Dir. I am thy friend, the friend of all Red Men. Stand not between us, Sagamores. The brave, Come where they may, speed ever best. Come, brother, I will embrace thee first, and then shake hands. [He wrestles with TORONTO, overthrows, and disarms him. Warriors. White Indian! brave white Indian! thou dost well. Dix. (To Tor.) Now be we friends :— White, am I? Thirty summers o'er my head Have roll'd their suns, since war first smutch'd me brown. I but precede the father of this youth, Wab. King of the Maspataquas, blood-baptiz'd, Ach. In good time, to smoke The pipe of peace, brought by thy valiant son. They visit my sick heart Like a new being. Frown not, Sagamores, I would in nought resemble our pale foes; And 'twas not age that bleach'd these locks of darkness. 'Tis true, I weep,-but these are burning tears: I weep, because your brethren died in vain, In white men's blood, beneath their sulphury noon-night, Will you grant The joy of battle to a fugitive, Who yearns to perish on his slaughter'd foes? Warriors. War! war! Down with the white Priest! [They drag Elliot to the stone of sacrifice. Nid. Great Spirit, save thy priest!-Oh! save him! [She clasps Elliot in her arms, and lays her head upon his. Ach. Smite not the priest, lest ye offend his God. Wab. Warriors, forbear. Ker. Toronto, hold thine hand. Ker. Priest, 'tis true. Ach. Okima, quit thine hold. Ker. Nidaniss, rise. [Elliot is lifted from the stone. Ach. Know, Elliot, that the Mohawks will not serve Your stranger God. We love our fathers' gods, Who shower the pleasant rain upon our corn, And guarantee our fearless liberty. Wab. We covet not subjection or your prayers. Go, therefore, to thy friends, and safely go. Nor Mohawk shall lay hostile hand on thee, Nor Maspataquan. Tell thy countrymen, Thus say the Mohawks,-"Quit the Red Man's land, And, o'er the waters, seek your fathers' graves." SCENE IX. Near the Mohawks' camp. A hut in the back ground. Enter NIDANISS and ELLIOT. Nid. Why stay'st thou here? Oh, be not thou found here! Fly! or Toronto will destroy thee, Elliot!! Nid. My brother still! Go, tell them that we gave them lands and corn, When o'er the blue broad deep they came, and sought A home, whose floor they wash with Indian blood. El. One last embrace! one dear word for remembrance. Nid. Nay, touch me not! Am I not stain'd already? Polluted, lost?-my country's ruiner? I brought destruction on the Maspataquas; I lov'd thee, Elliot, and my love destroy'd us. I lov'd thee, Elliot, and my love was fatal. [Exit Elliot. SCENE X.-Near the falls of the Cohos. MORTON sleeping. MARY in male attire, at a short distance from him. Mary. Stung by imagined wrongs, and mad for vengeance, Ev'n in his dreams, he hunts my father's life! And yet I hesitate to tell him all! Why should he hate me for my parent's fault? [Cries without of ELLIOT! ELLIOT! Then enter WARD, GOFFE, Soldiers, and ELLIOT. Mor. (rising.) How now? what news? Night-wandering, pale apostle, whence comest thou ? El. Straight from the Mohawks' camp. Mor. Whom sawest thou there? What recent visiters hath King Wabang? El. Kerhonah, and an Englishman, called Dixwell, Mor. Thanks for that information. Both shall die,- But for Kerhonah Mor. True, he hath a daughter El. Yes, and a son; and, therefore, must he die? Of all the Maspataquas three survive,- Do not thirst To thy great enemy, in his day of troubles, Mor. Will the hot Mohawks fight for chas'd Ker- Have they resolved to dig the hatchet up? El Hotly they talk. But if thou seek for peace, And seek it in a meek and Christian spirit, They will not fight. If thou provoke the war, Be on thy soul the guilt and punishment. Nid. Terrible Spirit! Cohos, black with thunder! Stern gatherer of the clouds that have no home! Didst awe the desert, manless, dark, and cold. Beneath the moonless night, And when the White Men, All other sounds may slumber, hush'd in death, But still thy accents will be long and loud. Ker. God of the Mohawks! everlasting Voice! Behold, in me, the son of Maspatake, The king of kings. When o'er the waters first, Driv'n from his fathers' graves, hath now no home, God of the Mohawks! hear us and avenge! Ker. When with thy children we go forth to battle, [A shot is fired from without, and KERHONAH Ker. Quit not, thou ruddy tide, my harrow'd cheek, [Another shot is fired from without, and DixWELL falls. Enter WARD and MORTON, followed by MARY, in male attire, but with her long hair flowing in disorder over her dress. Mary. Oh! who did this? Mor. I, woman, I-My wife? Mary. (Stooping over Dixwell.) Oh, my poor father! These white men kill their fathers! Ha! ha! ha! [He dies, shouting and laughing convulsively. Nid. (To Elliot.) Thou art one of them! White worm ! [She rushes upon him, bears him to the ground, Shall his blood die all? Wills the Great Spirit, that our blood die all? [Enter TORONTO, followed by WABANG, OKIMA, Tor. Snake! venom pang your blood to rottenness, [He beats ELLIOT and NIDANISS off the stage, Mor. Yes, Elliot, I sowed vengeance, and reap death. