a "Fraternal Colony;" and, in the result, to renovate the whole face of
society! They met without speaking, and consequently appeared as
strangers. I asked Mr. C. what it meant. He replied, "Lovell, who at
first, did all in his power to promote my connexion with Miss Fricker,
now opposes our union." He continued, "I said to him, 'Lovell! you are a
villain!'" "Oh," I replied, "you are quite mistaken. Lovell is an honest
fellow, and is proud in the hope of having you for a brother-in-law. Rely
on it he only wishes you from prudential motives to delay your union." In
a few days I had the happiness of seeing them as sociable as ever.

This is the last time poor Robert Lovell's name will be mentioned in this
work, as living. He went to Salisbury, caught a fever, and, in eagerness
to reach his family, travelled when he ought to have lain by; reached his
home, and died! We attended his funeral, and dropt a tear over his grave!

Mr. Coleridge, though at this time embracing every topic of conversation,
testified a partiality for a few, which might be called stock subjects.
Without noticing his favorite Pantisocracy, (which was an everlasting
theme of the laudatory) he generally contrived, either by direct
amalgamation or digression, to notice in the warmest encomiastic
language, Bishop Berkeley, David Hartley, or Mr. Bowles; whose sonnets he
delighted in reciting. He once told me, that he believed, by his constant
recommendation, he had sold a whole edition of some works; particularly
amongst the fresh-men of Cambridge, to whom, whenever he found access, he
urged the purchase of three works, indispensable to all who wished to
excel in sound reasoning, or a correct taste;--Simpson's Euclid; Hartley
on Man; and Bowles's Poems.

In process of time, however, when reflection had rendered his mind more
mature, he appeared to renounce the fanciful and brain-bewildering system