
 ^JTo^Prafessor Reed ; 
 
 Chester Place, 1850. — I have lived among poets a great deal, 
 and have known greater poets than he is; but a more e7itire 
 poet, one more a poet in his whole mind and temperament, I 
 never knew or met with. He is most amiable, uniting a femi- 
 nine gentleness and compassionateness with the most perfect 
 manliness, both negative and positive. He is all simplicity, yet 
 graceful, and so gracious; sportive and jestful, yet with a depth 
 of seriousness in his nature ever present. 
 
 It is rather the habit of his mind to idealize ad libitum. But 
 this, if a defect, is the defect of a large and beautiful intellect. 
 His mind is like his face, which seems to be all eye and fore- 
 head; not that it is disproportioned in size, but that the eyes 
 and forehead alone fix the attention, and seem to constitute the 
 face. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Lower Mastership of Eton School. — Moderation Acquired by Experi- 
 ence. — Speeches for and against the proposed Parliamentary Enact- 
 ment Rejecting the Pope's Claim to Exercise Territorial Jurisdiction in 
 England. — Such a Protest neither Intolerant nor Unpractical. 
 
 To the Rev. Edward Coleridge : 
 
 10 Chester Place, December 7, 1850. — My dear Edward, I 
 
 heard yesterday from C with great delight of your having 
 
 * A saying of Gray's. — E. C. 
 
480 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 obtained the Lower Mastership, and in a most satisfactory 
 manner. 
 
 May it do you and your family all the good that your many 
 friends desire it should, and may you do it and the school at 
 large all the good you wish to do, and I suppose have long been 
 meditating! You come to this really important post at the right 
 time, both for yourself and for the advantage of Eton School, 
 with abundant experience, and that practical power in the man- 
 agement of human minds which long practice, with much knowl- 
 edge, always gives to the capable. " Moderation " expresses 
 but one side of that mental quality which experience and the 
 trials of life superinduce upon energy and zeal. It is a quick- 
 ness in perceiving, as it were, intuitively, requirements on all 
 sides, and adjusting forces at once to the occasion, which gives 
 to the experienced man a character for sobriety, with more real 
 command than he possessed at an early period. 
 
 But this is prosing, which, however, I have slipped into, while 
 I was fixing my eye on your personal, private successes and ad- 
 vantages. I had in my mind how much better you will be able 
 to manage this post than you, or any man of your age, could 
 have managed it ten years ago. What experience, what lessons, 
 has the whole country had in the course of that decade. Coley* 
 (by the bye, what a delightful fellow he is grown, or, at least, how 
 delightfully his frank, honest, kindly, sensible character has ma- 
 tured itself!) — I was going to say that Coley talked with us yes- 
 terday, after lamenting Mr. B 's secession, about M 's 
 
 speech. Our view of its contents is pretty much alike. To ar- 
 gue that there ought to be no national protest at all from clergy 
 or laity, because an irreligious movement is going on at the 
 same time among the lower orders, who are but showing on the 
 present occasion their want of piet)-, rather than gaining any 
 fresh accession to it, seems to me not a little non sequitur-hh. 
 So, again, it is not very apparent why the clergy should not re- 
 sist Rome by strict attention to ordinary duty, and yet join in a 
 national movement against the Papal aggression too. 
 
 I thought the Bishop of Oxford met the toleration argument 
 very well, when he asked whether every Christian would not 
 think it a glaring piece of sophistry if the Hindoo in England 
 were to claim a right to burn his brother's widow at Charing 
 
 * Her nephew, Coleridge Patteson. 
 
The Toleration Argument. 481 
 
 Cross, on the plea that all religions are to be tolerated in 
 England. 
 
 ^ It was said truly and pithily about the time of Catholic Eman- 
 cipation, that " sincere Roman Catholics can not conscientious- 
 ly be tolerant," and that, if such be the real character of Cathol- 
 icism, the only security of toleration must be a certain degree 
 of intolerance in regard to its enemies; "as prisons in the freest 
 governments are necessary for the preservation of freedom." 
 
 But in the present case it really is in no sense a question of 
 tolerating or not tolerating. The new Bishops can not be un- 
 made, and, as " naught is never in danger," imaginary sees and 
 jurisdictions can not be removed out of the imaginations in 
 which they have been created. But it does not follow from 
 this that there ought to be no Parliamentary enactment on the 
 subject — at leasts so I am led to believe, or that it will be a 
 mere "dead letter" and "brutum fulmen," if not followed by 
 an outward and corporeal penalty. It will exactly meet the 
 exigencies of the case. It will be bull against bull, declaration 
 against declaration. The Pope affirms and asserts that he can 
 parcel out our country into sees, and grant territorial jurisdic- 
 tion in the realm of England. The people of England, through 
 the mouth of Parliament, shout aloud that he can not, and that 
 shout is not to pass into the air, a passing ineffectual sound, 
 but to be fixed, and as it were substantiated, by means of parch- 
 ment and printer's ink. Just so much as Rome has done 
 against the honor of our Church and State by the late act will 
 be undone to all intents and purposes, as it seemeth to me, by 
 a Parliamentary declaration that the new Bishoprics are con- 
 trary to the law of England. 
 
 J says that the Pope's act shows strength and conscious- 
 ness of strength, and our stir against it only weakness. I doubt 
 very much whether the Pope thinks by this time, or Wiseman 
 either, that the national protest against Popery shows only that 
 we are afraid of it, and know not how to keep it at bay. It is 
 an evidence of the fact that Popery is unendurable to the mass 
 of the people, high and low, high still more than low, in the 
 end and at the bottom, in this land of strong hands and strong 
 hearts and practical ways of thinking ; that it is against the 
 spirit of our domestic manners, of our social arrangements, and 
 of our institutions, and never has been submitted to since the 
 nation was in an adult state. 
 
 H H 
 
482 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Essay on Baptism in the "Aids to Reflection" inadequately Expressed. — 
 Distinction between Signs and Causes. — Action of tlie Will indispens- 
 able to an Inward Renewal. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq., Curragh Chase, Adare : 
 
 Chester Place, 1850. — How prove you what you averred, at 
 least as your opinion, that my father's view of Baptism, or his 
 objections to the ordinary High-Churcli view, are founded on 
 two or three sophisms easily refuted ? 
 
 I think, when you said this, you had in your eye the essay on 
 Baptism in the " Aids," which does not fully enunciate my fa- 
 ther's objections to the High-Church argument on behalf of mo- 
 mentary infant regeneration. 
 
 And I also fancy you, in your own mind, triumph over the 
 turn of certain sentences which my father might easily have re- 
 cast, so as to render them impregnable, had he reconsidered 
 the essay, rather than the main thoughts which underlie the 
 whole structure. Had my father to express these thoughts 
 again, he would not have laid his chief stress on the inadequacy 
 and trifling character of the means — the mere sprinkling of wa- 
 ter on an infant's face. He well knew that our Anglican di- 
 vines have described the outward signs of sacraments to be 
 mere arbitrary concomitants of the spiritual effect, not proper 
 instruments or real causes ; and that, although betwixt cause 
 and effect there must be a harmony and proportion, betwixt an 
 arbitrary condition or mere appointed adjunct and a spiritual 
 v^^ork annexed to it, there need be none at all. But then it re- 
 mains true that God has given to man a certain spiritual con- 
 stitution, and that, according to the law of that constitution 
 which He has framed, it can not be changed without a concur- 
 rent act of its own. Because the spiritual being of man is will 
 and intelligence, and will can not acquire a new character and 
 being, except by willing after a new manner under the influ- 
 encive redemptive act of the Holy Spirit of God. 
 
 To this objection to momentary passive regeneration, an objec- 
 tion implying that the very statement involves an essential con- 
 tradiction, I have never yet heard a reply even attempted. Men 
 write volumes about the High-Church modern theory, but they 
 always go dry-footed over this difficulty. They travel over miles 
 of ground, but still avoid \ki\% pons asinorum, which ought to be 
 passed before the ground of logical coherency can be obtained. 
 
Indifference to Papal Aggression. 483 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 185 1. — yanuary-jfuly. 
 
 LETTERS TO THE REV. HENRY MOORE, MRS. MOORE, MISS FEN- 
 WICK, MRS. FARRER, AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ., EDWARD 
 QUILLINAN, ESQ., PROFESSOR HENRY REED. 
 
 Causes of the Indifference to the Papal Aggression displayed both by Ultra- 
 High-Churchmen and Ultra- Liberals. — Mixed Character of all National 
 Movements. — The Three Chief Religious Parties, and the Right of Each 
 to a Place in the English Church. — Inconsistency and Dogmatism 
 among the Bishops. — True View of the Royal Supremacy. — Roman In- 
 tolerance to be Resisted. 
 
 To Mrs. Moore : 
 
 Chester Place, jfaniiary 2, 185 1. — My dear Mrs. Moore, I 
 should much like to know Mr. Moore's opinion on the present 
 crisis in the Church. I think you and he and Miss H gen- 
 erally agree on matters of this kind, your root principles and 
 sentiments being pretty much the same ; and therefore I men- 
 tion only him — his being the masculine voice of the trio. We 
 in this house are very decided anti-papal-aggressionists, and I, 
 for my part, am too regular a "John Bulliana," as Sir F. Pal- 
 grave once called me, to give in to any of the new-fangled views 
 of toleration preached up by the Ultra-Church party on one 
 hand, and the Ultra-Liberal party on the other. I conceive that 
 a certain sympathy with Rome inspires these views in the for- 
 mer, secret hopes of a reunion of Christendom, and reluctance 
 to adopt any strong measure or use any strong language against 
 his Holiness ; and that, in the latter, they proceed from indif- 
 ference both to Anglicanism and Romanism, an opinion that 
 the pretensions of the Vicar of Christ are not more nugatory 
 and chimerical, even if more extravagant, than those of our own 
 priests and bishops. 
 
 I can not help thinking that this indifference and scorn in 
 
484 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the latter party would shrink into a very small compass — I 
 mean that few respectable and thoughtful men would entertain 
 it — if the pretensions and claims of the clergy in our Church 
 were put on a more rational, intelligible foundation, if they were 
 moral rather than mystical, according to the spirit of the Ref- 
 ormation, and entirely purified from Romish and dark-agish su- 
 perstitions. However that may be, I rejoice in the demonstra- 
 tion against Popery which is now making by the people of En- 
 gland, and I have been telling Mr. that to style it a no- 
 
 Fopery row about the royal supremacy is more sarcastic than 
 just. The movement has a thousand different grades and 
 faces, but it is partaken by a very large proportion of the wor- 
 thiest and most refined of the clergy and laity of this land. 
 How could a national movement like this fail to include in its 
 lower circles all that was low and abhorrent to the wise and 
 well-educated ? All the great movements to which we owe our 
 present high place among the nations have carried along with 
 them a mass of iniquity. Maurice, in his " Church a Family," 
 observes that "when the words 'no Virgin Mary,' 'no forgive- 
 ness of sins,' are seen written upon our walls, clergymen should 
 think a little before they fill whole sermons with specimens of 
 Mariolatry, or with the perversions of the confessional." 
 
 I protest I can not see the logic of this. (" How should 
 you?" Mr. Moore would say — "being of the illogical sex.") 
 Ministers of the Gospel, a part of whose vocations is to drive 
 away false doctrine and prevent schism, are to refrain from 
 preaching ,against the corruptions of Popery, even when it is 
 beleaguering us round about and thundering at our very gates, 
 because idle, irreligious boys scribble thoughtless nonsense upon 
 the walls ! " No Virgin Mary" may be a good Protestant sen- 
 timent — it may mean no Virgin Mary to be made an object of wor- 
 ship ; and "no forgiveness of sins" may mean superstitious iy by 
 a priest. If it is meant in the literal sense, it is a denial of 
 revealed religion ; and what have we to do with that ? 
 
 The irreligion of these scribblers is not caused by controver- 
 sial sermons, but arises from want and misery and spiritual 
 destitution, and is to be met by positive remedies, if at all — not 
 by abstinence from a particular line of preaching fitly addressed 
 to any decent congregation. 
 
 I dare say you will agree with me on one point with respect 
 to the present movement, and that is in detesting the silly, nar- 
 
 1 
 
The Tractarian Party. 485 
 
 row, shabby way in which Tractarianism has been attacked in 
 so many quarters, or rather Tractarians. This is sheer party 
 spirit and overbearing intolerance. Some of the Tractarians 
 are really disloyal to our Church; and it is too true that many 
 do unintentionally, by the tenor and spirit of their preaching, 
 send younger men to Rome, while they themselves are not pre- 
 pared to go that length in honor of their principles. But the 
 main body of the Anglo-Catholics have as much right to keep 
 their places in our Church as the main body of the Evangel- 
 icals or the Philosophicals. 
 
 Tractarianism is as wide and vague a word as Rationalism 
 or Germanism ; every man so calls his neighbor who is more 
 High Church than himself, and adopts more of those doctrines 
 and practices which belong to Rome, and are not forbidden to 
 us, than he thinks proper to do ; and so, too, every man accuses 
 every other man of Rationalism who doubts the truth or accu- 
 racy of any tenet or doctrinal formula which he holds sacred, 
 on the score of its wanting reason. 
 
 The Tractarian party have shown such an intolerant spirit 
 themselves on many occasions, that I own my feelings are more 
 of contemptuous indignation against their adversaries than of 
 sympathy with themselves. Even now how many of them are 
 pining for a Convocation, which, as they flatter themselves, is 
 to banish from the Church the school represented to their 
 minds by Gorham. A decree of the assembled Synod is to 
 drive away the whole multitude of those who will not declare 
 positively before God and man that all infants are internally re- 
 generate in baptism, and rendered secure of heaven by baptism 
 — a belief not properly compatible with belief in election ; for 
 St. Augustine's regeneration of the non-elect was a mere term 
 for baptism, implying no spiritual gift whatever, no forgiveness 
 of sin, or possession by the Spirit. 
 
