The day was clear and serene, and as we sped along * * "That sacred lake, withdrawn among the hills, * The lake, which is most irregular in its outline, bending into divers forms, is sometimes named the Lake of the Four Cantons, from having Lucerne, Unterwalden, Uri, and Schwytz, as its boundaries. On the south or Unterwalden side, the scenery is generally more bold, and on the whole less interesting than the north-eastern shore, to which the boat chiefly clings. On this latter side, after passing some pretty bays, and touching at the villages of Wäggis and Küssnacht, whence the Righi may be ascended, we arrive at a rocky promontory, having a similar headland on the opposite side, the two (locally called the Nasen or Noses) approaching, and forming a narrow channel, beyond which the lake expands in a sweep towards the northeast, and discloses some highly interesting mountain scenery. On our left we have that portion of the canton of Schwytz which, prior to 1798, formed the indepen dent canton of Gersau-a district so small as to lie all on the face of a steep hill, and which, flanked with precipices projecting into the lake, was almost inaccessible to an aggressive force except by water. On coming in front of the small collection of cottages, with their church, which constituted the capital of the state, the steamer paused for a few minutes to land a passenger, and afforded us an opportunity of taking a view of the ancient republic. Placed in a situation the most unpropitious for general industry, even here the unconquerable diligence of the Swiss is exercised; the article silk giving, I am told, employment to a number of hands in the place. But agriculture and pasturage engage the chief attention of the inhabitants. The green hill is partitioned in small patches, under different crops; and we see cottage above cottage perched on the dizzy steep, to a height of perhaps two thousand feet. Shortly after passing Gersau, we arrive at Brunnen, a small port to the town of Schwytz, which is observed at some distance, under the lee of a tremendous range of bare peaks called the Mythen. Pencils and sketch-books in great request ! Departing from Brunnen, we find that the lake now bends towards the south, while its scenery assumes a more rugged and solemn character. The beautiful sheet of water, extending miles in front, seems to resemble a pool at the bottom of a great grave, without visible outlet. Its lofty sides, shagged with green shrubs, rise from the brink nearly as precipitous as a wall. Any thing like a road is entirely out of *It is proper for me to mention that within these few years serious doubts have begun to be entertained in Germany respecting the truth of Tell's exploits. I am inclined to think that the history of the hero is founded in truth, but may have been greatly embellished by traditionary legend. the question; the only means of access from knoll is Sailing on a few miles, we arrive in front of what is called Tell's Chapel, situated on the east side of the lake, at the foot of the Achsenberg, a mountain rising to the height of 6732 feet, to which we may add a depth of 600 feet below the surface of the water. The chapel, which is a very small edifice, of a pavilion form, open in front, and distinguished by a small spire on its roof, is erected on a shelf of rock jutting out from the almost precipitous bank, and close upon the edge of the lake. The only means of access is by boats. Here, according to tradition, Tell leaped ashore, and escaped from the boat in which he was in the course of being conveyed to the dungeons of Küssnacht; his fetters having been temporarily removed to allow of his navigating the boat, and so saving it from being overwhelmed by a tempest, which had overtaken it in the passage. The chapel, we are told, was erected in 1380, or thirty-one years after the death of the hero, by order of the assembled citizens of Uri, in commemoration of the event. The chapel is fitted up with an altar, and its walls ornamented with a few daubs of pictures; its general appearance is wild and desolate, and only once a-year, on a particular festival, any religious service performed within it. Bending round a promontory, on quitting the chapel, we have the termination of the lake in view, and are soon landed at Fluelen, the port of the canton of Uri. Here we find carriages in abundance, ready to start for Altdorf, the capital of Uri, situated from two to three miles up the vale of the Reuss, and also to carry forward tourists on their way to Italy by the pass of the Gotthard. Altdorf is a poor-looking, ancient town, without any particular object of attraction, but is visited from its connexion with the history of that he is said to have shot at the apple on his son's Tell's exploits, it being in an open space in the town head. The vale of the Reuss, from this aged city downwards to Fluelen, is flat meadow-land, with cottages of a more wretched appearance than had hitherto come under our observation. Composed, for the greater part, of wood, few of them seemed to have chimneys, and the smoke issued from the doors or from the loose deals on the roof, which were held in their places only by rows of stones. The external details no way compensated for this rude state of affairs; and the inhabitants were apparently at the lowest pitch of human degradation. Betwixt Fluelen and Altdorf, I saw at least a dozen cretins-a class of beings altogether or partially idiotic-their melancholy condition being sometimes aggravated by á singular swelling on the throat, known by the name of goitre. Idiocy has here, as is generally known, an excessive character peculiar to the place, possibly arising from atmospheric causes. I could imagine no peculiarity more dismal. It is inexcusable, however, to allow the cretins to be so much exposed to public view. Policy as well as good taste loudly calls for the seclusion of all such objects. and although the whole education is not yet legally But I must bring my observations to a conclusion. The steamer is arrived at the quay of Lucerne : the grey fleecy clouds have gathered on the summit of the proud Pilatus, and it is time to adjourn to our quarters for the evening. JOHNSON, A STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN. THE small country town of H-, in which I re- · side, is a bustling, thriving, little place in the western part of the kingdom. Amongst other evidences of its prosperity, it exhibits an unusual number of respectable shops. Being a small community, we, like all small communities, take sometimes a very great interest in very little matters, especially when of a local nature. It is also said, and cannot well be denied, that we are a little given to scandal. We know what every body in our little town is about, and every body canvasses every other body's affairs with the greatest freedom. Yet the old-established inhabitants have a sort of clannish regard for each other, and we do not usually treat any with severity, except strangers who may be endeavouring to obtain a settlement amongst us. Some years ago, one of our principal shopkeepers died in a state of insolvency, and his shop was shut up, to the great disfigurement of the town, as it occupied a very conspicuous place near its centre. Every one felt concerned at the dullness which its closed windows gave to the street; but the predominant feeling was curiosity as to who should be its next tenant. On this point a variety of rumours were set afloat. One day, it was confidently asserted that the shop was taken by a great tea-merchant from the capital; the next, an extensive haberdasher from an adjacent city was said to be the man. At length, a tenant did appear-a