Chapter XXIII: Book I: have suffered to remain suspended chiefly because the thoughts (4)

Thus two nights pass’d: the night’s dismay
Sadden’d and stunn’d the boding day. 35
I fear’d to sleep: Sleep seemed to be
Disease’s worst malignity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had freed me from the fiendish dream,
O’ercome by sufferings dark and wild, 40
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by Tears subdued
My Trouble to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I thought, were due
To Natures, deepliest stain’d with Sin; 45
Still to be stirring up anew
The self-created Hell within,
The Horror of the crimes to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish to do!
With such let fiends make mockery-- 50
But I--Oh, wherefore this _on me_?
Frail is my soul, yea, strengthless wholly,
Unequal, restless, melancholy;
But free from Hate and sensual Folly!
To live belov’d is all I need, 55
And whom I love, I love indeed,
And etc., etc., etc., etc.[284]

I do not know how I came to scribble down these verses to you--my heart was aching, my head all confused--but they are, doggerel as they may be, a true portrait of my nights. What to do, I am at a loss; for it is hard thus to be withered, having the faculties and attainments which I have. We will soon meet, and I will do all I can to console poor Edith.--O dear, dear Southey! my head is sadly confused. After a rapid walk of thirty-three miles your letters have had the effect of perfect intoxication in my head and eyes. Change! change! change! O God of Eternity! When shall we be at rest in thee?

S. T. COLERIDGE.

CXLII. TO THE SAME.

EDINBURGH, Tuesday morning, September 13, 1803.

MY DEAR SOUTHEY,--I wrote you a strange letter, I fear. But, in truth, yours affected my wretched stomach, and my head, in such a way that I wrote mechanically in the _wake_ of the first vivid idea. No conveyance left or leaves this place for Carlisle earlier than to-morrow morning, for which I have taken my place. If the coachman do not turn Panaceist, and cure all my ills by breaking my neck, I shall be at Carlisle on Wednesday, midnight, and whether I shall go on in the coach to Penrith, and walk from thence, or walk off from Carlisle at once, depends on two circumstances, first, whether the coach goes on with no other than a common bait to Penrith, and secondly, whether, if it should not do so, I can trust my clothes, etc., to the coachman safely, to be left at Penrith. There is but eight miles difference in the walk, and eight or nine shillings difference in the expense. At all events, I trust that I shall be with you on Thursday by dinner time, if you dine at half-past two or three o’clock. God bless you! I will go and call on Elmsley.[285] What a wonderful city Edinburgh[286] is! What alternation of height and depth! A city looked at in the polish’d back of a Brobdingnag spoon held lengthways, so enormously _stretched-up_ are the houses! When I first looked down on it, as the coach drove up on the higher street, I cannot express what I felt--such a section of wasps’ nests striking you with a sort of bastard sublimity from the enormity and infinity of its littleness--the infinity swelling out the mind, the enormity striking it with wonder. I think I have seen an old plate of Montserrat that struck me with the same feeling, and I am sure I have seen huge quarries of lime and free stone in which the shafts or strata stood perpendicularly instead of horizontally with the same high thin slices and corresponding interstices. I climbed last night to the crags just below Arthur’s Seat--itself a rude triangle-shaped-base cliff, and looked down on the whole city and firth--the sun then setting behind the magnificent rock, crested by the castle. The firth was full of ships, and I counted fifty-four heads of mountains, of which at least forty-four were cones or pyramids. The smoke was rising from ten thousand houses, each smoke from some one family. It was an affecting sight to me! I stood gazing at the setting sun, so tranquil to a passing look, and so restless and vibrating to one who looked stedfast; and then, all at once, turning my eyes down upon the city, it and all its smokes and figures became all at once dipped in the brightest blue-purple: such a sight that I almost grieved when my eyes recovered their natural tone! Meantime, Arthur’s Crag, close behind me, was in dark blood-like crimson, and the sharpshooters were behind exercising minutely, and had chosen that place on account of the fine thunder echo which, indeed, it would be scarcely possible for the ear to distinguish from thunder. The passing a day or two, quite unknown, in a strange city, does a man’s heart good. He rises “a sadder and a wiser man.”