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Ar the Lakes, and summoned abroad by scenery so exquisite-living, too, in the bosom of a family endeared to him by long friendship and by sympathy the closest with all his propensities and tastes Coleridge (it may be thought) could not sequester himself so profoundly as at the Courier Office within his own shell, or shut himself out so completely from that large dominion of eye and ear amongst the hills, the fields, and the woods, which once he had exercised so pleasantly to himself, and with a participation so immortal, himself: the accursed drug poisoned all natural pleasure at its sources; he burrowed continually deeper into scholastic subtleties and metaphysical abstraction, and, like that class described by Seneca, in the luxurious Rome of his days, he lived chiefly by candle-light. At two or three o'clock in the afternoon he would make his first appearance; through the silence of the night, when all other lights had long disappeared, in the quiet cottage of Grasmere his lamp might be seen invariably by the belated traveller, as he decended the long steep from Dun- mail-raise; and at five or six o'clock in the morning, when man was going forth to his labour, this insulated son of reveries was retiring to bed. success, in the hands of an active man, is the pledge of further success. On the basis of this | Cambridge preferment, Dr. Watson built upwards, until he had raised himself, in one way or other, to a seat in the House of Lords, and to a commensurate income. For the latter half of his life, he originally a village schoolmaster's son-was able to associate with the magnates of the land, upon equal terms. And that fact, of itself, without another word, implies, in, this country, a degree of rank and fortune which one would think a sufficient reward even for merit as unquestionable as was that of Dr. Watson. Yet he was always a discontented man, and a railer at the Government and the age which could permit merit such as his to pine away ingloriously, in one of the humblest amongst the bishopricks, with no other addition to its emoluments than the richest Professorship in Europe, and such other accidents in life as gave him in all, perhaps, not above seven thousand per annum ! Poor man!-only seven thousand per annum ! What a trial to a man's patience!—and how much he stood in need of philosophy, or even of religion, to face so dismal a condition! This Bishop was himself, in a secondary way, an interesting study. What I mean is, that, though originally the furthest removed from an interesting person, being a man remarkable indeed for robust faculties, but otherwise commonplace in his character, wordly-minded, and coarse, even to obtuseness, in his sensibilities, he yet became interesting from the strength of degree with which these otherwise repulsive characteristics were marked. He was one of that num. erous order in whom even the love of knowledge is subordinate to schemes of advancement; and to whom even his own success, and his own honour consequent upon that success, had no higher value than according to their use as instruments for winning further promotion. Hence it was, that, when by such aids he had mounted to a certain eminence, beyond which he saw little promise of further ascent, by their assistance-since at this stage it was clear, that party connexion in politics must become his main re Society he did not much court, because much was not to be had; but he did not shrink from any which wore the promise of novelty. At that time the leading person about the Lakes, as regarded rank and station, amongst those who had any connexion with literature, was Dr. Watson, the well-known Bishop of Llandaff. This dignitary I knew myself as much as I wished to know him, having gone to his house five or six times purposely that I might know him: and I shall speak of him circumstantially. Those who have read his autobiography, or are otherwise acquainted with the outline of his career, will be aware that he was the son of a Westmorland schoolmaster. Going to Cambridge, with no great store of classical knowledge, but with the more common accomplishment of Westmorland men, and one better suited to Cambridge, viz.,-a sufficient basis of mathematics, and a robust, though commonplace intellect, for improving his knowledge according to any direction which accident should prescribe,―he obtained the Professorship of Chemistry without one iota of chemical knowledge up to the hour when he gained it and then setting eagerly to work, that he might not disgrace the choice which had thus distinguished him, long before the time arrived for commencing his prelections, he had made himself capable of writing those beautiful essays on that science, which, after a revolution, and a counter-revolution, so great as succeeding times have witnessed, still remain a cardinal book of introductory dis-liance-he ceased to regard his favourite sciences cipline to such studies; an opinion authorized not only by Professor Thomson of Glasgow, but also, to myself, by the late Sir Humphrey Davy. With this experimental proof that a Chemical Chair might be won and honoured without previous knowledge even of the chemical alphabet, he resolved to play the same feat with the Royal Chair of Divinity; one far more important for local honour, and