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In order not to interrupt the reader, by stating that this was derived from one source, and that from another, (at this time hardly to be separated in my own mind, and of little consequence to the reader,) I shall proceed, as though the whole had been related, by Mr. C. to Mr. Davy and myself.

Mr. Coleridge now told us of one of his Cambridge eccentricities, which highly amused us. He said that he had paid his addresses to some young woman, (I think, a Mary E-) who, rejecting his offer, he took it so much in dudgeon, that he ran away from the University to London, when, in a reckless state of mind, he enlisted himself as

man in a regiment of horse. No objection having been taken to his height, or age, and being thus accepted, he was asked his name. He had previously determined to give one that was thoroughly Kamtschatkian, but having noticed that morning over a door in Lincoln's Inn Fields, (or the Temple) the name “ Cumberbatch," (not Comberback) he thought this word sufficiently outlandish, and replied, “Silas Tomken Cumberbatch," and such was the entry in the regimental book.

Here, in his new capacity, laborious duties

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devolved on Mr. C. He endeavoured to think on Cæsar, and Epaminondas, and Leonidas, with other ancient heroes, and composed himself to his fate; remembering, in every series, there must be a commencement: but still he found, confronting him, no imaginary inconveniences. Perhaps he who had most cause for dissatisfaction, was the Drill Sergeant, who thought his professional character endangered; for after using his utmost efforts to bring his raw recruit into something like training, he expressed the most serious fears, from his unconquerable awkwardness, that he never should be able to make

a proper soldier of him."

Mr. C. it seemed, could not even rub down his own horse, which, however, it should be known, was rather a restive one, who (like Cowper's Hare) “ would bite if he could," and, in addition, kick, not a little. We could not suppose that these predispositions in the martial steed were at all aggravated by the unskillful jockeyship to which he was subjected, but the sensitive quadruped did rebel a little in the stable, and wince a little in the field ! Perhaps this poor ruminating animal was something in the state of the horse that carried Mr. Wordsworth's “Ideot Boy,” who, in his sage contemplations, “wondered”

-66 What he had got upon his back!” This rubbing down his horse was a,constant source of annoyance to Mr. C. who thought that the most rational way was,-to let the horse rub himself down, shaking himself clean, and so to shine in all his native beauty ; but on this subject there were two opinions, and, unfortunately, his that was to decide carried most weight. If it had not been for the foolish and fastidious taste of the ultra precise Sergeant, this whole mass of trouble might have been avoided, but, seeing the thing must be done, or, punishment! he set about the herculean task, with the firmness of a Wallenstein, but, lo! the paroxysm was brief, in the necessity that called it forth. Mr. C. overcame this immense difficulty, by bribing a young man of the regiment to perform the achievement for him ; and that, on very easy terms; namely, by writing for him some “ Love Stanzas," to send to his sweetheart !

Mr. Coleridge, in the midst of all his deficiences, it appeared, was liked by the men, although he was the butt of the whole company ; being esteemed by them as next kin to a natural, though of a peculiar kind-a talking natural. This fancy

of theirs was stoutly resisted by the love-sick swain, but the regimental logic prevailed; for, whatever they could do, with masterly dexterity, he could not do at all, ergo, must he not be a natural ? There was no man in the regiment who met with so many falls from his horse, as Silas Tomken Cumberbatch! He often calculated with so little precision his due equilibrium, that, in mounting on one side, (perhaps the wrong stirrup) the probability was, especially, if his horse moved a little, that he lost his balance, and, if he did not roll back on this side, came down ponderously on the other ! when the laugh spread amongst the men,

“ Silas is off again !" Mr. C. had often heard of campaigns, but he never before had so correct an idea of hard service.

Some mitigation was now in store for Mr. C. arising out of a whimsical circumstance. He had been placed, as a sentinel, at the door of a ballroom, or some public place of resort, when two of his officers, passing in, stopped for a moment, near Mr. C. talking about Euripides, two lines from whom, one of them repeated. At the sound of Greek, the sentinel instinctively turned his ear, when he said, with all deference, touching his lofty cap, “I hope your honour will excuse me,

but the lines you have repeated are not quite accurately cited. These are the lines," when he gave them, in their more correct form. “ Besides,” said Mr. C. “instead of being in Euripides, the lines will be found in the second antistrophe of the • Ædipus of Sophocles.?" “Why, who the d- are you?” said the officer, “old Faustus ground young again ?”

6. I am only your honour's humble sentinel,” said Mr. C. again touching his cap.

The officers hastened into the room, and inquired of one and another, about that "odd fish,” at the door; when one of the mess, (it is believed, the surgeon) told them, that he had had his eye upon him, but he would neither tell where he came from, nor any thing about his family of the Cumberbatches; but," continued he, “instead of being an odd fish, I suspect he must be a stray-bird' from the Oxford, or Cambridge aviary.” They learned, also, the laughable fact, that he was bruised all over, by frequent falls from his horse. “Ah," said one of the officers, “we have had, at different times, two or three of these • University birds' in our regiment.” They, how. ever, kindly took pity on the poor scholar,' and had Mr. C. removed to the medical department,

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