close friend of the Sterling house, will observe that this is dated
1841, not 1851, and have his own reflections on the matter!

_To the Same_.

"_December 17th_.--I am not much surprised at Lady ----'s views of
Coleridge's little Book on _Inspiration_.--Great part of the obscurity
of the Letters arises from his anxiety to avoid the difficulties and
absurdities of the common views, and his panic terror of saying anything
that bishops and good people would disapprove. He paid a heavy price,
viz. all his own candor and simplicity, in hope of gaining the favor of
persons like Lady ----; and you see what his reward is! A good lesson
for us all."

_To the Same_.

"_February 1st_, 1842.--English Toryism has, even in my eyes, about as
much to say for itself as any other form of doctrine; but Irish Toryism
is the downright proclamation of brutal injustice, and all in the name
of God and the Bible! It is almost enough to make one turn Mahometan,
but for the fear of the four wives."

_To his Father_.

"_March 12th_, 1842.--... Important to me as these matters are, it
almost seems as if there were something unfeeling in writing of them,
under the pressure of such news as ours from India. If the Cabool Troops
have perished, England has not received such a blow from an enemy, nor
anything approaching it, since Buckingham's Expedition to the Isle
of Rhe. Walcheren destroyed us by climate; and Corunna, with all its
losses, had much of glory. But here we are dismally injured by mere
Barbarians, in a War on our part shamefully unjust as well as foolish:
a combination of disgrace and calamity that would have shocked Augustus
even more than the defeat of Varus. One of the four officers with
Macnaghten was George Lawrence, a brother-in-law of Nat Barton; a
distinguished man, and the father of five totally unprovided children.
He is a prisoner, if not since murdered. Macnaghten I do not pity; he
was the prime author of the whole mad War. But Burnes; and the women;
and our regiments! India, however, I feel sure, is safe."

So roll the months at Falmouth; such is the ticking of the great
World-Horologe as heard there by a good ear. "I willingly add," so ends
he, once, "that I lately found somewhere this fragment of an Arab's
love-song: 'O Ghalia! If my father were a jackass, I would sell him to
purchase Ghalia!' A beautiful parallel to the French _'Av