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Gentleman's Magazine 1851 part 1 p.584
(with one or two short intervals which we need not stay to
describe) the life of a solitary student by the banks of
Grasmere and Rydal; dependent indeed upon the help of his
relations for what small provision he needed, but requiring
no more than they could cheerfully supply; condemned indeed
to hopeless poverty and (which to him was a sadder thought)
to hopeless celibacy - but everywhere a welcome guest to the
high and the low, the learned and the ignorant; producing
little indeed which brought him money, but much which will
be found to be of more real worth than the most marketable
produce which he could have raised. For it was part of his
singular case that the conditions which steady the character
and stimulate the powers of other men had the contrary
effect upon him. By some strange misdirection of the moral
sensibility, which seems indeed to have been hereditary, a
formal engagement to do a thing frightened him from his
purpose, and paralysed his power of perfomance. It is
Cowper, we think, who somewhere says he could sit in his
room all day without desiring to go out, until the door were
locked upon him; but the moment he felt that he could not
let himself out when he pleased, it became a misery to him
to stay in. So Hartley Coleridge could read and write
assiduously and copiously, so long as he did not feel
himself under an obligation to go on; but a promise to
finish took away his power to proceed.
The lot therefore upon which he had at last fallen, with all
its privations and disadvantages, gave probably the freest
scope to his peculiar faculties of which they were capable.
Here his defects could do least injury to himself or others;
here his genius could bear its best fruit. His wanderings
were but transient eclipses. The shadow past, he came forth
as pure and bright as before. Never, perhaps, was a man who
was so unlike other men more justly appreciated by those
among whom he lived. We doubt whether they could have
understood him half so well at Oriel. The breeze which is so
healthful and so refreshing in its native mountains would
spread consternation through the Combination Room; and
Hartley's mind flowed where it listed, obedient to the inner
impulses, with little respect for persons or places. What
the tutors might have thought of it we do not know; but the
"untutored dales" were charmed with the various stream of
his talk, so singular yet so unaffected, so familiar yet so
unvulgar, so full of drollery yet so full of wisdom, so keen
and pungent and yet so truly genial, liberal, and humane.
Those who never heard him talk will get the best notion of
his manner from the letters of Mrs. Thomas Blackburn
(pp.cxv. cxxxii.), who has the art of picturesque narration,
and from whom we should be glad to have a fuller
reminiscence and a more complete delineation. But no report
of what he said can convey the effect, or even the true
meaning of his words, unless a notion could at the same time
be given of the rapid transitions of his eye and voice from
boisterous mirth to thoughfulness, tenderness, or sadness,
as one idea called up another. Therefore the peculiar charm
of his conversation will probably live only in tradition. It
was not in his conversation however, only or chiefly, that
the real spell lay. It was his affectionate and
large-hearted sympathy with man, woman, and child, of
whatever degree - his true delicacy and generosity of nature
- that endeared him to all hearts. Several years ago, when
some of his friends thought of asking him to visit them in
the south of England, the project being mentioned to
Wordsworth, he strongly disapproved of it: "It is far better
for him," said he (we heard the words ourselves), "to remain
where he is, - where everbody knows him, and everybody
loves and takes care of him." What can we add to such
testimony from such a witness?
The literary produce of these later years, when all is
gathered together, will amount to something very
considerable, both in quantity and quality. The excitement
of conversation did not exhaust, but rather stimulated him,
and he would often on returning from a party fall to his
desk and continue writing far into the night.
"The quantity, (says his brother, p.cxliv.) the variety, and
I venture to add the quality, of the thought which passed
through his mind during these latter years,
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