nets of Mr. Bowles, twenty in number, and just then published in a quarto pamphlet, were first made known and presented to me by a school-fellow who had quitted us for the University, and who, during the whole time that he was in our first form (or, in our school language, a Grecian) had been my patron and protector. I refer to Dr. Middleton, the truly learned, and every way excellent Bishop of Calcutta. It was a double pleasure to me, and still remains a tender recollection, that I should have received from a friend so revered the first knowledge of a poet, by whose works, year after year, I was so enthusiastically delighted and inspired. My earliest acquaintances will not have forgotten the undisciplined eagerness and impetuous zeal, with which I laboured to make proselytes, not only of my companions, but of all with whom I conversed, of whatever rank, and in whatever place. As my school finances did not permit me to purchase copies, I made, within less than a year and a half, more than forty transcriptions, as the best present I could offer to those who, in any way, won my regard; and with almost equal delight did I receive the three or four following publications of the same author.

Though I have seen and known enough of mankind to be well aware that I shall, perhaps, stand alone in my creed, and that it will be well if I subject myself to no worse charge than that of singularity; I am not, therefore, deterred from avowing, that I regard, and ever have regarded, the obligations of intellect among the most sacred of the claims of gratitude. A valuable thought, or a particular train of thoughts, gives me additional pleasure, when I can safely refer and attribute it to the conversation or correspondence of another. My obligations to Mr. Bowles were indeed important, and for radical good. At a very premature age, even before

my fifteenth year, I had bewildered myself in metaphysics, and theological controversy. Nothing else pleased me. History, and particular facts, lost all interest in my mind. Poetry (though for a school-boy of that age, I was above par in English versification, and had already produced two or three compositions, which, I may venture to say, without reference to my age, were somewhat above mediocrity, and which had gained me more credit than the sound, good sense of my old master was at all pleased with), poetry itself, yea novels and romances became insipid to me. In my friendless wanderings on our leave-days (for I was an orphan, and had scarce any connections in London) highly was I delighted if any passenger, especially if he were dressed in black, would enter into conversation with me, for I soon found the means of directing it to my favourite subjects.

Of providence, fore-knowledge, will, and fate,
Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,
And found no end in wandering mazes lost.

"This preposterous pursuit was, beyond doubt, injurious, both to my natural powers and to the progress of my education. It would, perhaps, have been destructive, had it been continued; but from this I was auspiciously withdrawn, partly indeed, by an accidental introduction to an amiable family; chiefly, however, by the genial influence of a style of poetry, so tender, and yet so manly, so natural and real, and yet so dignified and harmonious, as the sonnets, &c. of Mr. Bowles. Well were it for me, perhaps, had I never relapsed into the same mental disease; if I had continued to pluck the flower and reap the harvest from the cultivated surface, instead of delving in the unwholesome quicksand mines of metaphysic depths. But if in after time I have sought a refuge from bodily pain and mismanaged sensibility in abstruse re

searches which exercised the strength and subtlety of the understanding, without awakening the feelings of the heart; still there was a long and blessed interval, during which my natural faculties were allowed to expand, and my original tendencies to develope themselves; my fancy, and the love of nature, and the sense of beauty in forms and sounds.”—Biog. Lit., Vol. I. pp. 13-17.

He remained at Christ's Hospital school till he was nineteen, having outstripped all his school-fellows, and become Grecian or captain of the school, which entitled him to an exhibition to the University.

On the 7th of September, 1791, he removed from London to Jesus College, Cambridge. His conduct there appears to have been irregular and unacademic. He could not submit to the discipline necessary to obtain the literary honours of the University. Yet not so much so as has been represented, as the following reminiscence by a fellow collegian will show. "In his Freshman's year he won the gold medal for the Greek Ode; and in his second year he became a candidate for the Craven Scholarship-a university scholarship, for which undergraduates, of any standing, are entitled to become candidates. This was in the winter of 1792. Out of sixteen or eighteen competitors, a selection of four was made to contend for the prize, and these four were Dr. Butler, now the Head Master of Shrewsbury; Dr. Keate, the late Head Master of Eton; Dr. Bethell, the present Bishop of Bangor; and Coleridge. Dr. Butler was the successful candidate. But pause a moment in Coleridge's history, and think of him at this period. Butler, Keate, Bethell, and Coleridge. How different the career of each in future life. O Coleridge, through what strange paths did the meteor of genius lead thee! Pause a moment, ye distinguished men! and deem it not the least

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bright stop in your happier career, that you and Coleridge were once rivals, and for a moment running abreast in the pursuit of honour. I believe that his disappointment at this crisis damped his ardour. Unfortunately, at that period, there was no classical tripos; so that if a person did not obtain the classical medal he was thrown back among the totally undistinguised; and it was not allowable to become a candidate for the classical medal, unless you had taken a respectable degree in mathematics. Coleridge had not the least taste for these, and here his case was hopeless; so that he despaired of a fellowship, and gave up what in his heart he coveted-college honours, and a college life. When he quitted college, which he did before he had taken a degree, in a moment of mad-cap caprice-it was indeed an inauspicious hour'In an inauspicious hour I left the friendly cloisters and the happy grove of quiet, ever-honoured Jesus College, Cambridge,' Short but deep and heartfelt reminiscence. In a literary life of himself, this short memorial is all that Coleridge gives of his happy days at college. Say not that he did not obtain, and did not wish to obtain classical honours. He did obtain them, and was eagerly ambitious of them; but he did not bend to that discipline which was to qualify him for the whole course. He was very studious, but his reading was desultory and capricious. He took little exercise merely for the sake of exercise; but he was ready at any time to unbend his mind in conversation; and for the sake of this, his room (the ground-floor room, on the right hand of the staircase, facing the great gate) was a constant rendezvous for conversation-loving friends-I will not call them loungers, for they came not to kill time, but to enjoy it. What evenings have I spent in these rooms! What little suppers, or singings, as they were called have enjoyed

when Eschylus, and Plato, and Thucydides were pushed aside, with a pile of lexicons, &c., to discuss the pamphlets of the day. Ever and anon a pamphlet issued from the pen of Burke. There was no need of having the book before us; Coleridge had read it in the morning, and in the evening he would repeat whole pages verbatim. Frend's Trial was then in progress. Pamphlets swarmed from the press. Coleridge had read them all; and in the evening, with our negus, we had them, viva voce, gloriously. O Coleridge! it was indeed an inauspicious hour when you quitted the friendly cloisters of Jesus. The epithet friendly, implied what you were thinking of, when you thought of college. To you, Coleridge, your contemporaries were indeed friendly, and I believe, that in your Literary Life you have passed over your college life so briefly, because you wished to banish from your view the 'visions of long-departed joy.' To enter into a description of your college days would have called up too sadly to your memory the hopes that once shone bright,' and made your heart sink."*

He remained at Cambridge till October, 1794, when, in a luckless hour, he quitted it for ever, without cause assigned, and without taking his degree. The cause of his leaving Cambridge, has been variously stated. In the Beauties of the Anti Jacobin, he is said to have been disgraced at college for preaching Deism; this charge Coleridge repels with indignation, saying, so far is this from the truth, that he was thought a bigot by the advocates of French philosophy for his ardour for Christianity. The true causes appear to have been pecuniary difficulties, and a heavy disappointment in love for a young lady, sister of a fellow-collegian. These, combined drove him to despair; to dissipate which he set off * Gentleman's Magazine, Dec. 1834.