CONTENTS. Page THE POET WORDSWORTH AND PROFESSOR SMYTHE ONE HOUR WITH HENRY MARTYN, and a Glance at S. T. COLERIDGE AT TRINITY, WITH SPECIMENS OF HIS TABLE-TALK. Mr. Coleridge visited Cambridge upon occasion of the Scientific Meeting there, in June, 1833. "My emotions at visiting the university,” he said, "were at first overwhelming. I could not speak for an hour; yet my feelings were upon the whole very pleasurable, and I have not passed, of late years at least, three days of such great enjoyment and healthful excitement of mind and body."-Note to the Table-Talk. Thou who rewardest but with popular breath, -COWLEY. HE is gone from amongst us! After a painful and dreary voyage, though cheered by one STAR, which no tempest can overcloud, the ANCIENT MARINER hath reached the haven where he would be. He is gone from amongst us! but never let it be said, that the place thereof knows him no more. The old man, eloquent still, haunts the courts of "dear, dear Jesus;" his rooms are still to be seen by the gateway of the College, and to many a youthful heart in those academic bowers will long be consecrated by his virtue, his piety, and his learning. B was, To one, who, like myself, has been an attentive observer of our literature during the last thirty years, the history of Coleridge offers no flattering testimony of popular taste. Throughout a life which, if intellectually considered, was certainly characterized by unwearied diligence and activity, he in the common sense of the term, an unsuccessful author, as he pleasantly observed, better known to his bookseller than to the public. The eloquence of his prose, the music of his poetry, fell equally unheeded on the national ear. The humblest hurdy-gurdy that ever called forth an execration, obtained a more generous reward than the dulcimer of "the Abyssinian Maid." A change seems now gradually coming over the spirit of the dream. His poems are selling, the crumbs are gathered from his table, and an edition of his Remains announced to be in preparation, under the superintendence of one whose taste can discover their beauties, and whose eloquence can defend them. But I am wandering from Coleridge's visit to Cambridge, and who that was present will ever forget that evening, under the clock at Trinity*, which witnessed a symposium from which Plato himself might have carried something away? The remembrance even now creeps over the mind like a Summer Night's Dream. * Mr. Thirlwall's Rooms. While lingering the other day over the recently published specimens of Coleridge's Table-Talk, it occurred to me, that I might also be able to contribute something to that heap of treasure, though the fragments would be far less pure and precious. They only who have been in the society of the poet, can make adequate allowances for the deficiencies of his reporter. Of all the eminent men with whom it has been my fortune to be associated, his conversations were the most difficult to preserve. You went away with a few links, and thought you had the chain. Conversations, indeed, become a misnomer when applied to Coleridge. They were rather a series of monologues; episodes delivered before an audience. Yet, who would wish to 'punctuate,' by a single question, that rich and musical discourse, or interrupt the stream of variegated thoughts which flowed from that Mouth of Gold? What appeared to the common or inattentive listener to be tedious and useless digressions, were, in reality, only so many winding steps to the wide and comprehensive view of the subject; and who, that has climbed with this venerable guide to the summit of his lofty arguments, ever regretted the weariness of the ascent, or did not think the labour amply repaid by the glorious prospect spread out before him? Boswell would have found his occupation gone at |