I had not read that part in your second requesting me to call on Elmsley, else perhaps I should have been talking instead of learning and feeling.

Walter Scott is at Lasswade, five or six miles from Edinburgh. His house in Edinburgh is divinely situated. It looks up a street, a new magnificent street, full upon the rock and the castle, with its zigzag walls like painters’ lightning--the other way down upon cultivated fields, a fine expanse of water, either a lake or not to be distinguished from one, and low pleasing hills beyond--the country well wooded and cheerful. “I’ faith,” I exclaimed, “the monks formerly, but the poets now, know where to fix their habitations.” There are about four things worth going into Scotland for,[287] to one who has been in Cumberland and Westmoreland: First, the views of all the islands at the foot of Loch Lomond from the top of the highest island called Inch devanna (_sic_); secondly, the Trossachs at the foot of Loch Katrine; third, the chamber and ante-chamber of the Falls of Foyers (the fall itself is very fine, and so, after rain, is White-Water Dash, seven miles below Keswick and very like it); and how little difference a height makes, you know as well as I. No fall of itself, perhaps, can be worth giving a long journey to see, to him who has seen any fall of water, but the pool and whole rent of the mountain is truly magnificent. Fourthly and lastly, the City of Edinburgh. Perhaps I might add Glencoe. It is at all events a good make-weight and very well worth going to see, if a man be a Tory and hate the memory of William the Third, which I am very willing to do; for the more of these fellows dead and living one hates, the less spleen and gall there remains for those with whom one is likely to have anything to do in real life....

I am tolerably well, meaning the day. My last night was not such a noisy night of horrors as three nights out of four are with me.[288] O God! when a man blesses the loud screams of agony that awake him night after night, night after night, and when a man’s repeated night screams have made him a nuisance in his own house, it is better to die than to live. I have a joy in life that passeth all understanding; but it is not in its present Epiphany and Incarnation. Bodily torture! All who have been with me can bear witness that I can bear it like an Indian. It is constitutional with me to sit still, and look earnestly upon it and ask it what it is? Yea, often and often, the seeds of Rabelaisism germinating in me, I have laughed aloud at my own poor metaphysical soul. But these burrs by day of the will and the reason, these total eclipses by night! Oh, it is hard to bear them. I am complaining bitterly to others, I should be administrating comfort; but even this is one way of comfort. There are states of mind in which even distraction is still a diversion; we must none of us _brood_; we are not made to be brooders.

God bless you, dear friend, and

S. T. COLERIDGE.

Mrs. C. will get clean flannels ready for me.

CXLIII. TO MATTHEW COATES.[289]

GRETA HALL, KESWICK, December 5, 1803.

DEAR SIR,--After a time of sufferings, great as mere bodily sufferings can well be conceived to be, and which the horrors of my sleep and night screams (so loud and so frequent as to make me almost a nuisance in my own house) seemed to carry beyond mere _body_, counterfeiting as it were the tortures of guilt, and what we are told of the punishment of a spiritual world, I am at length a convalescent, but dreading such another bout as much as I dare dread a thing which has no immediate connection with my conscience. My left hand is swollen and inflamed, and the least attempt to bend the fingers very painful, though not half as much so as I could wish; for if I could but fix this Jack-o’-lanthorn of a disease in my hand or foot, I should expect complete recovery in a year or two! But though I have no hope of this, I have a persuasion strong as fate, that from twelve to eighteen months’ residence in a genial climate would send me back to dear old England a sample of the first resurrection. Mr. Wordsworth, who has seen me in all my illnesses for nearly four years, and noticed this strange dependence on the state of my moral feelings and the state of the atmosphere conjointly, is decidedly of the same opinion. Accordingly, after many sore struggles of mind from reluctance to quit my children for so long a time, I have arranged my affairs fully and finally, and hope to set sail for Madeira in the first vessel that clears out from Liverpool for that place. Robert Southey, who lives with us, informed me that Mrs. Matthew Coates had a near relative (a brother, I believe) in that island, the Dr. Adams[290] who wrote a very nice little pamphlet on Madeira, relative to the different sorts of consumption, and which I have now on my desk. I need not say that it would be a great comfort to me to be introduced to him by a letter from you or Mrs. Coates, entreating him to put me in a way of living as cheaply as possible. I have no appetites, passions, or vanities which lead to expense; it is now absolute habit to me, indeed, to consider my eating and drinking as a course of medicine. In books only am I intemperate--they have been both bane and blessing to me. For the last three years I have not read less than eight hours a day whenever I have been well enough to be out of bed, or even to sit up in it. Quiet, therefore, a comfortable bed and bedroom, and still better than that, the comfort of kind faces, English tongues, and English hearts now and then,--this is the sum total of my wants, as it is a thing which I _need_. I am far too contented with solitude. The same fullness of mind, the same crowding of thoughts and constitutional vivacity of feeling which makes me sometimes the first fiddle, and too often a watchman’s rattle in society, renders me likewise independent of its excitements. However, I am wondrously calmed down since you saw me--perhaps through this unremitting disease, affliction, and self-discipline.