 Now this would be to banish a school which has existed in 
 the Church ever since the Reformation, and is in reality quite 
 as intolerant as the conduct of their adversaries in the present 
 moment, though it may not have been manifested in so coarse 
 and childish a form, simply because Anglo-Catholicism is not 
 a popular mode of faith, and has never spread so wide nor gone 
 so low in the mass of society as puritanical Protestantism. 
 
 The Bishop of L is much blamed by some parties for 
 
 yielding to the popular voice and the Times newspaper. D 
 
486 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 holds his conduct inconsistent, because, on finding that his 
 charge of 1844 could be carried out only on one side — that he 
 has not power to require compliance with the rubric in regard 
 to the prayer for the Church Militant and the preparation of 
 the elements — against the Low-Church party, he leaves them 
 alone, and is driven into making a strict inquisition into those 
 churches which offend on the other side. 
 
 It should be remembered, on behalf of the Bishop's honesty 
 or consistency with himself, that he has always been, on prin- 
 ciple, what is commonly, though I believe improperly, called a 
 practical character — which should rather be called an empirical 
 one. He was always for going by authority and the voice of 
 the existing influential majority, and acting upon what was al- 
 ready established, rather than upon speculative principle, and 
 abstract views of what is in itself right or wrong, true or untrue. 
 This practical mode of shaping his course brings him at last to 
 be the executor of the sovereign will and orders of the Times 
 newspaper. It does not signify appealing to rubrics, except as 
 rubrics are backed up by some existing power. They become 
 a dead letter when that fails. The Church party were the Bish- 
 op's authority when he began his course. This seemed digni- 
 fied and ecclesiastical more than his present subserviency; but 
 it contained no security a bit more than his present authority 
 for truth and justice. 
 
 As for the Bishop of E , his state of mind may be some- 
 what higher than the Bishop of L 's, but I doubt whether 
 
 there is more of heart in his doctrine, or whether he cares for 
 any thing but carrying out an ecclesiastical system which is 
 radically Romish, and opposed to the spirit and principles of 
 the Reformation, however imperfectly that was understood at 
 the time of the resettlement of our Church. His objections to 
 the Bishop's address seem to me overstrained and captious, 
 taking the matter every where by the wrong handle. He will 
 not call the Queen Head of the Church. Why, she is not at all 
 the Head in the sense that our Lord is such ; but is there not 
 a sense in which she may properly be called so (in which the 
 Pope claims to be so over all Christendom together, together 
 with another which does, to our Protestant mind, invade our 
 Saviour's office) ? May not she be called the Head of the 
 Church, as having to assign the territorial sphere of jurisdiction 
 to Bishops, to call councils when any are formed, and to be 
 
 I 
 
Resista7tce to Roman hitolerance. 487 
 
 the source of all temporal powers and privileges by which the 
 Church is enriched and strengthened ? 
 
 Then he says that the Bishops have nothing to do with en- 
 croachment on the prerogative. But when such encroachment 
 IS bound up with spiritual claims and pretensions, surely the 
 Bishops who sit as temporal Lords in the Council of the nation 
 may not improperly petition the Queen on the subject. 
 
 But, after all, what can be done ? I am one who think that 
 already a good deal has been done by the demonstration that 
 has been made of the anti-Popish mind of the nation ; but I 
 should hope that something more might be done in Parliament 
 to fix and ratify that demonstration. Revival of disabilities no 
 one thinks of for a moment. But without infringing the prin- 
 ciples of toleration, I do think an act might be passed to pre- 
 vent offensive ceremonies and imposing symbolisms importing 
 that our Church is a nullity, and our orders null and void. This 
 might come under the head of pure self-defense, and resistance 
 of public indecorum. And it is idle to say that Romanists 
 ought to be tolerated equally with all other Dissenters. When 
 they claim no more than other Dissenters, and give no more of- 
 fense to the National Church, they will be refused no more. 
 
 11. 
 
 Faith and Works. — Allowances to be Made on all Sides. — Insult offered 
 to our Church by Rome in affecting to Ignore its Existence. — Anom- 
 alous Position of the Establishment in Ireland. — The Royal Su- 
 premacy as Representing the Lay Element -of the Church. 
 
 To the Rev. H. Moore : 
 
 ID Chester Place, yamiary 29, 185 1. — I am delighted with 
 your address, and assent heartily to your whole letter, which 
 seems to my poor understanding to display a right judgment 
 in all things that pertain to this wily aggression. 
 
 Never in my life before did I feel so near (comparatively 
 near, but absolutely far enough off) fraternizing with the Trac- 
 tarians as on the recent agitation, when at meetings those 
 shabby, shallow, intolerant addresses to put down the Tracta- 
 rians were got up by ignorant vulgarians. The plain truth be- 
 ing this, that no thoughtful, earnest mind can embrace the nat- 
 ural sense of all the formularies and documents of our Church, 
 and that each party needs toleration from the other. Certain- 
 
488 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 ly not a Tractarian in the land teaches justification by faith 
 alone, in the genuine sense of the Article and Homily on Salva- 
 tion. All teach Bull's view, and Bull does well enough with 
 St. Paul, who, as you often say, was not thinking about the point 
 at issue ; but when he tries to harmonize his view with the 
 Homily, he descends into a quibbler and sophisticator, just as 
 he proves Tully and the other fellows to have sophisticated in 
 his " Animadversiones." 
 
 And I do think that Chapter IH. of Romans favors the 
 Lutheran logic : grace were not grace if given to works as such. 
 All works are a man's own works, whether they come of grace 
 or no. All works are of God, whether done before the special 
 grace of Christ or no, because God gives the power to work, 
 and sustains it by His presence. 
 
 But faith first brings us to Christ, the real Justifier, and so 
 justifies instrumentally — not as qualifying us for heaven. This 
 formula all Tractarians reject with scorn. It certainly keeps 
 the mind upon Christ more than the other, and it can never 
 mislead, if taken with Luther's own repeated statement, that a 
 good life must come of that saving faith, and that he whose 
 deeds are evil must not believe himself by any other sign to 
 have true faith. 
 
 The other party can not take, in the sense of the framers, or 
 at least of those by whom the forms were originally devised, 
 certain sentences in the Liturgy. 
 
 But no doubt there are Tractarians, who are Romanists in 
 disguise, who act a dishonest part— proselytizing to Rome while 
 they eat the bread of our Church; and there are, on the oppo- 
 site side, no-Churchmen, who are utterly alienated from the 
 spirit in which our Church services and articles were composed, 
 and who in reality believe no more of the Church system than 
 Quakers. Such are individuals who ought not to be confound- 
 ed with the bodies to which they externally belong. 
 
 All you say about the Supremacy seems to me excellent. As 
 
 I say to , you go on about the Supremacy; you say truly 
 
 that the Queen's power over the loaves and fishes is not touched 
 — but here is an insult offered and a wrong done to our Churchy 
 an insult to every Bishop of our Church and his diocesan flock. 
 Dissenters have never done the like. They acknowledge not 
 the Church in our sense. You do acknowledge it, and you 
 proclaim openly by your ostentatious arrangements that you 
 
Protestant Idea of the Supremacy. 489 
 
 cover the 7ii hole ground, and that our Bishops and Bishoprics are 
 nothing. Tell me that toleration requires us to endure this in- 
 jury to the influence of our Church — for such it is, and will be, 
 if unresisted ! No one can maintain this but by a quibble, by 
 setting up words against practical realities, for the hurt to our 
 Protestant religion would be real, and we have a right to de- 
 fend it. 
 
 Ultra-Liberals say this free country will never bear any re- 
 strictions on religious liberty, and so says the Guardian and 
 the Ultra-High-Church. Let us see whether John Bull, who is 
 a practical personage, and apt to go by feel in these matters 
 rather than by tongue, does not bear very well the suppression 
 of a development of the Romish Church organization — not nec- 
 essary to the full exercise of the religion of Romanists, and 
 only useful in policy as the means of aggrandizement. 
 
 Even if it were a necessary part of their religion, men can't 
 be indulged in a religion injurious to the religion of the nation. 
 
 The example of Ireland in this, as in all such occasions, is in 
 our way. The national religion there is robbed — maltreated. 
 We feel it necessary to admit Bishops' titles to Romanists there, 
 and then are called upon, in consistency, to allow them here in 
 the face of the Establishment. The nation and the Established 
 religion ought ever to be in unity, and to treat Ireland as a 
 mere part of Great Britain is a practical falsehood. 
 
 I send you H. C. Robinson's paper. It has been greatly ap- 
 proved. It shows so clearly how the matter may be presented 
 purely in a national point of view, since such are the thoughts 
 and feelings of a Unitarian. 
 
 About the Supremacy, may we not say, that though, of course, 
 there is nothing spiritual in it — directly — yet that there is an 
 element that may be called Ecclesiastical. As entitled to con- 
 voke the clergy, and to assign the territorial sphere of jurisdic- 
 tion, which surely is independent of emolument, our Sovereign 
 owns a power which can not belong to Christ, but is something 
 beyond mere headship in temporal things. It is quasi-spiritual, 
 since it concerns spiritual matters. This power relates to the 
 Church as visible. It must reside somewhere, and, when we 
 deprived the Pope of ft, we vested it in the Sovereign, as the 
 head and representative of the nation. This is a true Protes- 
 tant idea, because it assigns the authority of determining the 
 general movements of the visible Church to the representative 
 
490 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 of the laity, that is, of the nation, lay as well as clerical — not to 
 a priest or representative of priests. 
 
 * * * I should have been cracky if you had taken up any non- 
 national coxcombical view on the present occasion. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Letter to Countess Ida Hahn-Hahn," by Oberken. — " Death's Jest-Book," 
 and other Dramatic Works, by Mr. Beddoes, 
 
 To Mrs. Farrer, 3 Gloucester Terrace : 
 
 Chester Place, Jatiuary, 185 1. — I am much pleased at 5'our 
 concurrence of opinion with me about the letter to Countess Ida. 
 It is by Oberken, a great friend of the Chevalier Bunsen. This 
 little work sets forth the distinctive characters of Romanism and 
 Protestantism more forcible, I should almost say profoundly, 
 than any other work I have met with. The defense of the Ref- 
 ormation seems to me admirable. It mirrored to me all my own 
 views with new force and distinctness. 
 
 Dearest Mrs. Farrer, you once kindly sent some dramatic po- 
 ems of Beddoes here, which I declined reading, not liking my 
 impression of the "Death's Jest-Book," in which I saw much 
 to admire, to be interfered with, and hearing they were much 
 inferior to that. Just before I went into Staffordshire, I received 
 that drama from the author, and put it aside. After my return, 
 I took it up, considering it a duty at least to look it through. 
 I had been repelled by the first peep I took into it. Those 
 were my days, or rather nights, of reading in bed, and so struck 
 was I with the powerful original imagery, and some of the wild 
 situations of the drama, that I did not lay it down till I had 
 perused the whole. I was really thrilled with some parts,- the 
 effect, perhaps, being enhanced by the nightly gloom and silence. 
 Well, I resolved to express my admiration to the author the 
 very next day, and I was not the less inclined to be pleased, 
 that on the blank leaf I found a gratifying inscription, and that 
 the author was the son of an old Bristol friend of my father. 
 But in the morning came a letter from Mr. Quillinan, expressing 
 warm admiration of the drama I had juSt been reading, and at 
 the same time announcing the death of the author in rapid de- 
 cline. I thought mournfully of Gray's elegiac sentiment — 
 "Can flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?" 
 
Review of the '' Life of Southeyr 491 
 
 It was not flattery, in the common acceptation of the word, 
 that I meant to address to Mr. Beddoes, but a sincere tribute 
 of praise, for as much as it was worth. 
 
 Yet, after all, dear Mrs. Farrer, I quite agree in your strict- 
 ures on this same striking production. The plot is most ex- 
 travagant, and some of the characters are so wicked for mere 
 wickedness' sake that they are placed without the pale of hu- 
 manity, and therefore out of reach of our human interests and 
 sympathies. Still, with all these great faults, the play interested 
 me greatly. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Inaccuracies of a Review in the Quarterly of the " Life of Southey." 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, February 11, 185 1. — Did you read the review 
 of the Southey Life in the Quarterly 1 It has been answered 
 in very hearty, gallant style by Forster in the Examiner. The 
 summary of my uncle's literary merits at the end of Forster's 
 paper is excellent. There are many inaccuracies in the review. 
 How strange to call Lloyd " a pauper," and suitor to a fourth 
 Miss Fricker ! Lloyd was the son of a wealthy banker, and always 
 well off, poor orily in health and nervous sanity. He never pro- 
 posed to one of my aunts, but married Miss Sophia Pemberton, 
 a lady of great worth and sense, and some fortune. Lloyd left 
 money to all of his eight children. Then I do not think it true 
 that no congregation would elect my father on account of his 
 unpunctuality. He might have remained as preacher at Shrews- 
 bury, when he received Mr. Wedgwood's offer, and resolved not 
 to tie himself up. He did not like the shackles of preachership 
 to a body of religionists. " Hiring another division of Greta 
 Hall," too, is incorrect enough; but these are minor matters. 
 
 V. 
 
 Mr. Cariyle's " Life of Sterling." — Autobiography of Leigh Hunt. — Epicu- 
 reanism, 
 
 To Miss Morris : 
 
 March 12, 185 1. — Did you read Carlyle's " Life of Sterling ?" 
 To me the work is fascinating, as far as the biographical part 
 is concerned. Dr. Calvert (Sterling's dear friend) was a life- 
 
492 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 long intimate friend of mine. The chapter on S. T. C. is ridic- 
 ulous. Leigh Hunt's Autobiography is most entertaining. 
 What a Christianified epicureanism is his religion ! Yet sucEr] 
 is the religion of a large portion of our amiable, refined, intelli- 
 gent men. High Churchmen, Evangelical, Skeptical, Epicure- 
 an — such are the chief divisions of religious thought, I believe, 
 among the educated nowadays. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Early Reminiscences of the Character and Conversation of Mr. Words- 
 worth and Mr. Southey. — Youthful Impressions mostly Unconscious. — 
 The "Platonic Ode." — "The Triad" Compared with "Lycidas." — 
 "The Prelude." — Testimonies contained in it to the Friendship be- 
 tween her Father and Mr. Wordsworth. 
 