native of England-a mild, gentle-looking man, of somewhat slender form, and about forty years of age. Strange to say, nobody knew or could learn any thing about him; neither whence he came nor what were his means. It was only seen that he opened shop as a tea-merchant and grocer under the name of Johnson. The public remained in this ignorance for a few weeks; but at length a rumour got abroad that Johnson was a person of doubtful character. By and by, specific charges were heard of. It was said that he had once committed an extensive forgery, and only escaped the penalty of the law through the forbearance of the parties whom he had injured. Another charge was, that he had deserted his wife and three children, who were now starving in a remote and obscure village in England. He was also said to be a fraudulent bankrupt, having robbed his creditors to a large amount. He was, lastly, a person destitute of religious principle. I cannot say that we were much grieved at learning all this of the new comer, for we had a decided prejudice against him, and would have much preferred seeing his shop occupied by one of the native inhabitants of our burgh. Some went so far as to entertain a decided wish to drive Johnson from amongst us, and with this view did not scruple to give currency to the scandals which had been raised against him. The consequence of their efforts was that Johnson obtained no business. Three weeks elapsed from his opening shop, without his being known to have obtained a single customer except for the most trifling articles. From all I could learn from persons conversant with the condition of the country around the lake, it appears that the people, with all their political inde- Curious to know how he felt under the treatpendence, are socially and intellectually in a kind of ment he was receiving, I and another shopkeeper pupilage. The four cantons may be described as the availed ourselves of the opportunity presented by our focus of an intense spirit of ecclesiastical domina- undertaking to collect subscriptions for the widow tion, under which no intelligence can flourish. The (herself dying) and small family of a respectable progress towards enlightenment which began to be townsman-a tanner to business-who had died sudmanifested in Lucerne, shortly after 1830, is stopped ; | denly, and in poor circumstances, in consequence of such a character." certain heavy losses he had recently sustained. Pro- would have been confirmed; but his suavity has com- My friend and I were confounded both by the matter and manner of these remarks. We clearly enough perceived that Johnson was perfectly aware, not only of the reports that were in circulation against him, but of the share we had had in propagating them. We did not make any reply, but proceeded to the ostensible purpose of our call. We laid the subscription paper before Mr Johnson, at the same time explaining the circumstances of the case. Having glanced at the paper, he, without saying a word, went to a little desk at the head of the counter, raised the lid, thrust in his hand, withdrew it, returned to us, and, still without speaking a word, laid a sovereign upon the subscription paper. It was the largest sum which had yet been contributed by any individual. "Poor woman," said Johnson, in a voice which, from another, I should have said was that of true compassionate feeling, "I trust she will yet recover; I hope she is properly attended to, and that the sum which may be collected will be sufficient to put her in some little way of doing." With feelings which I should not find it very easy to describe, I took up Johnson's contribution, wished him good morning, and, accompanied by my friend, left the shop. The conduct of the man altogether puzzled us. The gentleness of his manner, and the patience and mildness with which he spoke of his want of success in business, and of those who had traduced him, confounded us. We came to the conclusion that he was, after all, merely a consummate hypocrite, and that there was no doubt he would shortly appear in his true colours. One forenoon, some little time after, my neighbour, call on Johnson with the subscription paper, and who Manson, the person who had accompanied me in my had, I must say it, been particularly industrious in spreading the evil reports, called me into his shop, and put a letter into my hands. It was from Johnson. Here it is : "Sir-It is with very sincere regret I have learnt that you have been circulating reports highly prejudicial to my character, and utterly ruinous to my interests. This is a very serious charge; but I beg of you to understand, that I do not bring it against you without having sufficient proof of its truth. Such proof I could command as would at once obtain for me large damages in a court of justice. But it is not my intention to adopt such a course with you; I mean rather to appeal to your reason and your better feelings, and to try whether I cannot, by such a proceeding, bring you to a sense of the injustice you have done me. About a week after this we had a subscription ball in H, got up by some of our gayer and wealthier townsmen. Amongst those present were Johnson and his sister, a lady-like girl of about two-andtwenty, to whom, it was said, her brother was extremely kind and attentive. On this occasion, Johnson and his sister were treated with marked discourtesy on all hands. Some, as if studiously to insult them, turned their backs on them when they approached; others got out of their way with offensive haste; while others, again, sneered at them while they passed. I could observe that Miss Johnson felt keenly the treatment to which her brother and herself were subjected. She looked pale and agitated; and, occasionally, as a more than usually marked instance of disrespect occurred, a blush would hurry over her fine intelligent countenance. Johnson, again, though apparently not less sensible of the contumely to which he and his sister were exposed, met it differently; his demeanour, as he perambulated the ball room, with his sister leaning on his arm, was calm and collected, while a gentle and significant, but almost imperceptible, smile played about his rather handsome mouth. I really could not help admiring his calmness and self-possession under these trying circumstances. about fifteen years since; chiefly in consequence of the forgery on me by my nephew, and partly in consequence of large losses otherwise. But success in business enabled me at a subsequent period to pay all my creditors in full, including interest. Of the satisfaction of my creditors with my conduct on the occasion of which I speak, I have evidence, inscribed, not indeed on a tablet of brass, but on a vessel or rather utensil of silver, which I will show you." Having said this, he rose, went to a corner of the shop, and drew a bell-pull. His sister-there being an internal communication between the shop and the house which was above-answered the summons. “Izzy, dear," said Johnson, "will you be so kind as bring down the salver which was presented to me by my good friends at Combermeath." Miss Johnson quickly appeared with a large, massive, and richly ornamented piece of plate, which her brother desired her to put into my hands; directing my attention at the same time to an inscription in the centre. This inscription I read, and found it to be a flattering testimonial from Mr Johnson's creditors to the excellence of his character, and expressing their deep sense of his rare integrity, as exemplified in the circumstance of his having paid in full, and with interest, the several sums he owed them, after he had been legally discharged of the same. Dear reader, the man of whom