Coleridge's Writings.

305

"Life of Sterling" remains by far the most lifelike description we have of the philosopher in his old age.1

Coleridge died in 1834, leaving nearly all his most brilliant projects unexecuted, but not without having left conclusive evidence that he was possessed of a genius so profound, so subtle, and so versatile, that if only strength of will had been added to it, he might have been ranked among our very greatest writers. As a poet his total work is not large, and what of it is really excellent might be comprised in a very tiny volume. It is a curious fact that nearly all his best poems, "Genevieve," "Kubla Khan," the "Ancient Mariner," and the first part of "Christabel," were written in a single year, 1797. On the peculiar and universal charm of works so familiar as these it is unnecessary to dwell. Most of his prose

works were written after he, in 1816, took up his abode with Mr. Gilman. Among these are two "Lay Sermons," published in 1816 and 1817; the "Biographia Literaria" (1817), perhaps the most generally interesting of his prose works, containing as it does, amidst much irrelevant matter, a great store of valuable criticism and many original and profound observations; a revised and greatly enlarged edition of "The Friend" (1818), "a periodical of weekly essays, intended to help to the formation of opinions on moral, political, and artistic subjects, grounded upon true and permanent principles," carried on by Coleridge, at considerable pecuniary loss, between June 1809 and March 1810; and “Aids to Reflection" (1825). After his death appeared four volumes of "Literary Remains," of which the most valuable portions are the criticisms, often singularly just and subtle, on Shakespeare. By J. S. Mill, Coleridge was ranked with Jeremy Bentham, the Utilitarian thinker, as the great seminal

It is a wonder that in these days of innumerable biographies no one has written a good Life of Coleridge. None such exists; and many parti culars regarding his life and character are still shrouded in partial dark ness. So many reminiscences, &c., of Coleridge are to be found, that, with the necessary research, a very instructive and entertaining book might be written on the subject.

proved a stumbling-block to many critics when it was first. promulgated. Regarding Nature as no mere collection of isolated phenomena, but as a living and mysterious whole, constantly acting on humanity, Wordsworth found the contemplation even of the "common things that round us lie" full of lessons of instruction and wisdom. To him no natural object was common or unclean; from all spiritual truth was to be extracted. With such a high reverence for Nature, Wordsworth united an equally high reverence for man; the visible universe and its inhabitants were to him alike full of wonder and awe and mystery.

Disgusted at the outset of his life as a poet by the stilted poetical commonplaces which the feeble herd of Pope's imitators had made so nauseous, Wordsworth adopted a theory, fully expounded in various of his prefaces to his poems, that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition. "I have proposed to myself," he said, "to imitate and, as far as is possible, to adopt the very language of men. I have taken as much pains to avoid what is usually called poetic diction as others ordinarily take to produce it." Except in a few poems which are failures, Wordsworth, however, never acted up to his theory of poetical diction, which, indeed, though correct in so far as it was a protest against the practice, common in his youth, and by no means yet gone into desuetude, of prostituting the name of poetry by bestowing it upon phrases and metaphors hackneyed by a thousand versifiers, was one that could not, and ought not, to have been acted up to.1 How little he himself, at his best, was affected by it is conclusively shown by his Sonnets, of which, in point of thought and dignity and power, he has written a larger number that are excellent than any other English author. Of the whole collection very few, and these the least excellent, are written in the language of prose.

From Wordsworth, with his blameless life, his sustained

The whole subject is excellently discussed by Coleridge in his "Bio graphia Literaria."

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

303

devotion to poetry, his single aims, his resolute self-confidence, it is in many ways a strange contrast to pass to his friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge, weak and erring, many-sided and fond of trying various fields of literature, changeable and hesitating, fonder of beginning new projects than of finishing old ones. Born in 1772, the son of a clergyman more eccentric even than he himself afterwards proved to be, and educated at Christ's Hospital, where he was the companion of Charles Lamb, and where he showed his life-long addiction to deep meditation and the reading of all sorts of books, Coleridge entered Jesus College, Cambridge, in 1791, a little after Wordsworth quitted the university. Like Wordsworth, Coleridge, while at Cambridge, neglected the studies of the place for those to which he felt himself attracted; he read poetry and philosophy, and ardently perused and discussed all the many pamphlets which came out about the French Revolution, with which, it need scarcely be said, he sympathised greatly. The calm tenor of his college life was interrupted by an extraordinary incident. Depressed by the thought of a debt of £100, which he was unable to pay, he went to London, and enlisted under the name-a very appropriate one-of Private Comberbach. After four months spent in the disagreeable situation of a private soldier, he was recognised by an acquaintance, who informed his friends of his whereabouts. He was then bought off, and returned to Cambridge, which he left in 1794, without taking a degree.