Mrs. Coleridge desires me to remember her with respectful regards to Mrs. Coates, and to enquire into the history of your little family. I have three children, _Hartley_, seven years old, _Derwent_, three years, and _Sara_, one year on the 23d of this month. _Hartley_ is considered a genius by Wordsworth and Southey; indeed by every one who has seen much of him. But what is of much more consequence and much less doubtful, he has the sweetest temper and most awakened moral feelings of any child I ever saw. He is very backward in his book-learning, cannot write at all, and a very lame reader. We have never been anxious about it, taking it for granted that loving me, and seeing how I love books, he would come to it of his own accord, and so it has proved, for in the last month he has made more progress than in all his former life. Having learnt everything almost from the mouths of people whom he loves, he has connected with his words and notions a passion and a feeling which would appear strange to those who had seen no children but such as had been taught almost everything in books. _Derwent_ is a large, fat, beautiful child, quite the _pride_ of the village, as Hartley is the _darling_. Southey says wickedly that “all Hartley’s guts are in his brains, and all Derwent’s brains are in his guts.” Verily the constitutional differences in the children are great indeed. From earliest infancy Hartley was absent, a mere dreamer at his meals, put the food into his mouth by one effort, and made a second effort to remember it was there and swallow it. With little Derwent it is a time of rapture and jubilee, and any story that has not _pie_ or _cake_ in it comes very flat to him. Yet he is but a baby. Our girl is a darling little thing, with large blue eyes, a quiet creature that, as I have often said, seems to bask in a sunshine as mild as moonlight, of her own happiness. Oh! bless them! Next to the Bible, Shakespeare, and Milton, _they_ are the three books from which I have learned the most, and the most important and with the greatest delight.

I have been thus prolix about me and mine purposely, to induce you to tell me something of yourself and yours.

Believe me, I have never ceased to think of you with respect and a sort of yearning. You were the first man from whom I heard that article of my faith enunciated which is the nearest to my heart,--the pure fountain of all my moral and religious feelings and comforts,--I mean the absolute Impersonality of the Deity.

I remain, my dear sir, with unfeigned esteem and with good wishes, ever yours,

S. T. COLERIDGE.

INDEX

Abergavenny, 410.

Abergavenny, Earl of, wreck of the, 494 n.;
495 n.

Abernethy, Dr. John, 525;
C. determines to place himself under the care of, 564, 565.

Achard, F. C., 299 and note.

Acland, Sir John, 523 and note.

Acting, 621-623.

Acton, 184, 186-188, 191.

Adams, Dr. Joseph, 442 and note.

Addison’s _Spectator_, studied by C. in connection with _The Friend_,
557, 558.

_Address on the Present War, An_, 85 n.

_Address to a Young Jackass and its Tethered Mother_, 119 and note, 120.

Aders, Mrs., 701 n., 702 n., 752;
letters from C., 701, 769.

Adscombe, 175, 184, 188.