I have been speaking-the man who was so slandered and traduced when he first came amongst us--who was called every thing that was bad-who was shunned and despisedis now first magistrate of H, and has long been esteemed, as he indeed is, one of the worthiest men in the county. FIRST ARTICLE. Greatly struck by what had fallen under my observation, I could not help reflecting, as I went home, that surely he must be no common man who could thus maintain his temper under such trying circumstances; and I began to feel a friendship for him taking possession of me. Being now anxious to THE LIFE AND POETRY OF COLERIDGE. be convinced of his worth, I determined on stepping into his shop now and then, and having some conversation with him. Let me here parenthetically remark, that, in spite of the rumours that had been circulated against him, and in spite of the efforts of a clique to injure his business, or, rather, to prevent him obtaining any, Johnson was gradually acquiring a fair share of custom. His mildness and civility, together with the perfect propriety of his conduct, were gradually overcoming prejudice and winning confidence. People said, As to the unfavourable reports of Mr Johnson's character, we must suspend judgment; we believed them at first, certainly, but now we have our doubts. Besides, his articles are, at least, as reasonable in price, and certainly much better in quality, than those of many dealers in town." In pursuance of the resolution I had formed, I called a day or two after the ball on Mr Johnson, and sat for nearly two hours with him; fascinated at once by his singularly pleasant and gentle manners, by his great intelligence, and by the extraordinary extent the tones of his voice, a charm that I found exercising and variety of his information. There was, even in a powerful influence over me. I frequently repeated my calls, and after each interview became more and more satisfied that Johnson had been grievously wronged. Under this impression, I took every opportunity of expressing amongst my friends and acquaintances my strong doubts of the truth of the reports. To my great gratification, I found almost every body, although they had no such opportunities of correcting their opinions, willing to believe that he had been unjustly dealt by. By and by, Mr Johnson and I became so intimate, and I so assured of his innocence as regarded the special accusations which scandal had circulated against him, that I ventured, one day, to mention them to him. He said, calmly, "My dear sir, I knew from the very first of the circulation of these rumours, but, excepting one letter to Mr Manson, I have never made I now, sir, make this appeal, and am very sure that any attempt to meet them with a denial, being cera little reflection will point out to you the impropriety tain that my own conduct would be their only effecof your conduct towards me, and induce you at once tual refutation. Since you have adverted to the subto express your regret for it, and to desist from it inject as a friend, I will explain all to you. As is often time to come. Please to remember, that I have never the case, these reports are not altogether creatures of done you the smallest injury, either by word or deed, any one's imagination, but have a certain basis in fact, either directly or indirectly. Why, then, this un- though not as applicable to me." He then proceeded provoked hostility towards me? Allow me, in con- to show-proving at the same time the truth of what clusion, to say, that it would afford me inexpressible he said by various documents-that the forgery of happiness could I by any means induce you to think which he had been accused, instead of being combetter of me than you at present do. I would do mitted by him, had been committed upon him; and much, sir, to gain your good will, if I might not this by a nephew of his own, whom he had forborne aspire to your friendship. In the mean time, have to prosecute, although his loss by the act had exthe kindness to desist from further injuring me.-Icecded L.2000. As to the desertion of wife and chilam, Sir," &c. dren, he also satisfied me, first, that he had never been married at all, nor ever had had any children; next, that the family alluded to was the widow and children of his brother, whom he was now supporting, and had supported for many years. He showed me a number of letters from the widow, who resided in a distant part of England, and several from her elder children, whom he was educating; all of which were filled with expressions of the warmest love and gratitude. "Well, Manson," said I, after having read the letter, "what do you think of it?" "Why, that its writer is a mean-spirited, sneaking, canting fellow, and a most accomplished hypocrite," replied Manson. r Then, upon my word," said I, "I cannot agree with you; neither can I help beginning to entertain a somewhat different opinion of this man. I now doubt the truth of much that has been said against him. I do not know how it is, but this unalterable gentleness of his has a strange effect on me; it is beginning to make me feel somewhat ashamed of myself as regards the part I have acted towards him. In truth, this mildness of spirit, with all its seeming inertness, appears to me to possess an extraordinary power. Had he given us bad language that day we called with the subscription paper, my prejudices A letter which he next produced, and which he had but a day or two before received from the rector of Combermeath, his native parish, was written in an affectionate strain, and bore, in an incidental way, the strongest testimony to his moral and religious character. 66 Now," said he, laughing," we come to the last remaining charge-my fraudulent bankruptcy. Well, it is true, perfectly true, that I did stop payment SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE was born in 1772, at Ottery St Mary, in Devonshire; of which parish his father was vicar for many years, having been previously an eminent schoolmaster at South Moulton, ing. His scholarship was indeed evinced by several and acknowledged to be a man of considerable learnlearned minor productions; while the extent of his household cares is equally evinced by the fact of our poet being the youngest of eleven children. His emoluments being by no means commensurate with his family, a presentation to Christ's Hospital in London was procured for his son Samuel, who, soon after his arrival at that school, distinguished himself by undeniable talent and undeniable eccentricity. In his Literary Biography (Biographia Literaria), our poet affords an excellent and amusing account of his schoolmaster (the Rev. James Bowyer), to whom he was materially indebted for a large amount of classical knowledge, imparted in a somewhat more earnest and scholar-like manner than is common with such ridge," I had bewildered myself in metaphysics and autocratic functionaries as the head-masters of public schools. "Even before my fifteenth year," says Coletheological controversy. Nothing else pleased me. History and particular facts lost all interest in my mind. Poetry (though for a school-boy of that age was above par in English versification, &c.)