Swift from his presence forth they past

It was a speech
Impressed on each,

For 'twas his longest and his last!

What followed! a scene of such noise and confu-
sion,

Its memory must seem like a fiendish delusion;
I have separately asked them about that wild
pother,

But hardly two stories agree with each other:
Some vow that the stranger and JAN both together
Sang a duo in praise of the airy fine weather;
Others say that they danced on the corpse of Van
Schriegel

In a manner indecent, profane, and illegal,
To music so strangely discordant and frantic
It seemed to be fitted to every wild antic-
But all have agreed the last thing they remember
Is a very rough shock,

On a very hard rock,

At half after twelve, on a night of December.
Morning hath come with her welcome light,
Shining on hills with the snow flake white,
And on the darkly heaving sea,
Where still the waves rage angrily;
And on a shore where, 'twixt the land
And sea, there spreads a ridge of sand,
And on eleven silent forms,

That her sweet light revives and warms,
For strange to say, of all the crew

Of the "Goed Vrouw," they miss but two,
Van Schriegel, and that white, and wan,
And tall, and thin, and wicked Jan,

The stranger and captain, of course, I except,
But neither of these could be bitterly wept.

High and dry,

On the beach they lie,

And lo! a vision is passing by

They must be deceived

It can scarce be believed

[SEPT.

It might, but 'tis only a modest suggestion,
Have held pamphlets, perhaps on the "Boundary
Question;"

Or some eloquent speech on "our foreign condi-
tions,"

Or receipts of " expense of the Poor-law Commis

sions ;"

All, and every of which, if the truth could be sifted,
Would account for its weight when it could not be
lifted;

And was light as a fly when by Jan it was wielded.
But still, I've no reason to give why it yielded,
Apropos of that Jan, he's another queer mystery,
That puzzled me greatly on hearing this history;
I cannot account for his bond of connection
With the stranger, but hardly can think 'twas af-
fection;

In fact, these are riddles, and so insurmountable,
That we only can say they are quite unaccountable.

But touching the motto to which I alluded,
You shall have it without an opinion intruded,
If you find there a moral, pray keep it in view-
"WHO SHIPS WITH THE DEVIL, MUST SAIL WITH
HIM TOO."

DEATH OF MDLLE. LENORMAND.-One of the most celebrated public characters of France during the last half-century-Malle. Lenormand, the fortune-teller-died in that city on Monday last, at the age of 72 years, leaving a fortune of 500,000f. She reckoned, it is said, among her clinetelle all the celebrated characters of the age-all the soldiers, gamblers, and other adventurers of both sexes, from the Emperors Napoleon and Alexander down

Even where a strange tale is most warmly received, to the cuntinière and kitchen-maid-all of whom

That the "Goed Vrouw

Is passing now,

Perfect and whole from helm to prow!

Close to the shore,

On her course she bore,

And all her form they may explore,
Her masts in repair, her sails are there;

And her bulwarks are whole, and her deck no more

bare;

And more than all (at the sight they shrunk!)
The stranger is standing erect on his trunk,
And that singular Jan at the helm doth stand,
And nobody's there to give them a hand,
Though the captain sits silent and drooping his
head,

And his hands are prest

On his burly chest;

But that white, white face can be but of the dead!
And a black flag waves from the mast on high,
With a motto I'll tell you about by-and-by.
But first, let me say, to avoid disappointment,
It is not to put this strange story in joint meant ;
I own, and it gives me a feeling of pain,

Like some "sprig," called to "order,"
And forced to "soft sawder,'

I am not at this moment "prepared to explain."
For example-I cannot account for the stranger's
Queer conduct in bringing the ship into dangers,
And having disgorged it of every plump elf,
Repairing, and taking it all to himself."
I cannot account for his not having sunk,
Nor know I the mystery attached to his trunk.

professed their surprise at the profundity of her knowledge of events, past and future.