for wealth. Here again he succeeded and this time he extended his experiment; for whereas both Chairs had been won without previous knowledge, he resolved that in this case it should be maintained without after knowledge. He applied himself simply to the improvement of its income, which he raised from £300 to at least £1000 per annum. All this he had accomplished before reaching the age of thirty five. with much interest. Even chemistry was now neglected. This, above all, was perplexing to one who did not understand his character. For hither one would have supposed he might have retreated from his political disappointments, and have found a perpetual consolation in honours which no intrigues could defeat, and in the gratitude, so pure and untainted, which still attended the honourable exertions of his youth. But he viewed the matter in a very different light. Other generations had come since then, and "other palms were won." To keep pace withi the advancing science, and to maintain his station amongst his youthful competitors, would demand a youthful vigour and motives such as theirs. But, as to himself, chemistry had given all it could give. Having first raised himself to distinction by that, he had since married into an Riches are with us the parent of riches; and ancient family-one of the leaders amongst the and had we staid would, beyond a Now, if the rea landed aristocracy of his own county:-he thus | pretensions with their public appreciation, as had entitled himself to call the head of that family, a territorial potentate with ten thousand per annum,-by the contemptuous sobriquet of "Dull Daniel;" he looked down upon numbers whom, twenty years before, he scarcely durst have looked up to; he had obtained a bishopric. Chemistry had done all this for him; and had, besides, co-operating with luck, put him in the way of reaping a large estate from the gratitude and early death of a pupil, Mr. Luther. All this chemistry had effected: could chemistry do anything more? Clearly not. And here it was, that, having lost his motives for cultivating it farther, he regarded the present improvers of the science, not with the feelings natural to a disinterested lover of such studies on their own account, but with jealousy, as men who had eclipsed or had bedimmed his own once brilliant reputation. Two revolutions had occurred since his own" palmy days:" Sir Hum. phrey Davy might be right; and all might be gold that glistened; but, for his part, he was too old to learn new theories-he must be content to hobble to his grave with such old-fashioned creeds as had answered in his time, when, for aught he could see, men prospered as much as in this new-fangled world. This was the tone of his ordinary talk; and, in one sense-as regards ' personal claims, I mean-it was illiberal enough; for the leaders of modern chemistry never overlooked his claims. Professor Thomson of Glasgow always spoke of his " Essays" as of a book which hardly any revolution could antiquate; and Sir Humphrey Davy, in reply to a question which I put to him upon that point, in 1813, declared that he knew of no book better qualified, as one of introductory discipline to the youthful experimenter, or as an apprenticeship to the taste in elegant selection of topics. Yet, querulous and discontented as the Bishop was, when he adverted either to chemistry or to his own position in life, the reader must not imagine to himself the ordinary "complement" and appurtenances of that character-such as moroseness, illiberality, or stinted hospitalities. On the contrary, his Lordship was a joyous, jovial, and cordial host. He was pleasant, and even kind in his manners; most hospitable in his reception of strangers, no matter of what party; and I must say that he was as little overbearing in argument, and as little stood upon his privilege as a church dignitary, as any "big wig" I have happened to know. He was somewhat pompous, undoubtedly; but that, in an old academic hero, was rather agreeable, and had a characteristic effect. He listened patiently to all your objections; and, though steeped to the lips in prejudice, he was really candid. I mean to say, that although, generally speaking, the unconscious pre-occupation of his understanding shut up all avenues to new convictions, he yet did his best to open his mind to any views that might be presented at the moment. And, with regard to his querulous egotism, though it may appear laughable enough to all who contrast his real expressed in his acquired opulence and rank; or exert the most despotic influence as landlords, | Watson's, and amply qualified to have met him mutato nomine, he viewed as the mere natural right of property: and so far was he from loving the pure-hearted and unfactious champions of liberty, that, in one of his printed works, he dared to tax Milton with having knowingly, wilfully, deliberately told a falsehood.