al power, of misfortune
suddenly illuminated from heaven, of prosperity suddenly overcast by the
waywardness of the individual. The grandfather of the present
generation, who for us stands forward as the founder of the family,
viz., the Rev. John Coleridge; even _his_ career wins a secret homage of
tears and smiles in right of its marvellous transitions from gloom to
sudden light, in right of its entire simplicity, and of its eccentric
consistency. Already in early youth, swimming against a heady current of
hindrances almost overwhelming, he had by solitary efforts qualified
himself for any higher situation that might offer. But, just as this
training was finished, the chances that it might ever turn to account
suddenly fell down to zero; for precisely then did domestic misfortunes
oblige his father to dismiss him from his house with one solitary
half-crown and his paternal benediction. What became of the half-crown
is not recorded, but the benediction speedily blossomed into fruit. The
youth had sat down by the roadside under the mere oppression of grief
for his blighted prospects. But gradually and by steps the most
unexpected and providential, he was led to pedagogy and through this to
his true destination--that of a clergyman of the English church--a
position which from his learning, his devotion, and even from his very
failings--failings in businesslike foresight and calculation--his
absence of mind, his charitable feelings, and his true docility of
nature, he was fitted to adorn; and, indeed, but for his eccentricities
and his complete freedom from worldly self-seeking, and indifference to
such considerations as are apt to weigh all too little with his fellows
of the cloth, he might have moved as an equal among the most eminent
scholars and thinkers. Beautiful are the alternate phases of a good
parish priest--now sitting at the bedside of a dying neighbour, and
ministering with guidance and consolation to the labouring spirit--now
sitting at midnight under the lamp of his own study, and searching the
holy oracles of inspiration for light inexhaustible. These pictures were
realized in J. Coleridge's life.

Mr. Wordsworth has done much to place on an elevated pedestal a very
different type of parish priest--Walker of Seathwaite. The contrast
between him and John Coleridge is striking; and not only striking but
apt, from some points of view, to move something of laughter as well as
tears. The strangest thing is that,