own loathsomeness?  During this tour he seems to have been constantly exposed to the insults of the vile and the vulgar, and to have associated with persons whose company must have been most odious to a Gentleman.  Greasy Tallow-chandlers, and pursey Woollen-drapers, and grim-featured dealers in Hard-ware, were his associates at Manchester, Derby, Nottingham, and Sheffield; and among them the light of truth was to be shed from its cloudy tabernacle in Mr. Coleridge’s Pericranium.  At the house of a “Brummagem Patriot” he appears to have got dead drunk with strong ale and tobacco, and in that pitiable condition he was exposed to his disciples, lying upon a sofa, “with my face like a wall that is white-washing, deathly pale, and with the cold drops of perspiration running down it from my forehead.”  Some one having said, “Have you seen a paper to-day, Mr. Coleridge?” the wretched man replied, with all the staring stupidity of his lamentable condition, “Sir!  I am far from convinced that a Christian is permitted to read either newspapers, or any other works of merely political and temporary interest.”  This witticism quite enchanted his enlightened auditors, and they prolonged their festivities to an “early hour next morning.”  Having returned to London with a thousand subscribers on his list, the “Watchman” appeared in all his glory; but, alas! not on the day fixed for the first burst of his effulgence; which foolish delay incensed many of his subscribers.  The Watchman, on his second appearance, spoke blasphemously, and made indecent applications of Scriptural language; then, instead of abusing Government and Aristocrats, as Mr. Coleridge had pledged himself to his constituents to do, he attacked his own Party; so that in seven weeks, before the shoes were old in which he travelled to Sheffield, the Watchman went the way of all flesh, and his remains were scattered “through sundry old iron shops,” where for one penny could be purchased each precious relic.  To crown all, “his London Publisher was a ——­“; and Mr. Coleridge very narrowly escaped being thrown into jail for this his heroic attempt to shed over the manufacturing towns the illumination of knowledge.  We refrain from making any comments on this deplorable story.  This Philosopher, and Theologian, and Patriot, now retired to a village in Somersetshire, and, after having sought to enlighten the whole world, discovered that he himself was in utter darkness.

Doubts rushed in, broke upon me from the fountains of the great deep, and fell from the windows of heaven.  The fontal truths of natural Religion, and the book of Revelation, alike contributed to the flood; and it was long ere my Ark touched upon Ararat, and rested.  My head was with Spinoza, though my heart was with Paul and John....

We have no room here to expose, as it deserves to be exposed, the multitudinous political inconsistence of Mr. Coleridge, but we beg leave to state one single fact:  He abhorred, hated, and despised Mr. Pitt,—­