* Coleridge, it was hardly possible, could reverence a man like this:-ordinary men might, because they were told that he had defended Christianity against the vile blasphemers and impotent theomichrists of the day. But Coleridge had too pure an ideal of a Christian philosopher, derived from the age of the English Titans in theology, to share in that estimate. It is singular enough, and interesting to a man who has ever heard Coleridge talk, but especially to one who has assisted (to speak in French phrase) at a talking party between Coleridge and the Bishop, to look back upon an article in the Quarterly Review, where, in connexion with the Bishop's autobiography, some sneers are dropped with regard to the intellectual character of the neighbourhood in which he had settled. I have been told, on pretty good authority, that this article was written by the late Dr. Whittaker, of Craven, the topographical antiquarian ; a pretty sort of person, doubtless, to assume such a tone, in speaking of a neighbourhood so dazzling in its intellectual pretensions, as that region at that time! The Bishop had fixed his abode on the banks of Windermere. In a small but beautiful park, he had himself raised a plain, but handsome and substantial mansion: Calgarth, or Calgarth Park, was its name. Now, at Keswick lived Mr. Southey; twenty miles distant, it is true, but still, for a bishop with a bishop's equipage, not beyond a morning's drive. At Grasmere, about eight miles from Calgarth, were to be found Wordsworth and Coleridge. At Brathay, about four miles from Calgarth, lived Charles Lloyd; and he, far as he was below the others I have mentioned, could not in candour be considered a common man. He was somewhat too Rousseauish; but he had, in conversation, very extraordinary powers for analysis of a certain kind, applied to the philosophy of manners, and the most delicate nuances of social life; and his translation of "Alfieri," together with his own poems, shows him to have been an accomplished scholar. Then, not much above a mile from Calgarth, at his beautiful creation of Elleray, lived Professor Wilson, of whom I need not speak. He, in fact, and Mr. Lloyd, were on the most intimate terms with the Bishop's family. The meanest of these persons was able to have "taken the conceit" out of Mr. Dr. Whittaker, and all his tribe. But even in the town of Kendal, about nine miles from Calgarth, there were many men of information, at least as extensive as Dr. upon equal terms in conversation. Mathematics, it is well known, are extensively cultivated in the north of England. Sedburgh, for many years, was a sort of nursery, or rural Chapel-of-ease, to Cambridge. Gough, the blind mathematician and botanist of Kendal, was known to fame; but many others in that town had accomplishments equal to his; and, indeed, so widely has mathematical knowledge extended itself throughout Northern England, that even amongst the poor weavers, mechanic labourers for their daily bread, the cultivation of the geometrical analysis, in the most refined shape, has long prevailed; of which some accounts have been recently published. Some local pique, therefore, must have been at the bottom of Dr. Whittaker's sneer. At all events, it was ludicrously contrasted with the true state of the case, as brought out by the meeting between Coleridge and the Bishop. Coleridge was armed, at all points, with the scholastic erudition which bore upon all questions that could arise in polemic divinity. The philosophy of ancient Greece, through all its schools, the philosophy of the Schoolmen, technically so called, church history, &c., Coleridge had within his call. Having been personally acquainted, or connected as a pupil, with Eickhorn and Michaelis, he knew the whole cycle of schisms and audacious speculations, through which Biblical criticism, or Christian philosophy, has revolved in modern Germany. All this was ground upon which the Bishop of Llandaff trode with the infirm footing of a child. He listened to what Coleridge reported with the same sort of pleasurable surprise, alternating with starts of doubt or incredulity, as would naturally attend a detailed report from Laputa, which aerial region of speculation, does but too often recur to a sober-minded person, in reading of the endless freaks in philosophy of modern Germany, where the sceptre of Mutability, the potentate celebrated by Spenser, gathers more trophies in a year, than elsewhere in a century; "the anarchy of dreams" presiding in her philosophy; and the restless elements of opinion, throughout every region of debate, moulding themselves eternally, like the billowy sands of the desert, as beheld by Bruce, into towering columns, that soar upwards to a giddy altitude, then stalk about for a minute, all a-glow with fiery colour, and finally unmould and "dislimn," with a collapse as sudden as the motions of that eddying breeze, under which their vapoury architecture arose. Hartley and Locke, both of whom the Bishop made into idols, were discussed; especially the former, against whom Coleridge alleged some of those arguments which he has used in his Biographia Literaria. The Bishop made but a feeble defence; and, upon some points, none at all. He seemed, I remember, much struck with one remark of Coleridge's, to this effect :-"That, whereas Hartley fancied that our very reasoning was an aggregation, collected together under the law of association; on the contrary, we reason by coun |