6. A man's power to connect his thought with its proper symbol, and so to utter it, depends on the simplicity of his character, that is, upon his love of truth, and his desire to communicate it without loss. The corruption of man is followed by the corruption of language. When simplicity of character and the sovereignty of ideas are broken up by the prevalence of secondary desires, the desire of riches, of pleasure, of power, and of praise, and duplicity and falsehood take the place of simplicity and truth, the power over nature as an interpreter of the will is in a degree lost; new imagery ceases to be created, and old words are perverted to stand for things which are not; a paper currency is employed when there is no bullion in the vaults.

7. In due time the fraud is manifest, and words lose all power to stimulate the understanding or the affections. Hundreds of writers may be found in every long-civilized nation, who for a short time believe, and make others believe, that they see and utter truths, who do not of themselves clothe one thought in its natural garment, but who feed unconsciously on the language created by the primary writers of the country, those, namely, who hold primarily on nature.

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8. But wise men pierce this rotten diction, and fasten words again to visible things; so that picturesque language is at once a commanding certificate that he who employs it, is a man in alliance with truth and God. The moment our discourse rises above the ground-line of familiar facts, and is inflamed with passion or exalted by thought, it clothes itself in images.

9. A man conversing in earnest, if he watch his intellectual processes, will find that a material image, more or less luminous arises in his mind, contemporaneous with every thought, which furnishes the vestment of the thought. Hence good writing and brilliant discourse are perpetual allegories. This imagery is spontaneous. It is the blending of experience with the present action of the mind. It is proper creation. It

is the working of the original cause through the instruments he has already made.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born in Devonshire, England, in 1772. His early education was received at Christ's Hospital in London. He entered the University at Cambridge, but left it after two years. He then enlisted as a common soldier, but was soon released through the interference of friends. He was remarkably precocious, and his first years were his purest and best. The Ancient Mariner, The Hymn of the Valley of Chamouni, the first part of Christabel, and other poems displaying the highest qualities of imagination, were written in his twenty-fifth year. About this time he began the use of opium, and the foul habit never relaxed its grasp upon him. He became in time unspeakably degraded, his family left him in despair, and he led a life of dreams, indolence and misery. He found shelter in the house of a certain Mr. Gillman, with whom he lived for eighteen years, until his death in 1834. His was a splendid genius in the thrall of a wasting demon, and his fame seems rather to brighten than decay with the lapse of time. The following extracts from his Ancient Mariner, give a fair idea of the weird richness of his imagination.

PART FIRST.

T is ancient mariner,

I and he stoppeth one of three;

An ancient mariner meet th three gallants bidden to a wedding feast, and

"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, detaineth one."

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

2. "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin ;

The guests are met, the feast is set :

May'st hear the merry din."

3.

He holds him with a skinny hand—

"There was a ship," quoth he.

“Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

4.

5.

He holds him with his glittering eye¬
The wedding-guest stood still,

And listens like a three years' child :
The mariner hath his will.

The wedding-guest sat on a stone;
He cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed mariner.

6. "The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the light-house top.

7. "The sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he!

And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

8. "And now the Storm-blast came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong :

He struck with his o'ertaking wings,

And chased us south along.

The wedding guest is spell-bound by the eye of the old sea-faring man, and constrained to hear his tale.

The mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the line.

The ship was driven by a storm toward the south pole,

9. "And now there came both mist and snow, The land of ice,

And it grew wondrous cold :

And ice, mast high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

10. "The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around;

and of fearful sounds, where no living thing was to be seen,

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound!

11. "At length did cross an albatross,

Thorough the fog it came ;

As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

Till a great seabird, called the albatross, саше through the snowfog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.

12. "It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

13. "And a good south wind sprung up behind; And lo! the albaThe albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,

Came to the mariner's hollo!"

14. "God save thee, ancient mariner,

tross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.

The ancient mariner inhospitably

From the fiends that plague thee thus!-killeth the

Why look'st thou so?" "With my cross-bow

I shot the albatross.

15. "The Sun now rose upon the right:

Out of the sea came he,

Still hid in mist, and on the left

Went down into the sea.

16. And the good south wind still blew behind,

But no sweet bird did follow,

Nor any day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo!

17. "And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe;

For all averred, I had killed the bird

That made the breeze to blow.

pious bird of good omen.

His shipmates cry out against the ancient mariner, for killing the bird of good luck.

18. "The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The fair breeze con

The furrow followed free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea!

tinues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the line.

19. "Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, The ship hath been

'Twas sad as sad could be;

And we did speak only to break

The silence of the sea!

suddenly becalmed,

20. "Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

21. "Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

22. "

'The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs.
Upon the slimy sea.

23. "Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the albatross
About neck was hung.

my

Each throat

24. "There passed a weary time.
Was parched, and glazed each eye;
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

25. "A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist;
And still it neared and neared;
As if it dodged a water sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

And the albatross begins to be avenged.

The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain throw the whole guilt on the ancient mariner; in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck.

The ancient mariner beholdeth a

sign in the elements afar off,

26. "With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could not laugh nor wail;

At its near approach, it seemeth

Through utter drought all dumb we stood! him to be a ship;

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, a sail! a sail!

and at a dear ransom he freeth his speech from the bonds of thirst.