learning and of information.  He is “full of wise saws and modern” (as well as ancient) “instances.”  Mr. Southey may not always convince his opponents; but he seldom fails to stagger, never to gall them.  In a word, we may describe his style by saying that it has not the body or thickness of port wine, but is like clear sherry with kernels of old authors thrown into it!—­He also excels as an historian and prose-translator.  His histories abound in information, and exhibit proofs of the most indefatigable patience and industry.  By no uncommon process of the mind, Mr. Southey seems willing to steady the extreme levity of his opinions and feelings by an appeal to facts.  His translations of the Spanish and French romances are also executed con amore, and with the literal fidelity and care of a mere linguist.  That of the Cid, in particular, is a masterpiece.  Not a word could be altered for the better, in the old scriptural style which it adopts in conformity to the original.  It is no less interesting in itself, or as a record of high and chivalrous feelings and manners, than it is worthy of perusal as a literary curiosity.

Mr. Southey’s conversation has a little resemblance to a common-place book; his habitual deportment to a piece of clock-work.  He is not remarkable either as a reasoner or an observer:  but he is quick, unaffected, replete with anecdote, various and retentive in his reading, and exceedingly happy in his play upon words, as most scholars are who give their minds this sportive turn.  We have chiefly seen Mr. Southey in company where few people appear to advantage, we mean in that of Mr. Coleridge.  He has not certainly the same range of speculation, nor the same flow of sounding words, but he makes up by the details of knowledge, and by a scrupulous correctness of statement for what he wants in originality of thought, or impetuous declamation.  The tones of Mr. Coleridge’s voice are eloquence:  those of Mr. Southey are meagre, shrill, and dry.  Mr. Coleridge’s forte is conversation, and he is conscious of this:  Mr. Southey evidently considers writing as his strong-hold, and if gravelled in an argument, or at a loss for an explanation, refers to something he has written on the subject, or brings out his port-folio, doubled down in dog-ears, in confirmation of some fact.  He is scholastic and professional in his ideas.  He sets more value on what he writes than on what he says:  he is perhaps prouder of his library than of his own productions—­themselves a library!  He is more simple in his manners than his friend Mr. Coleridge; but at the same time less cordial or conciliating.  He is less vain, or has less hope of pleasing, and therefore lays himself less out to please.  There is an air of condescension in his civility.  With a tall, loose figure, a peaked austerity of countenance, and no inclination to embonpoint, you would say he has something puritanical, something ascetic in his appearance.