-poetry itself, yea, novels and romances, became insipid to ." He preferred musing and discoursing me. I "Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute," to any other kind of occupation and research. "This preposterous pursuit was," says he, "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 into the unwholesome quicksand mines of metaphysic depths." Coleridge has left a testimony of his gratitude to Mr Bowles in a sonnet included in his works; but his appreciation of the compositions of this bard was shown more strikingly in his making, "within less than a year and a half, more than forty transcriptions of them, as the best present I could offer to those who, in any way, won my regard." Coleridge remained at Christ's Hospital school till he was nineteen; and having then outstripped all his schoolfellows, and become "captain," he was entitled to an exhibition (a species of partially gratuitous edu cation) at Cambridge University. In 1791, he entered Jesus' College, Cambridge, where his conduct does not appear to have been academic, or regular, in so far as he could not submit to the discipline essential to obtain honours or even approbation. Not that he was without honours, but he could not drudge at mathematics sufficiently to qualify him to outvie men immeasurably his inferiors in other acquirements. Partly from freak, and partly from disappointment in love, he foolishly quitted Cambridge, when pecuniary sup plies were as necessary to him as knowledge. Arriving in London, moneyless and spiritless, he wandered about the streets in a state of frenzied melancholy, in a strong fit of which he enlisted in the 15th Light Dragoons, under the alias of "Cumberback," a name taken at the moment, as he himself tells us, from an idea of his unskilful horsemanship, and as a designation that his horse would have given him, had it possessed the power of language. The cause of his release from this servitude is variously related, but always as resulting from the accidental discovery of his learning. By some it is said that his character was discovered by his officer, upon reading a Latin line which Coleridge had scribbled in the stable, under his saddle. To whatever cause his discharge was owing, his loss was not severely felt by the army, for he never could rub down his horse, or ride it. In a tap-room at Reading, immediately after his return, were written the chief portion of his "Religious Musings," considered by Bowles the "most correct, sublime, chaste, and beautiful, of his poems." At this period the French Revolution had inebriated most of the enthusiastic minds of Europe, and among others those of Coleridge, Mr Southey (the celebrated poet), and Mr R. Lovell, a young gentleman of some genius. They entertained a wild scheme of founding a kind of primitive society in the wilds of America, to be denominated "Pantisocracy," that is, an equality in every thing. On the banks of the Susquehannah were this worthy trio to found a colony that should realise all the conceptions of the golden age, without the aid of gold, for none of them had enough for himself, and the three together could not make up enough to pay the expenses of the voyage. Mr George Burnet, a student for the church, made a fourth associate. The four lingered at Bristol, displaying the advantages of the scheme, until the possibility of going at all became no longer questionable. The three poets married three sister graces of the unpoetical name of Fricker; Mr Southey quietly settled himself down as a law student at Gray's Inn; and Mr Coleridge and his wife departed to reside in a cottage at Clevedon, on the banks of the Severn, a few miles from Bristol. A more suitable residence for a poet could not have been selected than Clevedon, although it has now become a fashionable watering-place for the Bristolians. Coleridge has a beautiful little poem composed here, commencing "My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light, It was the good fortune of the writer of this sketch to visit and enjoy the beauties of Clevedon in company with perhaps, in many respects, a greater than even Coleridge, and unquestionably a more useful man of genius-the late celebrated Rev. Robert Hall, probably the most powerful pulpit orator of any age. We frequently rode over the very scenery that had most probably inspired Coleridge; nor was the tongue of the living preacher less voluble and eloquent with matters of high moment than that of the deceased poet. But this is too interesting a topic for the writer to trust himself upon. It must not be supposed that the cottage taken by our poet was an expensive tenement, for it does not appear that at the time he engaged it at the rent of L.5 per annum-that it possessed more than the four bare walls, the roof, doors, and windows. With the aid, however, of friends and tradesmen, all essential decorations and appurtenances were provided; and as to his income, he informed a friend that he felt little solicitude at present upon that point, inasmuch as Mr Cottle, a bookseller at Bristol, had agreed to give him one guinea and a half for every hundred lines of rhyme or blank verse. It was, we presume, about this period that Coleridge penned the following simply beautiful sonnet "To a friend who asked how I felt, when the nurse first presented my infant to me" : Charles! my slow heart was only sad, when first I scann'd that face of feeble infancy, Notwithstanding the beauty of Clevedon, our poet speedily discovered that its situation was exceedingly disadvantageous in many respects, and chiefly in that of distance from libraries. He therefore returned to Bristol. Of this period of his life several interesting letters and notices are preserved in a volume of "Recollections," which his patron Mr Cottle has given to the world. It appears that Mr Cottle entertained the kindest wishes towards him, and sedulously endeavoured, by offers of liberal remuneration, to induce him to exert the noble powers which he possessed. But Coleridge entirely wanted the power of application, and lived in the world as if subsistence were to be obtained as it was in the golden age. The difficulty he experienced in fulfilling his engagements to Mr Cottle, produced some penitential and interesting letters, in the chief of which, dated Feb. 22, 1796, he says. "It is my duty and business to thank God for all his dispensations, and to believe them the best possible; but indeed I think I should have been more thankful if he had made me a journeyman shoemaker, instead of an author by trade. I have left my friends-I have left plenty," &c. "So I am forced to write for bread!-write the flights of poetic enthusiasm, when every minute I am hearing a groan from my wife-groans, and complaints, and sickness! The present hour I am in a quickset of embarrassments, and whichever way I turn, a thorn runs into me! The future is a cloud and thick darkness! Poverty, perhaps, and the thin faces of them that want bread looking up to me," &c. Yet he occasionally seemed disposed to make energetic efforts. It was about this time that he projected a fourpenny periodical paper, styled "The Watchman." Prospectuses were issued, headed as usual, “Knowledge is power." To secure a corps of subscribers, the author undertook a journey to beat them up in various midland towns. The journey was successful as far as regarded the securing of 1000 subscribers, and the display of his talents as a preacher. In some of the dissenters' chapels in these towns, he delivered discourses, which, by courtesy, might be styled sermons, but were in reality political harangues. The disposition of his mind at this time for the clerical profession may be judged from an entry in his note-book, where, after chronicling some very unspiritual proceedings on his own part, he adds-"N.B.