Advising, the rage of, 474, 475.

Adye, Major, 493.

_Æschylus, Essay on the Prometheus of_, 740 and note.

_Aids to Reflection_, 688 n.;
preparation and publication of, 734 n., 738;
C. calls Stuart’s attention to certain passages in, 741;
favourable opinions of, 741;
756 n.

Ainger, Rev. Alfred, 400 n.

Akenside, Mark, 197.

Albuera, the Battle of, C.’s articles on, 567 and note.

Alfoxden, 10 n.;
Wordsworth settles at, 224, 227;
326, 515.

Alison’s _History of Europe_, 628 n.

Allen, Robert, 41 and note, 45, 47, 50;
extract from a letter from him to C., 57 n.;
63, 75, 83, 126;
appointed deputy-surgeon to the Second Royals, 225 and note;
letter to C., 225 n.

Allsop, Mrs., 733 n.

Allsop, Thomas, friendship and correspondence with C., 695, 696;
publishes C.’s letters after his death, 696;
his _Letters, Conversations, and Recollections of S. T. Coleridge_,
41 n., 527 n., 675 n., 696 and note, 698 n., 721 n.;
711;
C.’s letter of Oct. 8, 1822, 721 n.;
letter from C., 696.

Allston, Washington, 523;
his bust of C., 570 n., 571;
his portraits of C., 572 and note;
his art and moral character, 573, 574;
581, 633;
his genius and his misfortunes, 650;
695 and notes;
letter from C., 498.

Ambleside, 335;
Lloyd settles at, 344;
577, 578.

America, proposed emigration of C. and other pantisocrats to, 81, 88-91,
98, 101-103, 146;
prospects of war with England, 91;
241;
progress of religious deism in, 414;
C.’s letter concerning the inevitableness of a war with, 629.

Amtmann of Ratzeburg, the, 264, 268, 271.

_Amulet, The_, 257.

_Ancient Mariner, The_, 81 n.;
written in a dream or dreamlike reverie, 245 n.;
696.

_Animal Vitality, Essay on_, by Thelwall, 179, 212.

_Annual Anthology_, the, edited by Southey, 207 n., 226 n., 295 n., 298
n.;
C. suggests a classification of poems in, 313, 314, 317;
318, 320, 322 and note, 330, 331, 748 n.

_Annual Review_, 488, 489, 522.

_Anti-Jacobin, The Beauties of the_, its libel on C., 320 and note.

_Antiquary, The_, by Scott, C.’s portrait introduced into an
illustration for, 736 and note.

_Ants, Treatise on_, by Huber, 712.

_Ardinghello_, by Heinse, 683 and note.

Arnold, Mr., 602, 603.

Arrochar, 432 and note.

Arthur’s Crag, 439.

A-seity, 688 and note.

Asgill, John, and his Treatises, 761 and note.

Ashburton, 305 n.

Ashe, Thomas, his _Miscellanies, Æsthetic and Literary_, 633 n.

Ashley, C. with the Morgans at, 631.

Ashley, Lord, and the Ten Hours Bills, 689 n.

Ashton, 140 and note.

_As late I roamed through Fancy’s shadowy vale_, a sonnet, 116 n., 118.

Atheism, 161, 162, 167, 199, 200.

_Athenæum, The_, 206 n., 536 n., 753 n.

_Atlantic Monthly_, 206 n.

Autobiographical letters from C. to Thomas Poole, 3-21.

Baader, Franz Xavier von, 683 and note.

Babb, Mr., 422.

Bacon, Lord, his _Novum Organum_, 735.

Badcock, Mr., 21.

Badcock, Harry, 22.

Badcock, Sam, 22.

Bala, 79.

Ball, Lady, 494 n., 497.

Ball, Sir Alexander John, 484, 487, 496, 497;
mutual regard of C. and, 508 n.;
524, 554;
C.’s narrative of his life, 579 n.;
his opinions of Lady Nelson and Lady Hamilton, 637.

_Ballad of the Dark Ladie, The_, 375.