TEA AS A NUTRIMENT.-M. Peligot read a paper on the chemical combinations of tea far exceeding in importance its stimulating properHe states that tea contains essential principles of nutrition, ties, and shows that, as a stimulant, tea is in every respect a desirable article of habitual use. One of

his experiments on the nutritive qualities of tea, as compared with those of soup, was by no means in of tea arefavor of the latter. The most remarkable products re-1st, the tannin, or astringent property; 2nd, an essential oil to which it owes its aroma, and which has a great influence on its price in crystallizable, called theine, which is also met with commerce; and 3rd, a substance rich in azote and in coffee, and is frequently called cafeine. Independently of these three substances, there are eleven others of less importance, which enter more or less into the composition of tea of all the kinds imported into Europe. What was most essential, as regards the chemical and hygienic character of the plant, was to ascertain the exact proportion of the azoted principles which it contains. M. Peligot began by determining the total amount of azote in tea, and finished by finding that it was from 20 to 30 per cent. greater than in any other kind of vegetable. M. Peligot states that by reason of this quantity of azote, and the existence of caseine in the tea-leaf, it is a true aliment.-Athenæum,

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS OF SOUTHEY

AND WORDSWORTH.

From the Christian Observer.

could not refuse myself the gratification of seeing the name of that man amongst my poems without whose kindness they would probably have remained unpublished, and to whom I know myself greatly and variously obliged, as a poet, a man, and a Christian." We have thought this statement fair to "poor old gossipping Cottle;" whose "gossipping" cost him dear, not only in the chastisement administered to him by some of the reviewers for his disclosures respecting Coleridge; but in the harassing, and it is said £2000 law expenses and damages, inflicted upon him at the suit of Hannah More's discarded coachman, whom he had alluded to in his account of that lady's escape from Barley Wood.

Of

SHORTLY after the death of the late S. T. Coleridge, Mr. Cottle, formerly a bookseller at Bristol, and the publisher and proprietor of some of Coleridge's early works, as well as of those of Southey and Words worth, gave to the world two volumes of recollections of those eminent men, at that eventful period of their lives, when, in the exuberance of youth, talent, and spirits, they were planning vast designs, and laying the foundation of their future literary fame. Mr. Cottle's book gave much offence to the friends of Mr. Coleridge, who had seen fit, in his biographical account of himself, to omit all distinct reference to Bris- The volumes were, however, chiefly detol, the cradle of his literature, and for voted to rellections of Coleridge. many years his favorite abode, and to whose Sonthey, who was living when they were inhabitants he said, as late as 1814, "You published, less is said—and not any thing, took me up in younger life, and I could we presume, which the poet wished to supwish to live and die amongst you." The press even during his life-time, except as chief cause of the offence was Mr. Cottle's it might be too trifling for record; for Mr. fearful exposition of the melancholy con- Cottle speaks of Southey's having spent a sequences of Coleridge's indulgence in the few days on a visit with him not long beuse of opium; but as Coleridge had long fore the book was published, and of their broken himself of the destructive habit, uninterrupted friendship, so that we can and had expressly directed that his melan- hardly suppose he put in print what he choly case should be made public after his knew would give his friend offence. Howdeath, as a warning to others, there was not ever there is nothing that entails reproach any thing to reproach Mr. Cottle with in upon Southey's memory; for though, in his making known the facts, except as they early days, he and Coleridge were led astray were painful to surviving friends or rela- by the phantoms with which the French tives. There were, however, many allu- revolutionary school had dazzled Europe, sions in his book to unpleasant scenes, and romantically proposed founding what foolish schemes, early struggles, and friv- they called a "Pantisocracy" in America; olous circumstances, which the friends of yet both of them came to a better mind; Mr. Coleridge might think best forgotten; and their example and recantation in afterbesides which, the patronizing air with life are the more valuable because they which the worthy bibliopolist speaks of were not the result of early prejudices, but his private intercourse and commercial ar- of mature deliberation. If Southey wrote rangements with men who lived to com- Joan of Arc, let it not be overlooked that he mand the golden market of literature, as afterwards repudiated it, and endeavored lewell as merely to revel in its barren honors, gally to suppress it. If Coleridge was once a might not be gratifying to the parties con- Socinian lecturer, let it not be forgotten that cerned. His opinions and criticisms, and he became not only orthodox, but a lay his "Mr. Southey and I," "Mr. Coleridge" preacher of righteousness." Who can and myself," &c., have an air of self-com- have forgotten his dying letter to his god. placency as between a provincial bookseller child, in which he saysand men who arrived at such pre-eminent fame; but fifty years ago they were all young together; and Cottle was often use ful to them with his literary advice, as well as his purse; and he was himself also the author of several volumes of poetry, which his highly gifted friends spoke of with warm approbation. Coleridge, in the sec ond edition of his poems, addressed to Cottle, a flattering copy of verses, adding: "1

