26 LIFE OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar—while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the accents of the inspired charity-boy 1"

In quoting this apostrophy it is only necessary to say that there must indeed have been a good deal of fun in the young Mirandula, or else in the casual passer through the cloisters, in Lamb or in his schoolfellows.

Ο

CHAPTER II.

N leaving Christ's Hospital Coleridge appears to have taken the natural step of running down to Devonshire to see his mother and brothers. What occurred there is not yet known, but there seems to be reason to believe that the family relations were afterwards somewhat strained. He must have been quite penniless, and he was probably without any clear designs as to his future; but after six or seven months he was entered at Jesus College, Cambridge, as a student sent up by Christ's Hospital. This was in February, 1791. Whether he had Holy Orders or college honours and a college life in view is uncertain. His University career is almost a blank. We know that at Cambridge he rejoined his schoolfellow Middleton, and read with him, and that in 1792 he gained the gold medal for a Greek ode. This argues some assiduity at the outset, but it would appear that after the new broom had grown old it ceased to sweep clean. Middleton left Cambridge in due course, and then Coleridge's studies became desultory and intermittent. We gather that the comparative freedom of life at the University was not entirely favourable to the strictly academical studies of such a young man as Coleridge. He was, as we have seen, a

great talker, and as such he most of all loved social converse. His rooms at college became a centre of attraction. He was an enthusiast, and other enthusiasts found in him a rallying point. They talked religion, poetry, philosophy, and, above all, politics. The air was full of many noises just then, and there were subjects enough, from Mirabeau to Priestley, and from Pitt to Robespierre, to content the hearts of the politicians and theologians in embryo. Coleridge's feelings and imagination could not remain unkindled. His sympathies were with the democracy in the great struggle for political regeneration that was going on in Europe. He was enthusiastic for France and the Revolution; but he was never a Jacobin. His brother James used to say, "No, Samuel is no Jacobin; he is a hot-headed Moravian." There is a tradition that on one occasion he planned with an undergraduate, who afterwards became a Lord Chancellor, the democratic trick of laying on one of the college lawns a train of gunpowder, which, when fired, exhibited in the singed grass the words "Liberty and Equality." The story is the reverse of Coleridgean; but more in harmony with his character is the anecdote of his behaviour at the trial of Frend, a fellow of Jesus College, for defamation of the Church of England in printing certain opinions founded on Unitarian doctrine. At some observation made by one of Frend's defenders, Coleridge is said to have clapped his hands, and this indecorum was immediately challenged by a proctor who charged it upon a student sitting next to Coleridge. ""Twas you, sir," said the proctor in a loud voice. "Would, sir, that I had the

power," answered the student, and he held up the stump

of a right arm. Afterwards Coleridge went to the proctor and confessed that it was he who had clapped his hands. "I know that well. You have had a narrow escape," was the answer. Coleridge appears to have had distinct leanings towards Unitarian doctrine in these early years at Cambridge, and this circumstance sufficiently shows that the idea of going into the Church did not enter largely into his calculations.

The vacation of 1793 was spent by Coleridge in his native place. He seems to have been reasonably happy there, and to have made some excursions in pleasant company. It would not be true to say that the strained relations with his own people were at all modified by this visit. Rarely in later years did he show an active interest in his family; rarely did he exchange a letter with any of his relatives. He spoke of himself as grievously wounded. His sensibilities had been outraged-how or why may presently be explained. A poem which he addressed to his brother three years afterwards was something less than a spontaneous tribute of affection, but its reflections on his own domestic isolation were none the less sincere. To touch this old wound is hardly necessary, especially as we are unable to do so with any certainty of hand. But a little light in this dark place would help us to understand Coleridge better than we do. Perhaps his family contributed some little to the expense of sending him to the University, and perhaps he seemed guilty of the ingratitude of throwing away in Unitarianism the substantial rewards for which they had sacrificed themselves. There was a more obvious breach, and this shall soon appear,

Notwithstanding the delights of literary reunions at his rooms, despite the ardour of political partisanship and the enthusiasm of poetic idolatry, with all that these bring when life is young and hope is strong, and the dark pillar has not yet turned, Coleridge's life at Cambridge was not a happy one. He was in debt, and no doubt this preyed upon him. At one time he spoke of his debts as something less than a hundred pounds. The sum was not prodigious, but it was enough, and tradition tells how he contracted the obligation. When he took possession of his rooms an upholsterer waited upon him and offered to furnish them. Coleridge mistook him for an official of the college, and when asked how he should like the furnishing done, answered, “Just as you please, sir." Perhaps this was an act of astounding unwisdom in a young gentlemen of eighteen years and a half. Perhaps it was a pardonable misadventure. At all events, it involved Coleridge in a debt of something like the sum mentioned. The story is not necessary to account for the circumstance that the orphan son of a poor clergyman was tormented by monetary difficulties. Whether debt was Coleridge's sole trouble, or whether his affectionate nature was ill at ease from the family estrangement already referred to, or whether, in truth, his affections were yet more deeply involved in painful memories of the young milliner or any other person likely to give rise to chagrin at disappointment in love, the end of many "viper thoughts" was something unexpected. In December, 1793, Coleridge was missing from Cambridge, and all inquiries as to his whereabouts were for a time quite fruitless. This was the second of several mystę