-I preached yesterday!" "The Watchman," as might have been expected, was too dry for general readers, and died in the ninth number; many subscribers having discontinued it at the several intermediate numbers-one gentleman because "he did not find his boys improve much under it !" After this abortive attempt, "I retired," says he, "to a cottage at Storvey (in Somersetshire), and provided for my scanty maintenance by writing verses for a London morning paper. I saw plainly that literature was not a profession by which I could expect to live; for I could not disguise from myself that, whatever my talents might or might not be in other respects, yet they were not of the sort that could enable me to become a popular writer." As a poet, however, he was better received by the public, for a second edition of an early published poetical volume was now called for, to which were added poems by Charles Lamb and Charles Lloyd. In this or some similar volume appeared his most admired love poem, "Genevieve." Its simple beauty and exquisite pathos, in conjunction with its fame, induce us to give it entire. "All thoughts, all passions, all delights, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I' The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, She lean'd against the armed man, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, I play'd a soft and doleful air, I sung an old and moving story- She listen'd with a flitting blush, I told her of the knight that wore I told her how he pined; and ah! She listen'd with a flitting blush, But when I told the cruel scorn But sometimes from the savage den, And how, unknowing what he did, And how she wept and clasp'd his knees, The scorn that crazed his brain: A dying man he lay ; His dying words-but when I reach'd She wept with pity and delight, I heard her breathe my name. She fled to me and wept. The swelling of her heart. I calm'd her fears; and she was calm, My bright and beauteous bride!" Nearly all the love poems of Coleridge display a peculiar pathos and classic purity. There is an unusual absence of extravagance and of license whenever he sings-to employ his own words— "Of transient joys that ask no sting was In 1798, Coleridge went to Shrewsbury to succeed Mr Rowe in preaching to an Unitarian congregation there. Here it was that Hazlitt (then young) became acquainted with him; and from Hazlitt's description of him, we are brought very nearly to the pleasure of an introduction to the poet without the formality of "His coman annunciation of names and titles. plexion," according to this gentleman's account, at that time clear, and even bright. His forehead was broad and high, light as if built of ivory, with large projecting eyebrows, and his eyes rolling beneath them, like a sea, with darkened lustre. His mouth was gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent; his chin goodhumoured and round; but his nose, the rudder of the face, the index of the will, was small, feeble, nothing like what he has done (that is, compared with his powers and intentions). In his person he was rather above the common size, inclining to the corpulent. His hair (now alas, grey !) was then black and glossy as the raven's, and fell in smooth masses over his forehead." From a portrait of him when young, which we have seen at Mr Cottle's house at Bristol, we would have said that he possessed at that time a particularly pleasing countenance. His friends, the Messrs Wedgwood, munificently granted him an annuity (L.150 per annum) to enable him to devote himself to study; and in 1798, he visited Germany for this purpose. His friend, the poet Wordsworth, accompanied him, and on returning to England, left him to study at Gottingen. On his return from Germany, in 1800, he joined his friends, Wordsworth and Southey, then residing amongst the lakes of Cumberland. He now published his translation of Schiller's Wallenstein, which has been pronounced by an eminent critic to be the best translation in the English language. He was shortly after induced to undertake the conduct of the literary and political department of the Morning Post newspaper, in which duty he "wasted the prime and manhood of his intellect," according to the belief of his friends. About this time Coleridge attempted, with Sheridan's countenance, to bring a tragedy upon the stage at Drury Lane. Of the merits of this piece we know nothing; but it is affirmed that at the rehearsal it was spoilt for the actors, by the inability of Sheridan to restrain what he thought a good jest. One scene represented a cave, with streams of water weeping down the sides; and the opening words were intended for a species of imitation of the sound, being " Drip, drip, drip!" Upon which Sheridan repeated aloud, "Drip, drip, drip-why, bless my soul, there's nothing here but dripping!" The consequent chorus of laughter among his myrmidons was fatal to the piece. In 1804, Coleridge visited Malta, of which Sir Alexander Ball was then governor. Sir Alexander being at that time in want of a secretary, and becoming pleased with Coleridge, appointed him to that office, with, it is said, a salary of L.800 per annum. At the best of times, few men could have been more unfit than our poet for office business; but it does not appear improbable that, at this period, he was indulging in the habit of opium-drinking. Be this as it may, he was secretary no longer than nine months, at the ex dised man of letters. OCCASIONAL NOTES. DISINTERESTEDNESS OF OPINION. piration of which he left Malta and visited Italy, that what was combated when said by one living at Mount Etna, &c., and returned to England by way a distance, has been repeated by metropolitan newsof Leghorn. His known political bias and writings had rendered his presence in those countries hazard-papers in such terms as confirm the truth of all that ous, and it was only by an amusing but strong inwe advanced. The Morning Herald and Times have stance of devotedness on the part of an unscrupulous recently spoken of the streets as in a state thoroughly captain, captivated by his discourse, that he obtained disgraceful to the first city in the world. The forhis passport. The captain swore that Coleridge was an mer paper (December 16, 1841) says:-"Nothing old acquaintance of his whom he had taken as his steward; and upon inventing a circumstantial de- is so much required in London as improvement in scription of his life and residence, rescued the jeopar- the management of its streets. At present, the streets are cleaned by persons who pay for permission to do so, and who profit by the sale of the stuff they take away. This, assuredly, is a most mistaken plan; for the contractors naturally calculate, that, as the refuse is sure to come to them, it does not matter how long they allow it to lie; and the result is the keeping of the streets (more especially those in the districts inhabited exclusively by poor people) in a most odious if not pernicious state of uncleanliness. To remedy this disgraceful absurdity, what is to hinder the citizens of London from having their scavengerings done under the care of properly constituted committees of rate-payers, whose first object it should be to keep the city clean, and only the second to make money by the refuse ?" The Times (January 1842) adverted to the quantities of mud allowed to accumulate in the principal thoroughfares, and the inadequacy of all the arrangements for cleaning the city. "At present," it said, "London is one of the dirtiest cities in Europe, although no other is so well supplied with water." We need scarcely remark, what a distressing confirmation of all these views was supplied a few years ago by the evidence of Dr Southwood Smith, Dr Arnott, and others, before a committee of the House of Commons. THE Niger Expedition has signally failed. We have no wish to discuss the general subject, but there is one circumstance on which we would make a few remarks. Mr Jamieson, a Liverpool merchant, described as of "high character," gave a warning of the fate which the expedition was likely to meet. He was enabled