 To Professor Henry Reed, Philadelphia : 
 
 Chester Place, May 19, 185 1. — I dare say that you and your 
 friend, Mr. Yarnall, have lately been dwelling a good deal on 
 the "Memoir of Wordsworth," which I finished, slowly perusing 
 last night in my hours of wakefulness. For, alas ! I sleep but 
 every other night — the intervening one is now almost wholly 
 sleepless. Mr. H. C. Robinson requested that I would use the 
 pencil or pen freely on the margin of his copy : "the more notes, 
 the better." I fear he will be greatly disappointed by what I 
 have written, and I almost wish it rubbed out, it is so trifling, 
 and in some instances not to the purpose — as, I fear, the owner 
 of the book will think. I knew dear JNIr. ^A'ordsworth perhaps 
 as well as I have ever known any one in the world — more in- 
 timately than I knew my father, and as intimately as I knew 
 my Uncle Southey. There was much in him to know, and the,_. 
 lines of his character were deep and strong — the whole they 
 formed, simple and impressive. His discourse, as compared^ 
 with my father's, was as the Latin language to the Greek, or, to 
 borrow a comparison which has been applied to Shakespeare 
 and Milton, as statuary to painting — it was intelligent, wise, and 
 easily remembered. But in my youth, when I enjoyed such 
 ample opportunities of taking in his mind, I listened to "enjoy 
 and not to understand," much less to report and inform others. 
 In our spring-time of life we are poetical, not literary, and often 
 absorb unconsciously the intellectual airs that blow or stilly 
 dwell around us, as our bodies do the fragrant atmosphere of 
 
Wordsworth' s Earlier and Later Poems. 493 
 
 May — full of the breath of primroses and violets — and are 
 nourished thereby without reflecting upon the matter, any more 
 than we classify and systematize, after Linnaeus or Jussieu, the 
 vernal blossoms which delight our outward senses. I used to 
 take long walks with Mr. Wordsworth about Rydal and Gras- 
 '^mere, and sometimes, though seldom, at Keswick, to his Apple- 
 ' thwaite cottage, Hstening to his talk all the way ; and for hours 
 have I often listened when he conversed with my uncle, or, in- 
 doors at Rydal Mount, when he chatted or harangued to the 
 inmates of his household or the neighbors. But I took no notes 
 of his discourse either on the tablet of memory or on material 
 paper ; my mind and turn of thought were gradually moulded 
 ^_Jiis conversation, and the influences under which I was ) 
 brought by his means in matters of intellect, while in those f 
 which concerned the heart and the moral being I was still more \ 
 deeply and importantly indebted to the character and daily 
 conduct of my admirable Uncle Southey. Yet I never adopted 
 the opinions of either en masse, and, since I have come to years 
 of secondary and more mature reflection, I have been unable to 
 retain many which I received from them. The impression 
 upon my feelings of their minds remains unabated in force ; but 
 the formal views and judgments which I received from their 
 lips are greatly modified, though not more than they themselves 
 modified and re-adjusted their own views and judgments from 
 youth to age. 
 
 You express surprise at something I let fall in a former letter 
 on what I consider the difference and inferiority in kind of Mr. 
 Wordsworth's late poems from those of his youth and middle- 
 age. I must own that I do see this very strongly, and should 
 "as little think of comparing that on the " Power of Sound/' with _v 
 "jthe " Platonic Ode," or the " Song at the Feast of Brougham 
 Castle," as — what shall I say ? — the Crystal Palace with Wind- 
 "sor Castle, or the grand carved sideboard in the former with 
 the broad oak of the forest when its majestic stem of strong and 
 solid wood is robed in foliage of tender, mellow green. Those 
 earlier odes seem to be organic wholes : the first of them is in 
 some sort an image of the individual spirit of which it is an ef- 
 flux. The energy and felicity of its language is so great that 
 every passage and every line of it has been received into the 
 "poetical heart of this country, and has become the common ex- 
 pression of certain moods of mind and modes of thought which 
 
494 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 had hardly been developed before its appearance. The ode on 
 the " Power of Sound," like " The Triad," is an elegant compo- 
 sition by a poetic artist — a poetical will-work — not as a whole, 
 I should say, a piece of inspiration, though some lines in it are 
 breathings of the poetic spirit. 
 
 I confess, at the risk of lowering my taste in your esteem, 
 which I should be right sorry to do, yet not liking to retain it 
 by mere suppression of a part of my mind — a serious and de- 
 cided part, which has stood assaults of poetic reasoning of no 
 small force and animation— I do confess that I have never been 
 able to rank "The Triacl^' among Mr. Wordsworth's immortal 
 works of genius. It is just what he came into the poetical 
 world to condemn, and both by practice and theory to supplant. 
 It is, to my mind, artificial and unreal. There is no truth in it 
 as a whole, although bits of truth, glazed and magnified, are em- 
 bodied in it, as in the lines, "Features to old ideal grace allied" 
 — a most unintelligible allusion to a likeness discovered in dear 
 J)ora/s contour of countenance to the great Memnon head in 
 the British Museum, with its overflowing lips and width of X 
 mouth, which seems to be typical of the ocean. The poem al- 
 ways strikes me as a mongrel — an amphibious thing, neither 
 portrait nor ideal, but an ambiguous cross between the two. 
 Mr. De Vere, before he knew me, took it for a personification 
 of Faith, Hope, and Charity, taken in inverse order — a sufficient 
 proof, I think, that it is extravagant and unnatural as a descrip- 
 tion of three young ladies of the nineteenth century. In " Ly- 
 cidas," poetic idealism is not brought so closely into contrast 
 and conflict with familiar reaUty as in " The Triad," because it 
 contains no description of the individual. The theme in reality 
 is quite general and abstract — death by drowning of the friend 
 of a great poet, in his bloom of youth, a minister of the Gospel. 
 This theme is adorned with all the pomp and garniture of classic 
 and Hebraic imagery that could be clustered and cumulated 
 round it. After all, in theory, Milton's mixture of Pagan my- 
 thology with the spiritualities of the Gospel is not defensible. 
 The best defense of "Lycidas" is not to defend the design of 
 it at all, but to allege that the execution is perfect, the diction 
 the ne plus ultra of grace and loveliness, and that the spirit of 
 the whole is as original as if the poem contained no traces of 
 the author's acquaintance with ancient pastoral poetry, from 
 Theocritus downward. I^ am much pleased to see how highly 
 
''The Preluded 495 
 
 Mn Wordsworth speaks of Virgil's style, and of his " Bucolics," 
 which I have ever thought most graceful and tender. They are 
 
 "^qu^itc another thing from Theocritus, however they may be 
 based upon Theocritus. 
 
 You invited me, in a former letter, to speak to you of "The 
 Prelude;" but this must be reserved for a future communica- 
 tion. I can only say, now, that I was deeply delighted in read- 
 ing it, and think it a truly noble composition. It is not, per- 
 haps, except in certain passages, which had been extracted and 
 given to the public before the publication of the poem as a 
 whole, effective and brilliant poetry ; but it is deeply interesting 
 as the image of a great poetic mind : none but a mind on a 
 great scale could have produced it. As a supplement to the 
 poetic works of the author, it is of the highest value. You 
 may imagine how I was affected and gladdened by the warm 
 tributes which it contains to my father, and the proof it affords 
 of their close intimacy and earnest friendship. I think the his- 
 tory of literature hardly affords a parallel instance of entire 
 union and unreserve between two poets. There may have been 
 more co-operation between Beaumont and Fletcher ; but from 
 the character of their lives, there could hardly have been such 
 pure love and consonancy of thought and feeling on high 
 themes, and accordance in high aims and endeavors. Mr. Yar- 
 nall's remembrances of the poet in his last year I thought highly 
 
 '"Interesting. I saw in them a touch of Wordsworth's own man- 
 ner, a reverent tenderness and "solemn gloom." To judge 
 from the notes of Mrs. Davy and Lady Richardson, Mr. Words- 
 worth must have been somewhat more like his old self in dis- 
 
 ' course when at his own home, surrounded by the natural ob- 
 jects in which he took such high interest, than when I was with 
 \ him at Miss Fenwick's, at Bath, in the spring of that sad sum- 
 
 \ mer which deprived him of his beloved daughter. Then he 
 
 \ seemed unable to talk, except in snatches and fragments ; and 
 there was nothing fresh in what he said. His speech seemed 
 to me but a feeble, mournful echo of his former utterances. 
 
 u 
 
49^ Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Visit to the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park. — Sculpture and Jewels. — The 
 Royal Academy of 185 1. — Portrait of Mr. Wordsworth by Pickersgill.— 
 Supposed Tendency to Pantheism in the " Lines on Tintern Abbey." 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 Chester Place, May 25, 185 1. — Dearest Miss Fenwick, yester- 
 day, for the first time, I visited the Crystal Palace, and ever 
 since I have been longing for you to see it. Is it quite impos- 
 sible for you to come up, to me first, and see this interesting as- 
 semblage of works of art ? I saw so many Bath chairs, and in- 
 valids in them, so many, many degrees weaker than you or I. 
 You could be wheeled about to every thing with perfect ease, 
 and there are several gentlemen, either of whom would delight 
 to devote time to going about with us and showing us every 
 thing. 
 
 I had a perfect dread of the thing before I went, and would 
 not have gone at all but to escape the perpetual question — 
 " Have you seen the great wonder ?" and " Do go with me. Do 
 let me take you to see it." I would not go with any party, 
 fearing that I should have to stay longer than my strength 
 
 would allow. E went with her cousin S , a very sweet 
 
 girl, the image of her beloved papa — whose sudden death she 
 so deeply mourned — both in face and the gentle afifectionate- 
 ness of her manner. I procured for them the escort of Mrs. 
 
 P. E . Yesterday E and I went under the care of Mr. 
 
 D , brother-in-law of Mrs. D. C ; we stayed/^/zr hours, 
 
 and I came away far less fatigued than I have often felt after 
 half an hour in the Royal Academ3^ The difference arises from 
 the freedom in walking about, and the freshness of the atmos- 
 phere. In this great conservator}', or glass house, we are per- 
 fectly sheltered from all inclemency of weather — all too muchness 
 of hot or cold, wind or sun — and underfoot are smooth boards, 
 which do not try the limbs like the inequalities of street or 
 road ; and yet there is an openness and space and free circula- 
 tion of air such as were never enjoyed, I suppose, under cover 
 before. I did not think to stay more than one hour, but four 
 soon slipped away. We were lucky in meeting Lord Monteagle, 
 who talked instructively to me on the works of art, and pointed 
 out a most graceful and beautiful piece of sculpture by Gib- 
 
Sculpture and Jewels. 497 
 
 son, which I afterward showed to friends whom I met, telling 
 
 them at the same time of Lord M 's criticism. * * * Lord 
 
 ^ talked of little A , and of his having enjoyed one 
 
 of the greatest honors a mortal could obtain, in having been 
 preferred to the hippopotamus ! I dare say you may have heard 
 
 the story of little A 's choosing to see grandpapa rather 
 
 than to visit the zoological favorite new-comer. 
 
 At first I felt mortified to see how British art, in the high line 
 of sculpture, appeared to be outdone by foreign— all the strik- 
 ing pieces, and those which occupied the conspicuous places in 
 the centre of the great middle aisle, being German, Italian, or 
 French performances. The grandest thing in this way is an 
 Amazon* on horseback, about to spear a lioness, who has leaped 
 upon her horse, and is trying to throttle it. The huntress sits 
 back upon her steed, the right leg drawn up, the left extended 
 on the other side below the belly of the horse — a superb tom- 
 boy indeed. The piece is colossal. Then there are two fish- 
 ing-girls by Monti, of Milan, most lovely, but quite real-Ufe-ish 
 — not like Gibson's piece, which would be almost taken for a 
 Greek antique. And there are such beauteous little babes in 
 marble, one little fellow strapped to his cot, from which he is 
 tr}dng to rear himself up. But among the most striking per- 
 formances are two groups by Lequesne : i. A dog protecting a 
 boy, about four or five years old, from a serpent. 2. The dog, 
 having bitten off the serpent's head, caressed by the child. The 
 contrast in the face of the dog, when he is about to kill the ser- 
 pent and when he has done the job, is most expressive ; in the 
 first group it is sharpened with anxiety — it looks almost like 
 that of a wolf, full of horror and disgust at the noxious beast, 
 and cautious determination. In the second, it is all abroad 
 with comfortable, placid satisfaction, and affectionate good-nat- 
 ure. These, of course, are only a few in a crowd. 
 
 I was disappointed in the great diamond, even though I had 
 heard that it disappointed every one. There is nothing dia- 
 mondy in it that I can see — no multiplicity of sparkle — it looks 
 only like a respectable piece of crystal. The two strings of 
 large pearls of the East India Company are very fine ; but I 
 have some strings of large mock pearls which look almost as 
 well, and they can be imitated still more nearly. The huge em- 
 
49^ Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 eralds, too, look rather glassy. Of all the works of art adapted 
 to the uses of domestic life, the most exquisite is the Gobelin 
 tapestry ; in our noblemen's palaces and houses there is noth- 
 ing like it. The bunches of flowers are more delicate and 
 brilliant than any painting I ever saw. The carved wood fur- 
 niture is very fine ; but in that department the English equal 
 the French, except in one sideboard, supported by four hounds, 
 which is the most elegantly magnificent thing I ever saw. The 
 grand beds, too, are very grand. * * * The crowd was far great- 
 er yesterday than it ever was before, and what it will be on 
 the shilling days I know not. It was fine to look down from 
 the galleries, and see such a vast mass of human beings all in 
 motion, enjoying themselves and animated. Every body looked 
 pleased and comfortable. 
 
