Life of Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Page 2

"glorious spirit, now in heaven, could look down
upon him, he would not disdain this well meant sacrifice to his
memory--for whilst his conversation made him, and many others happy
below, his humility and gentleness were also pre-eminent;--and divines
have said, those virtues that were but sparks upon earth, become great
and glorious flames in heaven."

LIFE OF COLERIDGE.

CHAPTER I.
BIRTH-PLACE OF COLERIDGE.--SLIGHT SKETCH OF HIS
PARENTS.--WHIMSICAL ANECDOTES HE USED TO RELATE
OF HIS FATHER, &C.--AS A PASTOR, HOW MUCH
BELOVED.--HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS
ENUMERATED.--THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER.--HIS
ENTRANCE AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL.--LAMB'S ACCOUNT OF
HIM WHEN AT SCHOOL.--WRITES THIS ACCOUNT UNDER
THE NAME OF ELIA.--LAMB'S ADMISSION THAT HE MEANT
COLERIDGE FOR THE "FRIENDLESS BOY."--THE DELICACY
OF HIS STOMACH.--HIS FIRST ATTEMPT AT MAKING VERSE
WHEN A SCHOOL BOY.--AND CONTINUATION OF HIS
SUFFERINGS WHEN AT SCHOOL.--HIS WATER EXCURSIONS,
THE ORIGIN OF MOST OF HIS SUBSEQUENT SUFFERING.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, the subject of this memoir, was
born at Ottery St. Mary, Devonshire, the 21st October, 1772. His father,
the Rev. John Coleridge, was vicar of Ottery, and head master of Henry
VIII Free Grammar School, usually termed the King's School; a man of
great learning, and one of the persons who assisted Dr. Kennicott in his
Hebrew Bible. Before his appointment to the school at Ottery he had
been head master of the school at South Molton. Some dissertations on
the 17th and 18th chapters of the Book of Judges, [1] and a Latin
grammar for the use of the school at Ottery were published by him. He
was an exceedingly studious man, pious, of primitive manners, and of

the most simple habits: passing events were little heeded by him, and
therefore he was usually characterized as the "absent man".
Many traditional stories concerning his father had been in circulation
for years before Coleridge came to Highgate. These were related with
mirth in the neighbourhood of Ottery, and varied according to the
humour of the narrator.
To beguile the winter's hour, which, however, was never dull in his
society, he would recall to memory the past anecdotes of his father, and
repeat them till the tears ran down his face, from the fond recollection
of his beloved parent. The relation of the story usually terminated with
an affectionate sigh, and the observation, "Yes, my friend, he was
indeed an Israelite without guile, and might be compared to Parson
Adams." The same appellation which Coleridge applied to his father
will also, with equal justice, be descriptive of himself. In many respects
he "differed in kind" from his brothers and the rest of his family, but his
resemblance to his father was so strong, that I shall continue this part of
the memoir with a sketch of the parent stock from which he sprung.
The Rev. John Coleridge had been twice married; his second wife,
Anne Bowdon, by whom he had a large family, was the mother of my
friend, and seems to have been peculiarly fitted for the wife of a
clergyman who had a large family and limited means. Her husband, not
possessing that knowledge usually termed worldly wisdom, she
appeared to supply the place of the friend, which such a man required
in his wife. He was better fitted for the apostolic age, so primitive was
he in his manners and uneducated in the fashions and changing customs
surrounding him: his companions were chiefly his books, and the few
scholars he had to educate. To all around him he was extremely kind
and amiable, and greatly beloved by the flock over whom he presided
as pastor. For each individual, whatever his rank, he had a kindly word
of greeting, and in sickness or distress he was an attentive friend. His
richer and more educated neighbours visited him, and shared the
general pleasure and amusement excited by his simple and peculiarly
absent manners.
It is said of him, that on one occasion, having to breakfast with his

bishop, he went, as was the practice of that day, into a barber's shop to
have his head shaved, wigs being then in common use. Just as the
operation was completed, the clock struck nine, the hour at which the
bishop punctually breakfasted. Roused, as from a reverie, he instantly
left the barber's shop, and in his haste forgetting his wig, appeared at
the breakfast table, where the bishop and his party had assembled. The
bishop, well acquainted with his absent manners, courteously and
playfully requested him to walk into an adjoining room, and give his
opinion of a mirror which had arrived from London a few days
previously, and which disclosed to his astonished guest the
consequences of his haste and forgetfulness.
On another occasion he dined with the bishop, who had great pleasure
and delight in his society, when the following ludicrous