to do so by his knowledge of the physical conditions of the country watered by the mouths of the Niger, this knowledge having been obtained in the course of conducting mercantile transactions in that country. The warning was disregarded, and Mr Jamieson was subjected, on account of it, to much vituperation by the promoters of the expedition, who professed to see in his opposition only interested views, conceiving that he might regard the proceedings of the Slavery-Extinction Society as likely to interfere with his own trade. Mr Jamieson, nevertheless, sent instructions to Mr Beecroft, the commander of a vessel belonging to him which traded about the mouths of the Niger, ordering that he should be ready to afford any assistance or relief that might be in his power, in the event of his predictions as to the expedition being fulfilled. When the two last vessels of the expedition, the Wilberforce and Albert, were returning down the river in the greatest distress, conducted by the surgeon and naturalist, they were met at Eboe by Mr Beecroft, who had come in his little steamer in order to render them assistance. It is acknowledged that the unfortunate gentlemen on board the two vessels were at this time reduced nearly to despair, and that they would scarcely have been able to get to the open sea unassisted. Beecroft, in conformity with the instructions which he had received from Mr Jamieson, lent them all the aid in his power, and proved the means of rescuing them from the horrors of their situation. This is a statement which speaks for itself on the main point, namely, the magnanimity of Mr Jamieson, to whom we conceive the universal approbation of his country to be due. But do we not also see in it the danger of too readily assuming that testimony must needs be false, when it comes from a party who may be presumed to have some interest in the view which he takes? It is generally, by common minds, thought quite decisive on such a point, when the person giving the testimony can be made out to have, by the barest possibility, a selfish reason for speaking as he does. Now, undoubtedly, many opinions are adopted for selfish reasons; but they are not always So. It often happens that the connexion of the person with the case is more that of experience or knowledge than that of interest. Many men are removed, by native integrity and the independence of their circumstances, above selfish considerations which would operate with others, and are able to give a correct opinion without regard to their interests. It is a great pity to lose all the benefit of testimony of this kind merely from blind adherence to a rule that where there is an interest there cannot be a true judgment. It may often happen, as in the case of Mr Jamieson, that very important evidence is thus lost, and that great evils come in consequence. It would surely be proper in such cases to use some cool discrimination as to the character of the person giving testimony, and allow it a weight in proportion to the presumed exemption of the party from the influences which are apt to bewray human opinion. STATE OF THE STREETS OF LONDON. None but the ignorant and thoughtless can regard this as merely a question of taste or convenience. The health of vast multitudes of people depends on it. Dirt, as well as war and famine, annually reckons its hordes of victims; and we thoroughly believe that nowhere is it more destructive than in the more densely peopled parts of London. HISTORY OF WHEAT IN SCOTLAND. The great improvements in agriculture during the last century, have resulted in giving us perhaps a too mean opinion of its condition in earlier times. We find, for instance, that, in some modern works, the cultivation of wheat is spoken of as having been quite a wonder in Scotland at no distant date. In the New Statistical Account of Scotland, there is a statement, repeated in M'Culloch's Dictionary of Commerce, that this crop was so little known in 1725, that a field of eight acres sown with it near Edinburgh in that year, was visited as a curiosity. There may be some foundation for this anecdote ; but it is certainly false as conveying the idea that wheat was then a new and rare article of produce in our northern soil. We shall endeavour to make this good by a reference to documents of incontestible authority. An agricultural report as to Mid-Lothian, in 1793, states the number of acres in this county under wheat to be from 7000 to 8000; but that towards the beginning of the century there could not be more than 1000 acres under wheat. The latter statement, we think, is probably under the truth; still it is very different from the eight-acre story. We have next the fiars of our county, beginning in 1635, contracted into a table giving the average of every ten years. In this table we have the average lowest. And there are five divisions in the table of three kinds of each grain-highest, middle, and 1. Wheat; 2. Bere or barley; 3. Oats; 4. Oatmeal; 5. Peas. From which it clearly appears, that wheat was an ordinary article of produce in 1635, and it is rather curious that the average then was higher than it was a century later. In 1663, the first corn act was passed in the Scottish parliament; by it wheat was allowed to be exported under 20s. sterling per boll; barley, 13s. 4d.; and oats and peas, Ss. 10d. In 1695, the first bounty was allowed on exportation, namely, 10 merks per chalder of 16 bolls. Proceeding another century back, we come to the period before the Reformation in 1560, and here we are able to quote two or three rentals connected with the religious establishment of the country. From "Grierson's Delineation of St Andrews," it appears that the last Catholic Archbishop made a return of his income as follows:-Wheat, 489 bolls; Last summer, an article appeared in the Journal bere, 666; oats, 1072; and in money, L.2904, 7s. 2d. respecting the state of the streets of London, and the Scots, then valued about one-sixth of sterling, not danger to public health from the defective arrange-one-twelfth as at present. In short, our primate must ments for removing the refuse constantly accumulating rental of the priory of St Andrews, which some time have had equal to about L.5000 sterling a-year. The in so large a city. This paper somehow offended a local before had been disconnected with the archbishopric, feeling, which we could not have previously believed greatly exceeds the above, but the proportions are to exist in the metropolis; but we are glad to observe | similar. The Abbey of Holyrood was founded and endowed by David I. in 1128, for canons regular of St Augus tine. Besides privileges of various kinds, the king gave them portions of land in different places. Before the Reformation, the annual revenues of the monastery were-442 bolls wheat, 640 bolls bere, 560 bolls oats, 500 capons, 2 dozen hens, 2 dozen salmon, 12 loads salt, besides a number of swine, and about L.250 sterling in money. These rentals, the authenticity of which is unquestionable, appear to us to denote that the proportion of the cereals in our early agriculture was not greatly dissimilar to what it is in Lothian and Fife at the present time. THE IRISH PIPERS. BY WILLIAM CARLETON. THOSE who minister to amusement are every where popular characters, and fully as much so in Ireland as other countries. Here, amongst the people at large, no sort of person is more kindly regarded than the wandering fiddler or piper, two classes of artists who may be said to have the whole business of keeping Paddy in good humour upon their shoulders. The piper is especially a favourite in the primitive provinces of Munster and Connaught. In Leinster they are not so common; and