 The picture exhibition, too, is worth seeing. I like Watts's 
 portrait of Mr. Taylor much, and there are beautiful portraits 
 of Gibson, the sculptor, and a lady by Boxall. Eastlake's "Hip- 
 polita" is very beautiful, but too pinky. Pickersgill's ^portrait 
 of our dear departed great poet is insufferable — velvet waist- 
 coat, neat shiny boots — ^just the sort of dress he would not have 
 worn if you could have hired him — and a sombre sentimental- 
 ism of countenance quite unlike his own look, which was either 
 elevated with high gladness or deep thought, or at times sim- 
 ply and childishly gruff; but never tender after that fashion, so 
 lackadaisical and mawkishly sentimental. 
 
 Dr. Wordsworth's apologizing in the " Life " for the " Lines 
 on Tintern Abbey" seems to me injudicious. Those great 
 works of the poet's vigorous mind must stand for themselves ; 
 it is on them, I believe, that Wordsworth's fame will rest, and 
 by them he must be judged. 
 
 But why admit for a moment that they might be accused of 
 Pantheism, or that Wordsworth might, had he not written in a 
 different spirit late in life .'' If they had really proceeded from 
 a Pantheistic view, they ought to have been suppressed if pos- 
 sible. Their beauty and power ought not to have saved them; 
 this would give them influence — add wings to the poisoned 
 shaft. But there is no such thing as Pantheism truly imputable 
 to them. 
 
hitellectual Tuft-hunting. 499 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Intellectual Tuft-hunting. 
 
 To E. QuiLLiNAN, Esq. : 
 
 1851. — A parent can not say to a son, "You must never 
 form an intimacy except with decidedly superior men." There 
 would be a sort of intellectual tuft-hunting in this, which could 
 not lead to good, for man is a very complex animal, and can 
 not be determined in his movements and procedure by one 
 part of his nature without regard to the rest, and our connec- 
 tions arise from many influences, all of which can not be given 
 an exact account of. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Bears of Literature. — Margate. — Bean-fields and Water Companies. 
 — Hartley Coleridge's Lines to Dr. Arnold. — Eutychianism. — Lieb- 
 nitz on the Nature of the Soul. — Materialism of the Early Fathers. 
 — Great Metaphysical Work projected by Mr. Coleridge. — Historical 
 Reading. — Scott's Novels. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 3 Zmi Place, East Cliff, Margate, June 20, 185 1. — I have de- 
 layed writing to you more as reserving a pleasure than postpon- 
 ing a time-consuming task ; for the subjects which you invite 
 me to investigate with you are so interesting to my mind that a 
 letter to you is always a high entertainment to myself, whether 
 or no to you it be a treat so far as it is a treatise, or only accept- 
 able as a personal communication. I ought to have written 
 sooner, however, to express my grateful delight in what you 
 have undertaken on behalf of dear Hartley's poetry. It is 
 painful to think of your composition being cut and slashed and 
 squeezed and ground, and perhaps inlaid and vamped, by edi- 
 torial interference. Still, in any shape, the article will be very 
 acceptable, unless more tampered with than I can believe prob- 
 able ; and, even if aught unforeseen should prevent its appear- 
 ance altogether, it would always be most agreeable to me to 
 think of your having written it. I should like to see your com- 
 position in its original virgin state, like the gadding vine or 
 well-attired woodbine, free and luxuriant in kindly remark and 
 beauty-finding criticism. An editor of a critical review ought 
 
500 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 to be painted with a pruning-hook in his hand as big as him- 
 self, and an ax beside him, just ready to fall edge foremost 
 upon his own foot — only that it would tantalize one to see it al- 
 ways suspended. There's a piece of savagery ! The foot ought 
 to be represented as rough as that of a bear, and clumsy as 
 the pedestal of an elephant, to denote the rough, clumsy way in 
 which these ursine editors go ramping and ravaging about the 
 
 fairest flower-gardens. Don't you remember how C 's great 
 
 hoofs went plunging about in Tennyson's first volume, contain- 
 ing "Mariana," "The Miller's Daughter," and the "Ode to 
 Memory," and "The Dying Swan" and "CEnone," the loveliest 
 and most characteristic things, to my fancy, that he ever wrote ? 
 
 Indeed, C 's stamping down that pretty bed of heart's-ease, 
 
 Moxon's Sonnets, was shameful, and showed him fit to be 
 chained to a post, or shut up with the guests of Circe, in a sty 
 of tolerable accommodation and capacity, for the rest of his 
 bearish and Grilline existence. All this indignation streams 
 forth from me on the pressure of the mere thought of the treat- 
 ment that your article is to receive. " But let them go, and be 
 you blithe and bonny," oh ! products of poetic genius of every 
 degree, from the greatest to the least, in spite of the Bears of 
 Literature, remembering how Keats was treated, who now by 
 some critics is boldly styled the most poetical poet of the age. 
 
 My general health has derived as much benefit from my stay 
 here as it usually does from a sea-side visit. I walk an hour in 
 the morning, and in the evening an hour or fifty minutes. I 
 could do more than this in the way of exercise, but, though my 
 strength would allow of it, I fear that it might not be prudent. 
 
 The weather was quite wintry — a spring temperature, with the 
 squally look and sound of winter — during the first nine or ten 
 days of our stay. Now it begins to be Junish : the butterflies 
 are abroad, especially the azure ones, that seem to be animated 
 bits cut out of the sapphire of the still, blue sea; the corn-poppy 
 rears its head, that was hung down like that of an eastern slave 
 making a low obeisance, and discloses its scarlet head-gear; 
 while the blossomed beans look up and seem to stare at us with 
 their clear black eye, the jetty iris surrounded by a snowy cor- 
 nea. Have you ever observed this in the bean-blossom ? it is 
 really pretty to behold. The sweet odors from the bean-fields, 
 and from little gardens full of stocks, carnations, roses, gilly- 
 flowers, pinks, and southernwood, which we pass on our cliff 
 
Water Companies, — Eutychianism. 501 
 
 walk, are an agreeable contrast to the vile ones which annoy us 
 when we enter the town to post letters or get a book from one 
 of the libraries. The whole way round the town, there are not 
 many yards of ground free from this nuisance. Surely many 
 summers will not pass ere Margate radically reforms her drain- 
 age, and every town and city in England adopts those better 
 plans of water-supply and extrusion of uncleanness which are 
 already before the public. How strange it seems that Govern- 
 ment should in any degree admit the proposals of the water 
 companies for consolidating them, and granting them a mo- 
 nopoly of this lucrative business ! What can they say in answer 
 to the allegations against the old system, and all that is ad- 
 vanced in support of ar^other plan ? I do think, in all matters 
 of this kind, which concern the public health, Government 
 ought to be paternal and governing ; and I hope, in time, the 
 country will support them in taking such businesses into their 
 own hands, and conducting them on a plan having the advan- 
 tage of unity. But you will see that I am talking after the ar- 
 ticle on centralization, etc., in the last Quarterly — an article 
 which pleased me very much, because it both gave me new infor- 
 mation and confirmed some of my old opinions that the Gov- 
 ernment on sanitary matters should act more boldly, and take 
 more upon it than heretofore, and not suffer what is important 
 to the health of the community to be misgicggled by individual 
 selfishness and caprice, or the rapacious dishonesty of compa- 
 nies. 
 
 To return to the Hartley poems. You told me that in the lines 
 on the death of Dr. Arnold you could not make any thing of 
 " His subject and his Lord." Now I can not help seeing that 
 the commencing lines of this poem are awkward, ambiguous, 
 and ill-expressed, but the meaning of "subject" in the third line 
 I doubt not is theme, the subject-matter of discourse and preach- 
 ing; the sense is not that which is directly opposed to Lord. 
 The parenthesis I rather thought rightly placed. But it is a 
 great pity that a good poem of the weightier sort should begin 
 so carelessly and ineruditely. 
 
 I must soon bid you good -by and take my evening walk, 
 and must not now enter upon theology, though your last leaves 
 me charged with the heresy of Eutyches. Friend De Vere, does 
 not Eutychianism consist in the denial of the two natures of our 
 Lord 1 Is it not the Catholic faith that our Lord had but one 
 
502 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 person, with the human and divine natures, only adding that, if, 
 as some divines, Aquinas and others, affirm, the personality of 
 Christ is divine, not human, we must say the human personal- 
 ity is merged in the divine. Even if this is an inconvenient ex- 
 pression, I see not how it infers Eutychianism. Perhaps it 
 would be better to say that the human nature distinctly appears 
 in our Lord in every other attribute save this of personality, and 
 that, in bare personality considered in itself, apart from every 
 other attribute, the distinction between human and divine can 
 not manifest itself. The Church, speaking in the Creed com- 
 monly called of Athanasius (if we are to consider that Creed 
 as her voice, and I do not think it is the voice of Christ), but 
 the Church, speaking through decrees of councils, has merely 
 decided, I believe, that our Lord is one person having two nat- 
 ures. It is only individual schoolmen and divines who have 
 declared Him not to have taken human personality. We 
 are not obliged to any explicit doctrine on the point in ques- 
 tion. 
 
 I have been reading Leibnitz on the origin and nature and 
 composition of the soul, and found much in his teaching that is 
 satisfactory. But of this more anon. He says, with a sage sim- 
 plicity, that if his doctrine, as was objected to it, represents the 
 souls of beasts as imperishable, it is much better to allow them 
 immortality than to deny it to men. He thinks that the Anti- 
 Platonism of some of the early Fathers (indeed, I believe, of all 
 the orthodox ones) — which made the soul, in all finite beings, 
 men and angels, to be material, not immortal per se, by its 
 original conformation, but only made so, in particular cases, 
 by the arbitrary determination of the Creator, keeping alive the 
 good for reward and the evil for punishment — is a dangerous 
 notion. And certainly, if Materialism, in any shape, is com- 
 mended to the minds of men, however guarded it may be by 
 the teachers of it within the Church, by a corollary framed in 
 support of Revelation, it will be laid hold of by teachers with- 
 out the Church, and easily separated from its pious appendix. 
 The more agreement can be made out betwixt philosophy and 
 religion, the better for the interests of the latter; the more foun- 
 dation for the hopes to which Revelation points can be laid on 
 the ground of reason, the better for the authority of the former. 
 And yet some Christian teachers in all ages have manifested a 
 jealousy of support to religious doctrine supplied by reason, as 
 
Historical Reading. ro'i 
 
 if the ally must needs prove a usurper. Such usurpation would 
 be but a supplanting of herself 
 
 _ I have been answering a letter from Sir John K , inclos- 
 ing one from a clerical friend of his, containing a most earnest 
 inquiry^ about my father's great "metaphysical opus," a great 
 profession of admiration of his mind, confidence in his powers, 
 and value for his speculations, as throwing light on the truths 
 of the Christian religion. This kind of inquiry is frequently 
 made to me, and begins to embarrass me a good deal. At one 
 time I hoped that Mr. Green would be able, in the course of a 
 few years, to exhibit a scheme of Divine Philosophy, the ideas 
 or substance whereof would be my father's— the composition, 
 except in some portions where he was furnished with regular 
 dictation of his master, his own. Now I scarce know what to 
 say. Difficulties seem to unfold themselves as he proceeds in 
 the execution of the work,* but it is best to refer such inquiries 
 to Mr. Green himself Meantime, this I think, and have vent- 
 ured to suggest to Sir John K 's friend, that the writings of 
 
 my father already published, the latter volumes of the " Litera- 
 ry Remains," "Appendix to the Statesman's Manual," "Church 
 and State," and its notes, and even the "Aids to Reflection," 
 have never yet been made full use of, or appj-ofondis, even by 
 professed admirers of my father's mind, or thoroughly enucle- 
 ated, digested, and applied. 
 
 My reading-books here are Leibnitz, Ranke, and the Scotch 
 Novels, and of these the middle is the one to which alone I find 
 it difficult to enchain my attention. History is always difficult 
 to me, because taking in so much fact at once is like making a 
 meal all of dry bread. As for Scott, I grieve to be nearing the 
 end of his charming productions. They fill a place in literature 
 which they have entirely to themselves. No other books com- 
 bine the same qualities — so much humor, so much information, 
 so high a tone, varying from the chivalrous to the gentlemanly, 
 and such an out-of-door freshness, the scene being so much in 
 the open air, or in mansions connected with nature or elevated 
 by historic association, or rendered interesting by the way in 
 which they show characteristics of the Scottish peasantry or 
 townsfolk. 
 
 * " Spiritual Philosophy, founded on the Teaching of the late S. T. Cole- 
 ridge," by the late T. H. Green. Edited by Dr. Simon. Macmillan & Co., 
 1865.— E. C. 
 
504 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 X. 
 
 Comments on an Essay on her Brother Hartley and his Poetry. — Death of 
 Mr. Quillinan. — Moehler's " Symbolik." 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, jf^h n, 185 1. — My dear friend, I have just 
 finished reading your article on Hartley, and am even more 
 thankful for it than I expected to be. It is the only essay on 
 the subject that has satisfied my heart. Oh, how true it is 
 that charity is the best wisdom ! Your article seems to me far 
 truer and wiser than any of the rest. There is so much more 
 of intuition in it, of insight into the good of Hartley's nature. 
 The article in the Christian Remembrancer is a brilliant essay, 
 eloquent and touching in parts, and, as every orator can be, pa- 
 thetic — it is a part of his art. It does justice to Hardey's in- 
 tellect and genius, and to his amiability ; but the desire to show 
 up the subject as a moral lesson, to use it by way of illustrating 
 the peculiar or characteristic principles and sentiments of the 
 review, gives a dryness and heartlessness to the whole, and 
 makes even the tenderness seem artificial. I do not lament 
 over the curtailment of your paper so much as I did in pros- 
 pect, although I grudge losing what you have written. Yet so 
 impatient are readers nowadays, and so fastidious from the 
 quantity of food always pouring in upon them, that I dare say 
 the effect of the article will be the greater from its having been 
 shortened. 
 