Coleridge's life was a shifty and rather eventful one. We are not going to enter into detail regarding his adventures as Unitarian preacher; his domestic infelicity-mainly caused by himself, it may be said; his slavery for many of the best years of his life to opium; his innumerable magnificent projects, which, alas! generally remained projects. Like that of De Quincey-like, probably, that of most opium-eaters-his true moral character is somewhat of a puzzle. No doubt he did many things which would be considered mean and dishonest if done by ordinary people; but at heart he seems to have been a good man, always ready to acknowledge and repent

of his errors, constantly striving after better things, and having his good aims constantly thwarted by his fatal weakness of will. Throughout life he was fortunate in finding friends who loved and aided him, and who were one and all impressed by a deep sense of his wonderful powers. Few men, indeed, have ever lived who have been so much admired by their greatest contemporaries as Coleridge was. "He is the only person I ever knew," said Hazlitt, "who answered to the idea of a man of genius." "I have known many men who have done wonderful things," said Wordsworth, "but the most wonderful man I ever knew was Coleridge." De Quincey called him "the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive, that has yet existed among men." "I am grieved that you never met Coleridge," wrote Southey to Taylor of Norwich ; "all other men whom I have ever known are mere children compared to him." Charles Lamb's admiration of his school companion is well known; and Shelley's fine lines—

are a strong and true testimony to his astonishing powers, which were admired even by those who on many matters of opinion had little sympathy with him. During the last eighteen years of his troubled life-journey he found a safe and comfortable harbour of refuge in the house of Mr. Gilman, a surgeon at Highgate. There he was visited by many admirers, chiefly young men, who listened with wonder and admiration to the oracles which the sage poured forth in an unceasing flow. Among others came Carlyle; but to him the utterances which to not a few seemed almost inspired appeared little better than "transcendental moonshine." Perhaps he, impatient of words which led to nothing clear and definite, judged the old man too harshly; but his incomparably graphic and vivid account of Coleridge's appearance and talk in the

Coleridge's Writings.

305

"Life of Sterling" remains by far the most lifelike description we have of the philosopher in his old age.1

Coleridge died in 1834, leaving nearly all his most brilliant projects unexecuted, but not without having left conclusive evidence that he was possessed of a genius so profound, so subtle, and so versatile, that if only strength of will had been added to it, he might have been ranked among our very greatest writers. As a poet his total work is not large, and what of it is really excellent might be comprised in a very tiny volume. It is a curious fact that nearly all his best poems, "Genevieve," "Kubla Khan," the "Ancient Mariner," and the first part of "Christabel," were written in a single year, 1797. On the peculiar and universal charm of works so familiar as these it is unnecessary to dwell. Most of his prose works were written after he, in 1816, took up his abode with Mr. Gilman. Among these are two "Lay Sermons," published in 1816 and 1817; the "Biographia Literaria" (1817), perhaps the most generally interesting of his prose works, containing as it does, amidst much irrelevant matter, a great store of valuable criticism and many original and profound observations; a revised and greatly enlarged edition of "The Friend" (1818), "a periodical of weekly essays, intended to help to the formation of opinions on moral, political, and artistic subjects, grounded upon true and permanent principles," carried on by Coleridge, at considerable pecuniary loss, between June 1809 and March 1810; and "Aids to Reflection" (1825). After his death appeared four volumes of "Literary Remains," of which the most valuable portions are the criticisms, often singularly just and subtle, on Shakespeare. By J. S. Mill, Coleridge was ranked with Jeremy Bentham, the Utilitarian thinker, as the great seminal

It is a wonder that in these days of innumerable biographies no one has written a good Life of Coleridge. None such exists; and many parti culars regarding his life and character are still shrouded in partial dark ness. So many reminiscences, &c., of Coleridge are to be found, that, with the necessary research, a very instructive and entertaining book might be written on the subject.