in the north may be described as rare, though I am not sure but that, for this very reason, they are as welcome in Ulster as in the other provinces, their notes producing an impression which is agreeable in proportion to its novelty. Of course it is but natural that there should exist a striking resemblance between the respective habits and modes of life which characterise the fiddler and piper. For this reason, in describing the piper, I shall take leave to use the same terms which I lately employed in another place in describing the fiddler, changing only the names of the instrument and the musician. "The piper is a being peculiarly free from care, especially if he be blind, which he generally is. His want of sight circumscribes his other wants, and, whilst it diminishes his enjoyments, not only renders him unconscious of their loss, but gives a greater zest to those that are left him, simple and innocent as they are. He is in truth a man whose lot is happily cast, and whose lines have fallen in pleasant places. The phase of life which is presented to him, and in which he moves, is one of innocent mirth and harmless enjoyment. Marriages, weddings, dances, and merrymakings of all descriptions, create the atmosphere of mirth and happiness which he ever breathes. With he has nothing to do, and his light spirit is never dethe dark designs, the crimes, and outrages of mankind, pressed by their influence. Indeed, he may be said with truth to pass through none but the festivals of life, to hear nothing but mirth, to feel nothing but to all around him. He is at once the source and the kindness, and to communicate nothing but happiness centre of all good and friendly feelings. By him the aged man forgets his years, and is agreeably cheated back into youth; the labourer snatches a pleasant moment from his toil, and is happy; the care-worn ceases to remember the anxieties that press him down; the boy is enraptured with delight, and the child is charmed with a pleasure that he feels to be wonderful. Surely such a man is important, as filling up with enjoyment so many of the painful pauses in human misery. He is a thousand times better than a politiEvery man is his friend, unless it be a rival piper; and cian, and is a true philosopher without knowing it. he is the friend of every man, with the same exception. Every house, too, every heart, and every hand, is open to him; he never knows what it is to want a bed, a dinner, or a shilling. And what more, it may be asked, can the cravings of a human heart desire! And yet, alas! there is no condition of life without I witnessed, connected with this very subject, that some remote or contingent sorrow. Many a scene havewould wring the tears out of any eye, and find a tender pulse in the hardest heart. It is indeed a melancholy employment that is ultimately productive of so much alternative that devotes the poor sightless lad to an happiness to himself and others. This alternative is seldom resorted to, unless when some poor child-perhaps a favourite-is deprived of sight by the terrible ravages of the small-pox. In life there is scarcely any thing more touching, than to witness in the innocent invalid the first effects, both upon himself and his parents, of this woeful privation. The utter helplessness of the pitiable darkling, and his total dependence upon those around him-his unacquaintance with the relative situation of all the places that were familiar to him-his tottering and timid step, and his affecting call of 'Mammy, where are you?' joined to the bitter consciousness on her part that the light of affection and innocence will never sparkle in those beloved eyes again all this constitutes a scene of deep and bitter sorrow. When, however, the sense of his bereavement passes away, and the cherished child grows up to the proper age, pipes are procured for him by his parents, if they are able, and if not, a subscription is made up among their friends and neighbours to buy him them. All the family, with tears in their eyes, then kiss and hand, leads him, as had been previously arranged, to take leave of him; and his mother, taking him by the *In a paper on Irish Fiddlers, contributed to the late excellent periodical entitled The Irish Penny Journal. the best piper in the neighbourhood, with whom he is left as an apprentice. There is generally no fee required; but he is engaged to hand his master all the money he can make at dances, from the time he is proficient enough to play at them. Such is the simple process of putting a blind boy in the way of becoming acquainted with the science of melody." În addition to this, it may be observed of the piper, that, although most of his associations are drawn from the habits of the people, in contradistinction to those of the higher classes, yet it is unquestionably true that he is strongly imbued with the lingering remains of that old feudal spirit which has now nearly departed from the country. Even although generally neglected by the gentry, and almost utterly overlooked by the nobility, yet it is a melancholy but beautiful trait of "the old feeling," which prompts him always to speak of them with respect and deference. He will admit, indeed, that there is a degeneration; that "the good ould stock is gone; and that the big house is not what it used to be, whin the square's father would bring him into the parlour before all the quality, and make him play his two favourite tunes of the ForHunther's Jig and the Hare in the Corn. Instead o' that, the sorra ha'porth now will sarve them but a kind of musical coffin, that they call a pianna thirty, or forty, or something that way, that to hear it 'ud make a dog sthrike his father, if he didn't behave himself." This is the utmost length to which he carries his censure, and even this is uttered "more in sorrow than in anger." On the contrary, nothing can be more amusing than the simple and complacent pride with which he informs his hearers that, "as he passed the big house, the young square brought him in-an' it's himself that knows what the good ould smack o' the pipes is, an' more betoken, so he ought-an' kind father for him to do so-it's the ould square himself that had the true Irish relish for them. I played him all his father's favourites, both in the light way and in the sorrowful. Whin I was done, he slipt five shillins into my hand. Take this,' said he, for the sake o' thim that's gone an' of the ould times.' He spoke low, an' in a hurry, as if his heart was in what he said; an' somehow I felt a tear on my cheek at the time; for it is a sorrowful thing to think how the blessed ould airs of our counthry-the only ones that go to the heart-are now so little known an' thought of, that a fashionable lady of the present day would feel ashamed to acknowledge them, or play them in company. Fareer gair!