 That is a beautiful description at p. 5 — " With a vague grace, 
 with feet that seemed almost unable to keep their hold of the 
 ground," etc. That does so bring him before me ! As I read, 
 it was like a lightning flash revealing what long had lain amid 
 the shadows of memory. I marked also the affecting para- 
 graph at p. 15, 16, and that between p. 25, 26, and that sen- 
 tence at p. 2 1 : " She interpreted between him and his neigh- 
 bors, she sweetened the draught of an impoverished life, and 
 made atonement to a defrauded heart." That is beautiful, and 
 my tears are flowing, as I read, at this and other passages. 
 
 That is a pretty fancy at p. 29, on the character of his love 
 poems — "The moonlight of a warm climate." 
 
 This is a point, too, on which your intuitive knowledge of 
 Hartley appears, which no other review brought forward. The 
 
 \ 
 
Moehlers '•'■ Symbolikr 505 
 
 impetuosity of manner in my brother gave to some a notion 
 that he had strong passions. But I have been comparing him 
 with my father lately in musing on the two, and feeling how 
 much stronger were all the features of his character — his emo- 
 tions more vehement. 
 
 I dwell thus upon those that have been long removed, while 
 sorrow is in my heart at the unexpected departure of one for 
 whom I had, what you had also, a warm regard. Another of 
 my set of valued old friends is taken from me ! Mr. Quillinan 
 was one whom it was impossible to regard with indifference — 
 striking and peculiar in character, and full of gifts as well as 
 attractions. 
 
 Our new clergyman (I do like him so much!) had a little, or 
 rather longish, talk with us the other day on the religious de- 
 bates of this time and of the past, and in the course of it he ask- 
 ed if we knew Moehler's " Symbolik." He said that Manning 
 considered the first 120 pages of Vol. II. as quite unanswerable; 
 that he was enthusiastic about it, and was endeavoring to pros- 
 elyte by means of it right and left ; that he declares he has 
 shown it to several of our Anglican doctors ; that they are quite 
 unable to answer it, and so forth. Now I thought all the argu- 
 ment of that book had been long ago reproduced to the En- 
 glish public by Newman, had been answered by Archer Butler, 
 and other controversialists on their side, at least to the satis- 
 faction of Anglicans and themselves. But I should like very 
 much to see the book. 
 
 Your criticism on Hartley's poetry is by far the best, in every 
 way, that I have seen ; it presents the poems in their deepest 
 and most dignified aspect, and the dear man's character along 
 with them. Yet there is nothing that can be caviled at as ex- 
 alting them too highly in the scale as compositions, nothing 
 that seems violently partial and exaggerated. One review 
 speaks more highly of the " Prometheus " than you speak of it. 
 I certainly think the hymn fine at the conclusion. To that you 
 allow all its merit. 
 
5o6 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 1 85 1 . — jfuly-Decemher. 
 
 LETTERS TO MR. ELLIS YARNALL, PROFESSOR HENRY REED, AUBREY 
 DE VERE, ESQ., THOMAS BLACKBURNE, ESQ., MISS FENWICK. 
 
 Visit to the Zoological Gardens. — Dependence on Outward Conditions a 
 Characteristic of Animals in Contradistinction to Man. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, August 18, 185 1. — I was very sorry to find 
 that I had missed you on my return from the Zoological Gar- 
 dens. You should visit the animals, if you have not been there 
 for some time. I never saw the creatures so well provided for 
 before — their dwellings so spacious, or their peculiar habits so 
 attended to in the arrangements : sham rocks and trees appro- 
 priately distributed, and careful directions every where to the 
 visitors what is not to be done to the annoyance and injury of 
 the unspeaking inhabitants. 
 
 There are two kitten jaguars, which alone are worth going to 
 see. Such darls ! I wish I had seen them when they were 
 still smaller. These are on the lion side. On the opposite, 
 one of the large dens holds six or seven lovely leopards, which 
 were lying about in a choice variety of easy, elegant attitudes, 
 the long tail of one special beauty depending carelessly over a 
 bough, the lithe limb stretched out opposite. She looked like 
 an eastern sultana, very young. Wordsworth might well choose 
 the " Panther in the Wilderness " as an emblem of beauty — 
 their forms, their motions, their exquisitely variegated coat, all 
 are so beautiful ; and they look both good-natured and playful. 
 The giraffes so remind one of a delirious dream, that I think if 
 I were to look at them long I should go off into a sort of trance. 
 Oh, how very hideous the orang-outang is ! Why did Nature 
 make such a hideous creature? And how the elephants look 
 like a first rude, clumsy formation of her " 'prentice hand," and 
 
Characteristics of Animals. 507 
 
 yet I suppose their construction is not simpler or less refined 
 than that of slenderer creatures. How one is struck, in these 
 gardens, with the way in which the inferior animals are adapted 
 and conformed, each to a certain habitat— monkeys and leop- 
 ards and the sloth to trees, though each in a different way, 
 great birds to rocks, giraffes to places where there are high 
 trees, the hippopotamus to streams, etc. — while man is fitted to 
 no habitation, but fits a habitation to himself, except that the 
 constitutions of some peoples are suited to certain climates. 
 
 II. 
 
 Immortality.— Causes of Ancient and Modern Infidelity.— Comparative Ad- 
 vantages of America and Europe. — Copies from the Old Masters.— The 
 Bridgewater Gallery. — The High-Church Movement— The Central 
 Truth of Christianity. — Merits of Anglicanism as Compared with Ro- 
 manism, Quakerism, and Skepticism. — Danger of Staking the Faith on 
 External Evidences. — Pre-eminence ascribed by Certain Fathers and 
 Councils of the Church to the See of Rome. — The Protestant Ground 
 of Faith. — The Theory of Development. — A Dinner-party at Mr. Ken- 
 yon's. — Interesting Appearance and High Poetic Gifts of Mrs. Brown- 
 ing. — Expression and Thought in Poetry. — Women's Novels. — Con- 
 clusion. 
 
 To Mr. Ellis Yarnall,* Philadelphia, U. S. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, Regenfs Park, August 28, 185 1. — Dear Mr. 
 Yarnall, I will begin an answer to your interesting letter at once, 
 not waiting for more time, or aught else, to answer it suitably, 
 and as I should like to do ; for I know how much better ever 
 so brief an answer is than none, so that it be not short in friend- 
 ly feelings. It was by no means necessary to apologize, as you 
 do, for the personal accounts in your letter, which were to me 
 remarkably interesting. A good and wise man, one who is en- 
 joying life himself, and promoting the welfare and happiness 
 of others, called away suddenly, 
 
 " While those whose hearts are dry as summer dust 
 Burn to the socket," 
 
 is always a subject for serious meditation on the ways of God 
 with man, and to religious minds an evidence that here we have 
 no abiding city — that the best estate of frail mortals, so frail as 
 
 * A friend and fellow - townsman of Professor Reed's, from whom he 
 brought an introduction to my mother, while on a visit to England in the 
 summer of 1849. — E. C. 
 
5o8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 earthly beings, so strong in the heavenly part of their constitu- 
 tion, is when they feel themselves to be strangers and pilgrims 
 here below. What a depth of consolation there is in some of 
 those expressions in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews ! How 
 they articulate the voice of immortality within us, and counter- 
 vail the melancholy oracle of Lucretius, with their calm and 
 confident assurances ! The atheism of Epicurus gained its 
 power upon the mind from the irrationality and antimoralism, 
 the sensuality and cruelty involved in the popular religion which 
 it opposed. And just so it is, I think, in the present day; the 
 deniers of Revelation, and doubters of a future state, the disbe- 
 lievers even of a God and an immortality for man in His pres- 
 ence, acquire all their strength from the weakness of the medi- 
 aeval ecclesiastical system, its audacious contradictions of Script- 
 ure and the moral sense, and the unscrupulous use it makes 
 of the most corrupt human instrumentalities for the furtherance 
 of its purposes and consolidation of its power. But I must not 
 plunge into this large subject at present. 
 
 I looked out in the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge Society's 
 maps for the places j^ou mention, and found some of them, and 
 ascertained their relation to New York. It is very interesting 
 to think how a ready-made civilization is rapidly spreading 
 around that vast westerly lake, Michigan. It seems to me that 
 in your country you have a great deal of our refinement with- 
 out our troublesome, tedious conventionality. You have books, 
 and in them the main substance of cultivation, the best part of 
 civilization : and you have a noble, beautiful nature around you, 
 which would do nothing to elevate the mind by itself, but where 
 intellectual education has laid a groundwork, becomes an ex- 
 alting and refining influence, and a perpetual source of delight. 
 I wish you had more pictures by the old imaginative masters, 
 and some of the architectural and sculptorial works of past gen- 
 erations of men, whose circumstances enabled them to do what 
 never can be done again, unless a new state of things comes 
 in, of which there is now no prospect. But the facilities of in- 
 tercourse with Europe will do something to make up for that 
 deficiency, by enabling every man of taste and leisure (even oc- 
 casional) in your country, to fill his memory with those noble 
 and lovely forms. Surely all of you who visit Italy, or the gal- 
 leries of France and England, or the palaces of Spain, enriched 
 by the painters of that sunny land, ought to bring home some 
 
Copies from the Old Masters. 509 
 
 copies of the finer productions of art. I have seen copies of 
 old pictures which, I do beHeve, have in them almost all that 
 the originals possess— a/;^^^/ all those qualities which constitute 
 their charm and salutary influence ; and it is, fortunately, paint- 
 ings of the higher order of merit, the merit of which is most 
 adequately conveyed by copies, and even by prints. There is 
 in them a grace and loftiness of design, which can not be ab- 
 sent from any attempt at translation. Whenever I see an orig- 
 inal Raphael, I behold an infinite deal of beauty which no print 
 can convey; a soft exquisiteness of outline, and a life-like elas- 
 ticity in the flesh; and yet I greet it as an old acquaintance. 
 Lately I visited Lord Ellesmere's noble collection of pictures, 
 which used to be called the Stafford or the Bridgewater Gallery 
 (Lord Ellesmere is brother to the Duke of Sutherland). I had 
 seen this splendid assemblage twice in my life before, once when 
 I was a girl, and saw little more in the Titians and Poussins and 
 Raphaels than products of power which I could not understand. 
 A year ago I saw them again with Mr. QuiUinan, Mr. Words- 
 worth's son-in-law, whose death filled us with grief two months 
 ago. In Lord Ellesmere's new house the pictures are not well 
 lighted, and many of them are placed so high as to be quite 
 lost to the eye in all but a general outline. Still I received 
 a pleasure from them unfelt before. In the centre of the prin- 
 cipal room are the four Raphaels : " La Vierge au Palmier," the 
 Virgin seated under a palm-tree, presenting the infant Saviour 
 to the kneeling Joseph. This is one of the loveliest pictures I 
 ever beheld. To judge from the print, the "Virgin de la Maison 
 d'Albe," seated on the ground, with the Child Jesus climbing 
 into her lap, St. John smilingly adoring close by, must be of 
 equal beauty. Both these paintings are in a circular form, 
 which aids the effect of their soft symmetry and perfect grace. 
 The next in beauty of the Raphaels is the standing Virgin,* 
 with Jesus and John, as boys of seven or eight, close beside her. 
 " La Vierge au Linge " is least interesting, the Babe being too 
 young to display grace of form and motion. It is asleep, the 
 mother lifting the veil from its face. The fourth is the " Blessed 
 Mother," with her Babe stretching itself across her arms. The 
 two large Titians — "Diana, Calisto, and Nymphs," "Diana, Ac- 
 tseon, and Nymphs " — form a part of this rich group. I feel their 
 
 « "La Belle Vierge."— E. C. 
 
5 1 o Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 1 
 
 power, but can not properly appreciate these pictures ; and they 
 are out of harmony, in tone, with the main mass of the paintings 
 around. The famous "Assumption of the Virgin," by Guido, is at 
 the end of the room, a large painting in a sort of alcove. It was 
 one of the first pictures that ever awakened pictorial enthusiasm 
 in me, or rather excited poetical enthusiasm by means of the pic- 
 torial art, when I saw it at the British Institution. The Maid 
 Mother, robed in pink, with a blue scarf fluttering over her rich, 
 graceful form, floats upward through a sky of aerial gold. The 
 face is round and fair, and exquisitely delicate, with soft, yellow 
 hair, and upturned hazel eyes. The " Michael Triumphing over 
 Satan," in another apartment, is to my imagination quite as de- 
 lightful as this more admired production of the same master. 
 In the Archangel there is the same rich, full form as in the as- 
 cending Madonna, the same round, almost infantine face, sur- 
 mounted with a natural glory of light golden hair; the beauty 
 is womanish, as if Venus had been transformed into Apollo, for 
 one day's festival in heaven, with an expectation of going back 
 into her original state of goddesshood the day after. By com- 
 paring this picture with some of Murillo's, we obtain a notion 
 of the superiority in the latter of religious depth and serious- 
 ness. For Murillo is always serious, though never quite sub- 
 lime; evangelical more than ecclesiastical, which latter may be 
 Christian, and yet will admit of Paganized conceptions of di- 
 vine things, and these accompanied with a Pagan air of luxuri- 
 ous and voluptuous earthiness. I was led to this remark by 
 thinking of the Angels or Divine Persons who appear to Abra- 
 ham in Murillo's great picture, companion to the still finer 
 "Prodigal Son" by the same great artist (both are in the pos- 
 session of Lord Ellesmere's brother, the Duke of Sutherland, 
 and are in his palatial town-house), they are so much more spir- 
 itual in their beauty. 
 