"And I thus, on the brink of the grave, solemnly bear witness to you, that the Almighty Redemer, most gracious in his promises to them that truly seek him, is faithful to perform what he has promised; and has reserved, under all pains and infirmities, the peace that passeth all understanding, with the supporting assurance of a reconciled God, who will not withdraw his Spirit from me in the conflict, and in his own time will deliver me from the evil one. O, my

dear godchild! eminently blessed are they who begin early to seek, fear, and love their God, trusting wholly in the righteousness and mediation of their Lord, Redeemer, Saviour, and everlasting High Priest, Jesus Christ."

and omit utterly near one half of the present volume-a sacrifice to pitch black oblivion.

"Whichever be the case, I will repay you the money you have paid for me, in money, and in a few weeks; or if you should prefer the latter proposal, (i. e. the not sending me to the Of Mr. Wordsworth there are a few cu-ing the additions, however large, as my payment press for ten weeks,) I should insist on considerrious literary notices in Mr. Cottle's recol to you for the omissions, which, indeed, would lections, which we will copy; the personal be but strict justice. allusions blended with them being to the honor, not disparagement, of that venerable man. The lovers of literary reminiscences may think the passages worth glancing over, though they are not intrinsically im

portant.

"June, 1797.

"MY DEAR COTTLE,-I am sojourning, for a few days, at Racedown, Dorset, the mansion of our friend Wordsworth: who presents his kindest respects to you. ***

"Wordsworth admires my tragedy, which gives me great hopes. Wordsworth has written a tragedy himself. I speak with heart-felt sincerity, and, I think, unblinded judgment, when I tell you, that I feel myself a little man by his side, and yet I do not think myself a less man than I formerly thought myself. His drama is absolutely wonderful. You know I do not commonly speak in such abrupt and unmingled phrases, and therefore will the more readily believe me. There are in the piece, those profound touches of the human heart, which I find three or four times in the 'Robbers' of Schiller, and often in Shakspeare, but in Wordsworth there are no inequalities. God bless you, and eke,

'S. T. COLERIDGE.''

"There is a peculiar pleasure in recording the favorable sentiments which one Poet enter tains of another, I therefore state that Mr. Coleridge says, in a letter received from him, March 8th, 1798, The Giant Wordsworth-God love him! When I speak in the terms of admiration due to his intellect, I fear lest these terms should keep out of sight the amiableness of his manners. He has written near twelve hundred lines of blank verse, superior, I hesitate not to aver, to any thing in our language which any way

resembles it.'

"And in a letter received from Mr. Coleridge, 1807, he says-Wordsworth is one whom, God knows, I love and honor as far beyond myself, as both morally and intellectually he is above

me.'"

"1799.

