my mind and heart, during the perusal, and which I would fain, God willing, give vent to! I truly honor and love the orthodox dissenters, and appreciate with heart-esteem their works of love. I have read, with much pleasure, the preface to the second edition of your Alfred. It is well written."

I must here refer once more to Mr. Coleridge. On returning to Bristol from Barley Wood, where I had introduced him to Mrs. Hannah More, (Vol. 1. p. 82) from the appearances I was there concerned to witness, I expressed to a friend the next day, my sorrow at beholding Mr. C. extremely paralytic, his hands shaking to an alarming degree, so that he could not take a glass of wine without spilling it, though one hand supported the other! "That," said he, "arises from the immoderate quantity of OPIUM he takes."

so

It is remarkable, that this was the first time the melancholy fact, of Mr. Coleridge's excessive indulgence in opium, had come to my knowledge. It astonished and afflicted me. On this subject, Mr. C. may have been communicative to others, but to me he was silent. I withhold here much that might be said, and proceed to observe, that

I now saw it was mistaken kindness to give Mr. C. money, as I had learned, that he indulged in his potions according to the extent of his means, so that to be temperate, it was expedient that he should be poor.

I ruminated long upon this subject, with indescribable sorrow; and having ascertained from others, not only the existence of the evil, but its extent, so as to render doubt impossible, such was the impression of duty on my mind, I determined, however hazardous, to write to Mr. Coleridge, and that faithfully, otherwise, I considered myself, not a friend, but an enemy. At the end of his course, therefore, I addressed to him the following letter, under the full impression that it was a case of "life and death," and that if some strong effort were not made to arouse him from his insensibility, speedy destruction must inevitably follow. thing but so extreme a case, could have prompted, or could justify, such a letter as the following.

Dear Coleridge,

No

"Bristol, April 25, 1814.

I am conscious of being influenced by the purest motives in addressing to you the following letter. Permit me to remind you that I am the oldest

friend you have in Bristol, that I was such when my friendship was of more consequence to you than it is at present, and that at that time, you were neither insensible of my kindnesses, nor backward to acknowledge them. I bring these things to your remembrance, to impress on your mind, that it is still a friend who is writing to you; one who ever has been such, and who is now going to give you the most decisive evidence of his sincerity.

When I think of Coleridge, I wish to recall the image of him, such as he appeared in past years; now, how has the baneful use of opium thrown a dark cloud over you and your prospects. I would not say any thing needlessly harsh or unkind, but I must be faithful. It is the irresistible voice of conscience. Others may still flatter you, and hang upon your words, but I have another, though a less gracious duty to perform. I see a brother sinning a sin unto death, and shall I not warn him? I see him perhaps on the borders of eternity, in effect, despising his Maker's law, and yet indifferent to his perilous state!

In recalling what the expectations concerning you once were, and the excellency with which, seven years ago, you wrote and spoke on religious

truth, my heart bleeds, to see how you are now fallen; and thus to notice, how many exhilarating hopes are almost blasted, by your present habits. This is said, not to wound, but to arouse you to reflection.

I know full well the evidences of the pernicious drug! You cannot be unconscious of the effects, though you may wish to forget the cause.-The sallow countenance! the tottering step! the trembling hand! the glassy eye! the disordered frame! and yet will you not be awakened to a sense of your danger, and, I must add, your guilt? Is it a small thing, that one of the finest of human understandings should be lost! That your ten talents should be buried! That most of the influences to be derived from your present example, should be in direct opposition to right and virtue! It is true, you still talk of religion, and profess the warmest admiration of the church and her doctrines, in which it would not be lawful to doubt your sincerity; but can you be unaware, that by your unguarded and inconsistent conduct, you are furnishing arguments to the infidel; giving occasion for the enemy to blaspheme; and (amongst those who imperfectly know you) throwing suspicion over your religious profession. Is

not the great test, in some measure against you, 'By their fruits ye shall know them? Are there never any calm moments, when you impartially judge of your own actions by their consequences? Not to reflect on you; not to give you a moment's needless pain, but, in the spirit of friendship, suffer me to bring to your recollection, some of the sad effects of your undeniable intemperance.

I know you have a correct love of honest independence, (without which, there can be no true nobility of mind); and yet, for opium, you will sell this treasure, and expose yourself to the liability of arrest, by some 'dirty fellow,' to whom you choose to be indebted for 'ten pounds!" You had, and still have, an acute sense of moral right and wrong, but is not the feeling sometimes overpowered by self-indulgence? Permit me to remind you, that you are not more suffering in your mind, than you are in your body, while you are squandering largely your money, in the purchase of opium, which, in the strictest equity, should receive a different direction.

I will not again refer to the mournful effects produced on your own health, by this indulgence in opium, by which you have undermined your