 You speak of the Movement in our Church, originated by 
 Newman and other writers of the " Tracts for the Times," and 
 I can entirely agree with you in thinking that it has awakened 
 a loftier spirit than before was prevailing. I believe, too, that 
 the discussions it has occasioned must be in the main for good, 
 and at any rate were inevitable. The particular Tractarian 
 movement, indeed, is itself but the offspring of a deeper one, 
 which is common to all Europe, and has been produced by such 
 a complex cause of circumstances, states, and relations as ever 
 
Forms of Christian Worship. 511 
 
 brings about the great general changes in the public condition 
 of things, and social arrangements at large. Matters pertaining 
 to religion could not remain as they were left by the Reforma- 
 tion ; as thought advanced, and when this nation was no longer 
 occupied with foreign wars or internal commotions, and began 
 to think seriously of setting its house in order, the discrepancies 
 and incoherencies, intellectual and moral, discoverable to the 
 searching eye in various departments of Church and State, must 
 be revealed in a clear light, and call for remedy. Tractarian- 
 ism was a stage in the progress of newly awakened thought; 
 but how men who go on thinking can suppose that it set forth a 
 coherent religious system, with which a serious mind could rest 
 satisfied, or settled religious matters on a firm basis, I can not 
 imagine for a moment. On the contrary, of all forms of the 
 Christian faith that ever have found favor with respectable bod- 
 ies of men, Anglo-Catholicism seems to me the most baseless 
 and inconsistent. My friend, Mr. H. Crabb Robinson, says that 
 its inconsistency is its merit, as compared, he means, with Ro- 
 manism, on the one hand, or Straussism on the other. Differing 
 as I do materially from Mr. Robinson respecting the great cen- 
 tral truth of Christianity, the Divinity of our Lord (for I believe 
 the Redeemer to be God himself, and he holds Jesus Christ to. 
 be a Being empowered by God to save the world — no mere man, 
 "and yet not very God), I do agree with him in this, and believe 
 Anglo-Catholicism a far better religion than Romanism, Quak- 
 erism, or general skepticism, though more inconsistent than 
 either. 
 
 I think it far better than Romanism, because it rejects that 
 impious supplementary gospel, those blasphemous pretensions, 
 heathenish figments, demoralizing principles, and debasing 
 practices which the Church of Rome keeps up for the benefit 
 of the clergy, together with those doctrines of Papal authority, 
 which, if unresisted (providentially it has always been kept in 
 check), must soon destroy all national independence, and intro- 
 duce a despotism inimical to the progress and best interests of 
 the human race. 
 
 I think it better than Quakerism, which rejects the whole 
 Visible Church system, because I see in that system, so far as 
 it is maintained on sound principles, for the educating of man- 
 kind in spirituals, not for blinding and enchaining them, im- 
 mense utility. All temporal governments require a Church to 
 
5 1 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 work in alliance with them ; and the Anglican form, retaining 
 the Episcopate, is an excellent institution, which may be placed 
 on a firm basis of reason and morality. On this foundation it 
 has been standing all along, amid the various theories of men 
 hovering around it, and supposed to be the foundation by mys- 
 tified beholders, who can not distinguish between cloudage and 
 terra f,r77ia. 
 
 I need not say why Anglo-Catholicism is better than such 
 doctrine as that of the rejectors of Revelation, who think that 
 St. John confounded his own dreams, engendered of human 
 philosophies, with the teaching of the Spirit, and deprive those 
 whom they seduce of all solid ground of hope in a better life to 
 come. Such views appear to be the immediate result, in some 
 minds, of the High-Church externalism and dogmatism, which 
 denies the inward revelation to be the true ultimate assurance of 
 faith. They examine that external authority to which they have 
 been commanded to bow, and find it wanting in the material of 
 conviction ; and they have never been led to think and feel that 
 the Christian religion, so far as it answers any true purpose of 
 a religion in purifying and elevating our nature, is its owfi evi- 
 dence; that the Bible attests its own divineness, as the sun re- 
 veals itself by its own light. These skeptics, equally with the 
 externalizing Romanist, are ever seen to be deficient in a sense 
 and perception of moral evidence; they are blind to the traces 
 of God, botli in the course of the world and in the volume of 
 Revelation; equally with the Romanist, the Infidel fails to see 
 that religion is a spirit, a power or principle, not a certain set 
 of formal beliefs bound up together in a frame, so that a man 
 must take it all up at once, or leave it all. The Romanist urges 
 that if the ideas of reason (or aught in the mind within) are the 
 criterion of truth, a man's creed will be always varying; he does 
 not understand that we may perceive truth in a thousand differ- 
 ent ways and degrees, but that we can really perceive none at 
 all except by the mirror of heaven within us. Just so the skep- 
 tic finds out certain incoherencies, or thinks he finds them, in 
 the scriptural accounts of our Lord's course upon earth, and 
 thereupon concludes that the Word of God can not be contained 
 in the Bible, because he finds it in part to be the mistaken word 
 of man. 
 
 The inconsistency of the Anglo-Catholic position seems to 
 me to be this : The Anglican, who firmly maintains the doctrine 
 
Inconsiste7icy of A nglo- Catholicism. 5 1 3 
 
 of Apostolical Succession, as absolutely essential to the being 
 of the Christian Church, and boasts that our hierarchy, by means 
 of regular ordination, descends in an unbroken line from the 
 Apostles ; who insists upon the absolving powers of the clergy, 
 and founds them upon Scripture, by transferring the promise 
 of our Lord to His faithful followers (the chosen Twelve) that 
 they should have the power of binding and loosing, to all their 
 successors ordained in due form, whatever their personal qual- 
 ifications may happen to be ; when it is objected that the lan- 
 guage of the New Testament itself authorizes no such applica- 
 tion, that it is an arbitrary extension of the sense, and supposes 
 a thing in its own nature unreasonable, because the mission 
 and the promise are obviously adapted to the personal qualifi- 
 cations of those to whom they were originally addressed — their 
 supernatural powers, which ceased with them — their burning 
 faith and zeal, which can not be conveyed by ordination, or any 
 other ceremony ; the Anglican, I say, constantly replies (and 
 certainly no other reply can be given) that all sound members 
 of the Catholic Church submit to the judgment of the Church, 
 which is to be ascertained by the decrees and acts of general 
 councils and the consent of ancient bishops and doctors. But 
 on all the same grounds of Scripture, and application of Script- 
 ure by Councils and Fathers, we ought to believe in the primacy 
 of the Pope, that he is the supreme judge in all controversies, 
 and the determiner of doctrine, whence it follows that we ought 
 to accept the whole Romish system, with its deification of the 
 Virgin, doctrine of the Mass, adoration of saints (for such it 
 practically is), with all those religious institutes and practices 
 which the English mind so revolts from and contemns — the 
 mockery of indulgences, the corruption of the confessional, 
 monasticism with all its social mischiefs, loosening the bonds 
 of family life, intrusion and domination of the priesthood. For 
 all these things and more are contained within that dark womb — 
 so simple without, so labyrinthine within — the Papal Supremacy 
 and Infallibility; for though the latter article is not called de 
 fide, yet it so obviously follows from the former that exalters 
 of the Papacy may very well afford to leave it to take care of 
 itself when the Supremacy has been established. Here the 
 Anglican interposes, taking exception at the term Supremacy. 
 He tells you the primacy acknowledged by the Church of the 
 first six centuries is a widely different thing from the headship 
 
 Kk 
 
514 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 now claimed for the Pope ; it may be proved by overwhelming 
 evidence that bishops of old, the very same men who used high 
 language concerning the Chair of Peter, did hold their own 
 against this most exalted and venerable Chair, whenever they 
 thought it necessary to assert their independence, and defend 
 their proceedings and their doctrine against an adverse decision 
 of the Holy See ; nay, that some of them openly disclaimed a 
 Bishop of Bishops, alleging that the Apostles were heads of 
 their several charges, and declaring that there is no Head of 
 the whole Church but Christ. To this answer the modern 
 Romanist replies that the doctrine was as yet not fully developed, 
 which is a plain fact; but, without admitting his pretension that 
 an article not known or understood in the first ages can be a 
 divine truth, necessary to be admitted by all Christians on peril 
 of salvation, I must concede to the Romanist that the Fathers 
 generally, and by a sort of consent, attributed a pre-eminence 
 to the See and Bishop of Rome, which properly involve the 
 Supremacy even in the modern sense, and their words and ac- 
 tions, repudiating the paramount authority of the latter, are 
 really inconsistent with their attributions to the successor of 
 the Fisherman, when no particular interest or influence induces 
 them to diminish his claims. I have lately examined this ques- 
 tion in debates with Mr. , who has satisfied himself that 
 
 the Romish Church theory is the only tenable one, and although 
 unable myself to receive or admire any mystico-ecclesiastical 
 system, Roman or Anglican, yet with a strong desire to find the 
 Romanist pretensions to patristic testimony in favor of the 
 Papacy wholly vain. But in this I have been disappointed. 
 The language of Cyprian, Ambrose, and very many other Fa- 
 thers, as well as of councils venerated by Anglo-Catholics, is 
 unmeaning and self-contradictory, if understood so as to exclude 
 the Supremacy. It imports that the Bishop of Rome is the 
 centre and origin of unity; his See the Rock on which the 
 Church is built ; himself the successor of Peter, from whom the 
 "Apostolate and Episcopate in Christ took its beginning;" 
 that " where Peter is, there is the Church ;" that to be out of 
 communion with Rome is to be cut off from Christ; that from 
 the See of Peter '' the full grace of all Pontiffs is derived;'' that 
 the Roman Church is the "foundation and mould of the 
 Churches ;" that the Holy See transmits its rights to the uni- 
 versal Church ;" that " the Pope is the head of the Church, 
 
Scriptural Protestantism. 515 
 
 other bishops the members." In the Third General Council he 
 was acknowledged to be the '■^Head of the whole Faith." Now 
 surely this language, and it is quite as general as any which can 
 be cited from the Fatherhood on the Consubstantiality of 
 Christ with the Father, or the three Persons in the Godhead, is 
 senseless babble, if it does not mean that the Pope is the source 
 of jurisdiction and the ultimate decider of controversy in the 
 Church. The ancient Fathers, with scarce a dissentient voice, 
 ascribe a pre-eminence and authority to Peter over the other 
 Apostles ; and as all the Apostles had supernatural powers, 
 what could St. Peter have beyond them, except what is now as- 
 cribed to the Pope as his successor, namely, to be their earthly 
 head, the channel of grace and episcopal power from Christ to 
 them, consequently to be the ultimate judge of questions con- 
 cerning the faith ? 
 
 I fully admit that the Fathers and Bishops often contradict 
 this doctrine, as I have already said (though Tertullian's lan- 
 guage proves that the Papal supremacy was asserted in the sec- 
 ond century), and the Canons of Sardica are strong evidence 
 that it was not a "Law and Tradition of the Church" acknowl- 
 edged from the beginning, as well as the silence of the earliest 
 Christian writers, especially St. Ignatius, who exalts the Episco- 
 pate, and says naught of any Bishop of Bishops. But surely 
 this incoherent and conflicting testimony, of which it seems im- 
 possible to make a harmonious whole, and which keeps up the 
 controversy between the churches, contains ample vindication 
 of the attitude assumed by genuine Scriptural Protestantism, 
 which acknowledges no positive divine ground of faith but the 
 Bible, acknowledged to be divine by its own internal character, 
 and corresponding to the image of the divine within us, not 
 by any external testimony of the visible Church. Surely it 
 shows those to have reason on their side who refuse to be ab- 
 solutely determined, in all the articles of their belief, by major- 
 ities of ancient Bishops and Doctors, or even by their consen- 
 tient voice. It begins to be generally felt that no consistent 
 scheme of doctrine can be obtained from the ancient Fathers; 
 and that the principle of development must be freely acted on, 
 in order to the maintenance of any Church system founded in 
 the Christian Revelation, and connected with it by unbroken 
 tradition. But this principle of development is contradictory to 
 the <^eneral mind of the Ancient Church, which always appeals 
 
5 1 6 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 to Scripture and the continuous teaching of the Church author- 
 ities j it is incongruous with the root-principles of a system of 
 externalism and uniformity of doctrine in its intellectual aspect, 
 which ought to be supported by outward and historic testimony. 
 Hereafter a Head Bishop, or a General Council, may decide 
 that Arianism is, after all, the right doctrine of the Godhead, and 
 w^ho could disprove the assertion that it was the proper devel- 
 opment of the original belief, always acknowledged by a part 
 of the Church, held in germ, and so forth. Development is too 
 large a key for the lock to which it is deceptively applied. The 
 lock it really fits is one which opens into the illimitable Court 
 of Anarchy, not into the area of the existing Visible Church 
 system. There is no conceivable corruption or transmutation 
 of doctrine and practice which may not be called a true devel- 
 opment, if there is no rule or standard by which the legitimacy 
 of the extension is to be judged; and all depends on the judg- 
 ment of an irresponsible Head, presumed to be the oracle through 
 which Christ speaks to His Church. 
 