"MY DEAR COTTLE,-I regret that aught should have disturbed our tranquillity; respecting Lloyd, I am willing to believe myself in part mistaken, and so let all things be as before. I have no wish respecting these poems, either for or against re-publication with mine. As to the third edition, if there be occasion for it imme. diately, it must be published with some altera tions, but no additions or omissions. But if there be no occasion for the volume to go to press for ten weeks, at the expiration of that time I would make it a volume worthy of me,

"I am requested by Wordsworth, to put to you the following questions. What could you conveniently and prudently, and what would you, give for-first, our two Tragedies, with small prefaces, containing an analysis of our principal characters? Exclusive of the prefaces, the Tragedies are, together, five thousand lines; which, in printing, from the dialogue form, and directions respecting actors and scenery, are at least equal to six thousand. To be delivered to you within a week of the date of your answer to this letter; and the money which you from the same date; none to be paid before, all offer, to be paid to us at the end of four months to be paid then.

"Second.-Wordsworth's 'Salisbury Plain,' and Tale of a Woman: which two poems, with a few others, which he will add, and the notes, will make a volume. This to be delivered to you within three weeks of the date of your answer, and the money to be paid as before, at the end of four months from the present

date.

self about the imagined great merit of the com-
"Do not, my dearest Cottle! harass your-
positions, or be reluctant to offer what you can
prudently offer, from an idea that the poems are
worth more. But calculate what you can do,
with reference simply to yourself, and answer
as speedily as you can; and believe me your
sincere, grateful, and affectionate
'Friend and Brother,

'S. T. COLERIDGE.'
"I offered Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Words-
worth thirty guineas each, as proposed, for their
two Tragedies; but which, after some hesita-
tion, was declined, from the hope of introducing
one, or both, on the stage. The volume of
Poems was left for some future arrangement."

"A visit to Mr. Coleridge at Stowey, (near Bristol,) had been the means of my introduction to Mr. Wordsworth, who read me many of his Lyrical pieces, when I perceived in them a peculiar, but decided merit. I advised him to publish them, expressing a belief that they would

be well received. I further said that he should be at no risk; that I would give him the same sum which I had given Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Southey, and that it would be a gratifying circumstance to me, to usher into the world, by becoming the publisher of the first volumes of three such poets as Southey, Coleridge, and Wordsworth; a distinction that might never again occur to a Provincial bookseller.

"To the idea of publishing he expressed a strong objection; and after several interviews, I left him, with an earnest wish that he would reconsider his determination.

"Soon after, Mr. Wordsworth sent me the following letter.

"A little time after, I received an invitation from Mr. Coleridge, to pay himself, and Mr. Wordsworth, another visit. At about the same time, I received the following corroborative in-him a house and furniture near Stowey, we

"Our fond hopes, however, were somewhat damped, by finding that our stout piece of cheese' had vanished! A sturdy rat of a beggar, whom we had relieved on the road, with his olfactories all alive, no doubt, smelt our cheese, and while we were gazing at the magnificent clouds, contrived to abstract our treasure! Cruel tramp! An ill return for our pence! We both wished the rind might not choke him! The mournful fact was ascertained a little before we drove into the court-yard of the house. Mr. Coleridge bore the loss with great fortitude, observing, that we should never starve with a loaf of bread and a bottle of brandy. He now, with the dexterity of an adept (admired by his friends around) unbuckled the horse, and, putting down the shafts, with a jerk, as a triumphant conclusion of his work, lo! the bottle of brandy, that had been placed most carefully behind us, on the seat, from the inevitable law of gravity, suddenly rolled down, and, before we could arrest the spirituous avalanche, pitching right on the stones, was dashed to pieces! We all beheld the spectacle, silent and petrified! We might have collected the broken fragments of glass, but, the brandy! that was gone! clean gone!

started into one of our minds, that some sauce would render the lettuces a little more acceptable, when an individual in the company recollected a question once propounded by the most patient of men, How can that which is unsavory be eaten without salt?' and asked for a little of that valuable culinary article. 'Indeed, Sir,' Betty replied, I quite forgot to buy salt.' A general laugh followed the announcement, in which our host heartily joined. This was nothing. We had plenty of other good things, and while crunching our suculents, and munching our crusts, we pitied the far worse condition of those, perchance as hungry as ourselves, who were forced to dine, alone, off æther. For our next meal, the mile-off village furnished all that could be desired, and these trifling incidents present the sum, and the result, of half the little passing disasters of life.

