*

ment of them. Their comedies, however, were much superior, and at times, and excepting in the generalisation of humour and application, almost rivalled those of Shakespeare. The situations are sometimes so disgusting, and the language so indecent and immoral, that it is impossible to read the plays in private society. The difference in this respect between Shakespeare and Beaumont and Fletcher (speaking of them in their joint capacity) is, that Shakespeare always makes vice odious and virtue admirable, while Beaumont and Fletcher do the very reverse-they ridicule virtue and encourage vice: they pander to the lowest and basest passions of our nature.

Coleridge afterwards made some remarks upon more modern dramatists, and was especially severe upon Dryden, who could degrade his fine intellect, and debase his noble use of the English language in such plays as 'All for Love,' and 'Sebastian,' down to 'Limberham,' and 'The Spanish Friar.' He spoke also of Moore's Gamester,' and applauded warmly the acting of Mrs. Siddons. He admitted that the situations were affecting, but maintained that the language of the tragedy was below criticism: it was about upon a par with 'Kotzebue.'

* These observations I also sent to the Editor of "Notes and Queries," July 8, 1854. The tragedy here referred to by Coleridge is "The Mad Lover;" and I quote the following brief account of this part of the plot from the Introduction to the last edition of Beaumont and Fletcher, by the Rev. A. Dyce, p. lx. :— "Memnon, an old and victorious general, whose time has been wholly occupied in fighting, arrives at the court of his sovereign, the King of Paphos. Having never seen 'a woman of great fashion,' he falls desperately in love with the king's sister, and, as soon as he beholds her, declares his passion and (publicly) asks her for a kiss. She, as might be expected, treats him with ridicule; upon which he goes stark mad, is with difficulty prevented from having his heart cut out that it may be sent to the princess, and does not recover his senses till the close of the play, when he determines that henceforth the war 'shall be his mistress.""

It was extremely natural for any one to shed tears at seeing a beautiful woman in the depths of anguish and despair, when she beheld her husband, who had ruined himself by gambling, dying of poison at the very moment he had come into a large fortune, which would have paid all his debts, and enabled him to live in affluence and happiness. This (said Coleridge) reminds one of the modern termination of "Romeo and Juliet,”—I mean the way in which Garrick, or somebody else, terminated it, so that Juliet should revive before the death of Romeo, and just in time to be not in time, but to find that he had swallowed a mortal poison. I know that this conclusion is consistent with the old novel upon which the tragedy is founded, but a narrative is one thing and a drama another, and Shakespeare's judgment revolted at such situations on the stage. To be sure they produce tears, and so does a blunt razor shaving the upper lip.'

“From hence the conversation diverged to other topics; and Southey's Curse of Kehama' having been introduced by one of the company, Coleridge admitted that it was a poem of great talent and ingenuity. Being asked whether he could give it no higher praise? he answered, that it did the greatest credit to the abilities of Southey, but that there were two things in it utterly incompatible. From the nature of the story, it was absolutely necessary that the reader should imagine himself enjoying one of the wildest dreams of a poet's fancy; and at the same time it was required of him (which was impossible) that he should believe that the soul of the hero, such as he was depicted, was alive to all the feelings and sympathies of tenderness and affection. The reader was called upon to believe in the possibility of the existence of an almighty

man, who had extorted from heaven the power he possessed, and who was detestable for his crimes, and yet who should be capable of all the delicate sensibilities subsisting between parent and child, oppressed, injured, and punished. Such a being was not in human nature. The design and purpose were excellent, namely, to show the superiority of moral to physical power.

"He looked upon The Curse of Kehama' as a work of great talent, but not of much genius; and he drew the distinction between talent and genius by comparing the first to a watch and the last to an eye: both were beautiful, but one was only a piece of ingenious mechanism, while the other was a production above all art. gift, that no labour nor study could supply: nobody could make an eye, but anybody, duly instructed, could make a watch. It was suggested by one of the company, that more credit was given to Southey for imagination in that poem than was due to him, since he had derived so much from the extravagances of Hindu mythology. Coleridge replied, that the story was the work of the poet, and that much of the mythology was his also having invented his tale, Southey wanted to reconcile it with probability, according to some theory or other, and therefore resorted to oriental fiction. He had picked up his mythology from books, as it were by scraps, and had tacked and fitted them together with much skill, and with such additions as his wants and wishes dictated.".

Talent was a manufacture; genius a

That these were Coleridge's ipsissima verba I cannot, at this distance of time, state; but they are the ipsissima verba in my Diary; and although I could, of course, take no notes of what passed, I generally wrote down what I had heard, at latest,

on the morning after I heard it: so desirous was I of being correct that sometimes, instead of going to rest, I sat up late, and employed myself in putting down brief memoranda, to be extended when I made the entries in my journal.

"The conversation (my Diary continues) then turned upon Walter Scott, whose 'Lady of the Lake' has recently been published, and I own that there appeared on the part of Coleridge some disposition, if not to disparage, at least not to recognise the merits of Scott. He professed himself comparatively ignorant of Scott's productions, and stated that 'The Lady of the Lake' had been lying upon his table for more than a month, and that he had only been able to get through two divisions of the poem, and had there found many grammatical blunders, and expressions that were not English on this side of the Tweed-nor, indeed, on the other. If (added he) I were called upon to form an opinion of Mr. Scott's poetry, the first thing I should do would be to take away all his names of old castles, which rhyme very prettily, and read very picturesquely; then, I would remove out of the poem all the old armour and weapons; next I would exclude the mention of all nunneries, abbeys, and priories, and I should then see what would be the residuum-how much poetry would remain. At present, having read so little of what he has produced, I can form no competent opinion; but I should then be able to ascertain what was the story or fable (for which I give him full credit, because, I dare say, it is very interesting), what degree of imagination was displayed in narrating it, and how far he was to be admired for propriety and felicity of expression. Of these, at present, others must judge, but I would rather have written one simile by Burns,

"Like snow that falls upon a river,

A moment white, then gone for ever”—

than all the poetry that his countryman Scott-as far as I am yet able to form an estimate—is likely to produce."

"Milton's 'Samson Agonistes' being introduced as a topic, Coleridge said, with becoming emphasis, that it was the finest imitation of the ancient Greek drama that ever had been, or ever would be written. One of the company remarked that Steevens (the commentator on Shakespeare) had asserted that 'Samson Agonistes' was formed on the model of the ancient Mysteries, the origin of our English drama; upon which Coleridge burst forth with unusual vehemence against Steevens, asserting that he was no more competent to appreciate Shakespeare and Milton, than to form an idea of the grandeur and glory of the seventh heavens. He would require (added Coleridge) a telescope of more than Herschellian power to enable him, with his contracted intellectual vision, to see half a quarter as far: the end of his nose is the utmost extent of that man's ordinary sight, and even then he can not comprehend what he sees."

So far my note relating to the 16th October, and written on the 17th of that month, but I find that Coleridge was at my father's on the 20th of October, and I have various brief entries of what he said upon several common topics, such as dear and cheap law, military punishments, the state of Ireland, &c. He enlarged upon metaphysics, and expressed his low opinion of Locke, and his high estimate of the abilities, not of the doctrines, of Spinoza; but as these are matters that I do not well understand now, and had no notion of then, I may be