Rev. Mr. Jardine, to say "If agreeable, Mr. C. would give his
congregation another sermon, this afternoon, on the Hair Powder Tax!"[21]
On the departure of the waiter, I was fully assured that Mr. Jardine
would smile, and send a civil excuse, satisfied that he had had quite
enough of political economy, with blue coat and white waistcoat, in the
morning; but to my great surprise, the waiter returned with Mr. Jardine's
compliments, saying, "he should be happy to hear Mr. Coleridge!"

Now all was hurry lest the concourse should be kept waiting. What
surprise will the reader feel, on understanding that, independently of
ourselves and Mr. Jardine, there were but seventeen persons present,
including men, women, and children! We had, as we expected, a
recapitulation of the old lecture, with the exception of its humorous
appendages, in reprobation of the Hair Powder Tax; and the twice-told
tale, even to the ear of friendship, in truth sounded rather dull!

Two or three times Mr. C. looked significantly toward our seat, when
fearful of being thrown off my guard into a smile, I held down my head,
from which position I was aroused, when the sermon was about half over,
by some gentleman throwing back the door of his pew, and walking out of
the chapel. In a few minutes after, a second individual did the same; and
soon after a third door flew open, and the listener escaped! At this
moment affairs looked so very ominous, that we were almost afraid Mr.
Jardine himself would fly, and that none but ourselves would fairly sit
it out. A little before, I had been in company with the late Robert Hall,
and S. T. Coleridge, when the collision of equal minds elicited light and
heat; both of them ranking in the first class of conversationalists, but
great indeed was the contrast between them in the pulpit. The parlour was
the element for Mr. Coleridge, and the politician's lecture, rather than
the minister's harangue. We all returned to Bristol with the feeling of