were sent to the North, so far as I am concerned, shared the same fate. I
do not know that they were ever paid for. If they were, in combination
with other things, it was my wish that the entanglement should never be
unravelled, for who could take from Mr. C. any portion of his slender
remittances.

The most amusing appendage to this unfortunate "Miscellany," will now be
presented to the reader, in the seven following letters of Mr. Coleridge,
addressed to his friend Mr. Josiah Wade, and written in the progress of
his journey to collect subscribers for the "Watchman."


"Worcester, Jan. 1796.

My dear Wade,

We were five in number, and twenty-five, in quantity. The moment I
entered the coach, I stumbled on a huge projection, which might be called
a belly, with the same propriety that you might name Mount Atlas a
mole-hill. Heavens! that a man should be unconscionable enough to enter a
stage coach, who would want elbow room if he were walking on Salisbury
Plain!

This said citizen was a most violent aristocrat, but a pleasant humourous
fellow in other respects, and remarkably well-informed in agricultural
science; so that the time passed pleasantly enough. We arrived at
Worcester at half-past two: I of course dined at the inn, where I met Mr.
Stevens. After dinner I christianized myself; that is, washed and
changed, and marched in finery and cleanliness to High-Street. With
regard to business, there is no chance of doing any thing at Worcester.