bridge Hall" may have been indebted for one remarkable parallel :

"The wild fellow in Petronius, that escaped upon a broken table from the furies of a shipwreck, espied a man rolled upon his floating bed of waves, ballasted with sand in the folds of his garment, and carried by his civil enemy, the sea, towards the shore to find a grave; and it cast him into some sad thoughts; that peradventure this man's wife, in some part of the continent, safe and warm, looks next month for the good man's return; or it may be his son knows nothing of the tempest; or his father thinks of that affectionate kiss which still is warm upon the good old man's cheek, ever since he took a kind farewell, and he weeps with joy to think how blessed he shall be when his beloved boy returns into the circle of his father's arms. These are the thoughts of mortals, this is the end and sum of all their designs; a dark night and an ill guide, a boisterous sea and a broken cable, a hard rock and a rough wind dashed in pieces the fortune of a whole family, and they that weep loudest for the accident are not yet entered into the storm, and yet have suffered shipwreck. Then looking upon the carcass, he knew it, and found it to be the master of the ship, who the day before cast up the accounts of his patrimony and his trade, and named the day when he thought to be at home. See how the man swims who was so angry two days since; his passions

are becalmed with the storm, his accounts cast up, his cares at an end, his voyages done, and his gains are the strange events of death; which whether they be good or evil, the men that are alive seldom trouble themselves concerning the interests of the dead."*

"We one day," says W. Irving, "descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked d; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle has long been over-they have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest-their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence-oblivion like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news to catch some casual

* General Considerations Preparatory to Death.

K

intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety-anxiety into dread— and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento shall ever return for love to cherish. All that shall ever be known is, that she sailed from her port, and was never heard of more.'

The Fables of Lessing were among my earliest lessons in the German language; and as I knew Coleridge to be a great admirer of Lessing, and deep in the study of his life and writings, I ventured to show him the following translation into English pentameters, of his admirable fable of Jupiter and the Horse :

"Father of beasts and men! (with reverence due

Exclaimed the horse, as near Jove's throne he drew,)
It
may be said, perhaps with truth, that I

With the most beautiful of beasts may vie

Yet still, I think you cannot fail to own,

A little farther might your skill be shown.

Jove smiled, and asked, What have you to propose?
I'm open to advice—your mind disclose.

Why then, no doubt it will increase my speed,
If to my present higher legs succeed,
Higher and thinner! Does it not appear,
That if the swan's long bend of neck were here,
It would not misbecome me? Don't you see,
Were my chest broader, I should stronger be?
And, since you mean your favourite, man, to ride,
Would not a saddle, naturally supplied,
Save him much trouble? As it is, you know,
I to his labour must the saddle owe.

Well, replied Jove, be patient but a while.
Now from his face discarded was the smile;

* The Sketch Book.

All stern his aspect. The Creator spoke!
Forth from the dust the living creature broke,
The ugly camel! Horror and affright

Seized on the horse; he shuddered at the sight!
Here, Jove exclaimed, the swan's long neck is here,
And here the legs, the higher legs appear,
Higher and thinner. See the broader chest ;
See here the saddle in the form exprest.

Horse! let me know; is this what you would be?
The horse still trembled.

Hence! begone from me!

Continued Jove. This once instruction gain,

From punishment exempt. But to retain,
From time to time, in thy repentant breast,

The recollection of thy rashness.-Rest
E'en as thou art, new creature! Ever see,
The horse will shudder when he looks at thee !*

My censor, upon this occasion, was no flatterer. The inimitable point and terseness of the original are wanting; so that, with the exception of a single halfline, he had not a word to say in favour of my translation. Here it is, however, for the benefit of those who have no acquaintance with the original, to which I claim, at least, the merit of adhering more closely than some more recent translator, as I have had an opportunity of knowing, by the perusal of a very pretty collection of what the author terms "Flowers of Fable," lately published.

* There exists a tradition, upon which Lessing founded the above fable, that a horse never sees a camel without trembling; and a friend informs me that he has himself seen a horse affected with considerable qualms at the sight of a camel.

The moral of Lessing's fable is similar to that of Æsop's "Jupiter and the Husbandman," and finely illustrates the effect of inconsiderate presumption.

Fond as Coleridge was of raising our views to the sublimest truths, he never, to my knowledge, either by example or precept, made any effort to check the abominable neglect of religious worship which prevailed among the English, equally with the German students, at Göttingen. No one ever thought of going to church.* And yet as a proof that he did not like

* I am much indebted to my friend Parry for the following long and apposite extract, from a letter written by him to some member of his family in England, and bearing date

"Göttingen, May 25, 1799.

"My mother has frequently inquired whether we go to church. This I am sorry to confess, we seldom do. The Greatheeds were no friends to the religion or service of the German churches, and told us we should get more good by staying at home, than by frequenting them. They are all Catholic or Lutheran, either full of the superstition of the former, or the enthusiastic rant which has too much crept into the latter religion. Pure Christianity is, unhappily, at a very low ebb on the Continent. Pütter (Professor of History) is the only person of consideration here who openly professes it, and he has firmness to despise the ridicule which attaches to him on that account. It is an agreeable anecdote, as regards both parties, that when Coleridge, who was acquainted with this part of his character, accidentally met him for the first time, on the ramparts, he pulled off his hat, and made him a respectful bow; the only mark of esteem which he had it in his power to show. Eichorn, one of the principal theologists in Germany, and a lecturer here, seems, from all accounts, to be doing his utmost to destroy the evidences on which we ground our belief. He is a good man and extremely charitable, but this attempt speaks neither for his head nor for his heart. Coleridge, an able vindicator of these important truths, is well acquainted with Eichorn, but this latter is a coward, who dreads his arguments and his presence. Even atheism is not altogether unfashionable here, in the higher, and sometimes among the lower classes of society. The priests are generally weak and ignorant men, who pay little attention to their flocks, at least out of the pulpit.