—it's a bad sign of the times, any how may God mend them !" The Irish piper, from the necessary monotony of his life, is generally a man of much simplicity of character-not, however, without a cast of humour, which is at once single-minded and shrewd. His little jealousies and heart-burnings-and he has his shareform the serious evils of his life; but it is remarkable that scarcely in a single instance are these indulged in at the expense of the fiddler, who is by no means looked upon as a rival. Not so his brother piper; for, in truth, the high and doughty spirit of competition by which they are animated, never passes out of their own class, but burns with heroic rage amongst themselves. The lengths to which this spirit has been frequently carried, are ludicrous almost beyond belief. The moment a piper's reputation is established on his beat, that moment commences his misery. Those from the neighbouring beats assail him by challenges that contain any thing but principles of harmony. Sometimes, it is true, they are cunning enough to come disguised to hear him; and if they imagine that a trial of skill is not likely to redound to their credit, they slink off without allowing any one, unless some particular confidant, to become cognisant of their secret. These comical contests were, about forty or fifty years ago, much more frequent than they have been of late. In the good piperly old times, however, when the farmers of Ireland brewed their own beer, and had whisky for a shilling a-quart, the challenges, defeats, escapes, and pursuits, which took place between persons of this class, were rich in dramatic effect, and afforded great amusement to both the gentry and the people. I remember hearing the history of a chase, in which a piper named Sullivan pursued a rival for eighteen months through the whole province of Munster before he caught him, and all in order to ascertain, by a trial of skill, whether his antagonist was more entitled to have the epithet "great" prefixed to his name than he himself. It appears that the friends and admirers of the former were in the habit of calling him "the Great Piper Reillaghan," a circumstance which so completely roused the aspiring soul of his opponent, that he declared he would never rest, night or day, until he stripped him of the epithet "great" and transferred it to his own name. He was beaten, however, and that by a manoeuvre of an extraordinary kind. Reillaghan offered to play against him while drunk-Sullivan to remain sober. Sullivan, thrown off his guard, and anxious under any circumstances to be able to boast of a victory over such an antagonist, agreed, and was consequently overcome; the truth being, that his opponent, like Carolan on the harp, was never able properly to distinguish himself as a performer unless when under the inspiration of whisky. Sullivan, not at all aware of the trick that the other had played upon him, of course took it for granted that, as he had stood no chance with Reillaghan when Many a distinguished piper have we heard, but never at all any whom we could think for a moment of comparing with Gaynor. Unlike Talbot, it mattered not when or where he played; his ravishing notes were still the same, for he possessed the power of utterly abstracting his whole spirit into his music, and any body who looked upon his pale and intellectual countenance, could perceive the lights and shadows of the Irish heart flit over it, with a change and rapidity which nothing but the soul of genius could command. Gaynor, though comparatively unknown to any kind of fame but a local one, was yet not unknown to himself. In truth, though modest, humble, and unassuming in his manners, he possessed the true pride of genius. For instance, though willing to play in a respectable farmer's house for the amusement of the family, he never could be prevailed on to play at a common dance; and his reasons, which I have often heard him urge, were such as exhibit the spirit and intellect of the man. "My music," said he, "isn't for the feet or the floor, but for the ear and the heart; you'll get plinty of foot pipers, but I'm none o' them." I will now give a brief sketch of the last evening I ever spent in his society; and as some of his observations bore slightly upon Scotch music, they may probably be perused with the more interest by my Caledonian readers. drunk, he must have a still less one in his sobriety; cultural county of Louth, in spite of the competition The man, however, who ought to sit as the true type and representative of the Irish piper, is he whose whole life is passed among the peasantry, with the exception of an occasional elevation to the lord's hall or the squire's, parlour-who is equally conversant with the Irish and English languages-has neither wife nor child, house nor home, but circulates from one village or farm-house to another, carrying mirth, amusement, and a warm welcome, with him whereever he goes, and filling the hearts of the young with happiness and delight. The true Irish piper must wear a frieze coat, corduroy breeches, grey woollen stockings, smoke tobacco, drink whisky, and take snuff; for it is absolutely necessary, from his peculiar position among the people, that he should be a walking encyclopædia of Irish social usages. And so he generally is; for to the practice and cultivation of these the simple tenor of his inoffensive life is devoted. The most perfect specimen of this class we ever were acquainted with, was a blind man known by the name of "Piper Gaynor." His beat extended through the county of Louth, and occasionally through those of Meath and Monaghan. Gaynor was precisely such a man as I have just described, both as to dress, a knowledge of English and Irish, and a thorough feeling of all those mellow old tints, which an incipient change in the spirit of Irish society threatened even then to obliterate. I have said he was blind, but, unlike Talbot's, his face was smooth; and his pale placid features, while playing on his pipes, were absolutely radiant with enthusiasm and genius. He was a widower, and had won one of the fairest and most modest girls in the rich agri *Badagh signifies a churl, and was originally applied as a word of offence to the English settlers. The offensive meaning, how. ever, is not now always attached to it, although it often is. When I made my appearance in the kitchen, he was putting a tobacco-pipe into his mouth, but held it back for a moment, and exclaimed, "I ought to know that foot!"—after which he extended his hand, and asked me by name how I did. He then sat a while in silence-for such were his habits-and having "sucked his doodeen," as they say, he began to blow his bellows, and played Scots who hae. When he had finished it, "Well, I observed, what a fine piece of martial music that is !" "No, no," he replied, shaking his head, "there's more tears than blood in it. It's too sorrowful for war; play it as you will, it's not the thing to rise the heart, but to sink it." "But what do you think, Gaynor, of the Scotch music in general?" "Would you have me to spake ill of my own?" he replied, with a smile; "sure, they had it from uz." Well, even so; they have not made a bad use of "God knows, they haven't," he replied; "the Scotch airs-many o' them-is the very breath of the heart itself." it." Even then I was much struck with the force of this expression; but I was too young fully to perceive either its truth or beauty. The conversation then became general, and he addressed himself with a great deal of naïveté to the youngsters, who began to banter him on the subject of a second wife. "How can dark men choose a wife, Mr Gaynor ?" "God, avourneen, makes up in one sense what they want in another. 'Tis the ear, 'tis the ear!" continued he, with apparent emotion; "that's what will never desave you. It did not desave me, an' it never will desave any body-no, indeed!" "Why, how do you prove that, Ned?" "It isn't the song," continued Ned; "no, nor the laugh; for I knewn them that could sing like angels, and, to all appearance, were merry enough too, an' God forgive them, there was little but bittherness in them after all: but it's the every-day voice, aisy and natural; if there's sweetness in that, you may depind there's music in the heart it comes from; so that, as I said, childre, it's the ear that judges." This, coming from a man who had not his sight, was, indeed, very characteristic; and we certainly believe that the observation contains a great deal of moral truth at least Shakspeare was certainly of the same opinion. |