 * # # My daughter and I lately met at the house of my ex- 
 cellent old friend, Mr. Kenyon, that poetical pair, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Browning. You probably know her as Elizabeth Barrett, au- 
 thor of the " Seraphim," " Drama of Exile," and many ballads 
 and minor poems, among which " Cowper's Grave " is of special 
 excellence. She has lately published " Casa Guidi Windows," 
 a meditative political poem of considerable merit; Mazzini ad- 
 mires it, and it has been translated into Italian. Mrs. Brown- 
 ing is in weak health, and can not remain in this foggy clime; 
 they are to reside in Paris. She is little, hard-featured, with 
 long, dark ringlets, a pale face, and plaintive voice — something 
 very impressive in her dark eyes and her brow. Her general 
 aspect puts me in mind of Mignon — what Mignon might be in 
 maturity and maternity. She has more poetic genius than any 
 other woman living — perhaps more than any woman ever showed 
 before, except Sappho. Still there is an imperfectness in what 
 she produces; in many passages the expressions are very faulty, 
 the images forced and untrue, the sentiments exaggerated, and 
 the situations unnatural and unpleasant. Another pervad- 
 ing fault of Mrs. Browning's poetry is rugged, harsh versifica- 
 tion, with imperfect rhymes, and altogether that want of art in 
 the department of metre which prevents the language from be- 
 ing an unobstructive medium for the thought. Verse and die- 
 
Women s Novels. 517 
 
 tion are the bodily organism of poetry ; this body ouglit to be 
 soft, bright, lovely, carrying with it an influence and impression 
 of delightfulness, yet not challenging attention by itself. These 
 defects in poetical organism are inimical to the enduring life 
 of the poetry; the same or similar thoughts will re-appear in 
 better form, and so supersede the earlier version ; whereas, if 
 poetic thoughts are once bodied to perfection, they will remain 
 and exclude all future rivals. There is fear with regard to many 
 of our present producers of poetry, lest the good that is in them 
 should be swamped by the inferior matter, which gives a gro- 
 tesque air to their compositions at large. 
 
 It has been ever a favorite saying with me that there is one 
 line of literature, and only one, in which women can do something 
 that men can not do, and do better ; and that is a certain style of 
 novel. I warmly admire the better novels produced by women 
 during the last seventy or eighty years — the writings of Inchbald, 
 Burney, Edgeworth, Jane Austen, Miss Ferrier, and those interest- 
 ing productions of the present day from the pens of Mrs. Marsh 
 and Miss Bronte. Mrs. Gore's novels are full of talent, and dis- 
 play a most extensive acquaintance both with modern books 
 and modern things; but there is a most unpleasant tone about 
 them. "Jane Eyre" and " Shirley," by Miss Bronte, are full of 
 genius. There is a spirit, a glow and fire about them, a mas- 
 culine energy of satire and of picturesque description, which 
 have delighted me ; but they also abound in proofs of a certain 
 hardness of feeling and plebeian coarseness of taste. The nov- 
 els of Mrs. Marsh, upon the whole, please me better than any 
 that are now forthcoming. They are thoroughly feminine ; and 
 though often too diffuse, their dififuseness may be skimmed over 
 without leaving any unpleasant impression on the mind. " The 
 Wilmingtons," with its sequel, "Time the x-lvenger," is to my 
 feelings an interesting book. 
 
 If you happen to have any communication with Newbur37port, 
 Massachusetts — but this is a vain thought. I was thinking of 
 my unseen friends and correspondents, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey, of 
 that place. My last to them spoke of my weakened health, and 
 they are anxious to know how I am going on. I can not give 
 a good report of myself, and from several causes must not at- 
 tempt more letter-writing at present. My kindest wishes attend 
 them. I have already sent kind regards and thanks to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Reed. Accept the same yourself, dear sir, and may you 
 
5 1 8 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 long have health and strength to enjoy the infinite delights of 
 literature, and the loveliness of "this bright, breathing world," 
 which the poets teach us to admire, and the Gospel makes us 
 hope to find again in that unseen world whither we are all go- 
 ing. — Believe me truly your friend, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 III. 
 
 Prayer for Temporal and Spiritual Benefits. 
 
 To Miss Fenwick : 
 
 September 4, 185 1. — Your friendship, dear friend, has been 
 one great blessing of these last years of my life, and I trust not 
 only a comfort and happiness, but a lasting benefit, which will 
 survive all the worsening and decay of our poor, frail, earthly 
 tabernacle. My gratitude to you is one of my deepest feelings. 
 God bless you, and bestow upon you all whatsoever He knows 
 to be best for you. I must still pray for temporal comforts to 
 be granted you. We are to pray ever, and He will set our pray- 
 ers straight. But still more earnestly, and with more confidence 
 for you and for myself, I ask for that peace ivliich passes under- 
 standing. — Ever most affectionately your friend, 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Increase of Illness. — Fancied Wishes. — Trial and Effects of Mesmerism. 
 — Editorial Duties still Fulfilled. — Der^vent Isle and Keswick Vale. — 
 Visit of the Archdukes to General Peachey in 1S15. — Old Letters. — 
 Death, and the Life beyond it. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, October i, 1S51. — I\Iy dear friend, you will 
 regret very much to learn how much worse and weaker I am 
 than when you saw me last. I can not now walk more than 
 half an hour at a time, when I am at the best. At Margate an 
 hour or hour and twenty minutes did not fatigue me. I still 
 take short walks twice a day, but how^ long my power of doing 
 this will last I can not say. 
 
 You can hardly imagine how my mind hovers about that old 
 well-known church-yard, with Skiddaw and the Bassenthwaite 
 
Effects of Mesmerism. . 519 
 
 hills in sight; how I long to take away mamma's remains from 
 the place where they are now deposited, and when my own time 
 comes, to repose beside her, as to what now seejns myself, in 
 ^that grassy burial-ground, with the Southeys reposing close by. 
 *My husband I hope to meet in heaven. But there is a different 
 feeling in regard to earlier ties : Hartley and Mr. Wordsworth " 
 I would have where they are, in that Grasmere church-yard, 
 within an easy distance of Keswick, as it used to be in old times. \ 
 
 These are sXxox^^feelirigs, translated into fancied wishes — not j 
 sober earnest. When we are withdrawn from society and the j 
 bustle of life, in some measure, and our thoughts are from any i 
 cause fixed on the grave, how does the early life rise up into ; 
 glow and prominence, and, as it were, call one back into itself! i 
 Yet during that early life how I looked forward, imagining bet- : 
 ter things here below than I had yet experienced, and going > 
 beyond this world altogether into the realms above ! 
 
 A few weeks ago, my old friend C. H. Townshend* came to 
 town for a short time on business from Lausanne. He reproach- 
 ed me for not trying mesmerism, and, on my yielding to his rep- 
 resentations on the subject, brought Dr. Elliotson to give me 
 advice. My house-maid willingly undertook the business, was 
 instructed, and now mesmerizes regularly twice a day. The 
 effect on me is not strong, sophisticated as my nerves have 
 beep by morphine ; but there is a perceptible peculiar sensa- 
 tion produced by the passes. They soothe me at the time, and 
 make me drowsy, and I think there is some beneficial influence 
 exerted on the constitution. From what I feel, I am much in- 
 clined to believe that some agent in the physical frame is call- 
 ed into action by the passes ; that the mesmeric influence of 
 the operator excites this principle in the patient, as heat kindles 
 heat upon communication. Neuralgic pains are soon relieved 
 by the passes. They return after a while, but are quieted for 
 the time. An article on Electro-biology in the last Westmin- 
 ster, reducing all the phenomena under ordinary causes, I think 
 shallow, and know to be mistaken. 
 
 I have not yet opened the book of new poetry you have sent 
 
 * The name of Mr. Chauncy Hare Townshend will be familiar to all vis- 
 itors at the South Kensington Museum, where the fine collection of pictures 
 and jewels bequeathed by him to that institution is now exhibited. He was 
 the author of " Facts in Mesmerism," and of several volumes of poetry, and 
 was besides, an accomplished amateur artist and musician. — E. C. 
 
520 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 me to read, but hope to do so ere we meet. I have a great 
 many books on hand, and Derwent keeps me busy in matters 
 which he is concerned in, as far as my weak strength will al- 
 low. He wants some new editions of the Esteesian Margin^ 
 alia prepared for the press, and this can not be done at pres- 
 ent, as I have so long been the Esteesian housekeeper, without 
 my superintendence. 
 
 We have seen a good deal lately of Mr. Blackburne, a poet- 
 ical friend of my brother Hartley, a charming converser, but 
 very much in want of a steady, regular profession. He has al- 
 ways some new poem or poemet to recite whenever he comes. 
 His poetry is graceful, abounding in sweet images, but lacks bone. 
 He is too fond, I think, of the boneless Keatsian sort of poetry, 
 which is all marrow, and wearies one at last with its want of 
 fibre. Indeed, I say the other extreme is better in the end. 
 
 October 2. — Sweet Derwent Isle ! how many, many scenes of 
 my youth arise in my mind in connection with thee ! I had 
 a personal and a second-hand association with that lovely spot ; 
 for mamma used to tell me much of Emma, the first young 
 wife of General Peachey, youngest daughter of Mr. Charter, of 
 Taunton, whom my Uncle Southey so beautifully described in 
 those epitaph lines, which present her as she appeared, " like a 
 dream of old romance, skimming along in her little boat 3 and 
 how she was laid, before her youth had ripened into full sum- 
 mer, amid Maderia's orange-groves to rest." She was tall — a 
 man's height — five feet eight at least, but so feminine — a slen- 
 der, blue-eyed blonde. 
 
 I can not remember that fair Emma ; but what pleasant vis- 
 its have I paid to the island — in summer, autumn, icy winter — 
 in the second lady's time ! There I was when the Archdukes 
 came to visit the island, and lunched there after the entrance 
 of the Allied Kings into Paris. Oh, the fussiness of the gen- 
 eral on that occasion ! How their Serenities JRussicvily ab- 
 sorbed the preservative butter of the potted char ! What a 
 beautiful Prussian Count they had with them, with whom I fan- 
 cied myself in love for two or three da3-s ! — tried hard to be, I 
 believe, though the cement was wanting of advances on his 
 part toward me, without which Apollo himself would soon have 
 slipped away from my heart and fancy. Sometimes we were 
 detained in the island by stress of weather, and once were pre- 
 vented from a visit to it by the same cause. 
 
 1 
 
Old Letters. — Life Beyond Death. 521 
 
 I wonder whether the feathery fern I transplanted from the 
 Cardingmill Field, the part among trees beside the river, is yet 
 living, and the beech-tree, which I used to climb, with its cop- 
 per foliage, at the foot of which, in spring, a few crocuses grew. 
 
 I was quite sorry to say farewell to C. H. Townshend. He 
 was more agreeable, more clever in talk, than ever ; and we 
 have such interesting common Greta Hall and Keswick re- 
 membrances. 
 
 A sweet and affecting set of verses from Blackburne, on re- 
 ceiving back old letters of Hartley's : 
 
 " There they, lie, a frozen ocean, 
 
 Running on without a shore, 
 But the ardor and the motion 
 
 Of the heart beats there no more. 
 And tJiou ? art thou grown brighter 
 
 Since I saw thee then so bright ? 
 Thinner are thy hands, and whiter, 
 
 And thy hair Hke autumn light." 
 
 Oh, Keswick vale ! and shall I really die, and never, never 
 see thee again ? Surely there will be another Keswick — all the 
 loveliness transfused, the hope, the joy of youth ! How wholly 
 was that joy the work of imagination ! 
 
 Oh, this life is very dear to me ! The outward beauty of 
 earth, and the love and sympathy of fellow-creatures, make it, 
 to my feelings, a sort of heaven half ruined — an Elysium into 
 which a dark tumultuous ocean is perpetually rushing in to ag- 
 itate and destroy, to lay low the blooming bowers of tranquil 
 bliss, and drown the rich harvests. Love is the sun of this 
 lower world ; and we know from the beloved disciple that it 
 will be the bliss of heaven. God is Love ; and whatever there 
 may be that we can not now conceive, love will surely be con- 
 tained in it. It will be Love sublimed, and incorporated in 
 Beauty infinite and perfect. 
 
 I am very faint and weak to-day — more so than I have yet 
 been ; but I have been as low in nerves often formerly, other- 
 wise I might think that I had entered into the dark valley, and 
 was approaching the river of Death. How kind of Bunyan — 
 what a beneficent imagination — to shadow out death as a river, 
 which is so pleasant to the mind, and carries it on into regions 
 bright and fair beyond that boundary stream. 
 
 Miss Fenwick is to me an angel upon earth. Her being near 
 me now has seemed a special providence. God bless her, and 
 
5,2 2 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 spare her to us and her many friends. She is a noble creature, 
 all tenderness and strength. When I first became acquainted 
 with her, I saw at once that her heart was of the very finest, 
 richest quality; and her wisdom and insight are, as ever must 
 be in such a case, exactly correspondent. 
 
 V. 
 
 Leave-taking. — Value ,of a Profession. — A Lily and a Poem. — Flowers. — 
 Beauty and Use. 
 
 To Thomas Blackburne, Esq. : 
 
 lo Chester Place, October 13, 185 1. — I feel much in saying 
 farewell to you, dear friend of my ever-lamented brother. You 
 have known me in a sad, shaded stage of my existence, yet have 
 greeted my poor autumn as brightly and genially as if it were 
 spring or summer. Hitherto my head has been " above wa- 
 ter;" ere you return to this busy town, the waves may have gone 
 over my head. My great endeavor is not to foreshape the future 
 in particulars, but, knowing that my strength always has been 
 equal to my day, when the day is come, to feel that it ever will 
 be so on to the end, come what may, and that all things, except 
 a reproaching conscience, are " less dreadful than they seem." 
 
 God bless you! Cultivate your poetical talent, which will 
 ever be a delight to you, but still, as I used to say to my friend 
 
 Mr. , have a profession — a broad beam of the house of 
 
 life, around which the bright occasional garland may be woven 
 from time to time. Believe me, dear Mr. Blackburne, yours 
 with much regard, Sara Coleridge, 
 
 " Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave 
 To fortitude without reprieve,"* 
 
 are words that often sound in my ear. 
 
 Wordsworth was more to my opening mind in the way of re- 
 ligious consolation than all books put together, except the Bible. 
 
 / Regcnfs Park, September 28.— Thank you, dear Mr. Black- 
 burne, for that beauteous flower and lovely poem. Two lines 
 I specially admire — 
 
 * "White Doe of Rylstone," Canto IL—E. C. 
 
