this WORD yet once more (by a second Elizabeth-the WORD of his oath) signifieth (at John Scott's baptism of the Holy Ghost) the removing of those things (those Gods and those doctrines) that are made (according to the Creeds and Commandments of men) that those things (in the moral law of God) which cannot be shaken (as a rule of faith and practice) may remain, wherefore we receiving (from Elizabeth) a kingdom (of God,) which cannot be moved (by Satan) let us have grace (in his grace of Canterbury) whereby we may serve God acceptably (with the acceptable sacrifice of Elizabeth's body and blood of the communion of the Holy Ghost) with reverence (for truth) and godly fear (of the unpardonable sin of blasphemy against the Holy Ghost) for our God (the Holy Ghost) is a consuming fire (to the nation that will not serve him in the Cottle Church). We cannot defend ourselves against the Almighty, and if He is our defence, no nation can invade us."

COLERIDGE A LIGHT DRAGOON.

When at Cambridge, Coleridge paid his addresses to a Mary Evans, who rejected his offer. This he took so much in dudgeon that he withdrew from the University to London, and in a reckless state of mind he entered in the 15th regiment of Elliot's Light Dragoons. No objection having been taken to his height or age, he was asked his name. He had previously determined to give one that was thoroughly Kamschatkian, but having noticed that morning, over a door in Lincoln's Inn Fields, or the Temple, the name of "Cumberbatch" (not Cumberback), he thought this word sufficiently outlandish, and replied "Silas Tomken Cumberbatch;" and such was the entry in the regimental book.

In one of the laborious duties of his new capacity—the drill, the poet so failed that the drill-sergeant thought his professional character endangered; for, after using his utmost efforts to bring his raw recruit into something like training, he expressed the most serious fears, from his unconquerable awkwardness, that he should never be able to make a soldier of him.

Mr. C., it seemed, could not even rub down his own horse, which, however, it should be known, was rather a restive one. —This rubbing down of his horse was a constant source of annoyance to Mr. C., who thought the most rational way was-to let the horse rub himself down, shaking himself clean, and so to shine in all his native beauty; but on this subject there were two opinions, and his that was to decide carried most weight. Mr. C. overcame this difficulty by

bribing a young man of the regiment to perform the achievement for him; and that on very easy terms, namely, by writing him some love stanzas to send his sweetheart.

There was no man in the regiment who met with so many falls from his horse as Silas Tomken Cumberbatch. He often calculated, with so little precision, his due equilibrium, that, in mounting on one side--perhaps the wrong stirrup-the probability was, especially if his horse moved a little, that he lost his balance, and if he did not roll back on this side, came down ponderously on the other. Then the laugh spread amongst the men-"Silas is off again." Mr. C. had often heard of campaigns, but he never before had so correct an idea of hard service.

Some mitigation was now in store for Coleridge, arising out of a whimsical circumstance. He had been placed, as a sentinel, at the door of a ball-room, or some public place of resort, when two of his officers, passing in, stopped for a moment near him, talking about Euripides, two lines from whom one of them repeated.

At the sound of the Greek the sentinel instinctively turned his ear, when he said, with all deference, touching his lofty cap, "I hope your honour will excuse me, but the lines you have repeated are not quite accurately cited. These are the lines," when he gave them in their more correct form. 'Besides," said Mr. C., " instead of being in Euripides, the lines will be found in the second antistrophe of the Edipus of Sophocles." "Why, man, who are you?" said the officer; "old Faustus ground young again?" "I am your honour's humble sentinel," said Coleridge, again touching his cap.

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The officers hastened into the room, and inquired of one and another about that "odd fish" at the door, when one of the mess—it is believed the surgeon-told them that he had his eye upon him, but he could neither tell where he came from, nor anything about his family of the Cumberbatches; "but," continued he, "instead of his being an ‘odd fish,' I suspect he must be a stray bird' from the Oxford or Cambridge aviary." They learned also the laughable fact, that he was bruised all over by frequent falls from his horse. "Ah!" said one of the officers, we have had, at different times, two or three of these 'university birds' in our regiment."

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This suspicion was confirmed by one of the officers, Mr. Nathaniel Ogle, who observed that he had noticed a line of

Latin chalked under one of the men's saddles, and was told, on inquiring whose saddle it was, that it was Cumberbatch's.

The officers now kindly took pity on the " poor scholar," and had Coleridge removed to the medical department, where he was appointed assistant in the regimental hospital. This change was a vast improvement in his condition; and happy was the day also, on which it took place, for the sake of the sick patients; for Silas Tomken Cumberbatch's amusing stories, they said, did them more good than all the doctor's physic.

In one of these interesting conversations, when Mr. C. was sitting on the foot of the bed, surrounded by his gaping comrades, the door was suddenly burst open, and in came two or three gentlemen, his friends: looking some time in vain, amid the uniform dresses for their man, at length they pitched on Mr. C., and, taking him by the arm, led him in silence out of the room. As the supposed deserter passed the threshold, one of the astonished auditors uttered, with a sigh, "Poor Silas! I wish they may let him off with a cool five hundred." Coleridge's ransom was soon joyfully adjusted by his friends, and he was soldier no more.