Bampfylde, John Codrington Warwick, his genius, originality, and
subsequent lunacy, 309 and note;
his _Sixteen Sonnets_, 309 n.

Banfill, Mr., 306.

Barbauld, Anna Lætitia, 317 n.

_Barbou Casimir, The_, 67 and notes, 68.

Barlow, Caleb, 38.

Barr, Mr., his children, 154.

Barrington, Hon. and Rt. Rev. John Shute, Bishop of Durham, 582 and note.

Bassenthwaite Lake, 335, 376 n.;
sunset over, 384.

_Beard, On Mrs. Monday’s_, 9 n.

Beaumont, Lady, 459, 573, 580, 592, 593;
procures subscribers to C.’s lectures, 599;
644, 645, 739, 741;
letter from C., 641.

Beaumont, Sir George, 440 n., 462;
his affection for C. preceded by dislike, 468;
493;
extract from a letter from Wordsworth on John Wordsworth’s death, 494
n.;
496;
lends the Wordsworths his farmhouse near Coleorton, 509 n.;
579-581;
C. explains the nature of his quarrel with Wordsworth to, 592, 593;
595 n., 629;
on Allston as an historical painter, 633;
739, 741;
letter from C., 570.

_Beauties of the Anti-Jacobin, The_, its libel on C., 320 and note.

Becky Fall, 305 n.

Beddoes, Dr. Thomas, 157, 211, 338;
C.’s grief at his death, 543 and note, 544 and note;
his advice and sympathy in response to C.’s confession, 543 n.;
his character. 544.

Bedford, Grosvenor, 400 n.

Beet sugar, 299 and note.

Beguines, the, 327 n.

Bell, Rev. Andrew, D. D., 575, 582 and note, 605;
his _Origin, Nature, and Object of the New System of Education_, 581
and note, 582.

_Bell, Rev. Andrew, Life of_, by R. and C. C. Southey, 581 n.

Bellingham, John, 598 n.

Bell-ringing in Germany, 293.

Belper, Lord (Edward Strutt), 215 n.

Bennett, Abraham, his electroscope, 218 n., 219 n.

Bentley’s Quarto Edition of Horace, 68 and note.

Benvenuti, 498, 499.

_Benyowski, Count, or the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka, a Tragi-comedy_, by
Kotzebue, 236 and note.

Berdmore, Mr., 80, 82.

Bernard, Sir Thomas, 579 and notes, 580, 582, 585, 595 n., 599.

_Betham, Matilda, To. From a Stranger_, 404 n.

_Bible, The_, as literature, C.’s opinion of, 200;
slovenly hexameters in, 398.

Bibliography, Southey’s proposed work, 428-430.

_Bibliotheca Britannica, or an History of British Literature_, a
proposed work, 425-427, 429, 430.

Bigotry, 198.

Billington, Mrs. Elizabeth Weichsel, 368.

Bingen, 751.

_Biographia Literaria_, 3, 68 n., 74 n., 152 n., 164 n., 174 n., 232 n.,
257, 320 n., 498 n., 607 n., 669 n., 670 n.;
C. ill-used by the printer of, 673, 674;
679, 756 n.

Birmingham, 151, 152.

Bishop’s Middleham, 358 and note, 360.

_Blackwood’s Magazine_, 756.

Blake, William, as poet, painter, and engraver, 685 n., 686 n.;
C.’s criticism of his poems and their accompanying illustrations,
686-688;
his _Songs of Innocence and Experience_, 686 n.

Bloomfield, Robert, 395.

Blumenbach, Prof., 279, 298.

_Book of the Church, The_, 724.

Books, C.’s early taste in, 11 and note, 12;
in later life, 180, 181.

Booksellers, C.’s horror of, 548.

Borrowdale, 431.

Borrowdale mountains, the, 370.

_Botany Bay Eclogues_, by Robert Southey, 76 n., 116.

Bourbons, C.’s Essay on the restoration of the, 629 and note.

Bourne, Sturges, 542.

Bovey waterfall, 305 n.

Bowdon, Anne, marries Edward Coleridge, 53 n.