Beauty and Use. 523 
 
 "And like a poet tell it with a blossom 
 To each new sun." 
 
 The corolla of flowers is intended to protect the fructifying sys- 
 tem in its tender state. But this purpose might have been 
 served by something unsightly. Nature has provided exquisite 
 beauty both in the stamina and pistils (which give all the grace 
 and spirit to many blossoms, or, expanding into petals, form 
 the richness of the rosa centifolia, and numberless other double 
 flowers), and in their guard, which exceeds the robes of Solo- 
 mon, and rivals the butterfly, which " flutters with free wings 
 above it." 
 
 How stupid are those people who reduce all beauty to the 
 sense of usefulness — early association ! I have heard a very 
 clever man insist that children may be taught to admire toads 
 and spiders, and think them as beautiful as butterflies, birds of 
 paradise, or such a lily as you have sent me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Proposal to Visit the South of France. — Climate and Society of Lausanne. 
 — The Spasmodic School of Poetry. — Article on Immortality in the 
 Westminster Review. — Outward Means a Part of the Christian Scheme. 
 — The " Evil Heart of Unbelief." — The Foundations of Religion. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 Chester Place, October 19, 185 1. — My dear friend, are you still 
 at that dear Derwent Island ? I must direct a few lines thither 
 for the chance of their finding you there. Since your last most 
 kind letter, I have been longing to thank you for its most sooth- 
 ing contents. 
 
 I am sure you would have a pleasure in giving up your own 
 favorite project of visiting Rome — postponing it in order to 
 guard the poor invahd on her way to a better clime than this. 
 Alas ! it is but a pleasant vision, the thought of my journeying 
 to the south of France. Yet I believe a foreign climate, more 
 bracing, less damp and unsettled than this, might afford me as 
 much advantage as I could receive from external things. C. H. 
 Townshend talked to me of the effect of Lausanne air upon his 
 relaxed and ailing frame, till he inspired me with a great wish, 
 
 unfelt by me before, that I could live abroad with my E . 
 
 The discourse of other friends, William and Emma G , who 
 
524 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 are delicate people, goes strongly the same way. Mrs. Brown- 
 ing feels life abroad to be life indeed. 
 
 Then Chauncy Townshend says that he prefers the state of 
 society around him at Mon Loisir to London excitement and 
 bustle. " There," he says, " I may be sad if sorrow comes, but 
 I am always calm." The way in which he uttered these words 
 was calming to my spirit; and certainly never did I see our old 
 friend in better mood, more quietly gladsome, free, and various- 
 ly eloquent. He tells me that he has a most agreeable, refined, 
 intellectual set of acquaintances at Lausanne, whom he visits 
 without London formality and expense. He provides himself 
 with a store of books for the winter, and is as independent and 
 happy as a man can be in this life, " But why did you furnish 
 this fine house in Norfolk Street, Park Lane," said I, "and fill 
 it with beautiful works of art, only to enter it at long intervals, 
 and then for a few weeks ?" He declared he had as much pleas- 
 ure in thinking of it, and roaming all over it in imagination, as 
 if he were actually occupying its sj^ace, and beholding its adorn- 
 ments. This is, perhaps, rather fantastical. An imagination so 
 pliant might go a step farther, and imagine the house and con- 
 tents, without keeping money locked up in it. 
 
 I read through the dramatic poem you were so kind as to 
 send me, and found it full of passion and energj^, but, on the 
 whole, painful and unsatisfactory — a production which shoots 
 its bolt at once, and then has no more that it can do. I was re- 
 minded of the Preface to the "Virgin Widow" in reading it. 
 One most powerful passage is a vision of the death of an an- 
 cient gladiator; but then it is utterly extravagant and untrue. 
 Such things could not be — such horrid combinations of incom- 
 patible terrors and sufferings and ecstasies of enjoyment, and 
 power and weakness, could not exist together. There are no 
 lines and expressions, lovely and felicitous, which take place 
 among the treasures of the mind, and are revisited ever and 
 anon. Mr. Taylor has not written a great deal, but the propor- 
 tion of such satisfactory passages to the total quantity of his 
 compositions is considerable, and will give him a place, I think, 
 finally, above all the other spasmodists of the present day. 
 
 Did you read Helps's "Companions of my Solitude?" There 
 is a great charm in Helps, and he does give some help to re- 
 flection, though rather butterflyish in his movements. 
 
 Last night I read an article on Immortality in the West- 
 
The Ground of Christian Belief. 525 
 
 minster. What a shallow sciolist that A seems to be ! This 
 
 life would be a gorgeous vestibule to no edifice, only a dark- 
 some cavern, if there were naught for man beyond it. How 
 disproportionate our intellectual and spiritual education ! " Few 
 of us seem fit for heaven. What human goodness is commen- 
 surate to perfect, endless felicity — what human frailty to eternal 
 woe ?" Thus men argue against a future state. But we know 
 not how heaven hereafter will be apportioned, and how the 
 soul may expand in heaven-worthiness. If man be destined for 
 the dust in a few years, he is a strange riddle. This life has 
 ever seemed a mere transitional state, and tolerable only on 
 that supposition, to the most elevated and cultivated men. 
 
 Viewing the Romish system as you do, my dear friend, a 
 bright ideal, I can not regret that you think as you do of the 
 compatibility of my father's scheme of philosophy therewith, as- 
 sured as I feel that he had done that papal system too much 
 justice to believe in it as a divine institution. Do not think I 
 am ever worried by what you call your " rough notes " on Ro- 
 manism, however surprised I may sometimes be at your views 
 in all their eloquence. 
 
 I do verily think no pious Romanist can suppose that faith 
 does not involve a spiritual intuition and internal revelation of 
 the truth. But the question was, which is the ultimate ground 
 of belief, that which underlies and supports all the rest, this dis- 
 cernment of divine things which Christ himself by his Spirit 
 works in the heart, or the teaching of the Church ? Is the latter 
 necessary to assure us that the very work of God in the soul of 
 man is really and truly His work ? 
 
 An external system for teaching Christianity, for initiating 
 men into it, leading them to Christ, I believe to be a part of 
 God's providence; and such a system, in so far as it is con- 
 formed to reason and moral truth, will have the blessing of the 
 Spirit. But I can not think it necessary, or even desirable for 
 the right religious education of mankind — the education of the 
 higher faculties and nobler feelings — that this system should be 
 infallible. I admit that sin is not the only obstacle or impedi- 
 ment by which divine truth may be kept from the minds of 
 men. The African savage can not make himself religious wholly 
 from within. There must be a preacher and outward instru- 
 mentalities. I only meant to say that when the deep spiritual 
 verities, which are the substance of the faith, are presented to 
 
526 Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 the mind, it is sin, and not any imperfection in our faculties, 
 which can alone prevent it from being clearly perceived. This 
 seems to be plainly intimated by our Lord, when He shows why 
 the Jews did not receive Him, and in His discourse to Philip. 
 Upon the whole, we have as good means of knowing the Sav- 
 iour, and all that concerns our peace, as our Lord's disciples 
 had. We can not know Him at all, except by an inward reve- 
 lation of the Spirit. It is by knowledge of the truth — that is, in- 
 formation of it from without — that this communion wuth the en- 
 lightening Spirit comes about. But where it is, surely it is an 
 absolute, independent certainty. 
 
 The term "private judgment" is ambiguous. It may be in- 
 terpreted in a bad sense, in which I do not see that it is fairly 
 chargeable on Reformed Christianity. But it is confounded 
 with individual intuition, and in that sense it is not easily con- 
 victed of error. But I do not pretend to maintain any particu- 
 lar reformed system as the very truth. I believe we have but 
 approximations \o absolute truth. 
 
 I own, too, that there are to my mind far more interesting con- 
 siderations concerning religion than those which we have been 
 discussing. It is the foundations of religion, those problems 
 and difficulties that belong to every system, or underlie them 
 all, which engage my serious thoughts. I care not so much 
 about the difference between Romish and Anglican, though I 
 confess the views of the Blessed Virgin in the Church of Rome 
 do seem to me to make modern Romanism an essentially differ- 
 ent faith and system from that of the Bible and of early Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Gradual Loss of Strength. — Credulity of Unbelievers.— Spiritual Peace. — 
 Thoughts of Past Years. 
 
 To Aubrey de Vere, Esq. : 
 
 10 Chester Place, October 27, 1851. — My dear friend, I was 
 sorry not to see you yesterday, and the more so lest I should be 
 too weak when you come again, 
 
 " For I'm wearing awa, Friend, 
 Like snaw when it's thaw, Friend," 
 
 and I feel as if I should not be long here. There is a torpor 
 ever hanging over. me, like a cloud overspreading the sky, only 
 
spiritual Peace. 527 
 
 rent here and there by some special force ; and my eyes have a 
 heavy, deathy look. I am decidedly worse since I saw you, 
 and I begin to wish to get rid of the mesmerism, which is pro- 
 ducing no good effect. 
 
 Thank you for the "Valley of Lilies."* I have been looking 
 
 at that strange book of A and M . In all the volume of 
 
 Humanity, as far as I have opened it, this is the very strangest, 
 saddest page, as far as relates to states of thought and opinion. 
 Is it not astonishing that, in a Christian country, there can have 
 been such a one-sided intellectual development? The condition 
 constantly throughout the book confounded with the efficient 
 cause. I now feel as if I had never seen arrogance and shal- 
 lowness before these Letters came before me. The monstrous 
 credulity, on the one hand, and utter faithlessness on the other, 
 is truly frightful. 
 
 Do you remember how beautifully Hooker shows how our 
 spiritual peace may be smothered for a time by bodily clouds ? 
 But, as my father says, there is a mind within the mind, and we 
 must try to draw out and strengthen that. 
 
 I dwell on the Southey Letters. My mind is ever going 
 back to my brighter days of youth, and all its dear people and 
 things of other days. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 Congratulations on a Friend's Recovery from Illness. — Her own State of 
 . Health and of Mind. — Wilkie's Portrait of her Brother Hartley at Ten 
 «^ Years of Age. — " The Northern Worthies." — A Farewell. 
 
 /To Professor Henry Reed : 
 
 10 Chester Place, December 22, 185 1. — My dear Professor 
 Reed, many weeks ago I heard from Mr. Yarnall with deep 
 concern of your severe, lingering illness — lingering, though 
 transitory, I trust, in its nature. A week since I received from 
 your friend another long and very interesting letter, which con- 
 veyed to me the welcome news that, though still confined to 
 your bed, you were in a fair way of recovery. It may be prema- 
 ture to congratulate you on positive recovery, and Mrs. Reed 
 with you ; but I may say how hopefully I look forward to it, 
 
 * A devotional work by Thomas a Kempis. — E. C. 
 
528 Memoir mid Letters of Sara Coleridge. 
 
 and how rejoiced I should be to hear of your restoration to your 
 family and all your various activities, literary and professional. 
 Would that my health prospect were as yours — as hopeful ! I 
 am now an invalid, confined to my own room and the adjoining 
 apartment, with little prospect of restoration, though I am not 
 entirely hopeless. My malady, which had been threatening me 
 ever since the summer before last, did not come into activity 
 till a few months ago. What my course and the event may be 
 perhaps no physician can tell to a certainty. I endeavor not 
 to speculate, to make the most of each day as it comes, making 
 use of what powers remain to me, and feeling assured that 
 strength will be supplied, if it be sought from above, to bear any 
 trial which my Father in heaven may think fit to send. I do 
 not suffer pain. My principal suffering is the sense of sinking 
 and depression. Of course all literary exertion and extensive 
 correspondence are out of the question for me in my present 
 condition. New editions of my father's works are in contem- 
 plation, and I can still be of use to my brother Derwent in 
 helping to arrange them. But any work that I do now is of a 
 very slight and slow description. 
 
 Mr. Herbert Taylor kindly offers to send to Philadelphia any 
 book or packet for me, and I take the opportunity of sending 
 you an enlarged engraving of Wilkie's sketch of my brother 
 Hartley, in which you were so much interested, and the more 
 from a likeness you discerned in it to your son. My brother's 
 biographical work, "The Northern Worthies," is in the press, 
 and great pleasure I have in reading the proof-sheets, and per- 
 ceiving how much more merit there is in these lives than I ever 
 knew them to possess before. Their chief interest consists in 
 the accompanying criticisms and reflections. I feel sure you 
 will like them exceedingly, though, of course, you may dissent 
 from many of the opinions and sentiments expressed. 
 
 Farewell, my dear sir; you have my sincere wishes and pray- 
 ers for your entire restoration. I may not be able to answer 
 any more letters from America^ — a land in which I shall never 
 cease to take an interest — but I shall ever hear with pleasure 
 of you and yours, as long as my powers of thought remain. 
 
 Give my kind regards to Mrs. Reed, and believe me yours, 
 with much esteem and sympathy, Sara Coleridge. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, 
 
 with an introductory essay upon his philosophical 
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 Edited by Rev. W. G. T. SHEDD, D.D. 
 
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 place which it occupies at the side of President INIarsh's Preliminary Essay. 
 
 This illustrious man ; the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest 
 and most comprehensive, in my judgment, that has yet existed among men. 
 — De Quincey. 
 
 His mind contains an astonishing map of all sorts of knowledge, while in 
 his power and manner of putting it to use, he displays more of what we 
 mean by the term genius, than any mortal I ever saw, or ever expect to 
 see. — John Foster. 
 
 I think, with all his faults, old Sam was more of a great man than any 
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 Published by PIARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
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le steel portraits, 8vo. fine hi. 
 If, full gt. back, marble edges, 
 \\ Y., 1874 ($4.50.) a $1.50 
 
 larming work is attractive as a 
 if a most amiable woman of higii 
 1 mark, and as rekindling recnl- 
 nd adding to our information 
 roloridge, the Poet."— I^ond. Athi 
 
 
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