We regret that Mr. Coleridge has passed over without notice all the years which he spent “in the happy quiet of ever-honoured Jesus College, Cambridge.”  That must have been the most important period of his life, and was surely more worthy of record than the metaphysical dreams or the poetical extravagancies of his boyhood.  He tells us, that he was sent to the University “an excellent Greek and Latin scholar, and a tolerable Hebraist”; and there might have been something rousing and elevating to young minds of genius and power, in his picture of himself, pursuits, visions, and attainments, during the bright and glorious morning of life, when he inhabited a dwelling of surpassing magnificence, guarded and hallowed, and sublimed by the Shadows of the Mighty.  We should wish to know what progress he made there in his own favourite studies; what place he occupied, or supposed he occupied, among his numerous contemporaries of talent; how much he was inspired by the genius of the place; how far he “pierced the caves of old Philosophy,” or sounded the depths of the Physical Sciences.  All this unfortunately is omitted, and he hurries on to details often trifling and uninfluential, sometimes low, vile, and vulgar, and, what is worse, occasionally inconsistent with any feeling of personal dignity and self-respect.

After leaving College, instead of betaking himself to some respectable calling, Mr. Coleridge, with his characteristic modesty, determined to set on foot a periodical work called “The Watchman,” that through it “all might know the truth.”  The price of this very useful article was "four-pence." Off he set on a tour to the north to procure subscribers, “preaching in most of the great towns as a hireless Volunteer, in a blue coat and white waistcoat, that not a rag of the Woman of Babylon might be seen on me.”  In preaching, his object was to show that our Saviour was the real son of Joseph, and that the Crucifixion was a matter of small importance.  Mr. Coleridge is now a most zealous member of the Church of England—­devoutly believes every iota in the thirty-nine articles, and that the Christian Religion is only to be found in its purity in the homilies and liturgy of that Church.  Yet, on looking back to his Unitarian zeal, he exclaims,

O, never can I remember those days with either shame or regret! For I was most sincere, most disinterested!  Wealth, rank, life itself, then seem’d cheap to me, compared with the interests of truth, and the will of my Maker.  I cannot even accuse myself of having been actuated by vanity! for in the expansion of my enthusiasm I did not think of myself at all!

This is delectable.  What does he mean by saying that life seemed cheap?  What danger could there be in the performance of his exploits, except that of being committed as a Vagrant?  What indeed could rank appear to a person thus voluntarily degraded?  Or who would expect vanity to be conscious of its