Bowdon, Betsy, 18.

Bowdon, John (C.’s uncle), C. goes to live with, 18, 19.

Bowdons, the, C.’s mother’s family, 4.

Bowles, the surgeon, 212.

_Bowles, To_, 111.

Bowles, Rev. William Lisle, C.’s admiration for his poems, 37, 42, 179;
63 n., 76 and note;
C.’s sonnet to, 111 and note;
115;
his sonnets, 177;
his _Hope, an Allegorical Sketch_, 179, 180;
196, 197, 211;
his translation of Dean Ogle’s Latin Iambics, 374 and note;
school life at Winchester, 374 n.;
C.’s, Southey’s, and Sotheby’s admiration of, and its effect on their
poems, 396;
borrows a line from a poem of C.’s, 396;
his second volume of poems, 403, 404;
637, 638, 650-652.

Bowscale, the mountain, 339.

Box, 631.

Boyce, Anne Ogden, her _Records of a Quaker Family_, 538 n.

Boyer, Rev. James, 61, 113, 768 n.

Brahmin creed, the, 229.

Brandes, Herr von, 279.

Brandl’s _Samuel Taylor Coleridge and the English Romantic School_, 258,
674 n., 740 n.

Bratha, 394, 535.

Bray, near Maidenhead, 69, 70.

Brazil, Emperor of, an enthusiastic student and admirer of C., 696.

Bread-riots, 643 n.

Brecon, 410, 411.

Bremhill, 650.

Brent, Mr., 598, 599.

Brent, Miss Charlotte, 520, 524-526;
C.’s affection for, 565;
577, 585, 600, 618, 643, 722 n.;
letter from C., 722.
_See_ Morgan family, the.

Brentford, 326, 673 n.

Bridgewater, 164.

Bright, Henry A., 245 n.

Bristol, C.’s bachelor life in, 133-135;
138, 139, 163 n., 166, 167, 184, 326, 414, 520, 572 n., 621, 623, 624.

_Bristol Journal_, 633 n.

_British Critic_, the, 350.

Brookes, Mr., 80, 82.

_Brothers, The_, by Wordsworth, the original of Leonard in, 494 n.;
C. accused of borrowing a line from, 609 n.

Brown, John, printer and publisher of _The Friend_, 542 n.

Brun, Frederica, C.’s indebtedness to her for the framework of the _Hymn
before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni_, 405 n.

Bruno, Giordano, 371.

Brunton, Miss, 86 and note, 87, 89;
verses to, 94.

Brunton, Elizabeth, 86 n.

Brunton, John, 86 n., 87.

Brunton, Louisa, 86 n.

Bryant, Jacob, 216 n., 219.

Buchan, Earl of, 139.

Buclé, Miss, 136.
_See_ Cruikshank, Mrs. John.

Buller, Sir Francis (Judge), 6 n.;
obtains a Christ’s Hospital Presentation for C., 18.

Buonaparte, 308, 327 n., 329 and note;
his animosity against C., 498 n.;
530 n.;
C.’s cartoon and lines on, 642.

Burdett, Sir Francis, 598.

Burke, Edmund, C.’s sonnet to, 116 n., 118;
his _Letter to a Noble Lord_, 157 and note;
Thelwall on, 166;
177.

Burnett, George, 74, 121, 140-142, 144-151, 174 n., 325, 467.

Burns, Robert, 196;
C.’s poem on, 206 and note, 207.

Burton, 326.

Burton’s _Anatomy of Melancholy_, 428.

Busts of C., 570 n., 571, 695 n.

Butler, Samuel (afterwards Head Master of Shrewsbury and Bishop of
Lichfield), 46 and note.

Buttermere, 393.

Byron, Lord, his _Childe Harold_, 583;
666, 694, 726.

_Byron, Lord, Conversations of_, by Capt. Thomas Medwin, 735 and note.

Cabriere, Miss, 18.

Caermarthen, 411.

Caldbeck, 376 n., 724.

Calder, the river, 339.

Caldwell, Rev. George, 25 and note, 29, 71, 82.

