the passes; that the mesmeric influence of the operator excites this principle in the patient, as heat kindles heat upon communication. Neuralgic pains are soon relieved by the passes. They return after a while, but are quieted for the time. An article on electro-biology in the last Westminster, reducing all the phenomena under ordinary causes, I think shallow, and know to be mistaken. I have not yet opened the book of new poetry you have sent me to read, but hope to do so ere we meet. I have a great many books on hand, and Derwent keeps me busy in matters which he is concerned in, as far as my weak strength will allow. He wants some new editions of the Esteesian Marginalia prepared for the press, and this cannot be done at present, as I have so long been the Esteesian housekeeper, without my superintendence. We have seen a good deal lately of Mr. Blackburne, poetical friend of my brother Hartley, a charming converser, but very much in want of a steady, regular profession. He has always some new poem or poemet to recite whenever he comes. His poetry is graceful, abounding in sweet images, but lacks bone. He is too fond, I think, of the boneless Keatsian sort of poetry, which is all marrow, and wearies one at last with its want of fibre. Indeed, I say the other extreme is better in the end. October 2nd.-Sweet Derwent Isle! how many, many scenes of my youth arise in my mind in connection with thee! I had a personal and a second-hand association with that lovely spot; for Mama used to tell me much of Emma, the first young wife of General Peachey, youngest daughter of Mr. Charter of Taunton, whom my Uncle Southey so beautifully described in those epitaph lines, which present her as she appeared, "like a dream of old romance, skimming along in her little boat, and how she was laid, before her youth had ripened into full summer, amid Madeira's orange-groves to rest." She was tall-a man's height five foot eight at least, but so feminine-a slender, blueeyed blonde. I cannot remember that fair Emma; but what pleasant visits have I paid to the Island-in summer, autumn, icy winter in the second lady's time! There I was when the Archdukes came to visit the Island, and lunched there after the entrance of the Allied Kings into Paris. Oh! the fussiness of the General on that occasion! How their Serenities Russianly absorbed the preservative butter of the potted char! What a beautiful Prussian Count they had with them, with whom I fancied myself in love for two or three days!-tried hard to be, I believe, though the cement was wanting of advances on his part towards me, without which Apollo himself would soon have slipped away from my heart and fancy. Sometimes we were detained in the Island by stress of weather, and once were prevented from a visit to it by the same cause. I wonder whether the feathery fern I transplanted from the Cardingmill Field, the part among trees beside the river, is yet living, and the beech-tree, which I used to climb, with its copper foliage, at the foot of which, in spring, a few crocuses grew. I was quite sorry to say farewell to C. H. Townshend. He was more agreeable, more clever in talk, than ever; and we have such interesting common Greta Hall and Keswick remembrances. A sweet and affecting set of verses from Blackburne, on receiving back old letters of Hartley's, "There they lie, a frozen ocean, But the ardour and the motion Of the heart beats there no more. And thy hair like autumn light." Oh, Keswick vale! and shall I really die, and never, never see thee again? Surely there will be another Keswick-all the loveliness transfused, the hope, the joy of youth! How wholly was that joy the work of imagination! Oh, this life is very dear to me! The outward beauty of earth, and the love and sympathy of fellow-creatures, make it, to my feelings, a sort of heaven half ruined-an Elysium into which a dark tumultuous ocean is perpetually rushing in to agitate and destroy, to lay low the blooming bowers of tranquil bliss, and drown the rich harvests. Love is the sun of this lower world; and we know from the beloved Disciple that it will be the bliss of Heaven. God is Love; and whatever there may be that we cannot now conceive, love will surely be contained in it. It will be Love sublimed, and incorporated in Beauty infinite and perfect. I am very faint and weak to-day-more so than I have yet been; but I have been as low in nerves often formerly, otherwise I might think that I had entered into the dark valley, and was approaching the river of Death. How kind of Bunyan-what a beneficent imagination-to shadow out death as a river, which is so pleasant to the mind, and carries it on into regions bright and fair beyond that boundary stream. She is a Miss Fenwick is to me an angel upon earth. Her being near me now has seemed a special providence. God bless her, and spare her to us and her many friends. noble creature, all tenderness and strength. When I first became acquainted with her, I saw at once that her heart was of the very finest, richest quality; and her wisdom and insight are, as ever must be in such a case, exactly correspondent. THE END APPROACHING. 423 V. Leave-taking-Value of a Profession—A Lily, and a Poem-Flowers— Beauty and Use. TO THOMAS BLACKBURNE, Esq. 10, Chester Place, October 13th, 1851.-I feel much in saying farewell to you, dear friend of my ever-lamented brother. You have known me in a sad, shaded stage of my existence, yet have greeted my poor autumn as brightly and genially as if it were spring or summer. Hitherto my head has been "above water; ere you return to this busy town, the waves may have gone over my head. My great endeavour is not to foreshape the future in particulars, but knowing that my strength always has been equal to my day, when the day is come, to feel that it ever will be so on to the end, come what may, and that all things, except a reproaching conscience, are "less dreadful than they seem." God bless you! Cultivate your poetical talent, which will ever be a delight to you, but still, as I used to say to my friend Mr. have a profession,-a broad beam of the house of life, around which the bright occasional garland may be woven from time to time.-Believe me, dear Mr. Blackburne, yours with much regard, SARA COLERIDGE. 66 Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave To fortitude without reprieve," * are words that often sound in my ear. Wordsworth was more to my opening mind in the way of religious consolation than all books put together except the Bible. "White Doe of Rylstone," Canto II.-E. C. Regent's Park, September 28th.-Thank you, dear Mr. Blackburne, for that beauteous flower and lovely poem. Two lines I specially admire "And like a poet tell it with a blossom The corolla of flowers is intended to protect the fructifying system in its tender state. But this purpose might have been served by something unsightly. Nature has provided exquisite beauty both in the stamina and pistils (which give all the grace and spirit to many blossoms, or, expanding into petals, form the richness of the rosa centifolia, and numberless other double flowers), and in their guard, which exceeds the robes of Solomon, and rivals the butterfly, which "flutters with free wings above it." How stupid are those people who reduce all beauty to the sense of usefulness-early association! I have heard a very clever man insist that children may be taught to admire toads and spiders, and think them as beautiful as butterflies, birds of paradise, or such a lily as you have sent me. VI. Proposal to visit the South of France-Climate and Society of Lausanne The Spasmodic School of Poetry-Article on Immortality, in the Westminster Review-Outward Means a part of the Christian Scheme-The "Evil Heart of Unbelief "-The Foundations of Religion. TO AUBREY DE VERE, Esq. Chester Place, October 19th, 1851.-My dear Friend,-Are you still at that dear Derwent Island? I must direct a few lines thither for the chance of their finding you there. Since your last most kind letter, I have been longing to thank you for its most soothing contents. I am sure you would have a pleasure in giving up your own favourite project of visiting Rome,-postponing it in |