When the mind of Coleridge was more matured he did not omit this truth, which has never been refuted, that the aristocratic system “had "its golden side, for the noblest minds; but I should," continues he, "act the part of a coward "if I disguised my conviction that the errors of "the aristocratic party were as gross, and far less "excusable than those of the Jacobin. Instead

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" of contenting themselves with opposing the real blessing of English law to the splendid pro"mises of untried theory, too large a part of those "who called themselves anti-Jacobins, did all in "their power to suspend those blessings; and they furnished new arguments to the advocates of innovation, when they should have been an"swering the old ones!" But, whatever were his opinions, they were founded on principle, and with the exception of the two above alluded to, he ought never to be accused of changing. Some years since, the late Charles Matthews, the comedian, (or rather, as Coleridge used to observe, "the comic poet acting his own poems,") showed me an autograph letter from Mr. Wordsworth to Matthews' brother, (who was at that time educating for the bar) and with whom he corresponded. In this letter he made the following observation, "To-morrow I am going to Bristol to see those two extraordinary young men, Southey and Coleridge," Mr. Wordsworth then resid

ing at Allfoxden. They soon afterwards formed an intimacy, which continued (though not without some little interruption) during his life, as his "Biographia Literaria” and his will attest.

Mr. Coleridge's next work was the "Watchman" in numbers-a miscellany to be published every eighth day. The first number appeared on the 5th of February, 1796. This work was a report of the state of the political atmosphere, to be interspersed with sketches of character and verse. It reached the 10th number, and was then dropped; the editor taking leave of his readers in the following address: "This is the last number "of the Watchman. Henceforward I shall cease "to cry the state of the political atmosphere. "While I express my gratitude to those friends "who exerted themselves so liberally in the establishment of this miscellany, I may reasonably be expected to assign some reason for relinquishing it thus abruptly. The reason is short "and satisfactory. The work does not pay its expences. Part of my subscribers have relinquished it because it did not contain sufficient original composition, and a still larger because "it contained too much. I have endeavoured to "do well; and it must be attributed to defect "of ability, not of inclination or effort, if the "words of the prophet be altogether applicable "to me, O watchman! thou hast watched in

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" vain!" " Mr. Coleridge has given us in the "Biographia Literaria" a very lively account of his opinions, adventures, and state of feeling during this canvass in quest of subscribers.

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"Towards the close of the first year, that "inauspicious hour," (it was, indeed, and for several reasons an "inauspicious hour" for him,) "when I left the friendly cloisters, and the happy grove of quiet, ever-honoured Jesus' College, Cambridge, to set on foot a periodical, entitled "the "Watchman,' that (according to the motto of "the work) all might know the truth, and that “truth might make us free!

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"With a flaming prospectus 'Knowledge is power,' &c. and to cry the state of the political "atmosphere and so forth, I set off on a tour to "the north, from Bristol to Sheffield, for the 66 purpose of procuring customers, preaching by "the way in most great towns, as a hireless volunteer, in a blue coat and white waistcoat, "that not a rag of the woman of Babylon might "be seen on me; for I was at that time, though "a Trinitarian (i. e. ad normam Platonis) in "philosophy, yet a zealous Unitarian in religion; "more accurately, I was a psilanthropist, one of "those who believe our Lord to have been the "real son of Joseph, and who lay the main stress "on the resurrection rather than on the cruci"fixion. Oh! never can I remember those days "with either shame or regret, for I was most

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"sincere! most disinterested! My opinions were, indeed, in many and most important points "erroneous, but my heart was single! Wealth, "rank, life itself then seemed cheap to me, compared with the interests of (what I believe to ‘be) the truth and the will of my Maker. I "cannot even accuse myself of having been "actuated by vanity; for, in the expansion of my "enthusiasm, I did not think of myself at all. "My campaign commenced at Birmingham, and

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my first attack was on a rigid Calvinist, a tallow"chandler by trade. He was a tall dingy man, "in whom length was so predominant over “breadth, that he might almost have been bor"rowed for a foundry poker. O that face! a “ face, κατ ̓ ἔμφασιν ! I have it before me at this “moment. The lank, black twine-like hair, pin'gui-nitescent, cut in a straight line, along the "black stubble of his thin gunpowder eyebrows, "that looked like a scorched aftermath from a "last week's shaving. His coat collar behind "in perfect unison, both of colour and lustre, "with the coarse, yet glib cordage that I sup

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pose he called his hair, and which with a bend "inward at the nape of the neck, (the only "approach to flexure in his whole figure) slunk "in behind his waistcoat; while the countenance "lank, dark, very hard, and with strong perpen"dicular furrows, gave me a dim notion of some "one looking at me through a used gridiron, all

"soot, grease, and iron! A person to whom 66 one of my letters of recommendation had been addressed, was my introducer. It was a new " event in my life, my first stroke in the new "business I had undertaken of an author; yes, "and of an author on his own account. I would "address," says Coleridge, "an affectionate ex"hortation to the youthful literati on my own "experience. It will be but short; for the "beginning, middle, and end converge to one "charge. NEVER PURSUE LITERATURE AS A 66 TRADE.* My companion," says he, "after "some imperfect sentences, and a multitude of

* "With the exception of one extraordinary man, I have never known an individual, least of all an individual of genius, healthy or happy without a profession, i. e., some regular employment, which does not depend on the will of the moment, and which can be carried on so far mechanically, that an average quantum only of health, spirits, and intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithful discharge. Three hours of leisure, unannoyed by any alien anxiety, and looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks of compulsion. Money, and immediate reputation form only an arbitrary and accidental end of literary labour. The hope of increasing them by any given exertion will often prove a stimulant to industry; but the necessity of acquiring them will, in all works of genius, convert the stimulant into a narcotic. Motives by excess reverse their very nature, and instead of exciting, stun and stupify the mind; for it is one contradistinction of genius from talent, that its predominant end is always comprised in the means; and this is one of the many points, which establish an analogy between genius and virtue. Now, though talents may exist without genius, yet, as genius cannot exist, cer