that we would be more circumspect for the future, Surely she could not say that men escaped with impunity.

Can you believe that, after our solemn asseveration and evident disclosure in our Second Number, there are still people wicked enough to suppose that the dreadful conspiracy against our fame, our honour, our best interests, never in reality existed? This really provoked me greatly; I assured them, I protested, I proceeded to appeal, but all in vain; they still remained incredulous. Some means must be adopted against the offenders, and then there is some chance of these cavillers being satisfied.

One day I was terribly annoyed by a gentleman arrived fresh from London, who, on being introduced to me as an Etonian, begged to know if I was the Golightly who cut such a conspicuous figure in “The Etonian." I confessed that I was, looking miserably ashamed the whole time. I longed to be Oakley, to have a "No" at the tip of my tongue. "Well," said he, "I can hardly believe you; for on my going to Warren's to inquire after the Fourth Number the other day, I was credibly informed that a son of Mr. Serjeant Raide was the principal Manager, and that the Club, punch-bowl, &c. were all ideal. I was violently alarmed during the whole of this speech, lest he should blunder upon "Rawsdon Court;" so I lost no time in setting him right, and afterwards discovered, to my great comfort, that he was an entire stranger, and neither knew Rawsdon Court, nor its inhabitants.

I have borne all these trials and torments with incredible patience; but that you, my dear Peregrine, should be mistaken for this Raide, when we all know that there is no such boy in the School, is too provoking to be ludicrous.

I find myself beginning to be in a passion; so, with my best wishes for the speedy appearance of N° IV., re

main,

Your Majesty's most loyal

and devoted servant,

F. G.

P. S. I inclose you a few stanzas, which perhaps may serve to fill up a vacant space in one of your Numbers. I am going to my uncle's in Wiltshire, on Wednesday, for three or four days; I am invited to a delightful party there, and I will send you an account of it.-Direct to me, at Henry Peak's, Esq., Burbage-Hall, near Salisbury.

TO MISS F. HARRISON.

Он lady, since I must away

From this gay scene of pleasure,
To thee I leave this idle lay,

Despise not thou the measure;
And though no treasured pledge bear I
Of Rawsdon to remind me,

My heart will sometimes breathe a sigh
To those I leave behind me.

I boast not, I, a love-sick brow,
Nor breast of burning anguish ;
The merry Muse that greets thee now
Was never form'd to languish,
But, though my heart is light and free,
From belle to belle a rover,

Yet deem the bard a friend to thee,
Who is to none a lover.

Let sad Montgomery weep and whine
To Caroline or Chloe,

And swear their blue eyes are divine,
Their bosoms soft and snowy;

That gently on each ivory brow
The flaxen curl reposes,

That on their lips twin cherries grow,
And lilies deck their noses.

I hate the mawkish eye of blue,
That stares as if 't were sleeping,
That ne'er the beams of laughter knew,
And seems too cold for weeping.
I ne'er have admiration known
For those insipid Misses,

Whose lips have cold and pouting grown
Beneath love's burning kisses.

Give me the laughing, bright, black eye,
That swims beneath the lashes,
Through which the soul beams momently
In fifty thousand flashes.

Give me the wild and liquid glance,
With love's own lustre bright'ning,
That flings o'er all the countenance
The heart's etherial lightning.

Oh, Rawsdon's belles are wondrous fair!
Their eyes!-oh! Venus lights them;
Cupid lies tangled in their hair,

And curst be he who slights them.
But when from this gay scene I'm gone,
Through classic groves to wander,
At Rawsdon I shall leave but one
On whom my heart will ponder.

Then, lady, take this parting strain,
And think on him who sends it;
The subject of my verse, 'tis plain,
And not the style, commends it.
Scorn not such weak and careless song,
But deem it gay and sprightly;

And sometimes, 'midst this courtly throng
Remember

Rawsdon Court, November 29, 1820.

F. GOLIGHTLY,

I

ON COLERIDGE'S POETRY.

TO RICHARD HODGSON, SECRETARY, &c.

MY DEAR HODGSON,-From my avowed poetical predilections, you will not be surprised at my troubling you with another attempt to advocate the merits of the objects of them; and it would seem that the transition from Wordsworth to Coleridge is both a natural and convenient one, considering the early and intimate communion that has existed between them, that the works of either are so mutually impregnated with the spirit of the other, and that in short there is so much of Wordsworth in Coleridge, and so much of Coleridge in Wordsworth. It is not, however, my place or my intention to consider Coleridge in the character in which for some years past he has chosen exclusively to appear; nor will presume either to accuse or lament, much less to rail at, what many have and many will term a useless waste of learning and talent, or at least a wilful perversion of intellect, which might have spread its genial and restorative influences over the whole extent of polite literature, politics, and theology. To deny that in "The Friend" is displayed great erudition, brilliant talent, much occasional pathos, and not seldom the very highest inventive and exploring energy in the obscure region of metaphysics, would simply show that the person who so denied the existence of these qualities was incapable of feeling their power. But conceding this, as I do most cordially, yet let me question whether a large share of "The Friend" and of the first "Lay Sermon" must not for ever be, for any purposes of practical advancement in the study of the mind, a mere vox et præterea nihil; and this not only to the "general," or operatives, as they

are called, but even to that sum total of speculative minds, who, by the Philosopher's own system, are to be the media, through which the original rays of light, springing from that system, may be transmitted and scattered over the nations. The substance of this objection has, I am aware, been often urged before; and Mr. Coleridge has, in his "Friend" and elsewhere, repeatedly put in his answer :-that his subject is the most profound and abstruse to which we can apply ourselves; that to make an actual advance in it requires new modes of thinking, new modes of expression in the author, and a corresponding effort in the reader, to follow him; that the present age especially is overrun with the plague of superficial education; and that, abstractedly considered, the attempts to popularize learning and philosophy must end in the plebification of knowledge! Be it so:-I am as far from being gratified at the notion of a "Reading Public" as Mr. Coleridge can be; and I perfectly detest the whole system so much in fashion now of making easy what ought not to be learnt without some difficulty; for examples of which precious practice take, "The History of England made perfectly easy to Children, in a series of Maps;" "The system of Linnæus rendered intelligible to Young Ladies, in a series of Questions and Answers; nay, very lately, "The Whole Duty of a Christian Exemplified-by a Pack of Cards;" which last I suppose is meant, amongst other Christian duties, to inculcate the use and practice of gambling! But then assuredly there is another extreme; and, if Mr. Coleridge has fallen into it, perhaps it was the natural effect of the re-action of his mind occasioned by these convictions;-but that there is such an extreme who will deny? ---and that the first volume of the "Biographia Literaria” can show some specimens of it, perhaps not many will be found hardy enough to dispute. Lord Bacon and Sir Isaac Newton both made as great advances in the knowledge of Mind and Nature as any two men that