The climate here is delightful, and the air so clear, that when the moon is young, I can often distinguish the whole circle, thus; O. You and Robert may look for this some fine night, but I do not remember ever to have observed it in England. The stars appear more brilliant here, but I often look up at the Pleiades, and remember how much happier 1 was when I saw them in Bristol. Fare you well. Let me know that my friends remember me.

Robert Southey."

Mr. Southey paid a second visit to Lisbon, in 1800, accompanied by Mrs. S. when I received from him the following poetical letter, which, for ease, vivacity, and vigorous description, stands at the head of that class of compositions. A friendly vessel, mistaken for a French privateer, adds to the interest. In one part, the poet conspicuously bursts forth.

"Lisbon, May 9th, 1800.

Dear Cottle, d'ye see,

In writing to thee,

I do it in rhyme,

That I may save time,

Determin'd to say,

Without any delay,

Whatever comes first,

Whether best or worst.

Alack for me!

When I was at sea,

For I lay like a log,

As sick as a dog,

And whoever this readeth,

Will pity poor Edith:

Indeed it was shocking,

The vessel fast rocking,

The timbers all creaking,

And when we were speaking,

It was to deplore

That we were not on shore,

And to vow we would never go voyaging more.

The fear of our fighting,

Did put her a fright in,

And I had alarms

For my legs and my arms.

When the matches were smoking,

I thought 'twas no joking,

And though honour and glory

And fame were before me,

'Twas a great satisfaction,

That we had not an action,

And I felt somewhat bolder,

When I knew that my head might remain on my shoulder.

But, 0, 'twas a pleasure,
Exceeding all measure,
On the deck to stand,

And look at the land;
And when I got there,
I vow and declare,
The pleasure was even
Like getting to heaven!
I could eat and drink,
As you may think;
I could sleep at ease,
Except for the fleas,
But still the sea-feeling,—

The drunken reeling,

Did not go away

For more than a day:

Like a cradle, the bed

Seemed to rock my head,

And the room and the town,

Went up and down.

My Edith here,

Thinks all things queer,

And some things she likes well;

But then the street

She thinks not neat,

And does not like the smell.

Nor do the fleas

Her fancy please,

Although the fleas like her;

They at first view

Fell merrily to,

For they made no demur.

But, O, the sight!

The great delight!

From this my window, west!

This view so fine,

This scene divine!

The joy that I love best!

The Tagus here,

So broad and clear,

Blue, in the clear blue noon→→

And it lies light,

All silver white,

Under the silver moon!

Adieu, adieu,

Farewell to you,

Farewell, my friend so dear,

Write when you may,

I need not say,

How gladly we shall hear.

I leave off rhyme,

And so next time,

Prose writing you shall see;

But in rhyme or prose,

Dear Joseph knows

The same old friend in me.

R. Southey."

Although referring to a somewhat later period, I shall here introduce a letter from Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Wade, relating to Germany, which at one time it was the purpose of Mr. W. to visit.

My very dear friend,

"March 6th, 1801.

I have even now received your letter. My habits of thinking and feeling have not hitherto inclined me to personify commerce in any such shape as could tempt me to turn Pagan, and offer vows to the Goddess of our Isle. But when I read that sentence in your letter, 'The time will come I trust, when I shall be able to pitch my tent in your neighbourhood,' I was most potently tempted to a breach of the second commandment, and on my