which he transports us, the misty exhalations of thought which come rolling one over another, apparently the sport of accident or impulse, but governed by unknown laws of association,-often assume forms of grandeur and beauty which delight the fancy, although they obscure or conceal the field of intellectual vision. Mr. Coleridge's habits of thought are strikingly desultory, and yet, they must be characterized as truly philosophical; and from the combination of these almost incompatible qualities results the peculiar character of his writings. He proceeds in a way the very opposite to that of some eloquent writers, who, having selected a proposition for illustration, concentrate their whole attention upon that point, lavish on it all the strength of argument, and never leave it till the theme is fairly exhausted. Mr. Coleridge, on the contrary, never closes with a subject, never comes to close quarters, but brings the artillery of his learning and eloquence to bear upon large masses. We can hardly conceive of a more striking contrast than that which his writings present, in this respect, to those of Dr. Chalmers. The one is fond of exhibiting a simple idea in every variety of aspect, and of decorating it with multiplied illustrations, making it the central point of the shifting figures, in a manner that has been aptly compared to the effect of the objects in a kaleidoscope. The other surrounds us with a gallery of abstractions, theories, axioms, unfinished sketches, and antique fragments, in which his own conceptions are indiscriminately blended with those of other men; where nothing is well arranged, and scarcely any thing is finished, but here, ideas present themselves roughly blocked out, and waiting for the chisel,-there, a rude sketch suggests hints for a study,-here is seen a foot of Hercules, there, a head of Juno,-here, the torso of a Church, and there, the fragments of a Constitution. Now all this is very pleasant as an exhibition, but extremely difficult to deal with. The disorderly opulence of the Author's stores of thought, by which he is himself bewildered, baffles all analysis. We are charmed with the grouping and succession of objects, but they will not fall into perspective; and when we arrive at the end, we seem as far as ever from any definite conclusion. In vain would any but the most attentive reader attempt to disentangle the complex knot of ideas laid before him in the present volume. The style of the composition itself answers to the involution of the thoughts. Digression upon digression, parenthesis within parenthesis, distinctions the most refined, transitions the most abrupt, positions the most paradoxical, keep continually the mind of the reader upon the stretch, wondering whither the erudite and accomplished Writer intends to lead him. A single sentence, taken from the volume before us, will serve to illustrate this peculiarity of the Author's mode of developing his ideas. The principle itself, which as not contained within the rule and compass of law, its practical manifestations being indeterminable and inappreciable à priori, and then only to be recorded as having manifested itself, when the predisposing causes and the enduring effects prove the unific mind and energy of the nation to have been in travail; when they have made audible to the historian that Voice of the People which is the Voice of God;-this Principle, I say, (or the Power, that is the subject of it,) which by its very essence existing and working as an Idea only, except in the rare and predestined epochs of Growth and Reparation, might seem to many fitter matter for verse than for sober argument, I will, by way of compromise, and for the amusement of the reader, sum up in the rhyming prose of an old Puritan poet, consigned to contempt by Mr. Pope, but whose writings, with all their barren flats and dribbling common-place, contain nobler principles, profounder truths, and more that is properly and peculiarly poetic than are to be found in his own works.' pp. 113, 14. It would be a somewhat puzzling exercise to a tyro in grammar, to parse this leviathan sentence. The ground-work of the lofty pile of words, is the simple and intelligible announcement: The Principle itself. . . . I will.... sum up in the rhyming 'prose of an old Puritan poet.' This is all that Mr. Coleridge meant originally to say. But, upon this primary thought he has grafted, first, the parenthesis beginning with the word 'which,' then suddenly dropped for a series of annotations upon the word principle,' and not taken up again till the words 'might 'seem to many fitter matter for verse than for sober argument;' a hundred and six words being interposed between the verb 'might seem' and its nominative which.' The intermediate clauses consist of two distinct sub-parentheses, each requiring to be made a separate sentence. Lastly, we have appended to the whole a criticism upon the poetry of Wither, and to this is subjoined a distinct note. This mode of packing words reminds us of the ingenious toy composed of a series of wooden apples one within another, which a child continues to open with increased admiration till he gets to the minute kernel. Disentangled from each other, the several sentences comprised in the above extract, would read as follows. The principle itself' (that is, a due proportion of the potential to the actual power' in the body politic) is not contained within the rule and compass of law, its practical manifestations being indeterminable and inappreciable à priori, and then only to be recorded as having manifested itself, when the predisposing causes and the enduring effects prove the unific mind and energy of the nation to have been in travail,-when they have made audible to the historian that voice of