Calne, Wiltshire, C.’s life at, 641-653.

Calvert, Raisley, 345 n.

Calvert, William, proposes to study chemistry with C. and Wordsworth,
345;
his portrait in a poem of Wordsworth’s, 345 n.;
proposes to share his new house near Greta Hall with Wordsworth and
his sister, 346;
his sense and ability, 346;
347, 348.

Cambridge, description of, 39;
137, 270.

_Cambridge, Reminiscences of_, by Henry Gunning, 24 n., 363 n.

_Cambridge Intelligencer, The_, 93 n., 218 n.

Cambridge University, C.’s life at, 22-57, 70-72, 81-129;
C. thinks of leaving, 97 n.;
137.

Cameos and intaglios, casts of, 703 and note.

Campbell, James Dykes, 251 n., 337 n.;
his _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, 269 n., 527 n., 572 n., 600 n., 631 n.,
653 n., 666 n., 667 n., 674 n., 681 n., 684 n., 698 n., 752 n.,
753 n., 772 n.

Canary Islands, 417, 418.

Canning, George, 542, 674.

Canova, Antonio, on Allston’s modelling, 573.

Cape Esperichel, 473.

Carlisle, Sir Anthony, 341 and note.

Carlton House, 392.

Carlyle, Thomas, his portrait of C. in the _Life of Sterling_, 771 n.

Carlyon, Clement, M. D., his _Early Years and Late Recollections_, 258,
298 n.

Carnosity, Mrs., 472.

Carrock, the mountain, a tempest on, 339, 340.

Carrock man, the, 339.

Cartwright, Major John, 635 and note.

Cary, Rev. Henry, his _Memoir of H. F. Cary_, 676 n.

_Cary, H. F., Memoir of_, by Henry Cary, 676 n.

Cary, Rev. H. F., his translation of the _Divina Commedia_, 676, 677 and
note, 678, 679;
C. introduces himself to, 676 n.;
685, 699;
letters from C., 676, 677, 731, 760.

_Casimir, the Barbou_, 67 and notes, 68.

Castlereagh, Lord, 662.

_Castle Spectre, The_, a play by Monk Lewis, C.’s criticism of, 236 and
note, 237, 238;
626.

Catania, 458.

Cat-serenades in Malta, 483 n., 484 n.

Catherine II., Empress of Russia, 207 n.

Cathloma, 51.

Catholic Emancipation, C.’s Letters to Judge Fletcher on, 629 and note,
634 and note, 635, 636, 642.

Catholicism in Germany, 291, 292.

Catholic question, the, letters in the _Courier_ on, 567 and note;
C. proposes to again write for the _Courier_ on, 660, 662;
arrangements for the proposed articles on, 664, 665.

Cattermole, George, 750 n.;
letter from C., 750.

Cattermole, Richard, 750 n.

Cattle, disposal of dead and sick, in Germany, 294.

Chalmers, Rev. Thomas, D. D., calls on C., 752 and note.

Chantrey, Mr. (afterwards Sir) Francis, R. A., C.’s impressions of, 699;
727.

Chapman, Mr., appointed Public Secretary of Malta, 491, 496.

_Character, A_, 631 n.

_Charity_, 110 n.

_Chatterton, Monody on the Death of_, 110 n., 158 n.;
C.’s opinion of it in 1797, 222, 223;
620 n.

Chatterton, Thomas, unpopularity of his poems, 221, 222;
Southey’s exertions in aid of his sister, 221, 222.

Chemistry, C. proposes to study, 345-347.

Chepstow, 139, 140 n.

Chester, John, accompanies C. to Germany, 259;
265, 267, 269 n., 272, 280, 281, 300.

_Childe Harold_, by Byron, 583.

Childhood, memory of, in old age, 428.

Children in cotton factories, legislation as to the employment of, 689
and note.

Christ, both God and man, 710.

_Christabel_, written in a dream or dreamlike reverie, 245 n.;
310, 313, 317, 337 and note, 342, 349;
Conclusion to Part II., 355 and note, 356 n.;