He was (as we have said) a remarkably awkward horseman. On a certain occasion he was riding along the turnpike road, in the county of Durham, when a wag, approaching him, noticed his peculiarity, and, quite mistaking his man, thought the rider a fine subject for a little sport; when, as he drew near, he thus accosted him: "I say, young man, did you meet a tailor on the road?" "Yes," replied Coleridge, "I did; and he told me if I went a little further I should meet a goose !"

The discovery of Coleridge's enlistment as a dragoon was thus guessed at by one of the critics of his day, as "his then democratical feelings made his officers willing to get rid of him; perhaps, which is a fact, he could not be taught to ride," but this was incorrect. But the Rev. W. L. Bowles communicated the more correct information to the Times: "I am, perhaps," says the canon, "the only person now living (1834) who can explain all the circumstances from Mr. Coleridge's own mouth, with whom I became acquainted after a sonnet addressed to me in his poems; moreover, being intimate from our school-days, and at Oxford, with that very officer in his regiment who alone procured his discharge, from whom also I heard the facts after Coleridge became known as a poet."

"The regiment was the 15th Elliot's Light Dragoons; the officer was Nathaniel Ogle, eldest son of Dr. Newton Ogle, Dean of Winchester, and brother of the late Mr. Sheridan; he was a scholar, and leaving Merton College, he entered the regiment as cornet. Some years afterwards-I believe he was then captain of Coleridge's troop-going into the stables at Reading, he remarked written on the white wall, in large pencil characters, the following sentence in Latin :

"Eheu! quam infortunii miserimum et fuisse felicem.'

"Being struck with the circumstance, and himself a scholar, Captain Ogle inquired of a soldier, whom he knew, to whom the saddle belonged, 'Please your honour, to Comberback,' answered the dragoon. Comberback,' said his captain; 'send him to me.' Comberback presented himself, with the inside of his hand in front of his cap. His officer mildly said, 'Comberback, did you write the Latin sentence, which I have just read, under your saddle?' 'Please, your honour,' answered the soldier, I wrote it.' 'Then, my lad,

you are not what you appear to be. I shall speak to the commanding officer, and you may depend on my speaking as a friend.' The commanding officer, I think, was General Churchill.

"Comberback was examined, and it was found out, that having left Jesus College, Cambridge, and being in London without resources, he had enlisted in this regiment. He was soon discharged -- not from his democratical feelings, for whatever those feelings might be, as a soldier he was remarkably orderly and obedient, though he could not rub. down his own horse. He was discharged from respect to his friends and his station. His friends having been informed of his situation, a chaise was soon at the door of the Bear Inn, Reading, and the officers of the 15th cordially shaking his hand, particularly the officer who had been the means of his discharge, he drove off, not without a tear in his eye, his old companions of the tap-room gave him hearty cheers as the wheels rapidly rolled away along the Bath road to London and Cambridge.-WILLIAM L. BOWLES."

When Coleridge was enlisted, he was asked his name. He hesitated, but seeing the name Comberback (Comberbatch) over a shop-door near Westminster Bridge, he instantly said his name was Comberbatch.

It should be mentioned that by far the most correct, sub

lime, chaste, and beautiful of Coleridge's poems, meo judicio, Religious Musings, was written, non inter sylvas academi, but in the tap-room at Reading.

COLERIDGE AND HIS SON HARTLEY.

Of Hartley Coleridge, Southey ominously foretold "that if he lives he will dream away life like his father; too much delighted over his own ideas ever to embody them or suffer them, if he can help it, to be disturbed." Southey writes:

"Moses grows up as miraculous a boy as ever King Pharaoh's daughter found his namesake to be. I am perfectly astonished at him; and his father has the same sentiment of wonder and the same forefeeling that it is a prodigious and an unnatural intellect, and that he will not live to be a man. There is more in the old woman's saying, he is too clever to live,' than appears to a common observer. Diseases which ultimately destroy, in their early stages quicken and kindle the intellect like opium. It seems as if death looked out the most promising plants in this great nursery, to plant them in a better soil. The boy's great delight is for his father to talk metaphysics to him,-few men understand him so perfectly; -and then his own incidental sayings are quite wonderful. The pity is,' said he one day to his father, who was expressing some wonder that he was not so pleased as he expected with riding in a wheelbarrow,-'the pity is that I'se always thinking of my thoughts.' The child's imagination is equally surprising; he invents the wildest tales you ever heard,—a history of the Kings of England who are to be. How do you know that this is to come to pass, Hartley?' 'Why you know it must be something, or it would not be in my head ;' and so, because it had not been, did Moses conclude it must be, and away he prophesies of his King Thomas the Third. Then he has a tale of a monstrous beast called the Rabzeze Kallaton, whose skeleton is on the outside of his flesh; and he goes on with the oddest and most original inventions, till he sometimes actually terrifies himself, and says, 'I'se afraid of my own thoughts.' It may seem like superstition, but I have a feeling that such an intellect can never reach maturity. The springs are of too exquisite workmanship to last long."

THE POETS IN A PUZZLE.

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Cottle, in his Life of Coleridge, relates the following amusing incident :- "I led my horse to the stable, where a sad per