"The volume of the 'Lyrical Ballads' was published about Midsummer, 1798. In September of the same year, Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth left England for Germany, and I for ever quitted the business of a bookseller."

"As a curious literary fact, I might mention, that the sale of the first edition of the 'Lyrical Ballads,' was so slow, and the severity of most of the Reviews so great, that its progress to oblivion seemed ordained to be as rapid as it was certain. I had given thirty guineas for the

but the heavy sale induced me to part with the largest proportion of the impression of five hundred, at a loss, to Mr. Arch, a London bookseller. After this transaction had occurred, I received a letter from Mr. Wordsworth, written the day before he set sail for the Continent, requesting me to make over my interest in the Lyrical Byllads' to Mr. Johnson, of St. Paul's Church-yard This I could not have done, had I been so disposed, as the engagement had been made with Mr. Arch.

"One little untoward thing often follows another, and while the rest stood musing, chained to the place, regaling themselves with the Cogniac effluvium, and all miserably cha-copy-right, as detailed in the preceding letters: grined, I led the horse to the stable, when a fresh perplexity arose. I removed the harness without difficulty, but after many strenuous attempts, I could not get off the collar. In despair, I called for assistance, when aid soon drew near. Mr. Wordsworth first brought his ingenuity into exercise, but after several unsuccessful efforts, he relinquished the achievement, as altogether impracticable. Mr. Coleridge now tried his hand, but showed no more grooming skill than his predecessors; for after twisting the poor horse's neck, almost to strangulation, and to the great danger of his eyes, he gave up the useless task, pronouncing that the horse's head must have grown (gout or dropsy!) since the collar was put on! for,' said he, 'it was a downright im- "MY DEAR COTTLE.-I perceive that it would possibility for such a huge Os Frontis to pass have been impossible for you to comply with my through so narrow a collar! Just at this request, respecting the Lyrical Ballads,' as instant the servant girl came near, and under- you had entered into a treaty with Arch. How standing the cause of our consternation, La. is the copy-right to be diposed of when you quit master,' said she, 'you do not go about the work the bookselling business? We were much in the right way. You should do like this,' amused with the Anthology.' Your poem of when turning the collar completely upside down, the Killcrop' we liked better than any; only she slipped it off in a moment, to our great huwe regretted that you did not save the poor litmiliation and wonderment; each satisfied, afresh, that there were heights of knowledge in the world to which he had not attained.

"We were now summoned to dinner, and a dinner it was, such as every blind and starving man in the three kingdoms would have rejoiced to behold. At the top of the table stood a superb brown loaf. The centre dish presented a pile of the true coss lettuces, and at the bottom appeared an empty plate, where the 'stout piece of cheese' ought to have stood! (cruel mendicant!) and though the brandy was clean gone. yet its place was well, if not better supplied by a superabundance of fine sparkling Castalian Champagne! A happy thought at this time

"On Mr. Wordsworth's return to England, I addressed a letter to him explaining the reasons why I could not comply with his request, to which he thus replied:

tle innocent's life, by some benevolent art or other. You might have managed a little pathetic incident, in which nature appearing forcibly in the child, might have worked in some way or other upon its superstitious destroyer.

"We have spent our time pleasantly enough in Germany, but we are right glad to find ourselves in England, for we have learned to know its value. We left Coleridge well at Gottingen, a month ago.

* * * *

'God bless you, my dear Cottle. "Your affectionate friend, 'W. WORDSWORTH.' "Soon after the receipt of the above, I received another letter from Mr. Wordsworth,