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him to appreciate the character and estimate the powers of his eccentric friend, I am indebted for some delightful reminiscences, principally referring to this period of my brother's life. From these it will appear that previous to taking his degree he had become a diligent student.
“It was, I think, in the summer of the year 1818, that I first saw your brother Hartley, during a visit that I was paying to Mr. Southey at Greta Hall. I cannot easily convey to you the impression of interest which he made on my mind at that time. There was something so wonderfully original in his method of expressing himself, that on me, then a young inan, and only cognisant externally of the prose of life, his sayings, all stamped with the impress of poetry, produced an effect analogous to that which the mountains of Cumberland, and the scenery of the North, were working on my southern-born eye and imagination.
“It was the custom of Hartley at that time to study the whole day, and only towards the dusk of the evening to come forth for needful exercise and recreation. My attention was at first aroused by seeing from my window a figure flitting about amongst the trees and shrubs of the garden with quick and agitated motion. This was Hartley, who, in the ardour of preparing for his college examination, did not even take his meals with the family; but snatched a hasty morsel in his own apartment, and only, as I have said, sought the free air when the fading daylight no longer permitted him to see his books. Having found out who he was, that so mysteriously flitted about the garden, I was determined to lose no time in making his acquaintance; and through the instrumentality of Mrs. Coleridge, I paid Hartley a visit to what he called his den. This was a room afterwards converted by Mr. Southey into a supplementary library, but then appropriated as a study to Hartley, and presenting a
most picturesque and student-like disorder of scattered pamphlets and open folios. Here I was received by Hartley with much urbanity and friendliness, and from that time we were a good deal together. Years have swept from my mind the particulars of our various conversations, yet the general impression on my memory of eloquence and beauty will never pass away. We skimmed the fields of literature together; together we explored the fair and bright regions of metaphysics. Politics nearly excepted, we ran over every subject of human thought and inquiry, Hartley throwing upon all the light, I might say splendour, of his own fine intelligence. Religion was our frequent theme, and in this I had occasion to admire the profound knowledge of Hartley; the perfect view he had of free salvation by the only merits of Christ, and the large liberality of his sentiments.
“Added to all this was a fineness of perception; a keenness of feeling which continually made me feel how exactly Mr. Wordsworth must have delineated Hartley, years before, in the period of early childhood. I allude to the lines To H. C., six years old,' beginning
• O THOU ! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Perhaps something of the sadder feeling with which our great philosophical poet then regarded the imaginative child accompanied the delight which Hartley's conversation then gave me. One could not help thinking—'Here are faculties too fine for the “unkindly shocks ” of every-day life.' And Hartley, though far from betraying anything sickly in his mental texture,-he was force itself both in thought and expression-had his moments of despondency, such as perhaps the finest and even the most energetic organisations cannot fail occasionally to have.
“One especial day when this spirit was manifested, comes out to me from the indistincter mass of recollections with
peculiar vividness. It was on a Sunday, almost the only day
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth ;
The hare is running races in her mirth.' And so on throughout a great part of that fine poem, entitled * Resolution and Independence,' (I must remark, by the way, that Hartley's verbal memory was astonishing,) till he had repeated the stanza,* But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so
name.' Hartley here stopped, and there was a pause of silencebroken by his saying in somewhat of an altered and lower tone-'I cannot tell you how exactly this and other expressions in this grand poem of Wordsworth's hit my mood at certain times so exclusively as almost to render me unobservant of its corrective and higher tendencies.
« The fear that kills;
these have I known—I have even heard a voice, yes, not like a creation of the fancy, but an audible and sensuous voice forboding evil to me.'
“I tried to combat the idea ; but at that moment the idea was predominant, and was not to be combated. Hartley shook his head in silence. His brow was contracted. But in a mind like his despondent thoughts were but passing guests, and could find no permanent resting-place. Other moods of his have shown him to me hopeful, buoyant, always energetic; and even on the occasion I refer to the dejection was but short-lived. However, he said no more at that moment, and soon after we reached the quiet humble church so beautifully situated on the projecting ledge of an elevated mountain swell. Before we entered the house of God we could not help pausing, as we stood before the quaint old wooden porch, to take one look at the landscape below us. Fit preparation for hearing God's Gospel was such a revelation of creative power and beauty. A small river, winding over the brown moor beneath, was distinctly shown in all its wanderings by its marvellous reflection of the blue heaven. The fine mountain commonly called Saddleback, more poetically Blen Cathra, was before us, closing up the vista of the vale with its grand Olympian form. Round it were dark and wreathing clouds, through which its summit pierced in light so intense that irresistibly it presented to my mind an image of Mount Sinai when the Lord descended upon it in fire.' Almost could I have figured to myself Moses descending from out the darkness, bearing with him the 'two tables of stone,' while the whole Jewish nation, standing at the nether part of the mount,' awaited him in trembling expectation.
“ As we looked on this grand scenery, I could see Hartley's face grow lighter; and after we were seated in the church itself, where windows freely open admitted glimpses of sky and mountain, together with the elastic mountain breeze, his countenance entirely regained its accustomed cheerfulness. When, too, after the service, we, at the clergyman's request, went into a Sunday-school, held in a small stone building near the church, Hartley with alacrity and spirit asked the children questions, to demonstrate to me their good Cumbrian instruction and Biblical knowledge. This interesting examination over, as we left the school, Hartley
-looking (as he could) full of humour and exuberant kindness—whispered to me, This is a capital cure for blue devils.'
“Hartley was of an absent turn of mind. That which in another person might have been affectation of eccentricity, was in him perfectly natural. He was far too wise in spirit to despise the conventionalities of life ; but often he did not attend to them, through the real absorption of his mind upon higher matters. I remember, upon one occasion at Mr. Southey's, a proof of this. Hartley generally joined the family at tea, which was served in Mr. Southey's study or library, a large room whose walls were books, whose ornaments were works of art and objects of science-an apartment in which all requisites for bodily and mental comfort were more united than in any apartment I ever saw. As it was known that Hartley, at that period, was wholly occupied with his studies, and that these were pursued up to the last available moment of the day, he was by common consent absolved from what Galt would have called the prejudices of the toilet, and so it was his wont to stray into the room where the family were assembled attired in his reading costume, namely, a sort of loose toga, between a coat and a dressing-gown, and his feet in slippers. Sometimes he did not appear in the library at all; but with that perfect liberty which made happy the inmates of Mr. Southey's house, he would stay away or come just as it suited his fancy or his studies. On one occasion it so happened that, after a day or two's seclusion, Hartley came into the library in the very identical reading costume I have described, on an evening when, added to the usual frequenters of our tea-table, were a party of strangers, (a circumstance of which Hartley was wholly unaware,) some of them ladies