the people which is the voice of God. This principle, or the power that is the subject of it, by its very essence, exists and works as an idea only, except in the rare and predestined epochs of Growth and Reparation. It might,' as such, sober argument." seem to many fitter matter for verse than for 'I will,' therefore, by way of compromise, and for the amusement of the reader, sum it up in the rhyming prose of an old Puritan poet, George Withers:-a Poet consigned to contempt by Mr. Pope, but whose writings, with all their barren flats and dribbling common-place, contain nobler principles, profounder truths, and more that is properly and peculiarly poetic, than are to be found in his own works.' But the reader has not yet arrived at the lines in question. In the note above mentioned, Mr. Coleridge guards us against inferring that he holds George Withers as great a writer as 'Alexander Pope.' He moreover calls upon us to mark that, in the stanza about to be cited, the word State is used as synonymous with the entire body politic. On returning to the text, we find him stating whence he copied the passage,--from 'a flying sheet of four leaves', printed in 1745 (1645?). At last, after an introductory extract, we come to the kernel. "Let not your King and Parliament in One, That there's on earth a yet auguster Thing, With the sentiment conveyed in these rude but forceful lines, our readers will not be displeased; but we doubt whether they will serve as a key to the mysterious principle' which they are cited to illustrate. In justice, therefore, to Mr. Coleridge, we have still to supply an explanatory comment upon the sentence we have dissected, and which appears, of course, to the greater disadvantage as being detached from its connexion with the preceding matter. a Of the conditions requisite to the health and constitutional vigour of a body politic, two are selected by the Author as being, in his judgement, the most important, so as to deserve the name of political principles or maxims. The first is, 'due proportion of the free and permeative life and energy of the Nation to the organized powers brought within contain'ing channels.' In plain English, if we understand the meaning wrapped up in this physiological metaphor, a due balance of the legitimate powers of government on the one hand, with the antagonist rights, privileges, and power of resistance in the people on the other. 'What the exact proportion of the two kinds of force should be,' Mr. Coleridge remarks, it is impossible to predetermine; but the existence of a dispropor'tion is sure to be detected sooner or later by the effects.' The ancient Greek democracies fell into dissolution, from the 'excess of the permeative energy of the nation,' and the relative feebleness of the political organization. The Republic of Venice fell, because all political power was determined to the Government, and the people were nothing: the State, therefore, 'lost all power of resistance ad extra.' We agree with Mr. Coleridge, that to find the due proportion of the two kinds of force, the controlling and the resisting, is the most delicate and recondite problem in political science,-one that will, perhaps, ever defy precise solution. To preserve the due equilibrium under the existing circumstances of the State, is the true business and highest duty of the Administrative Government. And in order to this, it is of the first importance, that the principle propounded by our Author should be understood and recognised on all sides; that the opposing forces of the Crown and the People should not be supposed to be hostile, when, in fact, they support each other by the equipoise, or to involve contrary interests because they are opposite powers. The second condition of political health is that which is described in the passage already cited, and the terms of which we are now to explain; namely, a due proportion of the po'tential (latent, dormant) to the actual power.' This 'poten'tial power,' we have seen, exists and works as an Idea only.' But we must first explain what Mr. Coleridge understands by an Idea. By an idea, I mean that conception of a thing, which is not abstracted from any particular state, form, or mode in which the thing may happen to exist at this or that time, nor yet generalized from any number or succession of such forms or modes, but which is given by the knowledge of its ultimate aim * That which, contemplated Mr. Coleridge distinguishes an idea from a conception, defining the latter as a conscious act of the understanding, by which it comprehends the object or impression; whereas an idea may influence a man without his being competent to express it in definite words. Thus, an obscure or indistinct conception would seem to be an idea! In a subsequent part of the volume, adverting to the expression, 'abstract conceptions', as occurring in the Natural History of Enthu'siasm', Mr. Coleridge says: By abstract conceptions, the Author ' means what I should call ideas, and, as such, contradistinguish from conceptions, whether abstracted or generalized.' This distinction, however, is too arbitrary and technical to be generally adopted; nor can we agree with Mr. Coleridge, that a peculiar nomenclature' is wich te prts us, the misty exhaler camerling one over another, apparent never comes to close quarters hardly conceive of a more str 1 in which his own conceptions those of other men; where scarcely any thing is finished seres roughly blicked out de sketch suggests hind Herules there, ahead of and there, the fragments very pleasant as an exhil with The disorderly th by which he We ached with the but they will not ful into p and we seems far as ever wly but the most atten the complex knot of ideas The sale of the composition the hugs Dessin |